Johnny met her at the bottom of the stairs. “The margaritas are in the blender. I’ll put Marah to bed.”

“I love you.”

He patted her butt, then turned to his daughter. “I know. Come on, Bunny. Bedtime.”

“Aw, Daddy. Do I hafta? I’m telling Aunt Tully about Mrs. Hermann.”

“Hop up the stairs and get your pj’s on. I’ll be up in a minute to read you a story.”

Marah hugged Tully tightly, kissed her cheek, and plodded over to where Johnny and Kate stood.

Perfunctorily she kissed Kate goodnight, then went upstairs.

Tully got up and stood by Johnny. “Okay, I’ve been very patient, which as you know is not my strong suit, but the kids are gone now, so spill the beans.”

Kate frowned. “What?”

“You look terrible,” Tully said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just hormones. Or lack of sleep. The boys exhaust me.” She laughed at the ordinary string of excuses. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think she knows what’s wrong,” Johnny said to Tully, as if Kate weren’t even here.

“How’s the writing going?” Tully asked her.

Kate winced. “Great.”

“She isn’t writing,” Johnny said, and Kate could have coldcocked him for that.

Tully looked disbelieving. “Not at all?”

“Not that I can tell,” Johnny said. “Quit talking about me as if I’m not here,” Kate said. “I have a ten-year-old drama queen who plays every sport on the planet, takes dance lessons three times a week, and has a busier social calendar than the Sex and the City girls. And don’t forget about twin boys who rarely sleep at the same time and break everything they touch. How the hell am I supposed to do all that, make dinner, do the laundry, clean the house, and write a book at the same time?” She looked at them. “I know what you both think. What everyone seems to think. I’m supposed to make time to search for my authentic self. I’m supposed to need more than motherhood—and I do, damn it—I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do all that and still be in the carpool lane on time.”

In the silence that followed her outbreak, a log dropped in the fire-place, made a crackling thump.

Tully looked at Johnny. “You asshole.”

“What?” He looked so perplexed, Kate almost laughed. “She cleans the house and picks up your laundry? Can’t you get someone to clean, for God’s sake?”

“She never said she needed help.”

Kate hadn’t realized until that moment how overwhelmed she’d felt. Relief swept through her, loosened the muscles in her back. “I do,” she finally admitted to her husband.

Johnny pulled her close and kissed her, whispering, “All you had to do was say something,” against her lips. She kissed him back, clung to him.