Now Tully stood in the driveway, listening to the car drive away, tires crunching on gravel. From beyond the house, in the backyard, she could hear waves washing onto the pea-gravel beach. That meant the tide was coming in. On this beautiful sunny early summer afternoon, the old-fashioned farmhouse looked like something out of a photo album of the Good Life. A fresh coat of stain made the shingles look like caramel and the white, glossy trim caught the sunlight and kept it. Flowers ran riot through the yard, creating bursts of color everywhere she looked. Toys and bikes lay scattered about, reminding her sharply of the old days, back when they’d been the Firefly Lane girls. Their bikes had been magic carpets to another world.

Come on, Katie. Let go.

Tully smiled. She hadn’t thought about that summer in years. 1974. The beginning of it all. Meeting Kate had changed her life, and all because they’d dared to reach out for each other, dared to say, I want to be your friend.

She walked up the weed-veined concrete path to the front door. Even before she got to the stoop, she could hear the noise coming from within. It didn’t surprise her. According to Kate, the first half of 2003 had been wild and crazy. Marah hadn’t eased into the teen years; she’d lurched. And the boys had gone from loud, into-everything toddlers to louder, even more destructive five-year-olds. Every time Tully called, it seemed, Kate was driving someone somewhere.

Tully rang the doorbell. Normally, of course, she’d just walk in, but normally, she’d be expected. This trip had been so spur-of-the-moment that she hadn’t called ahead. To be honest, she hadn’t really expected to make it. She’d thought she’d chicken out along the way. But here she was.

The sound of footsteps shook the old house. Then the door opened and Marah stood there. “Aunt Tully!” she shrieked, launching herself forward.

Tully caught her goddaughter and held her tightly. When they drew apart, she stared at the girl in front of her, a little nonplussed. It had been only seven or eight months since she’d seen Marah—a blip of time—and yet the girl in front of her was a stranger. A near-woman, Marah was taller than Tully, with milky pale skin, penetrating brown eyes, lush black hair that fell in a waterfall down her back, and cheekbones to die for. “Marah Rose,” she said. “You’re all grown up. And you’re gorgeous. Have you tried modeling?”

Marah’s smile made her even more breathtakingly beautiful. “Really? My mom thinks I’m a baby.”

Tully laughed. “You, my dear, are no baby.” Before she could say more, Johnny came down the stairs, holding a squirming boy in each arm. Halfway down, he saw her and stopped. Then he smiled. “You shouldn’t have let her in, Marah. She’s got a suitcase.”