Tully laughed and closed the door behind her.

“Katie,” Johnny yelled up the stairs. “You better come down here. You won’t believe who has come to visit.” He put the boys down on the floor at the base of the steps and went to Tully, drawing her into his arms. She couldn’t help thinking how good it felt simply to be held. It had been a long time.

“Tully!” Kate’s voice rose above the other sounds in the room as she hurried down the stairs and pulled Tully into a hug. When Kate drew back, she was smiling.

“Now, what in the hell are you doing here? Don’t you know I need notice for one of your trips? Now you’ll give me crap about the haircut I need and the foil I missed.”

“Don’t forget the makeup you don’t have on. But I could give you a makeover. I’m good at that. It’s a gift.”

The past enveloped them, made them laugh.

Kate linked arms with Tully and led her to the sofa. There, with her suitcase positioned at the door like a bodyguard, they spent at least an hour catching up on each others’ lives. At around three o’clock they moved their little party to the backyard, where the boys and Marah competed with Kate for Tully’s attention. When darkness began to fall, Johnny fired up the barbeque, and on a picnic table in the grass, beneath a dome of stars and beside the placid Sound, Tully had her first home-cooked meal in months. Afterward, they played a rousing game of Candy Land with the boys. While Kate and Johnny were upstairs putting the twins to bed, Tully sat out in the backyard with Marah, each wrapped against the night’s chill in yet another of Mrs. Mularkey’s famous afghans.

“What’s it like to be famous?”

Tully hadn’t really thought about that in years; she’d simply taken it for granted. “It’s pretty great, actually. You always get the best tables, get into all the best places; people give you free stuff all the time. Everyone waits for you. And since I’m a journalist instead of a movie star, the paparazzi leave me alone for the most part.”

“Parties?”

Tully smiled. “It’s been a while since I cared about parties, but yeah, I get invited to a lot of them. And don’t forget the clothes. Designers send me dresses all the time. All I have to do is wear them.”

“Wow,” Marah said. “That is so totally cool.”

Behind them, a screen door screeched open and banged closed. There was the sound of something—a table, maybe—being dragged across the deck. Then the music started. Jimmy Buffet, “Margaritaville.”

“You know what that means,” Kate said, appearing beside them with two margaritas.