It wasn’t until almost ten o’clock when they pulled up to the SUNSHINE FARMS sign that she began to lose her grip.

The commune was like others she’d seen: long, rolling acres covered in crops, shaggy-looking people dressed in the modern-day equivalent of sackcloth and ashes, rows of Sani-Cans. The main difference was the housing. Here, people lived in domed tents called yurts. There were at least thirty of them lining the river.

Johnny pulled into a parking stall and got out of the van. Fat Bob followed suit, sliding the van door open and then slamming it shut.

Marah said worriedly, “Are you okay, Aunt Tully?”

“Be quiet, Marah,” Johnny said. “Move over here by Daddy.”

Tully knew they were waiting for her; still she sat there. People waited for her all the time; it was one of the perks of celebrity.

“You can do this,” she said to the scared-looking woman in the rearview mirror. She’d spent a lifetime shellacking her heart, creating this hard casing around it, and now she was purposely peeling it away, exposing her vulnerability. But what choice did she have? If she and her mother were ever going to have a chance, someone had to make the first move.

Cautiously, she opened the door and stepped out.

Fat Bob and his camera were right there.

Tully took a deep breath and smiled. “We’re at the Sunshine Farms commune. We’ve been told that my mother has lived here for almost a week, although she hasn’t yet sent this address to my attorney, so we don’t know if she’s planning to stay.”

She walked up to the long row of tables, covered by cedar lean-tos, where tired-looking women sold their wares. Berries, jams, syrups, berry butters, and Holly Hobbie–type handicrafts.

No one seemed to care that a camera was coming their way. Or a celebrity.

“I’m Tallulah Hart, and I’m looking for this woman.” She held out the picture.

Fat Bob moved to her left, stayed close. People had no idea how close cameras sometimes needed to be to capture nuances of emotion.

“Cloud,” the woman said without smiling.

Tully’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

“She’s not at Sunshine anymore. Too much work for her. Last I heard she was out at the old Mulberry place. What has she done?”

“Nothing. She’s my mother.”

“She said she didn’t have any kids.”

Tully knew the camera caught her reaction to that, her flinch of pain. “That’s hardly surprising. How do we get to the Mulberry place?”

As the woman gave directions, Tully felt a wave of anxiety. She walked away, went over by a fence to be alone. Johnny came up beside her, leaning close.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly enough that the camera couldn’t pick up the question.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, looking up at him.