In no time, Mrs. M. came down the stairs, zipping up the red velour robe she’d worn for as long as Tully had known her. No matter how many expensive robe-and-nightgown sets Tully sent Mrs. M. over the years, this old red one remained her favorite. “Tully,” she said, pulling off her big beige-rimmed bifocals. “Is everything okay?”

There was no point in lying. “Not really.”

Mrs. M. went straight to the wet bar in the living room—an addition in the late eighties—and poured two glasses of wine. Handing one to Tully, she led the way into the living room and sat down on the new leopard-print sofa. Behind their heads the wall was full of family photos now. Jesus and Elvis still held center stage, but around them were dozens of school photos of Marah and the twins; Johnny and Kate’s wedding pictures; Sean’s graduate school graduation photos; and a few here and there of Tully. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

Tully sat down in the newest edition of Mr. Mularkey’s favorite recliner. “Kate is mad at me.”

“Why?”

“Marah called me last week and wanted to talk to me about a modeling thing in New York—”

“Oh, boy.”

“I offered to help her talk to her folks about it, but the second Kate heard about it, she went wacko. She refused to even listen to Marah.”

“Marah is thirteen years old.”

“That’s old enough to—”

“No,” Mrs. M. said crisply, then she smiled gently. “I know you’re just trying to help, Tully, but Kate’s right to try to protect Marah.”

“Marah hates her.”

“That’s how it seems with thirteen-year-old girls and their mothers. You don’t know, maybe, because Cloud was so different, but girls and their mothers often go through a rough patch. You don’t make it better by giving the kids everything they want.”

“I’m not suggesting they should give her everything, but she has real talent. I think she could be a supermodel.”

“And if she were, what would happen?”

“She’d be rich and famous. She could be a millionaire by seventeen.”

Mrs. M. leaned forward. “You’re mega-rich, right?”

“Right.”

“Does that make you whole? Is success worth what Marah would give up for it—her childhood, her innocence, her family? I have watched some of those made-for-TV movies about young models. There’s all kinds of drugs and sex and such around them.”

“I’d watch out for her. What matters is that she has found something she loves. That should be nurtured, not ignored. And I’m afraid Marah and Kate won’t find their way back. You should hear how Marah talks about her.”

“You’re worried about Marah,” Mrs. M. said, eyeing Tully over the rim of her glass. “I think you’re looking at the wrong player. Kate is the one who needs you now.”

“Kate?”