“The problems with Marah are eating her up alive. Those two have to figure out how to talk to each other without screaming or crying.” She looked at Tully. “And you need to be Katie’s friend first.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Of course not. I’m saying that Katie needs her best friend beside her. You two have always been each other’s armor and sword. I know how much Marah idolizes you—and how much you like to be idolized.” She smiled knowingly. “But you can’t take sides in this unless it’s Katie’s.”

“I just wanted to—”

“She’s not your daughter.”

And there it was. Tully hadn’t realized until just now, this second, what had driven her to get so involved. She loved Marah, sure, but there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? And Mrs. M. had seen it. Marah was the perfect child for Tully—gorgeous, ambitious, a little selfish. Best of all, she thought Tully was flawless. “So, what do I say to Marah?”

“That she has her whole life in front of her. If she’s as good and talented as you believe, she’ll make it when she’s old enough to handle it.”

Tully sat back in the recliner, sighing. “How long do you think Kate will stay mad at me?”

Mrs. M. laughed. “You two have more ups and downs than an Internet stock. Everything will be fine. Just quit trying to be Marah’s best friend and be there for Katie.”

Kate never tired of the view from her own back porch. Tonight, on this crisp late October evening, the sky above Seattle was an endless, star-filled black. In the glorious moonlight, every skyscraper looked sharp and distinct, so much so it was easy to imagine you could actually see the individual squares of glass and granite and steel.

Sounds were clearer here by the water as well. Maple leaves turned color and fell from the nearby trees, landing like quickened footsteps on the marshy ground; squirrels scurried from branch to branch, no doubt gathering their food for a cold they sensed was drawing near, and as always there was the tide, moving forward and back against the shore with a rhythm connected to the faraway moon. Here, on her back porch, only the seasons changed, and each gave the landscape an amazing new look.

Only a few feet behind her, through an antique wooden door, the changes came fast enough to leave you breathless. Her teenage daughter was sprouting like a tree, blooming every day into another variation of who she would someday become. Moods twisted her up and left her looking sometimes like a girl who’d just washed up onshore, unable to quite remember who she was and who she wanted to be.