She shut the door behind her, surprised to find that she was frightened. For the whole of her life, she’d been wounded by her mother. She’d loved her as a child, inexplicably; hated her as a teenager; and ignored her as a woman. Cloud had broken her heart more times than she could count, and let her down on every possible occasion, and yet, even after all of that, Tully couldn’t help feeling something for her.

Cloud was asleep. Bruises covered her face, blackened one eye; her lip was split open and seeped blood. Short gray hair, apparently cut with a dull knife, was matted to her head.

She didn’t look anything like herself; rather, she looked like a frail old woman who’d been beaten by more than someone’s fists—by life itself.

“Hey, Cloud,” Tully said, surprised to find that her throat was tight. She gently stroked her mother’s temple, the only place on her face that wasn’t bloodied or bruised. As she felt the velvety soft skin, she realized that the last time she’d touched her mother had been in 1970, when they’d held hands on that crowded Seattle street.

She wished she knew what to say to this woman, with whom she had a history but no present. So she just talked. She told her about the show and her life and how successful she’d become. When that started to sound hollow and desperate, she talked about Kate and their fight and how it had left her feeling so alone. As the words formed themselves and spilled out, Tully heard the truth in them. Losing the Ryans and Mularkeys had left her devastatingly alone. Cloud was all she had left. How pathetic was that?

“We’re all alone in this world, haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Tully hadn’t noticed her mother wake up, and yet she was conscious now, and looking at Tully through tired eyes. “Hey,” she said, smiling, wiping her eyes. “What happened to you?”

“I got beat up.”

“I wasn’t asking what put you in the hospital. I was asking what happened to you.”

Cloud flinched and turned away. “Oh. That. I guess your precious grandmother never told you, huh?” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Tully drew in a sharp breath. This was the most meaningful conversation they’d ever had; she felt poised on the edge of some essential discovery that had eluded her for all her years. “I think it does.”

“Go away, Tully.” Cloud turned her face into the pillow.

“Not until you tell me why.” Her voice trembled on that question; of course it did. “Why didn’t you ever love me?”

“Forget about me.”

“Honestly, I wish I could. But you’re my mother.”