How had it happened, after all their decades together, that they were estranged now? “I’m sorry, Katie,” she whispered, hearing how small the words were; all her life she’d hoarded those few and simple words, kept them tucked inside her heart as if to let them out would harm her. Why, of all the lessons she should have learned from her mother, had she held on to this most hurtful one? And why hadn’t she called when she’d heard Kate’s voice on the answering machine?

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, feeling the burn of tears.

Kate didn’t smile or give any indication of welcome or surprise. Even the apology—as little and late as it was—seemed to have no effect. “Please say you remember me.”

Kate just stared up at her.

Tully reached down, let her knuckles graze Kate’s warm cheek. “It’s Tully, the bitch who used to be your best friend. I’m so sorry for what I did to you, Katie. I should have told you that a long time ago.” She made a tiny, desperate sound. If Kate didn’t remember her, remember them, she didn’t think she could bear it. “I remember when I first met you, Katie Mularkey Ryan. You were the first person who ever really wanted to know me. Naturally I treated you like shit at first, but when I got raped you were there for me.” The memories overtook her. She wiped her eyes. “You’re thinking I’m only talking about me, right? Typical, you say. But I remember you, too, Katie; every second. Like when you read Love Story and couldn’t figure out what sonovabitch meant because it wasn’t in the dictionary . . . or when you swore you’d never French-kiss because it was gross-o-rama.” Tully shook her head, fighting to keep it together. Her whole life was in the room with them now. “We were so damned young, Katie. But we’re not young anymore. You remember that first time I left Snohomish, and we wrote about a million letters? We signed them Forever friends . . . or Best friends forever. Which was it . . .”

Tully spun out the story of their years; sometimes she even laughed, like when she told about riding their bikes down Summer Hill or running from the cops on the night they got busted. “Oh, here’s one you’ll know. Remember when we went to Pete’s Dragon because we thought it was an action movie, only it was a cartoon? We were the oldest kids in the theater, and we came out singing ‘You and Me Against the World,’ and we said it would always be that way—”

“Stop.”

Tully drew in a sharp breath.