Across the black and turbulent Sound, the phone rang.

Part One

THE SEVENTIES

Dancing Queen

young and sweet,
only seventeen

CHAPTER
TWO

For most of the country, 1970 was a year of upheaval and change, but in the house on Magnolia Drive, everything was orderly and quiet. Inside, ten-year-old Tully Hart sat on a cold wooden floor, building a Lincoln Log cabin for her Liddle Kiddles, who were asleep on tiny pink Kleenexes. If she were in her bedroom, she would have had a Jackson Five forty-five in her Close ’N Play, but in the living room, there wasn’t even a radio.

Her grandma didn’t like music much, or television or board games. Mostly—like now—Grandma sat in her rocking chair by the fireplace, doing needlepoint. She made hundreds of samplers, most of which quoted the Bible. At Christmastime she donated them to the church, where they were sold at fund-raisers.

And Grandpa . . . well, he couldn’t help being quiet. Ever since his stroke, he just stayed in bed. Sometimes he rang his bell, and that was the only time Tully ever saw her grandma hurry. At the first tinkling of the bell, she’d smile and say, “Oh, my,” and run for the hallway as fast as her slippered feet would take her.

Tully reached for her yellow-haired Troll. Humming very quietly, she made him dance with Calamity Kiddle to “Daydream Believer.” Halfway through the song, there was a knock at the door.

It was such an unexpected sound that Tully paused in her playing and looked up. Except for Sundays, when Mr. and Mrs. Beattle showed up to take them to church, no one ever came to visit.

Gran put her needlework in the pink plastic bag by her chair and got up, crossing the room in that slow, shuffling way that had become normal in the last few years. When she opened the door, there was a long silence, then she said, “Oh, my.”

Gran’s voice sounded weird. Peering sideways, Tully saw a tall woman with long messy hair and a smile that wouldn’t stay in place. She was one of the prettiest women Tully had ever seen: milky skin, a sharp, pointed nose and high cheekbones that slashed above her tiny chin, liquid brown eyes that opened and closed slowly.

“Thass not much of a greeting for your long-lost daughter.” The lady pushed past Grandma and walked straight to Tully, then bent down. “Is this my little Tallulah Rose?”

Daughter? That meant—

“Mommy?” she whispered in awe, afraid to believe it. She’d waited so long for this, dreamed of it: her mommy coming back.

“Did you miss me?”

“Oh, yes,” Tully said, trying not to laugh. But she was so happy.

Gran closed the door. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen for a cup of coffee?”

“I didn’t come back for coffee. I came for my daughter.”