“I sound like Lance Armstrong during the Tour de France.” She tried to smile. “No, thanks.”

He got her settled on the deck in her favorite chair and tucked the wool blanket around her. “Are you sure you’ll be okay while we’re gone?”

“Of course. Marah needs to get to rehearsal and the boys would hate to miss Little League. And Tully will be home any minute.”

Johnny laughed. “I don’t know. I can produce an entire documentary in the time it takes her to grocery-shop for one meal.”

Kate smiled, too. “She is learning a lot of new skills.”

After he left, the house behind her settled into an unfamiliar silence. She stared out at the glittering blue Sound and the tiara of a city on the opposite shore, remembering suddenly when she’d lived over there, near the Public Market; a young career girl with shoulder pads and cinch belts and slouch boots. That was when she first saw Johnny and tumbled into love. She still remembered so many of their moments—when he’d first kissed her and called her Katie and said he didn’t want to hurt her.

Reaching into the bag at her side, she pulled out her journal and stared down at it, tracing the leather pattern on the cover. It was almost finished now. She’d written it all down, or as much as she could remember, and it had helped her as much as she’d hoped it would someday help her kids.

She opened to the page where she’d left off and began to write.

That’s the funny thing about writing your life story. You start out trying to remember dates and times and names. You think it’s about facts, your life; that what you’ll look back on and remember are the successes and failures, the time line of your youth and middle age, but that isn’t it at all.

Love. Family. Laughter. That’s what I remember when it’s all said and done. For so much of my life I thought I didn’t do enough or want enough. I guess I can be forgiven my stupidity. I was young. I want my children to know how proud I am of them, and how proud I am of me. We were everything we needed—you and Daddy and I. I had everything I ever wanted.

Love.

That’s what we remember.

She closed the journal. There was nothing more to say.

Tully came home from the grocery store feeling triumphant. She put the bags on the counter, emptied them one by one, then opened a can of beer and went outside.

“That grocery store is a jungle, Kate. I guess I went down the up lane, or in the out lane, I don’t know. You’d have thought I was Public Enemy Number One. I never heard so much honking.”

“We at-home moms don’t have long to shop.”