“I’ll be back in thirty minutes with your folks and the boys,” Johnny said to Kate. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

When he was gone, she and Tully sat in the shadows of the empty auditorium. Kate shivered and tightened the blankets around her. Her head was pounding and she felt sick to her stomach. “Talk to me, Tully. About anything.”

Tully didn’t miss a beat. She started talking about yesterday’s rehearsal, then went on to her troubles with the carpool protocol.

Kate closed her eyes, and suddenly they were kids again, sitting by the Pilchuck River, wondering how their lives would unfold.

We’ll be TV journalists. Someday I’ll tell Mike Wallace that I couldn’t have done it without you.

Dreams. They’d had so many of them, and a surprising number had come true. The funny thing was that she hadn’t valued them all highly enough when she’d had the chance.

Leaning back in her seat, she said quietly, “Do you still know the guy who runs the drama program at USC?”

“I do.” Tully looked at her. “Why?”

Kate felt Tully’s scrutiny on her profile. Without making eye contact, she straightened her wig. “Maybe you could call him. Marah would love to go there.” With the words came the thought: I won’t be there for her. For any of it. Marah would go off to college without her . . .

“I thought you didn’t want her to be in the arts.”

“It scares the hell out of me to think of my baby in Hollywood. But you’re a TV star. Her dad’s a news producer. The poor kid is surrounded by dreamers. What chance did she ever have?” She reached over, squeezed Tully’s hand. More than anything, she wanted to look at Tully, but she couldn’t do it, didn’t dare. “You’ll watch out for her and the boys, right?”

“Always.”

Kate felt the start of a smile; that one word released a little of her sadness. One thing about Tully: she kept her word. “And maybe you’ll look up Cloud again.”

“It’s funny you’d mention that. I was planning on it. Someday.”

“Good,” Kate said softly but firmly. “Chad was right, and I was wrong about that. When you get . . . to the end, you see that love and family are all there is. Nothing else matters.”

“You’re my family, Katie.”

“I know. You’ll need more after—”

“Please don’t say it.”

Kate looked at her friend. Bold, brassy, larger-than-life Tully, who’d barreled through the years like a lion in a jungle, always the king. Now she was quiet, afraid. The very idea of Kate’s death had unraveled her, made her smaller. “I’m going to die, Tully. Not saying it won’t change it.”

“I know.”