For days Tully focused on nothing else. She handled the details and took care of everything while the Ryans and the Mularkeys sat together on the beach, holding hands and occasionally remembering to talk.

Tully prepared herself for the day, as well, reminding herself that she was a professional; she could smile her way through anything.

But when the time came, and they actually pulled up in front of the church, she panicked. “I can’t do this,” she said.

Johnny reached for her hand. She waited for comforting words, but he had none.

While they sat there in silence, with the kids in the backseat, all of them staring at the church, the Mularkeys pulled up beside them and parked.

It was time. Like a flock of black crows, they came together, hoping for strength in numbers. Holding hands, they walked past the throng of mourners and up the massive stone church steps and into the church.

“We’re in the left front row,” Mrs. M. said, sidling close.

Tully looked down at Marah, who was crying quietly, and the sight broke her.

She wanted to comfort her goddaughter, tell her it would be okay, but they both knew better than that. “She loved you so much,” she said, getting a strange and sudden glimpse of their future then. They’d be friends someday, she and Marah. In time, Tully would give her the journal and they’d share the stories of who her mother had been, and those stories would bind them together and bring Kate back for a few precious moments.

“Come on,” Johnny said.

Tully couldn’t move. “You guys go up. I’m just going to stand here for a minute.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Johnny squeezed her shoulder and then ushered the boys and Marah forward. Mr. and Mrs. M., Sean, Georgia, and the rest of the family followed; they all ducked into the front row and sat down.

Up front an organ began to play a slow, plodding version of “You and Me Against the World.”

Tully didn’t want to be here for this. She didn’t want to listen to pathetic music that was designed to make you cry, or listen to the priest tell stories about the woman he’d known, who was only a shadow of the woman Tully knew. Most of all, she didn’t want to see the montage of pictures of Kate’s life splashed on a giant screen above her coffin.

Before she could even think about it, she turned and walked out.

Sweet, fresh air filled her lungs. She gulped it greedily, trying to calm down. Behind her, through the door, she heard the music change to “One Sweet Day.”

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the door.

“Ms. Hart?”