Tully felt Kate’s arms wrap around her and for the first time in days, she felt safe.

“I missed you so much,” Kate said, tightening her hold.

Tully couldn’t answer. It was all she could do not to cry. She wondered if Kate knew, really knew, how important their friendship was to her. “I got our bikes,” she said, stepping back, looking away so Kate wouldn’t see her moist eyes.

“Cool.”

Within minutes they were on their way, flying down Summer Hill, their hands outstretched to catch the wind. At the bottom of the hill, they ditched their bikes in the trees and walked down the long and winding road to the river. All around them trees chattered among themselves; the wind sighed, and leaves fluttered down from branches in an early sign of the coming autumn.

Kate flopped down in their old spot, her back rested against the mossy log, her feet stretched out in the grass that had grown tall in their absence.

Tully felt an unexpected pinch of nostalgia for their youth. They’d spent most of one summer here, taking their separate, lonely lives and braiding them into a rope of friendship. She lay down beside Kate, scooting close enough that their shoulders were touching. After the last few days, she needed to know that her best friend was finally beside her. She positioned her transistor radio nearby and turned up the volume.

“Hell Week with Bugs was even worse than usual,” Kate said. “I did talk Sean into eating a slug, though. It was worth the week’s allowance I lost.” She giggled. “You should have seen his face when I started laughing. Aunt Georgia tried to talk to me about birth control. Can you believe it? She said I should—”

“Do you even know how lucky you are?” The words were out before Tully could stop them, spilling like jelly beans from a machine.

Kate shifted her weight and turned, until she was lying sideways in the grass, looking at Tully. “You usually want to hear everything about the camping trip.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve had a bad week.”

“Did you get fired?”

“That’s your idea of a bad week? I want your perfect life, just for a day.”

Kate drew back, frowning. “You sound pissed at me.”

“Not at you.” Tully sighed. “You’re my best friend.”

“So, who are you mad at?”

“Cloud. Gran. God. Take your pick.” She took a deep breath and said, “Gran died while you were gone.”

“Oh, Tully.”

And there it was, what Tully had been waiting for all week. Someone who loved her and was truly sorry for her. Tears stung her eyes; before she knew it, she was crying. Big, gulping sobs that wracked her body and made it impossible to breathe, and all the while, Kate held her, letting her cry, saying nothing.

When there were no tears left inside, Tully smiled shakily. “Thanks for not saying you felt sorry for me.”

“I am, though.”

“I know.” Tully lay back against the log and stared up at the night sky. She wanted to admit that she was scared and that as alone as she’d sometimes felt in life, she knew now what real loneliness was, but she couldn’t say the words, not even to Kate. Thoughts—even fears—were airy things, formless until you made them solid with your voice, and once given that weight, they could crush you.