“Did you see those pigs? They were dyin’ to knock our teeth out, but we were peaceful, man. Couldn’t touch us. Hey, Dot, you’re bogarting the joint.”

Everyone around them laughed, Mommy most of all. Tully couldn’t figure out what was going on and she had a terrible headache. People swelled around them, dancing and laughing. From somewhere, music spilled into the street.

And then, suddenly, she was holding on to nothing.

“Mommy!” she screamed.

No one answered or turned to her, even though there were people everywhere. She pushed through the bodies, screaming for her mommy until her voice failed her. Finally, she went back to where she’d last seen her mommy and waited at the curb.

She’ll be back.

Tears stung her eyes and leaked down her face as she sat there waiting, trying to be brave.

But her mommy never came back.

For years afterward, she tried to remember what had happened next, what she did, but all those people were like a cloud that obscured her memories. All she ever remembered was waking up on a dirty cement stoop along a street that was totally empty, seeing a policeman on horseback.

From his perch high above her, he frowned down at her and said, “Hey, little one, are you all alone?”

“I am,” was all she could say without crying.

He took her back to the house on Queen Anne Hill, where her grandma held her tightly and kissed her cheek and told her it wasn’t her fault.

But Tully knew better. Somehow today she’d done something wrong, been bad. Next time her mommy came back, she’d try harder. She’d promise to be the president and she’d never, ever say she was sorry again.

________

Tully got a chart of the presidents of the United States and memorized every name in order. For months afterward, she told anyone who asked that she would be the first woman president; she even quit taking ballet classes. On her eleventh birthday, while Grandma lit the candles on her cake and sang a thin, watery version of “Happy Birthday,” Tully glanced repeatedly at the door, thinking, This is it, but no one ever knocked and the phone didn’t ring. Later, with the opened boxes of her gifts around her, she tried to keep smiling. In front of her, on the coffee table, was an empty scrapbook. As a present, it sort of sucked, but her grandma always gave her stuff like this—projects to keep her busy and quiet.

“She didn’t even call,” Tully said, looking up.

Gran sighed tiredly. “Your mom has . . . problems, Tully. She’s weak and confused. You’ve got to quit pretending things are different. What matters is that you’re strong.”

She’d heard this advice a bazillion times. “I know.”

Gran sat down on the worn floral sofa beside Tully and pulled her onto her lap.

Tully loved it when Gran held her. She snuggled in close, rested her cheek on Gran’s soft chest.

“I wish things were different with your mama, Tully, and that’s the God’s honest truth, but she’s a lost soul. Has been for a long time.”