Firefly Lane (47 page)

Kate reached out, gently tucked some hair behind Marah's ear. "Believe me, I remember the feeling. I had to wear cheap, secondhand clothes to school when I was your age. The kids used to make fun of me."

"So you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean, but you can't get everything you want. It's that simple."

"It's a pair of jeans, Mom. Not world peace."

Kate looked at her daughter. For once, she wasn't scowling or turning away. "I'm sorry we fight so much."

"Yeah."

"Maybe we could sign you up for that new modeling class, after all. The one in Seattle."

Marah jumped on that scrap like a hungry dog. "You'll
finally
let me go off-island? The next session starts Tuesday. I checked. Tully said she'd pick me up from the ferry." Marah smiled sheepishly. "We've been talking about it."

"Oh, you have, have you?"

"Daddy said it would be okay if I kept my grades up."

"He knows, too? And no one talks to me? Who am I, Hannibal Lecter?"

"You get mad pretty easily these days."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Can I go?"

Kate had no choice, really. "Okay. But if your grades—"

Marah launched herself out of her seat and into Kate's arms. She held her daughter tightly, reveling in the moment. She couldn't remember the last time Marah had initiated a hug.

Long after Marah had run into the house, Kate was still sitting in the car, staring after her daughter, wondering if the modeling class was a good idea. That was the sly, ruinous thing about motherhood, the thing that twisted your insides with guilt and made you change your mind and lower your standards: giving in was so damned easy.

It wasn't that she didn't want Marah to take the classes, precisely. It was that she didn't want Marah on that difficult road so young. Rejections, corruption, beauty that went no deeper than the skin, drugs, and anorexia. All that lay beneath the surface of the modeling world. Self-esteem and body image were too fragile in the teen years. God knew a girl could fall off the track even without the burden of constant beauty-based rejection.

In short, Kate wasn't afraid her gorgeous daughter wouldn't make it in the world of runways and taped-on clothing. Rather, she was afraid she would, and then her childhood would be lost.

Finally, she left the car and went inside, muttering, "I should have held firm."

The mother's lament. She was trying to figure out how to backtrack (impossible now) when the phone rang. Kate didn't even bother answering. In these last few weeks of summer, she'd learned one true thing: teenage girls lived on the phone.

"Mom! It's Grandma for you," Marah screamed down the stairs. "But don't take too long. Gabe is gonna call me."

She picked up the phone and heard the exhalation of smoke on the other end. Smiling, she ignored the groceries and plopped onto the couch, curling up under an afghan that still smelled like her mother. "Hey, Mom."

"You sound terrible."

"You can tell that from my breathing?"

"You have a teenage daughter, don't you?"

"Believe me, I was never this bad."

Mom laughed; it was a horsey, hacking sound. "I guess you don't remember all the times you told me to butt out of your life and then slammed the door in my face."

The memory was vague but not impossible to recall. "I'm sorry, Mom."

There was a pause. Then Mom said, "Thirty years."

"Thirty years what?"

"That's how long before you'll get an apology, too, but you know what's great?"

Kate groaned. "That I might not live that long?"

"That you'll know she's sorry long before she does." Mom laughed. "And when she needs you to babysit, she'll
really
love you."

Kate knocked on Marah's door, heard a muffled, "Come in."

She went inside. Trying to ignore the clothes and books and junk scattered everywhere, she picked her way to the white four-poster bed, where Marah sat, knees drawn up, talking on the phone. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Marah rolled her eyes. "I gotta go, Gabe. My mom wants to talk to me. Later." To Kate, she said, "What?"

Kate sat on the edge of the bed, remembering suddenly all the times this very scene had played out in her own teenage years. Her mother had started every reconciliation with a life-is speech.

She smiled at the memory.

"What?"

"I know we've been fighting a lot lately, and I'm sorry about that. Most of the time it's because I love you and I want the best for you."

"And the rest of the time, what's it about then?"

"Because you've really pissed me off."

Marah smiled at that, just a little, and sidled left to make room for Katie, just as Kate had once done for her own mother.

She moved more fully onto the bed and cautiously reached down to hold her daughter's hand. There were lots of things she could say right now, conversations she could try to knit out, but instead she just sat there, holding her daughter's hand. It was the first quiet, connected moment they'd spent together in years and it filled her with hope. "I love you, Marah," she said finally. "It was you, more than anyone else, who showed me what love could be. When they put you in my arms for the first time . . ." She paused, feeling her throat tighten. Her love for this child was so enormous, so overwhelming. Sometimes in the day-to-day war zone of adolescence, she almost forgot that. She smiled. "Anyway, I was thinking we should do something special together."

"Like what?"

"Like the anniversary party for Dad's show."

"You mean it?" Marah had been begging for this opportunity for weeks. Kate had repeatedly said she was too young.

"We could go shopping together, get our hair done, get beautiful dresses—"

"I love you," Marah said, hugging her.

She held on to her daughter, reveling in the moment.

"Can I tell Emily?"

Before Kate had even said, "Sure," Marah was reaching for the phone, punching in numbers. As she headed for the door and closed it behind her, she heard Marah said, "Em, you won't believe this. Guess where I'm going on Saturday—"

Kate closed the door and went to her own room, thinking about how quickly things changed with kids. One minute you were an old Eskimo woman, floating away from everyone, forgotten; the next you were climbing Mount Rainier, stabbing your flag in the snow. The changes could leave you dizzy sometimes, and the only way to survive was to enjoy the good moments and not dwell too much on the bad.

"You're smiling," Johnny said when she entered the room. He was sitting up in bed, wearing the drugstore reading glasses he'd grudgingly purchased.

"Is that so remarkable?"

"Frankly, yes."

She laughed. "I guess it is. Marah and I had a bad week. She got invited to an overnight party with boys—I still can't believe it—and I told her she couldn't go."

"So why the smile?"

"I invited her to the anniversary party. We'll make a girl's day out of it. Shopping, manicures, haircuts, the works. We'll need to get a suite at the hotel, or get a rollaway."

"I'll be the luckiest guy in the room," he said.

Kate smiled at him, feeling hopeful for the first time in longer than she could remember. She and Marah would have a perfect mother-daughter evening. Maybe it would finally tear down that wall between them.

Tully should have been on top of the world. Tonight was the anniversary party for her show. Dozens of people had been working for months to make it the event of the year in Seattle. Not only were the locals expected to attend, but the RSVPs indicated a celebrity-studded night. In short, everyone who was anyone would be here, and they were coming to honor her, to applaud her phenomenal success.

She glanced around the glittery, traditional ballroom of the Olympic Hotel. Actually, she thought it was called something else these days—chains kept acquiring and selling the property—but to Seattleites, it was and would always be the Olympic.

The room was full of her peers, her colleagues, her partners, many of her A-list celebrity guests, and a few of her key employees. Everyone she saw raised a glass in celebration. They all loved her.

And not one of them really knew her.

There it was. Edna had been unable to come, and Grant hadn't even returned her phone call. The latest tabloid she'd read claimed he was marrying some starlet, and although the news shouldn't bother Tully, it did. It made her feel old and lonely, especially tonight. How was it that she'd reached this age alone? Without a special person with whom she could share her life?

A waiter passed by her and she tapped his shoulder, snagging a second glass of champagne from his tray. "Thanks," she said, flashing the Tallulah Hart smile, looking around the ballroom for the Ryans. They still weren't here. She was drifting in a sea of acquaintances.

She downed the champagne and went in search of another drink. The day of beauty with her daughter was everything Kate had hoped it would be. For the first time in ages, they didn't fight. Marah even listened to Kate's opinions on things. After they'd chosen their gowns—a one-shouldered black silk gown for Kate and a beautiful pink chiffon strapless one for Marah—they checked into the Gene Juarez day spa, where they got manicures and pedicures, haircuts, and their makeup done.

Now they were in Marah's bedroom in the suite at the Olympic. Crowded into the bathroom, they stood side by side, studying themselves in the mirror.

Kate knew she'd never forget the sight of them so close together: the tall, gangly daughter with the exquisite face, smiling so broadly her eyes tilted up, with her skinny arm around Kate's bare shoulder.

"We totally rock," Marah said.

Kate smiled. "Totally."

Marah kissed her cheek impulsively, said, "Thanks, Mom," and grabbed her beaded evening bag from the bed on her way to the door. "Here I come, Daddy," she said, opening it, stepping into the sitting room.

"Marah," she heard him say, whistling. "You're gorgeous."

Kate followed her daughter into the room. She knew she wasn't as shapely as she'd once been, or quite as pretty, but in this dress, with Johnny's diamond-heart necklace at her throat, she felt beautiful, and when she saw the way her husband smiled, she felt sexy, too.

"Wow," he said, coming toward her. Leaning close, he kissed her. "You look hot, Mrs. Ryan."

"You, too, Mr. Ryan."

Laughing, the three of them left the room and went down to the ballroom, where hundreds of people were already celebrating.

"Look, Mom," Marah whispered, sidling close. "It's Brad and Jennifer. And there's Christina. Wow. I can't wait to call Emily."

Johnny took Kate's hand and led her through the crowd to the bar, where he got two drinks and a Coke for Marah.

Then they eased back and stood there, sipping their drinks and surveying the crowd.

Even in a room like this, Tully stood out in a flowing silk gown the color of Burmese emeralds. She sailed toward them, waving, her gown rippling behind her. "You guys look
fabulous,
" she gushed, laughing.

Kate couldn't help noticing that Tully appeared a little unsteady on her feet already. "Are you okay?"

"Couldn't be better. Johnny, we need to say a few things onstage after dinner. Then we'll go to the dance floor to get the ball rolling?"

"Don't you have a date?" Johnny asked.

Tully's smile faltered. "Marah can be my date for the evening. You don't mind if I borrow her, do you, Katie?"

"Well—"

"Why should she care?" Marah said, gazing at Tully in adoration. "She sees me every day."

Tully leaned close to Marah. "Ashton is here. Do you want to meet him?"

Marah practically swooned. "Are you kidding?"

Kate watched them walk away, hand in hand, heads cocked together like a pair of cheerleaders talking about the captain of the football team.

After that, the night lost some of its luster for Kate. Sipping her champagne, she followed her husband around the room, smiling when she was supposed to, laughing when it seemed appropriate, saying, "I'm an at-home mom," when asked, and watching how those few words—a sentence that made her so proud—could kill a conversation.

All the while, she watched Tully pretend that Marah was her daughter, introducing her to one celebrity after another, letting her have sips of her champagne.

When it was finally time for dinner, Kate took her place at the head table, with Johnny on one side of her and the president of Syndiworld on the other. Tully held court all through the meal. There was no other way to describe it. She was lively, animated, funny; every person seated around her—especially Marah—seemed awestruck.

Kate tried not to let any of it get to her. A few times she even tried to get her daughter's attention, but it was impossible to compete with Tully.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She made an excuse to Johnny and headed for the bathroom. In line, every woman there seemed to be talking about Tully, remarking on how gorgeous she looked.

"And did you see the girl she's with—"

"I think it's her daughter."

"No wonder they look so close."

"I wish my daughter treated me like that."

"So do I," Kate murmured too quietly to be heard. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing a woman who'd done her best to look beautiful for her husband and daughter, only to fade into the wallpaper beside her best friend. She knew it was ridiculous to feel so hurt and excluded. It wasn't her night, after all. Still . . . she'd had such high hopes.

That was her mistake.

She'd pinned her happiness to a teenage girl's chest.
Idiot
. The realization made her almost smile. She certainly knew better than that. Feeling better, more in control of her silly emotions, she headed back to the party.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Tully shouldn't have drunk so much. She stood on the stage, holding Johnny's hand to keep herself steady. "Thank you all," she said, flashing her smile to the crowd. "
The Girlfriend Hour
is so successful because of you." She lifted a glass to everyone, and they answered with applause. It occurred to her in a burst that her sentence hadn't been quite right, had maybe made no sense, but since she couldn't remember what she'd said, it was hard to tell.