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"Yes, Mr. Rorbach?"
"This is the ABC affiliate, for gosh sakes. We dont hire high school kids. "
"But you have interns. "
"From UW and other colleges. Our interns know their way around a TV station. Most of them have already worked on their campus broadcasts. Im sorry, but youre just not ready. "
"Oh. "
They stared at each other.
"Ive been at this job a long time, Ms. Hart, and Ive rarely seen anyone as full of ambition as you. " He patted the folder of her letters again. "Ill tell you what, you keep sending me your writing. Ill keep an eye out for you. "
"So when Im ready to be a reporter, youll hire me?"
He laughed. "You just send me the articles. And get good grades and go to college, okay? Then well see. "
Tully felt energized again. "Ill send you an update once a month. Youll hire me someday, Mr. Rorbach. Youll see. "
"I wouldnt bet against you, Ms. Hart. "
They talked for a few more moments, and then Mr. Rorbach showed her out of his office. On the way to the stairs, he stopped at the trophy case, where dozens of Emmys and other news awards glinted golden in the light.
"Ill win an Emmy someday," she said, touching the glass with her fingertips. She refused to let herself be wounded by this setback, and that was all it was: a setback.
"You know what, Tallulah Hart, I believe you. Now go off to high school and enjoy your senior year. Real life comes fast enough. "
Outside, it looked like a postcard of Seattle; the kind of blue-skied, cloudless, picture-perfect day that lured out-of-towners into selling their homes in duller, less spectacular places and moving here. If only they knew how rare these days were. Like a rocket blaster, summer burned fast and bright in this part of the world and went out with equal speed.
Holding her grandfathers thick black briefcase against her chest, she walked up the street toward the bus stop. On an elevated track above her head, the monorail thundered past, making the ground quake.
All the way home, she told herself it was really an opportunity; now shed be able to prove her worth in college and get an even better job.
But no matter how she tried to recast it, the sense of having failed wouldnt release its hold. When she got home she felt smaller somehow, her shoulders weighted down.
She unlocked the front door and went inside, tossing the briefcase on the kitchen table.
Gran was in the living room, sitting on the tattered old sofa, with her stockinged feet on the crushed velvet ottoman and an unfinished sampler in her lap. Asleep, she snored lightly.
At the sight of her grandmother, Tully had to force a smile. "Hey, Gran," she said softly, moving into the living room, bending down to touch her grandmothers knobby hand. She sat down beside her.
Gran came awake slowly. Behind the thick old-fashioned glasses, her confused gaze cleared. "How did it go?"
"The assistant news director thought I was too qualified, can you believe it? He said the position was a dead end for someone with my skills. "
Gran squeezed her hand. "Youre too young, huh?"
The tears shed been holding back stung her eyes. Embarrassed, she brushed them away. "I know theyll offer me a job as soon as I get into college. Youll see. Ill make you proud. "
Gran gave her the poor-Tully look. "Im already proud. Its Dorothys attention you want. "
Tully leaned against her grans slim shoulder and let herself be held. In a few moments, she knew this pain would fade again; like a sunburn, it would heal itself and leave her slightly more protected from the glare. "Ive got you, Gran, so she doesnt matter. "
Gran sighed tiredly. "Why dont you call your friend Katie now? But dont stay on too long. Its expensive. "
Just the thought of that, talking to Kate, lifted Tullys spirits. With the long-distance charges what they were, they rarely got to call each other. "Thanks, Gran. I will. "
The next week Tully got a job at the Queen Anne Bee, her neighborhood weekly newspaper. Her duties pretty much matched the measly per-hour wage they paid her, but she didnt care. She was in the business. She spent almost every waking hour of the summer of 77 in the small, cramped offices, soaking up every bit of knowledge she could. When she wasnt bird-dogging the reporters or making copies or delivering coffee, she was at home, playing gin rummy with Gran for matchsticks. Every Sunday night, like clockwork, she wrote to Kate and shared the minute details of her week.
Now she sat at her little-girls desk in her bedroom and reread this weeks eight-page letter, then signed it Best Friends Forever, Tully , and carefully folded it into thirds.
On her desk was the most recent postcard from Kate, who was away on the Mularkey familys yearly camping trip. Kate called it Hell Week with Bugs, but Tully was jealous of each perfect-sounding moment. She wished that shed been able to go on the vacation with them; turning down the invitation had been one of the most difficult things shed done. But between her all-important summer job and Grans declining health, shed had no real choice.
She glanced down at her friends note, rereading the words shed already memorized. Playing hearts at night and roasting marshmallows, swimming in the freezing lake . . .
She forced herself to look away. It didnt do any good in life to pine for what you couldnt have. Cloud had certainly taught her that lesson.
She put her own letter in an envelope, addressed it, then went downstairs to check on Gran, who was already asleep.
Alone, Tully watched her favorite Sunday night television programs—All in the Family, Alice, and Kojak—and then closed up the house and went to bed. Her last thought as she drifted lazily toward sleep was to wonder what the Mularkeys were doing.
The next morning she woke at her usual time, six oclock, and dressed for work. Sometimes, if she arrived early enough at the office, one of the reporters would let her help with the days stories.
She hurried down the hall and tapped on the last door. Though she hated to wake her grandmother, it was the house rule. No leaving without a goodbye. "Gran?"
She tapped again and pushed the door open slowly, calling out, "Gran . . . Im leaving for work. "
Cool lavender shadows lay along the windowsills. The samplers that decorated the walls were boxes without form or substance in the gloom.
Gran lay in bed. Even from here, Tully could see the shape of her, the coil of her white hair, the ruffle of her nightdress . . . and the stillness of her chest.
"Gran?"
She moved forward, touched her grandmothers velvet, wrinkled cheek. The skin was cold as ice. No breath came from her slack lips.
Tullys whole world seemed to tilt, slide off its foundation. It took all her strength to stand there, staring down at her grandmothers lifeless face.
Her tears were slow in forming; it was as if each one were made of blood and too thick to pass through her tear ducts. Memories came at her like a kaleidoscope: Gran braiding her hair for her seventh birthday party, telling her that her mommy might show up if she prayed hard enough, and then years later admitting that sometimes God didnt answer a little girls prayers, or a grown womans, either; or playing cards last week, laughing as Tully swept up the discard pile—again—saying, "Tully, you dont have to have every card, all the time . . . "; or kissing her goodnight so gently.
She had no idea how long she stood there, but by the time she leaned over and kissed Grans papery cheek, sunlight had eased through the sheer curtains, lighting the room. It surprised Tully, that brightness. Without Gran, it seemed this room should be dark.
"Come on, Tully," she said.
There were things she was supposed to do now; she knew that. She and Gran had talked about this, done things to prepare. Tully knew, though, that no words could have really prepared her for this.
She went over to Grans nightstand, where a pretty rosewood box sat beneath the photo of Grandpa and alongside the battalion of medications.
She lifted the lid, feeling vaguely l
ike a thief, but Gran expected this of her. When I go Home, Gran always said, Ill leave you something in the box Grandpa bought me.
Inside, laying atop the cluster of inexpensive jewelry that Tully could rarely remember her Grandmother wearing, was a folded piece of pink paper with Tullys name written on it.
Slowly, she reached out, took the letter, and opened it.
My dearest Tully—
I am so sorry. I know how afraid you are of being alone, of being left behind, but God has His plan for all of us. I would have stayed with you longer if I could have. Your grandfather and I will always be watching out for you from Heaven. You will never be alone if you believe in that.
You were the greatest joy of my life.
Love, Gran
Were.
Gran was gone.
Tully stood outside the church, watching the crowd of elderly people stream past her. A few of Grans friends recognized her and came over to offer their condolences.
Im so sorry dear . . .
. . . but shes in a better place . . .
. . . with her beloved Winston.
. . . wouldnt want you to cry.
She took as much of it as she could because she knew Gran would have wanted that, but by eleven oclock, she was ready to scream. Didnt any of the well-wishers see, didnt they realize that Tully was a seventeen-year-old girl, dressed in black and all alone in the world?
If only Katie and the Mularkeys were here, but she had no idea how to reach them in Canada, and since they wouldnt be home for two days, she had to endure this alone. With them beside her, a pretend family, maybe she would have made it through the service.
Without them, she simply couldnt do it. Instead of sitting through the terrible, heart-wrenching memories of Gran, she got up in the middle of the funeral and walked out.
Outside, in the hot August sunlight, she could breathe again, even though the tears were always near to the surface, as was the pointless query, How could you leave me like this?
Surrounded by dusty old-model land yachts, she tried not to cry. Mostly, she tried not to remember, or to worry about what would happen to her.
Nearby, a twig snapped and Tully looked up. At first all she saw were the haphazardly parked cars.
Then she saw her.
Over by the propertys edge, where a row of towering maple trees delineated the start of the city park, Cloud stood in the shade, smoking a long slim cigarette. Dressed in tattered corduroy bell-bottoms and a dirty peasant blouse, parenthesized by a wall of frizzy brown hair, she looked rail-thin.
Tully couldnt help the tiny leap of joy her heart took. Finally, she wasnt alone. Cloud might be a little nuts, but when the chips were down, she came back. Tully ran toward her, smiling. She would forgive her mother for all the missing years, all the abandonments. What mattered was that she was here now, when Tully needed her most. "Thank God youre here," she said, coming to a breathless stop. "You knew Id need you. "
Her mother lurched toward her, laughing when she almost fell. "Youre a beautiful spirit, Tully. All you need is air and to be free. "
Tullys stomach seemed to drop. "Not again," she said, pleading for help with her eyes. "Please . . . "
"Always. " There was an edge to Clouds voice now, a sharpness that belied the glassy look in her eyes.
"Im your flesh and blood and I need you now. Otherwise Ill be alone. " Tully knew she was whispering, but she couldnt seem to find any volume for her voice.