The music, our music, brings her back to me in a way no spoken words ever could.

"Katie," I murmur as if she were beside me.

I see people backing away from me.

I don't care what they think. I turn and there she is.

Kate.

I come to a stop in front of an easel. On it is a picture of Kate and me. In it, we are young and smiling, with our arms looped around each other. I can't remember when it was taken-the nineties, judging by my completely unflattering "Rachel" haircut and vest and cargo pants.

Grief pulls the legs out from underneath me and I fall to my knees. The tears I have been holding back all day burst out of me in great, wracking sobs. The music changes to Journey's Don ... n't stop bee-lieving and I cry even harder.

How long am I there? Forever.

Finally, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a gentle touch. I look up and see Margie through my tears. The tenderness in her gaze makes me cry again.

"Come on," she says, helping me to my feet. I cling to her, let her help me into the kitchen, which is busy with women doing dishes, and then into the laundry room, where it is quiet. We hold on to each other but say nothing. What is there to say? The woman we love is gone.

Gone.

And suddenly I am beyond tired. I am exhausted. I feel myself drooping like a fading tulip. Mascara stings my eyes; my vision is still watery with tears. I touch Margie's shoulder, noticing how thin and fragile she has become.

I follow her out of the shadowy laundry room and make my way back into the living room, but I know instantly that I can't be here anymore. To my shame, I can't do what Kate asked of me. I can't pretend to celebrate her life. Me, who has spent a lifetime pretending to be fine-good-great, can't do that now. It is too soon.

The next thing I know, it's morning. Before I even open my eyes it hits me. She's gone.

I groan out loud. Is this my new life, this constant rediscovery of loss?

As I get out of bed, I feel a headache start. It gathers behind my eyes, pulses. I have cried in my sleep again. It is an old childhood habit that grief has reanimated. It reminds me that I am fragile.

It is a state of being that offends me, but I can't seem to find the strength to combat it.

My bedroom feels foreign to me, too. I have hardly been here in the last five months. In June, when I found out about Kate's cancer, I changed my life in an instant; I walked away from everything-my mega-successful TV talk show and my condominium-and dedicated my life to caring for my best friend.

My phone rings and I stumble toward it, grateful for any distraction. The caller ID says Ryan and my first thought is, Kate's calling, and I feel a spike of joy. Then I remember.

I pick up, hearing the strain in my voice as I say, "Hello?"

"What happened to you last night?" Johnny says without even bothering to say hi.

"I couldn't take it," I say, slumping onto the floor by my bed. "I tried."

"Yeah. Big surprise."

"What does that mean?" I sit up. "The music? It's what Kate wanted."

"Did you even talk to your goddaughter?"

"I tried," I say, stung. "She only wanted to be with her friends. And I read the boys a story before bed. But..." My voice cracks. "I couldn't stand it, Johnny. Being without her..."

"You were okay for the two years of your fight."

I draw in a sharp breath. He has never said anything like this before. In June, when Kate called and I came running to the hospital, Johnny welcomed me back into the family without a word. "She forgave me. And believe me, I was not okay."

"Yeah."

"Are you saying you didn't forgive me?"

He sighs. "None of this matters anymore," he says after a pause. "She loved you. That's that. And we're all hurting. Christ. How are we going to make it? Every time I look at the bed, or at her clothes in the closet..." He clears his throat. "We're going to Kauai today."

"What?"

"We need time together now. You said so yourself. Our flight is at two, on Hawaiian."

"That's not much time to get ready," I say. An image blossoms in my mind-the five of us on the beach, healing together. "It's perfect. Sunshine and-"

"Yeah. I gotta go."

He's right. We can talk later. Now, I need to hurry.

I hang up and get moving. Packing for paradise takes no time at all, and in less than twenty minutes, I am packed and showered. I pull my damp hair into a stubby ponytail and dash on makeup as quickly as I can. Johnny hates it when I'm late. Tully-time, he calls it, and he's not smiling when he says it.

In my walk-in closet, I find a teal and white Lilly Pulitzer dress and pair it with silver high-heeled sandals and a white straw hat.

As I slip into the jersey dress, I imagine this vacation. It is something I need-this time away with the only family I have. We will grieve together, share memories, and keep Kate's spirit alive among us.

We need each other. God knows I need them.

I am ready at 11:20-only a few minutes later than optimal-and I call for a Town Car. I'm not that late. No one really needs two hours at the airport.

I grab my small rolling bag and leave the condo. Downstairs, a black Town Car is waiting in front of the building.

"SeaTac," I say, depositing my luggage at the curb by the trunk.

Surprisingly, the traffic is sluggish on this warm autumn morning. I look at my watch repeatedly.

"Go faster," I say to the driver, tapping my foot on the floor. At SeaTac, we pull up to the terminal and I am out of the car before the driver can even open his door. "Hurry up," I say, waiting for him to get my luggage, checking my watch. It is 11:47. I am late.

Finally, I get my bag and I run, holding my hat on my head and dragging the suitcase behind me. My big straw bag keeps slipping off my shoulder, scratching my bare arm. The terminal is crowded. It takes me a minute to find them in the crowd, but there they are, over by the Hawaiian Airlines ticket counter.

"I'm here!" I yell, waving like a game show contestant trying to get noticed. I run toward them. Johnny stares at me in confusion. Have I done something wrong?

I come to a breathless stop. "What? What's wrong? If it's the time, I did my best."