What he wanted to say was, Don't we all? What he said was, "Your mom would hate to hear that. She would tell you that everything works out the way it's supposed to and not to give up hope until you have to, and-"

"Certainly not then," Marah said quietly, her voice an echo of his.

For a beautiful second, he felt Katie beside him. The leaves rustled overhead.

"I want to see Dr. Bloom again, if that's okay."

Johnny looked up briefly, saw a movement of the shadowy Mason jar. Thank you, Katie. "I'll make an appointment."

CHAPTER Twenty-six

September 14, 2010

9:13 A.M.

On the day before Tully was to be brought home, the Ryans and Mularkeys descended on the house on Firefly Lane like a professional cleaning crew. Dorothy had never seen people work so hard or get along so well.

The back bedroom-Tully's at fourteen and now again at fifty-had been stripped down and scrubbed and painted a beautiful sky blue. The hospital bed had been delivered and set up to face the room's only window. From her place in bed, Tully would be able to look through the open sash window, across the vegetable field, to her once-best-friend's old house. The new bedding-picked out by Marah-was pretty white matelasse with a raised floral pattern, and the twin boys had chosen pictures to put on the dresser-there were at least a dozen of them, all told; pictures of Kate and Tully throughout their lives, of Tully holding a pink-faced infant, of Johnny and Tully accepting some award onstage. Dorothy wished she had a picture of herself and Tully to add to the collection, but there simply were none. In the middle of it all, a nurse showed up from the coma care company and talked to Dorothy for at least two hours about how to handle Tully's daily care.

When everyone finally left, Dorothy walked from room to room, telling herself she could do this. She read through the nurse's handouts and materials twice, making notes in the margins.

Twice, she'd almost gone for a drink, but in the end she'd made it through, and now she was in the hospital again, walking down the bright corridor toward her daughter's room. Smiling at one of the floor nurses, she opened the door and went inside.

There was a man sitting by her daughter's bed, reading. At Dorothy's entrance, he looked up. She noticed several things about him at once: he was young, probably not more than forty-five, and there was an exotic, multicultural look to him. His hair was drawn back into a ponytail and she was pretty sure that beneath his white doctor's coat would be worn, faded jeans and a T-shirt from some rock band. He wore the same plastic clogs that were her favorite.

"I'm sorry," he said, rising, setting the book aside. She saw it was something called Shantaram. It was a thick book and he was halfway through it.

"Are you reading to her?"

He nodded, coming forward, extending his hand. "I'm Desmond Grant, an ER doc."

"Dorothy. I'm her mother."

"Well. I should be getting back to work."

"You visit her often?"

"I try to come in either before or after my shifts. I see her a lot in the middle of the night." He smiled. "I hear she's going home today."

"Yes. In about an hour."

"It was nice to meet you." He headed for the door.

"Desmond?"

He turned back. "Yes?"

"Seventeen Firefly Lane. In Snohomish. That's where we'll be. If you want to finish reading her that book."

"Thanks, Dorothy. I'd like that."

She watched him leave and then walked over to the bed. In the eleven days since the accident, Tully's facial bruising had changed color, gone from a deep plum color to a rotten-banana brown. The dozens of tiny lacerations had scabbed over; only a few oozed yellow pus. Her full lips were cracked and dry.

Dorothy reached into her baggy smock pocket, pulling out a small jar of bee cream. Using the pad of her forefinger, she glazed the soft mixture across Tully's slack lips. "That will make them feel better, I think. How did you sleep last night?

"Me? Not so good," she went on, as if they were conversing. "I was nervous about your homecoming. I don't want to let you down. You don't think I will? I'm glad of that."

She placed a hand on her daughter's dry, bald scalp. "You'll wake up when you're ready. Healing takes time. Don't I know that?"

Just as she finished the sentence, the door opened and Dr. Bevan and Johnny came into the room.

"There you are, Dorothy," the doctor said, stepping aside to allow several nurses and two paramedics into the room.

She managed a smile. If it took all these people just to transport Tully, how in heaven did Dorothy think she could care for her alone?

"Breathe, Dorothy," Johnny said, coming up beside her.

She gave him a grateful look.

After that, everything moved quickly. Tully was transported from the bed to a gurney, disconnected from the IV and machines, and wheeled away. At the front desk, Dorothy signed a bunch of paperwork, collected some discharge papers and care procedure brochures and a set of notes from Dr. Bevan. By the time she was in Johnny's car, following the ambulance, she felt sick with worry.

On Columbia, they drove downhill-and there was the rough gray stanchion Tully had hit. Beneath it, on the pavement, a makeshift memorial had sprung up. Balloons and dying flowers and candles created a little shrine of sorts. A sign read WAKE UP, TULLY. Another read WE'RE PRAYING 4 U.

"Do you think she knows how many people are praying for her?" she asked.

"I hope so."

Dorothy fell silent after that. She sat back in the comfortable leather seat and watched the scenery go from city to town to country, from high-rises to low fences, from bumper-to-bumper traffic to slow, winding tree-lined roads with only a few other cars in sight. At home, they pulled up behind the ambulance and parked.

Dorothy hustled ahead to open the front door and turn on the lights and led the paramedics to Tully's bedroom, where the Ryan kids had tacked up a huge WELCOME HOME, TULLY poster.

Dorothy shadowed the paramedics, asked them questions, and studiously wrote down their answers.

All too quickly, it was done. Tully was in her room, apparently sleeping, and the ambulance was gone.

"Do you want me to stay?" Johnny asked.

Dorothy had been so lost in her own thoughts that his voice surprised her. "Oh. No. But thank you."

"Marah will be here Thursday. She's bringing food. And I'll be here for the weekend with the boys. Margie and Bud gave us the keys to the house across the street."

Today was Monday.

"And Margie wanted me to remind you that she's only a few hours away. If you change your mind and need help, she'll be on the next flight."