The crowd blurred before Tully's eyes. At first she thought the rain had picked up. Then she realized she was remembering all that she'd gone through in the last few years and crying for this evidence that she hadn't been forgotten after all.

"They love you, Tul. I hear Barbara Walters wants an interview."

She didn't even know what to say to that. It didn't matter anyway; Johnny was on the move. He grabbed the chair's rubberized handles and wheeled her out of the hospital room. She gave one last thoughtful look as she left.

In the lobby, he stopped and set the brake. "I won't be long. I'll just send your fans and the reporters on their way."

He positioned her against the wall, with the lobby behind her, and went through the glass pneumatic doors.

On this late August afternoon, a light rain drizzled down even as the sun shone. This was what locals called sun breaks.

As Johnny came forward, cameras pointed at him, flashes blinked on and off. The signs-WE YOU TULLY ; GET WELL; WE'RE PRAYING FOR YOU-lowered slowly.

"I know you have been apprised of Tully Hart's miraculous recovery. And it is miraculous. The doctors here at Sacred Heart, especially Dr. Reginald Bevan, gave Tully exceptional care and I know she'd want me to thank them for her. I know she'd want me to thank her fans, too, many of whom prayed for this recovery."

"Where is she?" someone yelled.

"We want to see her!"

Johnny held up a hand for silence. "I'm sure you can all understand that Tully is focused on her recovery right now. She-"

A gasp went through the crowd. The people in front of Johnny turned as one, faced the hospital doors. The photographers began jostling into one another, their flashes erupting.

Tully sat just outside the hospital doors, which kept whooshing open and closed behind her. She was out of breath, and the chair was cockeyed, no doubt because she was too weak to roll herself steadily forward. A gentle rain fell on her helmet and splotched her blouse. He went to her.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

"Abso ... lutely not. Let's do it."

He wheeled her forward; the crowd quieted.

She smiled uneasily at them, said, "I've looked better."

The roar of approval almost knocked Johnny back. Signs shot back up into the air.

"Thank you," she said when the crowd finally quieted.

"When will you go back on air?" one of the reporters yelled.

She looked out across the crowd, and then at Johnny, who knew her so well, who'd been with her from the beginning of her career. She saw the way he looked at her: Was he remembering her at twenty-one, when she'd been a firebrand who sent him a resume a day for months and worked for free? He knew how desperately she had always needed to be someone. Hell, she'd given up everything to be loved by strangers.

She drew in a deep breath and said, "No more." She wanted to explain herself, to say that she was done with fame, that she didn't need it anymore, but it was just too hard to gather all those words together and put them in order. She knew what mattered now.

The crowd erupted in noise; questions were hurled at Tully.

She turned to Johnny.

"I've never been more proud of you," he said, too softly for anyone to hear.

"For quitting?"

He touched her face with a gentleness that made her breath catch. "For never quitting."

With the crowd still yelling questions, Johnny took control of the wheelchair and steered her back into the hospital lobby.

In no time, they were in the car and heading north on I-5.

Where were they going? She was supposed to be going home. "Wrong way."

"Are you in the driver's seat?" Johnny asked. He didn't glance at her, but she could tell he was smiling. "No. You're not. You're in the passenger seat. I know you've recently suffered a brain injury, but I'm sure you remember that the driver drives the car and the passenger enjoys the view."

"Where ... we going?"

"Snohomish."

For the first time, Tully thought about her year-long coma. How come no one had told her where she'd been all that time? Were they keeping it from her? And why hadn't the question occurred to her before this? "Have Bud and Margie been taking care of me?"

"Nope."

"You?"

"No."

She frowned. "Nursing home?"

He indicated a turn and exited the highway toward Snohomish. "You've been staying at your house in Snohomish. With your mother."

"My mother?"

His gaze softened. "There have been more than a few miracles in all of this."

Tully didn't even know what to say. It would have been less surprising to hear that Johnny Depp had nursed her through the long dark months.

And yet, a memory teased her, came close, and then darted away. A slippery combination of words and light. The smell of lavender and Love's Baby Soft ... Billy, don't be a hero ...

Katie saying, Listen. It's your mother.

Johnny pulled up in front of the house on Firefly Lane and stopped, turning toward Tully. After a long pause, he said, "I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am."

The tenderness she felt for this man was so sharp it was almost pain. How could she make him understand what she'd learned in that darkness-and in the light? "I saw her," she said quietly.

He frowned. "Her?"

She saw when he understood.

"Katie."

"Oh."