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She didnt look anything like herself; rather, she looked like a frail old woman whod been beaten by more than someones fists—by life itself.
"Hey, Cloud," Tully said, surprised to find that her throat was tight. She gently stroked her mothers temple, the only place on her face that wasnt bloodied or bruised. As she felt the velvety soft skin, she realized that the last time shed touched her mother had been in 1970, when theyd held hands on that crowded Seattle street.
She wished she knew what to say to this woman, with whom she had a history but no present. So she just talked. She told her about the show and her life and how successful shed become. When that started to sound hollow and desperate, she talked about Kate and their fight and how it had left her feeling so alone. As the words formed themselves and spilled out, Tully heard the truth in them. Losing the Ryans and Mularkeys had left her devastatingly alone. Cloud was all she had left. How pathetic was that?
"Were all alone in this world, havent you figured that out by now?"
Tully hadnt noticed her mother wake up, and yet she was conscious now, and looking at Tully through tired eyes. "Hey," she said, smiling, wiping her eyes. "What happened to you?"
"I got beat up. "
"I wasnt asking what put you in the hospital. I was asking what happened to you. "
Cloud flinched and turned away. "Oh. That. I guess your precious grandmother never told you, huh?" She sighed. "It doesnt matter now. "
Tully drew in a sharp breath. This was the most meaningful conversation theyd ever had; she felt poised on the edge of some essential discovery that had eluded her for all her years. "I think it does. "
"Go away, Tully. " Cloud turned her face into the pillow.
"Not until you tell me why. " Her voice trembled on that question; of course it did. "Why didnt you ever love me?"
"Forget about me. "
"Honestly, I wish I could. But youre my mother. "
Cloud turned back and stared at her, and for a moment, no longer than it took to blink, Tully saw sadness in her mothers eyes. "You break my heart," she said quietly.
"You break mine, too. "
Cloud smiled for a second. "I wish . . . "
"What?"
"I could be what you need, but I cant. You need to let me go. "
"I dont know how to do that. After everything, youre still my mother. "
"I was never your mother. We both know that. "
"Ill always keep coming back," Tully said, realizing just then that it was true. They might be damaged, she and her mother, but they were connected, too, in a strange and profound way. This dance of theirs, as painful as it had always been, wasnt quite over. "Someday youll be ready for me. "
"How do you keep hold of a dream like that?"
"With both hands. " She would have added, no matter what, but the promise reminded her of Kate and hurt too much to utter aloud.
Her mother sighed and closed her eyes. "Go away. "
Tully stood there a long time, her hands curled around the metal bed rails. She knew her mother was pretending sleep; she also knew when it became real. When intermittent snores filled the silence, she went to the small closet in the room, found a folded-up blanket, and grabbed it. That was when she noticed the small pile of clothes folded neatly in the corner on the closets bottom self. Beside it was a brown paper grocery bag, rolled closed at the top.
She covered her mother with the blanket, tucked it up beneath her chin, and returned to the closet.
She wasnt sure why she went through her mothers things, what she was looking for. At first, it was the stuff shed expected: dirty, worn clothes, shoes with holes along the soles, a makeshift toiletry set in a plastic baggie, cigarettes and a lighter.
Then she saw it, coiled neatly at the bottom of the sack—a frayed piece of string, knotted into a circle, with two pieces of dried macaroni and a single blue bead strung on it.
The necklace Tully had made in her Bible study class and given to her mother on that day, so many years ago, when theyd left Grans house in the VW bus. Her mother had kept it, all this time.
Tully didnt touch it. She was afraid somehow that shed find it existed only in her mind. She turned to her mother, went to the bed. "You kept it," she said, feeling something brand-new open up inside her. A kind of hope—not the spit-shined little-girl variety, but something tarnished and worn; more reflective of who they were and where theyd been. Still, it was there, under all the rust and discoloration: hope. "You know how to hold on to a dream, too, dont you, Cloud?"
