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Tully smoothed the hair away from her face and opened the door.
A small, dark-haired woman stood there, holding a foil-covered casserole dish. Electric-blue eye shadow accentuated her brown eyes, and rose-hued blush—applied with too heavy a hand—created the illusion of sharp cheekbones in her round face. "You must be Tully," the woman said in a voice that was higher somehow than expected. It was a girls voice, full of enthusiasm, and it matched the sparkle in her eyes. "Im Kates mom. Sorry to come without calling, but your line has been busy. "
Tully pictured the phone by her mothers bed off the hook. "Oh. "
"I brought you and your mom a tuna casserole for dinner. I imagine she doesnt feel much like cooking. My sister had cancer a few years ago, so I know the drill. " She smiled and stood there. Finally, her smile faded. "Are you going to invite me in?"
Tully froze. This is going to be bad, she thought. "Um . . . sure. "
"Thank you. " Mrs. Mularkey moved past her and went into the house.
Cloud lay on the sofa, sort of spread-eagled; she had a pile of marijuana on her stomach. Smiling blearily, she tried to sit up and failed. The failure made her shoot out a few swear words and then laugh. The whole house reeked of pot.
Mrs. Mularkey came to a stop. Confusion pleated her forehead. "Im Margie from next door," she said.
"Im Cloud," Tullys mother said, trying again to sit up. "Its cool to meet you. "
"And you. "
For a terrible, awkward moment, they just stared at each other. Tully had no doubt at all that Mrs. Mularkeys sharp eyes saw everything—the bong under the end table, the bag of Maui-wowie on the floor, the overturned, empty wineglass, and the pizza boxes on the table. "Also, I wanted to let you know that Im home most days, and Id be happy to drive you to the doctors office or run errands. I know how chemo can make you feel. "
Cloud frowned blearily. "Whos got cancer?"
Mrs. Mularkey turned to look at Tully, who wanted to curl up and die.
"Tully, show our cool neighbor with the food where the kitchen is. "
Tully practically ran for the kitchen. In that pink hell, junk food wrappers covered the table, dirty dishes clogged the sink, and overflowing ashtrays were everywhere; more evidence of her pathetic life for her best friends mother to see.
Mrs. Mularkey walked past her, bent over the oven, put the casserole onto the rack, then shut the door with her hip and then turned to study Tully. "My Katie is a good girl," she said at last.
Here it comes. "Yes, maam. "
"Shes been praying for your mother to recover from her cancer. She even has a little altar set up in her room. "
Tully looked at the floor, too ashamed to answer. How could she explain why shed lied? No answer would be good enough, not for a mother like Mrs. Mularkey, who loved her kids. At that, a wave of jealousy joined the shame running through her. Maybe if Tully had had a mother who loved her she wouldnt find it so easy—so necessary—to lie in the first place. And now shed lose the one thing that mattered to her: Katie.
"Do you think lying to your friends is okay?"
"No, maam. " So intently was she staring at the floor that she was startled by a gentle touch on her chin that forced her to look up.
"Are you going to be a good friend to Kate? Or the kind that leads her to trouble?"
"Id never hurt Katie. " Tully wanted to say more, maybe fall to her knees and swear to be a good person, but she was so close to tears she didnt dare move. She stared into Mrs. Mularkeys dark eyes and saw something she never expected: understanding.
In the living room, Cloud stumbled over to the television and changed the channel. Tully could see the screen through the rubble of the messy room: Jean Enersen was reporting on the days top story.
"You do it, dont you?" Mrs. Mularkey said quietly, as if she worried that Cloud might be eavesdropping. "Pay the bills, grocery-shop, clean the house. Who pays for everything?"
Tully swallowed hard. No one had ever seen through her life so clearly before. "My grandmother sends a check every week. "
"My dad was a fall-down drunk and the whole town knew it," Mrs. Mularkey said in a soft voice that matched the look in her eyes. "He was mean, too. Friday and Saturday nights, my sister, Georgia, would have to go to the tavern and drag him home. All the way out of the bar hed be smacking her and calling her names. She was like one of those rodeo clowns, always stepping between the bull and the cowboy. By the end of my junior year I figured out why she ran with the fast crowd and drank too much. "
"She didnt want people to look at her like she was pitiful. "
Mrs. Mularkey nodded. "She hated that look. What matters, though, isnt other people. Thats what I learned. Who your mom is and how she lives her life isnt a reflection of you. You can make your own choices. And theres nothing for you to be ashamed of. But youll have to dream big, Tully. " She glanced through the open door to the living room. "Like that Jean Enersen on the TV there. A woman who gets to a place like that in her life knows how to go after what she wants. "
"How do I know what I want?"
