Fly Away (Firefly Lane 2)

Marah helped her into the bathroom, where Tully brushed her teeth and slipped into the white lawn nightgown hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Then she got back into the wheelchair and Marah maneuvered her to the bed. There, she helped Tully to her feet.

Tully faced her. In one look, Marah saw all of it: my job is to love you … the fight … you’re my best friend … and the lies.

“I missed you,” Tully said.

Marah burst into tears. Suddenly she was crying for all of it—for the loss of her mom, and for finding her in the journal, for the way she’d betrayed Tully and all the wounds she’d inflicted on people who loved her. “I’m so sorry, Tully. ”

Tully brought her hands up slowly, cupped Marah’s cheeks in her dry, papery palms. “Your voice brought me back. ”

“The Star article—”

“Old news. Here, help me into bed. I’m exhausted. ”

Marah wiped her eyes and pulled back the covers and helped Tully into bed. Then she climbed up into bed beside her, just like in the old days.

Tully was quiet for a long moment before she said, “It’s true, all that going-into-the-light/your-life-flashing-before-your-eyes stuff. When I was in the coma, I … left my body. I could see your dad in the hospital room with me. It was like I was hovering in the corner, looking down on what happened to this woman who looked just like me but wasn’t me. And I couldn’t take it, so I turned, and there was this … light, and I followed it, and the next thing I knew I was on my bike, on Summer Hill, riding in the dark. With your mom beside me. ”

Marah drew in a sharp breath, clamped a hand over her mouth.

“She’s with us, Marah. She will always be watching over you and loving you. ”

“I want to believe that. ”

“It’s a choice. ” Tully smiled. “She’s glad you ditched the pink hair, by the way. I was supposed to tell you that. Oh, and there was one more thing…” She frowned, as if trying to remember. “Oh. Yeah. She said, ‘All things come to an end, even this story. ’ Does that make sense?”

“It’s from The Hobbit,” Marah said. Maybe someday you’ll feel alone with your sadness, not ready to share it with me or Daddy, and you’ll remember this book in your nightstand.

“The kids’ book? That’s weird. ”

Marah smiled. She didn’t think it was weird at all.

* * *

“I’m Dorothy, and I’m an addict. ”

“Hi, Dorothy!”

She stood in the middle of the ragtag circle of people who had come to tonight’s Narcotics Anonymous meeting. As usual, the meeting took place in the old church on Front Street in Snohomish.

In the cool, dimly lit room that smelled of stale coffee and drying donuts, she talked about her recovery and how long it had taken her and what a dark road it had sometimes been. She needed this tonight, of all nights.

At the close of the meeting, she left the small wooden church and got onto her bicycle. For the first time in ages, she didn’t stop to talk to anyone after the meeting. She was too edgy to play nice.

It was a blue-black evening, full of swaying trees and tiny stars. She rode along the main street, indicated her turn, and headed out of town.

At her place, she veered down onto the driveway and came to a stop. Balancing her bike carefully against the side of the house, she went to the front door and turned the knob. Inside, everything was quiet. There was a leftover aroma in the air—spaghetti, maybe—and some fresh basil. A few lights had been left on, but mostly it was quiet.

She reslung her purse over her shoulder and closed the door behind her. The sharp, pungent smell of drying lavender filled her nostrils. She moved silently through the house. Everywhere she looked she saw evidence of the party she’d missed—the WELCOME HOME banner, the stack of brightly colored napkins on the counter, the wineglasses drying by the sink.

What a coward she was.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water from the sink and then leaned back against the counter, gulping the liquid as if she were dying of thirst. In front of her, the shadowy hallway unfurled. On one side was her bedroom door; on the other was Tully’s.

Coward, she thought again. Instead of going down the hallway, doing what needed to be done, she found herself drifting through the house, heading toward the back door, going out onto the deck.

She smelled cigarette smoke.

“You were waiting for me?” she said quietly.