Fly Away Read Free Page B

young—him
     thirty, her twenty-five—but only she had been naïve. Is it always like that? she’d asked him quietly.
    Love had come to him like that, long before he’d been ready. No, he’d said, unable even then to lie to her. It’s not .
    After he and Kate had married, they’d watched Tully’s meteoric rise in journalism
     from afar, but no matter how separate Kate’s life became from Tully’s, the two women
     stayed closer than sisters. They’d talked on the phone almost daily and Tully had
     come to their home for most holidays. When she’d given up on the networks and New
     York and returned to Seattle to create her own daytime talk show, Tully had begged
     Johnny to produce the TV show. Those had been good years. Successful years. Until
     cancer and Kate’s death had torn everything apart.
    He couldn’t help remembering now. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He knew when
     it had begun to unravel.
    At Kate’s funeral, almost four years ago. October of 2006. They’d been in the first
     row of St. Cecilia’s Church, sitting bunched together …
    stiff and bleak-eyed, acutely aware of why they were here. They’d been in this church
     many times over the years, for Midnight Mass at Christmas and for Easter services,
     but it was different now. Instead of golden, glittery decorations, there were white
     lilies everywhere. The air in the church was cloyingly sweet.
    Johnny sat Marine-straight, his shoulders back. He was supposed to be strong now for
     his children, their children, her children. It was a promise he’d made to her as she
     lay dying, but it was already hard to keep. Inside, he was dry as sand. Sixteen-year-old
     Marah sat equally rigid beside him, her hands folded in her lap. She hadn’t looked
     at him in hours, maybe in days. He knew he should bridge that divide, force her to
     connect, but when he looked at her, he lost his nerve. Their combined grief was as
     deep and dark as the sea. So he sat with his eyes burning, thinking, Don’t cry. Be strong.
    He made the mistake of glancing to his left, where a large easel held a poster of
     Kate. In the picture, she was a young mother, standing on the beach in front of their
     Bainbridge Island house, her hair windblown, her smile as bright as a beacon in the
     night, her arms flung wide to welcome the three children running toward her. She had
     asked him to find that picture for her, one night when they lay in bed together, with
     their arms around each other. He’d heard the question and knew what it meant. Not yet, he’d murmured into her ear, stroking her bald head.
    She hadn’t asked him again.
    Of course she hadn’t. Even at the end, she’d been the stronger one, protecting all
     of them with her optimism.
    How many words had she hoarded in her heart so that he wouldn’t be wounded by her
     fear? How alone had she felt?
    God. She had been gone for only two days.
    Two days and already he wanted a do-over. He wanted to hold her again, and say, Tell me, baby, what are you afraid of?
    Father Michael stepped up to the pulpit, and the congregation—already quiet—grew still.
    “I’m not surprised so many people are here to say goodbye to Kate. She was an important
     person to so many of us—”
    Was.
    “You won’t be surprised that she gave me strict orders for this service, and I don’t
     want to disappoint her. She wanted me to tell you all to hold on to each other. She
     wanted you to take your sorrow and transform it into the joy that remains with life.
     She wanted you to remember the sound of her laughter and the love she had for her
     family. She wanted you to live .” His voice broke. “That was Kathleen Mularkey Ryan. Even at the end, she was thinking
     of others.”
    Marah groaned quietly.
    Johnny reached for her hand. She startled at his touch and looked at him, and there
     it was, that unfathomable grief as she pulled away.
    Music started up. It sounded far away at first, or maybe that was the roar of sound
     in