Free Fly Away by Kristin Hannah Page A

If it’s the time, I did my best.”
    “You’re always late,” Margie says with a sad smile. “It’s not that.”
    “Am I overdressed? I have shorts and flip-flops.”
    “Tully!” Marah says, grinning. “Thank God.”
    Johnny moves in closer to me. Margie eases away at the same time. Their movements
     feel staged, as choreographed as something from Swan Lake, and it bothers me. Johnny takes me by the arm and pulls me aside.
    “You aren’t invited on this trip, Tul. It’s just the four of us. I can’t believe you
     thought—”
    I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, hard. The only thing I can think of
     to say is, “Oh. You said ‘we.’ I thought you meant me, too.”
    “You understand,” he says, phrasing it as a statement, not a question.
    Apparently I am a fool for not understanding.
    I feel like that abandoned ten-year-old again, sitting on a dirty city stoop, forgotten
     by my mother, wondering why I am so easy to leave behind.
    The twins come up on either side of us, jubilant in their excitement, amped up on
     the idea of adventure. They have unruly brown hair that is too long and curling at
     the ends and bright blue eyes and smiles that have returned since yesterday.
    “You comin’ to Kauai with us, Tully?” Lucas says.
    “We’re gonna surf, ” Wills says, and I can imagine how aggressive he will be in the water.
    “I have to work,” I say, even though everyone knows that I walked away from my show.
    “Yeah,” Marah says. “Cuz, like, having you come would make it fun, so natch you’re
     not coming.”
    I untangle myself from the boys and go to Marah, who is standing by herself, doing
     something on her phone. “Cut your old man some slack. You’re too young to know about
     true love, but they found it, and now she’s gone.”
    “And, like, sand is going to help?”
    “Marah—”
    “Can I stay with you?”
    I want it so badly I feel sick, and although I am notoriously self-centered—in fights,
     Kate often called me narcissistic—I know a bone-crushing fall when I see it. This
     is not about me. And Johnny is in no mood for this. I can see it. “No, Marah. Not
     this time. You need to be with your family.”
    “I thought you were part of the family.”
    Have fun is all I can manage.
    “Whatever.”
    As I watch them walk away, I feel scaldingly, achingly alone. None of them looks back
     at me.
    Margie moves closer and touches my face. Her soft, lined palm presses against my cheek.
     I smell the citrusy hand lotion she loves; that and the barest hint of menthol cigarettes.
    “They need this,” she says quietly. I hear the raspy sound of her voice and know how
     tired she is—to her bones. “Are you okay?”
    Her daughter is dead and she is worried about me. I close my eyes, wishing I could
     be stronger.
    Then I hear her crying; it is a sound as soft as a feather falling, almost lost in
     the airport noise. She has been strong for so long, strong for her daughter and everyone.
     I know there are no words, so I offer none. I just pull her into my arms and hold
     her close. Finally, she lets go and steps back.
    “You want to come home with us?”
    I don’t want to be alone, but I can’t go to the house on Firefly Lane. Not yet. “I
     can’t,” I say, and I see that she understands.
    After that, we go our separate ways.
    *   *   *
    At home, I pace the rooms of my high-rise condominium. It has never been a home, this
     place. No one has ever lived here except me, and I have really only resided here.
     There are few personal mementos or knickknacks. My designer pretty much chose everything
     and apparently she liked ivory. Everything is some shade of off-white: marble floors,
     nubby winter-white furniture, and stone and glass tables.
    It is beautiful in its way, and looks like the home of a woman who has it all. But
     here I am, forty-six, and alone.
    Work.
    My career has been my choice, over and over. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had
     dreams