Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour (134 page)

“I’m not going upstairs.”

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

She couldn’t help smiling at that. Leaning back in the soft cushions, she looked at him over the rim of her wineglass. In the firelight, he looked breathtakingly handsome. A thought flitted through her mind, seduced her.
Why not?
She could follow him upstairs, climb into his big bed, and let him make love to her. For a glorious while she could forget. Women did that kind of thing all the time.

“What are you thinking about?”

She was sure he could read her mind. A man like him knew every nuance of desire on a woman’s face. She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I was thinking about kissing you, actually.”

He leaned toward her. His breath smelled slightly of scotch. “And?”

“As my sister pointed out, I’m not your kind of woman.”

He drew back. “Believe me, Julia, your sister has no idea what kind of woman I want.”

She heard the edge in his voice and saw something in his eyes that surprised her. “I’ve been wrong about you,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“You certainly jumped to a lot of conclusions.”

She smiled at that. “Hazard of the trade. I tend to think I know people.”

“So you’re an expert on relationships, huh?”

She laughed ruefully. “Hardly.”

“Let me guess: you’re a one-man woman. A hearts and flowers romantic.”

“Now who’s jumping to conclusions?”

“Am I wrong?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know how romantic I am, but I only know one way to love.”

“How’s that?”

“All the way.”

A frown creased his forehead. “That’s dangerous.”

“Says the rock climber. When you climb, you risk your life. When I love, I risk my heart. All or nothing. I’m sure it sounds stupid to you.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” he said in a voice so soft it sent shivers down her spine. “You have that same passion for your work; I can tell.”

“Yes,” she said, surprised by the observation. “That’s why today was so hard.”

For a long moment they stared at each other. Max seemed to be looking for something in her eyes, or seeing something he didn’t understand. Finally he said, “When I worked in L.A., we used to get gang shootings almost every night. One bleeding, dying kid after another. The first few I stayed with long after my shift was over and then talked to their brothers and sisters, trying to make them understand how their lives would unfold if they didn’t change. By the end of the first year I quit giving them the speech and I quit standing by the bedsides all night. I couldn’t save them all.”

Their gazes locked. She felt as if she were falling into the endless sky of his eyes. “On good days, I know that. Today was not a good day. Or a good year, actually.”

“Tomorrow will be better.” He reached for her, pushed a thin strand of hair from her eyes.

It would have taken nothing to kiss him then; just a slight movement toward him. “You’re good at it,” she said shakily, drawing back.

“What?”

“Seducing women.”

“I’m not seducing you.”

But you are.
She put down her wineglass and stood. She needed some distance between them. “Thanks for all of this, Max. You really saved me tonight. I need to get back to Alice, though. I can’t be gone long.”

Slowly, he got to his feet and walked her to the door. Without saying a word, he led her to the garage. They got onto the motorcycle and drove home.

FOURTEEN

The motorcycle’s engine roared through the quiet night, loud enough to rattle the nearby trees. In Los Angeles, the noise would have set off a dozen car alarms; here, it fought with the endless quiet of the dark road. Max came to the end of the driveway and slowed down, then stopped and glanced back.

Deep in the trees, the small house was made smaller by the night. All that darkness reduced it to a few lit windows.

I only know one way to love.

All or nothing.

How was it that a few quietly spoken words could hit him so hard?

He took off his helmet and jammed it onto the sissy bar behind him.

Air. Freedom. That was what he needed now. Something to clear his head and erase that moment.

He hit the gas, went faster and faster, until he was rocketing down the road.

Everything was a blur of shadows. He knew he was going too fast—there were deer and elk out here that could kill him in the blink of an eye, and potholes that would bite his tire and send him flying through the air—but he didn’t care. As long as he was moving at this speed he couldn’t think about her.

The minute he turned onto his road and slowed down, though, it all came back.

He parked the bike in the garage and went into his dark, quiet house, immediately turning on every light and the stereo.

Noise and light aren’t life, Max.

It was Susi’s voice. Though she wasn’t here, had never been here, sometimes he saw his life through her eyes. Old habits were hard to break.

No dining room chairs, Max? No pictures on the wall. You can’t call this a home.

He’d kept it bare on purpose. Furniture didn’t matter to him; neither did decorations or comfort. He wanted a place where he could forget about all the things that made a house a home. Here, he could drink his drinks, watch sports on the big screen, and work in his woodshop.

All or nothing.

He should never have gone to her tonight, and he’d known it. After the press conference, he’d left the station as quickly as he could, intending to get on his bike and go home. Yet he’d waited outside, milled around in the darkness like a lovestruck kid.

The trouble was, he knew how hot the glare of that spotlight could be. When he’d looked at her there, behind all those microphones, trying so hard to be strong, he’d made a dangerous turn. He’d noticed her trembling lower lip and pale, pale face, her teary eyes, and his first thought had been that he wanted to kiss those tears away.

For the first time in seven years he’d been truly afraid, and not from misplacing his foot on a rock ledge or free-falling too far before pulling the rip cord. All those moments of feeling he’d accumulated in the past years were facsimiles of an emotion. He’d thought—honestly believed—that he couldn’t feel anymore unless his life was at risk. That was what had driven him to climb rock faces and jagged mountains: the need to
feel
again, even if it lasted only a moment.

Now he’d felt something again. All he’d had to do was look in Julia’s sad eyes.

Julia went into the house.

Ellie was in the living room, sitting on the sofa with the dogs spread across her lap. “It’s about time,” she said in a voice that held some irritation.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I was worried about you. The press conference was brutal.”

Julia sat on the overstuffed cushion and put her feet on the coffee table. She felt Ellie’s gaze on her face, but she didn’t turn to meet it. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause. Julia knew that her sister was trying to figure out what to say next.

“Don’t bother,” Julia said. “I just have to get through it. Again. At least this time I have Alice.”

“And me.”

Julia heard a shadow of hurt in her sister’s voice. “And you.” At that, Julia felt something in her chest relax.

“So where did you go tonight?”

Julia felt heat flare in her face. She glanced down at the dogs. “Max’s house.”

Ellie straightened. “Really? Max
never
takes women to his house.”

“I think he felt sorry for me.”

Ellie was staring at her now and frowning. “Did you—”

“No,” Julia said quickly. She didn’t even want to hear the words out loud. “Of course not.”

“You watch out for him,” Ellie said at last. “I’m not kidding, Jules. And I’m not jealous. Just be careful.”

Julia was touched by the concern. “I will be.” She stood up. “I’m beat. I’m going to crash. Thanks for waiting up for me.”

“Thanks for throwing yourself on the fire for us.”

Julia headed for the stairs. She was just reaching for the banister when Ellie called out her name. Julia paused and turned around. “Yeah?”

“Everything will be okay, you know. Sooner or later it’ll die down and they’ll remember how good you are at what you do.”

Julia released her breath. “That’s what Mom would have said to me.”

Ellie smiled.

Julia tried to hang on to those words, to let them be her armor. It was what she’d done as a child. Whenever she’d been wounded by some slight at school—or by her father’s inattention—she’d gone to her mother in tears.
Everything will be okay,
her mom would say, wiping the moisture from her cheeks and enfolding her in a hug that smelled of Suave shampoo and cigarettes.

She climbed the stairs to her room and went directly to the twin bed by the window.

Julia pulled the blankets up and covered the child, then bent down slowly and kissed her sweet, soft cheek.

She meant to rise, but knelt by the bed instead. Without realizing what she was going to do, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

Give me strength.

She kissed Alice’s cheek again, then climbed into her own narrow, lonely bed and fell asleep.

Something is wrong.

Girl senses it the second she opens her eyes. She stands still, sniffing the air. Many things, she has learned, can be sensed if one is quiet. The coming of snow smells like apples and makes her littlest finger swell up; a hunting bear makes a sound like snoring; danger can be heard in plenty of time if one is still and quiet. This was a lesson Her could never learn. In the lazy other days that she sometimes visits in her sleep, she remembers how Her used to try talking to Girl: always the noise, and the trouble that came afterward.

Now, in her safe place, hidden by the small trees, she stares through the leaves at the Sun-Haired Her, who is so silent.

Has Girl done something wrong?

Across the room, Sun Hair looks up. She looks sad, like maybe her eyes are going to start leaking again. And tired. That was how Her looked before she got dead.

“Comeherealis.” Sun Hair pats the bed.

Girl knows that movement, the touching of the bed. It means that Sun Hair will open the magic pictures and talk and talk.

Girl
loves
that. The sound of Her voice, the way she lets Girl be so close, the safety of curling up beside her.

“Comeherealis.”

Girl eases around the plants and shuffles forward, trying to be as small and still as possible, just in case she has done something Bad. She wishes Sun Hair would have on the happy face again; that makes Girl feel light. She keeps her head down, careful not to make eye contact. At Sun Hair’s feet, she drops to her knees.

The touch on her forehead is soft and gentle. Girl looks up.

“Thisisgoingtobedifficultalis.” She sighs. “Trustmeokay.”

Girl doesn’t know what to do, how to show her obedience. Another little sound escapes her.

“I’msorry.” Sun Hair reaches into a box on the floor and pulls out It.

For a split second Girl freezes, too frightened to move. She glances around the room expecting Him to break into this too-light place. She scrambles backward.

Finally she screams. Once she starts, she can’t stop. She knows it is Wrong. Bad. Stupid to make so much noise and that the Strangers will come and hurt her now, but she is past the rules, past thinking. She hits one of the baby trees and it falls sideways, hitting the ground with a loud noise.

She screams more, gulping down air, trying to get away from it, but the white cave wall stops her. She hits it hard, feels pain thump her in the back of her head.

Sun Hair is talking to her, stringing sounds together that are as pretty as shells, but she can’t hear it. Her heart is beating so fast, and It is still there, in Sun Hair’s hand.

As It gets closer, Girl starts to scratch herself, drawing blood.

Sun Hair is with her now, holding her so tightly that Girl can’t claw herself.

“Okayokayokayokay. Nohurt. Iknowyou’rescared. It’sokayokayokay.” Sun Hair’s voice finally comes through.

Girl’s screaming fades. She breathes hard and fast, trying to be strong, but she is so scared.

Sun Hair lets go of her. Slowly, as if she is the one afraid, the pretty woman lifts It up.

Girl’s eyes widen. She feels sick inside, desperate. The air in the room darkens; everything smells like smoke and blood.

It catches the light. She closes her eyes, remembering his dark, hairy fingers twisting the strings … bending the twigs … threading the beads. She whimpers.

“Alis. Alis.”

The touch on her cheek is so gentle that at first she thinks she’s imagined it … that Her has come back.

“Alisopenyoureyes.”

The touch feels so good. She can breathe again. Inside her chest, her heart begins to slow down.

“It’sokayalis.Openyoureyes.”

Girl is beginning to hear something familiar in the garble of sounds. It pokes at her memory, makes her think of a time so long ago it turns to mist when she reaches for it. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

Sun Hair backs up a little. “Thisisadreamcatcher,” she says, unsmiling now. “Youknowthis.”

Dream Catcher.

She feels her tummy start to shake.

In a single motion Sun Hair breaks the dreamcatcher in half, then she rips the strings apart. The beads go flying, skitter across the floor.

Girl gasps.
Ohnoohnoohno.
This is bad. He will come now, He will hurt them.

Sun Hair reaches into the box and pulls out another one. She rips it into pieces and throws it away.

Girl watches in awe. Sun Hair ruins another and another. She takes something from the table and smashes it down on the pieces in front of her. Finally, smiling again, she holds a dreamcatcher toward Girl. “Breakit. No hurt. No hurt.”

Girl understands. Sun Hair wants
her
to break His toy.

But he will hurt her.

He’s not here. He’s Gone.
Is that what Sun Hair is trying to show her?

“Comeonalis. No hurt.”

She looks at Sun Hair. The woman’s watery green eyes make her feel all shaky inside.

Slowly, her hand trembling, she reaches out to touch It.

—
it will burn you
—

But It doesn’t. It feels like nothing in her hand, just bits of string and twig. There is no blood on It, no trace of his big, angry hands.

She rips it in half, and at the motion, she feels something new grow inside her, a kind of rumble that starts deep in her belly and catches in her throat. It feels so good to break His toy, to ruin it, to reach into the box and grab another one.

She rips them all, then destroys the box. As she breaks and snaps, she thinks of Him, of all the ways He hurt her, and all the times she wanted to scream.

When the box is empty, she looks up, gulping air as if she doesn’t know how to breathe.

Sun Hair takes Girl in her arms and holds her tightly.

Girl doesn’t know what is happening. Her body is shaking.

“It’sokayokayokay. Nohurt. Nohurt.”

Girl feels herself relaxing. A warm feeling blossoms in her chest and spreads out, down her arms and into her fingers.

“You’resafenow.”

She hears that,
feels
it.

Safe.

Julia paused in her note-taking to read what she had written.

She stands behind the plants for much of the day, staring alternately at me or out the window. Sunshine particularly engages her attention, as do bright plastic objects and dishes. Many things seem to frighten her—loud noises, thunder, the color gray, bright and shiny metal objects, dreamcatchers, and knives. The dogs’ barking always sends her running to the door. It is the only time she even approaches that side of the room. Often she howls in response.

Right now, she is sitting at my feet, looking up at me. This is her new favorite spot. Since ruining the dreamcatchers, she has broken through the solitary border of the previous days. She is never more than a few inches away from me. Often, she paws at my feet and legs. When tired, she curls up on the floor beside me, resting her cheek on my foot.

Julia looked down at the girl. “What are you thinking, Alice?”

As always, there was no response. Alice stared up at her intently; it was as if she were trying to understand.

So intent was she that it took her a moment to realize that someone was knocking on the door. “Come in,” she said distractedly.

The door opened just a crack and Ellie slipped into the room. Behind her, the golden retrievers were going crazy; barking, scratching, whining. She shut the door firmly. At Ellie’s entrance, Alice ran to her hiding place.

“You’ve got to teach those dogs some manners,” Julia said without looking up. She made a notation on Alice’s chart.
Responds to dogs by howling quietly. Today she moved toward the door.

“Jules?”

She heard something in her sister’s voice and looked up. “What?”

“Some people are here to see you. Doctors from the state care facility, a researcher from the U.W., and a woman from DSHS.”

She should have expected it. The media had hinted that Alice was “wild.” Just the suggestion of it would tempt other doctors, researchers. In the old days, no one would have dared to encroach on her patient. These were not those days. Now, she would look weak; predators would begin to circle her. She got slowly to her feet and methodically put her notes and charts and pens away.

All the while, Alice watched her, looking worried.