Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour (141 page)

“Alice, you’re not paying attention. We’re playing with the blocks now.”

The little girl shook her head and jutted her chin in stubborn defiance. “No. Prittees.” She jumped up from the chair and ran around to the Christmas tree. Each ornament fascinated her, but the red ones most of all.

Julia couldn’t help smiling. It had been this way from the moment they put the tree up. They’d had to work at the dining room table so Alice could always see the ornaments. “Come on, Alice. Five more minutes with the blocks. Then I have a surprise for you.”

Alice turned to her. “Prize?”

Julia nodded. “After blocks.”

Alice sighed dramatically and stomped back to the dining table. She plopped in her chair and crossed her arms.

This time Julia had to turn her head to hide her smile. Alice was certainly learning to express her emotions. “Show me seven blocks.”

Alice rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything as she culled seven blocks from the pile beside her elbow. “Seven.”

“Now show me four blocks.”

Alice removed three blocks from the string she’d just created, shoving them back into the pile.

Julia frowned. “Wait a minute. Did you just
subtract
the blocks?” No. It couldn’t be. The girl could only count to twenty so far. Addition and subtraction were too complex.

Alice stared at her blankly.

Before, in counting blocks, Alice had always started fresh, returning all the blocks to the pile and then choosing the newly requested number. “Are you rushing to get to your surprise or was that just a lucky guess?”

“Prize?”

“Show me one block.”

Alice’s smile fell. Dutifully, she removed three blocks from the pile, leaving one.

“How many more blocks do you need to have six?”

Alice held up five fingers.

“And if I take two, how many would be left?”

Alice curled down two fingers. “Free.”

“You
are
adding and subtracting.” She shook her head. “Wow.”

“Done?”

Julia wondered what other tricks Alice had up her sleeve. Maybe it was time for an IQ test. She was about to ask Alice another question when the phone rang. Julia went into the kitchen to answer. “Hello?”

“Merry Christmas Eve,” Ellie said.

“Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Are you coming?”

“Hopefully. We’ll try to leave in a minute or two.”

“Will she make a scene?”

“She might.”

“We’re waiting.”

“Okay.” Julia said good-bye to her sister and hung up.

She went to Alice then, bent down. “Julia would never hurt Alice, you know that, right?”

Alice’s face pulled into a frown.

“I want to take you someplace special. Will you come with me?” Julia held out her hand.

Alice took hold, but her frown didn’t soften. She was confused, and as often happened, confusion frightened her.

“First you have to put on boots and your coat. It’s cold outside.”

“No.”

Julia sighed. The fight over shoes never ended. “Cold outside.” She reached for the fake-fur-lined rubber boots and black wool coat she’d put by the door. “Come on. I’ll give you a surprise if you put them on.”

“No.”

“No surprise? Oh, well, then.”

“Stop!” Alice cried out as Julia walked away. Frowning, she stuck her bare feet in the boots, put on her coat and clomped across the wood floor. “Smelly shoes.”

Julia smiled down at her. Smelly was the word for anything Alice didn’t like. “You’re such a good girl.” Reaching down, she took hold of Alice’s hand. “Will you follow me?”

Slowly, Alice nodded

Julia led the girl out of the house and toward Peanut’s truck. As she opened the door, she heard Alice start to make noises. It was the low, throaty growl she used to make.

“Use your words, Alice.”

“Stay.” She looked terrified.

This reaction didn’t surprise Julia. She’d anticipated it. At some point in her life Alice had been taken somewhere—by someone—in a car. Perhaps that trip was the start of the bad times.

“I won’t hurt you, Alice. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

Her blue-green eyes were huge in the tiny white oval of her face. She was trying so hard to be brave. “No leave Girl?”

“Never. No.” Julia tightened her hold on Alice’s hand. “We’ll go see Ellie.”

“LEllie?”

Julia nodded, then tugged on the girl’s hand. “Come on, Alice. Please?”

Alice swallowed hard. “Okay.” Very slowly, she climbed into the passenger side of the truck. Julia helped her into the booster seat they’d purchased last week for this very occasion. When she snapped the seat belt in place, Alice started to whimper. At the shutting of the door, that pathetic whimper grew into a desperate howling.

Julia hurried around the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. By now Alice was hyperventilating, trying to unhook the straps.

“It’s okay, Alice. You’re scared. That’s okay.” Julia said the words over and over again until Alice calmed down enough to hear her.

“I’m putting on my seat belt, see? Now I’m hooked in, too.”

Alice whimpered, pulled on the strap.

“Use your words, Alice.”

“Fee. Peas. Girl fee.”

All at once Julia got it.
Idiot.
She should have foreseen this. The memory of those tiny pale scars on Alice’s ankle. Ligature marks. “Oh, Alice,” she said, feeling tears well in her eyes. Maybe she should quit now, try another time.

No.

Alice had to come into this world sometime, and in this world kids sat in car seats. But there was one concession she could make. Julia moved Alice and the car seat to the middle of the bench seat in the old truck, then held the girl’s hand. “Is that better?”

“Fwaid. Girl fwaid.”

“I know, baby. But I won’t let you go. You’re safe. Okay?”

Alice’s gaze was steady, trusting. “ ’Kay.”

Julia started the car.

Alice screamed and tightened her hold on Julia’s hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” Julia said over and over until Alice quieted.

It took them almost ten minutes to get down the driveway. By the time they reached the highway, she had almost no feeling left in her right hand. She ignored the pain and kept up a steady stream of comforting dialogue.

Looking back on it, Julia could pinpoint when Alice changed. It was at the corner of Azalea Street and West End Avenue.

Earl and Myra’s house, to be precise. As always, the couple had decorated as if it were an Olympic event. White lights twinkled from every surface. A giant Santa and sleigh arced above the peak of the roof in a brilliant display of red and green lights. On the front door was a twinkling green wreath, and tiny green-lit trees outlined the path from street to house.

Alice made a sound of pure delight. For the first time, she let go of Julia’s hand and pointed at the house. “Look.”

This was as good a place as any to stop. They were a block from the police station. Julia pulled over to the curb and parked, then went around to Alice’s door, opening it. Before she’d even finished unstrapping Alice, the girl was slithering out of the seat and climbing out of the truck.

At the edge of the sidewalk, Alice paused, staring up at the house. “Prittee,” she breathed.

Julia came up beside her.

Alice immediately took her hand.

Julia waited patiently, knowing Alice’s penchant for studying things. It was entirely possible that they’d stand here for an hour.

At some point the red door opened. Myra stood there, dressed in a long black velvet skirt and a red knit sweater. Carrying a tray of cookies, she walked slowly toward them.

Julia felt Alice’s tension. “It’s okay, honey. Myra is nice.”

Alice slid behind Julia but didn’t let go of her hand.

“Do you like cookies?” Myra said when she was closer. “My Margery liked spritz best when she was your age.”

Julia turned slightly and looked down at Alice. “She has cookies.”

“Cookees?”

“I made them myself,” Myra said, winking up at Julia.

Cautiously, Alice peered around Julia’s body. In a lightning-quick move she grabbed a red wreath cookie and popped the whole thing in her mouth. By the third cookie she’d moved out from behind Julia and stood tucked along her side.

“I brought you this, too,” Myra said, offering Alice a bright red plastic purse. “It was Margery’s favorite. But when I saw it, I thought of you.”

Alice’s eyes widened, her mouth rounded. “Red,” she whispered, taking the purse in her hands, holding it to her cheek.

“How did you know she loved anything red?” Julia asked.

Myra shrugged. “I didn’t.”

“Well. Tell Earl Merry Christmas from me.”

“He’s not home yet from the men’s choir practice, but I’ll pass it along. And to you, too.”

Holding hands, Julia and Alice walked down to Main Street and turned left. The streets were full of parked cars but empty of people on this ultimate family night. The parking lot behind city hall only had three cars in it.

Julia led Alice up the steps. “We’re going to get Ellie and then we’ll walk downtown. I’ll show you the pretty lights.”

Alice was so busy petting her purse she barely nodded.

Julia opened the door.

Inside the police station, Cal and his three daughters, and Peanut and Benji and their teenage son and daughter, and Ellie were dancing to an earsplitting rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock.” Mel and his family were setting food out on the table.

Alice shrieked and started to howl.

Ellie ran for the stereo and shut it off. Silence descended. Everyone stared at one another. Cal was the first to move. He herded his girls into a group; they moved toward Julia. Alice glommed onto her side, trying to disappear. The whimpering started again; the thumb popped into her mouth.

Close, but not too close. Cal dropped down on one knee. “Hey, Alice. We’re the Wallace family. You remember us, I bet? I’m Cal, and these are my girls. Amanda, Emily, and Sarah.”

Alice was trembling. She tightened her hold on Julia’s hand.

Peanut bustled her family forward. Her husband, Benji, was a big, burly-looking man with twinkling eyes and a ready smile. Not once during the party did he let go of his wife’s hand. Their teenagers were clearly trying to appear “cool,” but every now and then they grinned like little kids.

Introductions were made quietly. Benji knelt down slowly in front of Alice and wished her a very Merry Christmas, then he herded his children over to the tree.

Peanut stayed behind. “I can’t go over there,” she said to Julia. “Eggnog. Some people can drink a glass of it. I’d like an IV.” She laughed.

At the sound, Alice looked up and smiled.

“You’ve really worked a miracle with her,” Peanut said, showing Alice her long red fingernails. Each one sported a sparkly wreath.

“Thanks,” Julia said.

“Well, I better get over to my family. But before I go …” She leaned close to Julia, whispered, “I have a bit of gossip.”

Julia laughed. “I’m hardly the one to tell.”

“Oh, you’re the only one. My sources—which are FBI good—tell me that a certain doctor in town took a date to the movies. That’s like Paris Hilton moving into a double wide. Some things don’t happen. But this one did.”

“It was just a movie.”

“Was it?” Peanut gave her a wink, a pat on the arm, and she left.

For the next fifteen minutes everyone went about celebrating Christmas, but it was as if the mute button had been pushed. The laughter was quiet, the talking even more so. In the background the Vince Garibaldi trio Christmas CD came on. It was the music from
A Charlie Brown Christmas.
Mom’s favorite. At some point Earl and Myra showed up with more food.

Alice was mesmerized by the opening of presents. She finally came out from behind Julia so she could see better. She didn’t talk to anyone except Ellie, but she seemed content to watch it all. She dared to play alongside Sarah, who was a few years older. Not together, but side by side; Alice watched Sarah’s every move and imitated it. By the time everyone started to leave, Alice could dress and undress Disco Barbie without help. After the party broke up, Ellie, Julia, and Alice walked downtown. Alice couldn’t stop pointing at the various lights and decorations. She kept tugging on Julia’s hand and dragging her forward. It was going better than Julia had anticipated, actually.

Julia walked beside Ellie. Alice pointed at every light, every decoration.

“She reminds me of you,” Julia said to her sister. “You always had such enthusiasm for the holidays.”

“You, too.”

“I was quieter, though. In everything.”

“So I’m a bigmouth?”

Julia smiled. “Yes. And I’m ladylike.”

They walked on.

“So,” Julia finally said, trying to sound casual. “I hear the gossip mill is in high gear on Max and me.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. What’s the story with you two?”

“I don’t know,” Julia answered truthfully. “There’s … something between us.”

Ellie turned to her. “I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Yeah,” Julia said quietly. “I’ve had the same thought myself.”

In front of the Catholic church, Alice came to a stop. She pointed at the brightly lit manger scene set up on the yard. “Prittee.”

Then the bells of the church pealed.

Ellie looked at Julia. “The service should have been out an hour ago. I called Father James myself—”

Before she’d finished the sentence, the double doors banged open and the parishioners came pouring out of St. Mark’s in a rushing, chattering river of humanity. There were people everywhere, moving right at them, surging down the stairs.

Alice screamed and yanked her hand free to cover her ears.

Julia heard the scream, then a desperate howl. She turned toward Alice.

“It’s okay, honey. Don’t be—”

Alice was gone, lost in the sea of faces and bodies.

TWENTY

There are only Strangers around Girl; laughing, talking, singing strangers. She stumbles sideways, almost falls.

Jewlee promised,
she thinks.

But it doesn’t surprise her, even though she can feel a ripping in her chest and a swelling in her throat.

There is something wrong with Girl. Something Bad. It has always been that way. Him told her that all the time. Why had she let herself forget? Even worse, she’d let herself
believe
in Jewlee and now Girl is afraid again. This time there are people everywhere instead of nowhere, but this makes no difference. Some words she knows now. Lost is lost; it’s when you want someone to hold you but there is no one who can. Lost is alone, even when people are all around you.

She pushes through the crowd of Strangers. Any one of them could hurt her. Her heart is beating so hard and fast it makes her dizzy. They are reaching for her, trying to pull her back.

She runs until the sound of voices is funny and far away, like the roar of water in the falls at her beloved river when the snow begins to melt.

She stares out past this place called town. Her trees are there, dark now, and pointy against the sky. They would welcome her again; she knows this. She could follow the river to her cave and live there again.

Cold.

Hungry.

Alone.

Even Wolf is gone from her.

She would be too alone out there.

Now that she has known Jewlee and LEllie how can she go back to the nothing? She will miss being held, miss hearing the pretty story about the rabbit who wants to be real. Girl knows about that: wanting to be real.

That ache in her chest is back. It is like swelling up; she hopes her bones will not crack from it. A strange tightness squeezes her throat. She feels this all from far away, and wonders if finally her eyes will leak. She wants them to. It will make the hurt in her chest ease.

Then she sees the tree.

It is where she first hid in this place. Trees have always protected her. She runs to her tree and climbs up, higher and higher, until an old, bare limb cradles her.

She tries not to think about how much different—better—it felt to be held by Jewlee.

No. Leave. Girl.

She wishes she’d never believed in that promise.

Julia spun around, searching every face, reaching out. All around her people kept moving, laughing, talking, singing Christmas carols. She wanted to scream at them to shut up, to please
please
help her find this one little girl. Their voices were a white noise that roared in her head.

“What happened?” Ellie said, shaking Julia’s shoulders to get her attention.

“She’s gone.” Julia almost started to cry. “One minute she was here, holding my hand … then the church let out and there were people everywhere. It must have terrified her. She ran away.”

“Okay. Don’t move. You hear me?”

Julia had trouble hearing it, actually. Her heart was pounding. All she could think about was earlier tonight, when Alice had been so afraid to get in the car and even more afraid to be strapped into the booster seat. But she’d done it. That brave, bruised child had let herself be bound and looked up at her through those sad eyes and said:
No leave girl?

She had promised,
sworn,
not to leave Alice alone. Julia pushed through the crowd, yelling for Alice, searching every face. She knew she looked like a madwoman but she didn’t care.

A breeze blew in, skudded leaves down the street and across the grass. It smelled vaguely of the not-so-distant ocean; she had no doubt that if she drew in a lungful, it would taste like tears. She stopped, trying to quell her rising panic. Now she heard Ellie yelling for Alice, too, saw flashlight beams cut through the park.

Think. What would bring Alice out?

It came to her suddenly.
Music.
Alice spent hours standing by the speakers, listening to music. She loved dozens of songs—whole Disney soundtracks. But of all the songs she listened to, one was clearly her favorite.

Julia took a deep breath and began to sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

She walked all around the empty park, singing.

“ ‘… how I wonder where you are …’ ”

A bird warbled its own song. For a moment Julia didn’t notice. Then it struck her that the birdsong matched her voice.

“Alice?” she whispered.

“Jewlee?”

Julia’s knees buckled. She looked up into the bare branches of the maple tree. Alice was there, looking down, her face pale with fear and lined by worry, she said, “No leave?”

“Oh, honey … no leave.”

Alice jumped down from her perch in the maple tree.

Julia scooped Alice into her arms and held her tightly. She felt the little girl tremble and knew how scared she’d been.

Julia pulled back. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

A trembling smile formed on her face. “Stay?”

“Yes, honey. I’ll stay.”

Alice touched Julia’s face, wiped her tears. “No water,” she said, sounding worried.

“Those are just tears, Alice. Tears. And they mean I love you.”

Ellie walked up just then and squatted down beside them. “There’s our girl,” she said with a sigh.

Julia looked up at her sister through a blur of tears. “What’s the local lawyer’s name?”

“John MacDonald. Why?”

“I want to start adoption proceedings the day after Christmas.”

“Are you sure?”

Julia pulled Alice against her even more tightly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

By noon on Christmas day Max had been to the hospital to visit his patients and the few children on the ward; he’d also ridden his bicycle fifteen miles, dropped off a donation at the Catholic church, and called every member of his family.

Now he stood in his quiet living room, staring out at the gray-washed lake. It was raining so hard that the entire backyard looked colorless; even the trees.

He should have put up a Christmas tree. Maybe that would have helped his mood, although he couldn’t imagine why it would. He hadn’t bought a tree in seven years.

He went to the sofa and sat down, but he knew instantly that it was a mistake. Ghosts and memories crowded in on him. He saw his mother sitting on her favorite chair, studying bugs through a magnifying glass … and his dad, sleeping on his Barcalounger, with a hand pressed to his wrinkled cheek … and Susan, knitting a pale blue blanket.…

He picked up the phone and called the hospital. “It’s quiet here,” he was told. “Don’t come in.”

Hanging up, he got to his feet. He couldn’t just sit here, remembering other Christmases. He needed to do something. Go somewhere. Climb a mountain, maybe, or—

See Julia.

That was all it took: the thought of her, and he was in motion.

He got dressed, jumped in his truck, and drove to her house. Even though he knew he was being an idiot, he couldn’t help himself. He had to see her.

He knocked.

Julia was laughing as she answered the door, saying something. When she saw him, her smile faded. “Oh. I thought you were going to L.A. for Christmas.”

“I stayed,” he said softly. “If you’re busy—”

“Of course not. Come in. Would you like a drink? We have some hot buttered rum that’s pretty good.”

“That would be great.”

She led him into the living room, then headed for the kitchen. Her gap-toothed little shadow matched her step for step. They looked almost conjoined.

A gorgeous, beautifully decorated Christmas tree dominated the corner of the room.

A rush of memories hit him.

Come on, Dan-the-man, let’s put up the star for Mommy.

He turned his back on the tree and sat down on the hearth. A fire crackled behind him, warmed his back. He wouldn’t be able to sit here for long, but at least he wasn’t facing the tree. A coil of sleeping dogs lay at his feet.

“Well, well, well.”

At the sound of Ellie’s voice, he looked up. She stood behind the sofa with her hands on her hips. “It’s nice to see you again, Max.”

“You, too, El.”

She came around the sofa and sat down beside him. “You know what I hear?”

“Trevor McAulley is drinking again?”

“Old news.” She looked at him. There was no smile left. This was her cop’s face. “I hear you took my sister to the movies.”

“That come across the police scanner?”

“I didn’t say anything at Thanksgiving, it being a holiday and all, but …” Ellie leaned toward him. She got so close he could feel her breath on his neck. “Hurt her and I’ll cut your nuts off.” She eased back, smiling again. “And you like your nuts.”

“I do indeed.”

“Then we understand each other. Good. I’m glad we had this little heart-to-heart.”

“What if—”

Ellie frowned. “What if what?”

“Nothing.”

Julia and Alice returned.

Ellie immediately stood. “I’m going to Cal’s. You two be good.” She picked up a box of packages and left the house.

Julia handed Max a cup.

They sat down side by side on the sofa. Neither said anything. Alice knelt at Julia’s feet. She grunted at Julia and smacked the book in her lap.

“Use your words, Alice,” Julia said calmly.

“Read. Girl.”

“Not now. I’m talking to Dr. Max.”

“Now.”
Alice hit the book again.

“No. Later.”

“Peas?”

Julia smiled gently and touched Alice’s head. “In a little while, okay?”

Alice’s whole body slumped in disappointment. She popped a thumb in her mouth and started turning the pages.

Julia turned to him then.

“You’re amazing,” he said softly.

“Thanks.”

He heard the throatiness in her voice and knew how much his compliment meant to her.

She was close enough to kiss him right now, and he wanted her to.

He moved away from her slightly, as if distance could provide protection.

She noticed the movement. Of course she did.

“What happened to you, Max?”

He should have been surprised by the question, but he wasn’t. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

He was near enough now to see the tiny mole on her throat. Her cinnamon-scented breath fluttered against his chin. “Love,” he said simply.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “It’ll knock the shit out of you, that’s for sure. Why didn’t you go home for Christmas?”

“You.”

Her gaze searched his, as if looking deep for answers. She gave him a sad, knowing smile, and he wondered what it was she thought she knew. “How about a game of cards, Max?” she finally said.

“Cards?” He couldn’t help laughing.

She smiled. “It’s one of those things a man and a woman can do out of bed.”

“No wonder I’m confused.”

She laughed. “Go get the cards, Alice.”

Alice looked up. “Jewlee win?”

“That’s right, honey. Jewlee’s gonna kick Dr. Max’s ass.”

For the first Christmas in recent memory this house had become a home again. There was nothing like a child to make Christmas a gala event. Not that Alice had understood it, of course.

Ellie and Julia had both wakened at the crack of dawn and encouraged their sleepy girl to go downstairs.

The presents had been unwrapped in the morning one at a time—according to family tradition—and then carefully restacked under the tree. Except for Alice’s. She
loved
her packages, had carried them around all day and hugged them to her narrow little chest. Any attempts at unwrapping them had led to hysterics.

So the toys inside remained hidden. The packages themselves were her gifts.

In truth, Ellie hated to leave, but going to see Cal on Christmas was one of her few traditions. She’d never missed a year. That was how things were done in Rain Valley. Neighbors visited each other on holidays, usually staying just long enough to share a glass of wine or a mug of hot chocolate. For all his childhood, Cal had come to the Cates’ house for Christmas, where he’d found a stocking with his name on it tacked to the mantel and a pile of gifts under the tree. No one ever said why it was that way, but each of them knew. For Cal, who had lived alone with his wreck of a dad, Christmas only came to other addresses.

That tradition had remained in place for as long as Brenda and Big Tom Cates were alive. Year after year Cal bundled up his wife and daughters and brought them across the field and over the river for dinner. Even after Ellie’s mom died and the tradition began to weaken, Cal kept Christmas and the Cates together in his mind.

When Dad died, a subtle shift had begun. For a few years Cal and Lisa had invited Ellie for dinner at their house. They’d tried to form a new tradition, but nothing quite jelled. Lisa cooked the “wrong” foods and put on the “wrong” music. It no longer felt like Christmas to Ellie; she was an outsider somehow.

This year there had been no invitation at all. No doubt Cal assumed that she and Julia and Alice were a new Cates family and wanted to be alone. But she knew that without Lisa he would be having a rough time of it.

She packed up their presents in a pretty silver Nordstrom’s bag, and headed down the driveway. On either side of her, magnificent fir and cedar trees grew tall and straight; their green tips plunged into the swollen gray belly of the sky. Although the rain had stopped, drops still fell from leaves and branches and eaves, creating a steady drip-drip-drip that matched her footsteps. There were the other sounds of the forest, too. Water rushing, needles rustling, squirrels scurrying across branches, mice running for cover. Every now and then a crow cawed or an owl hooted.

These sounds were as familiar to her as the crackling of a fire in the fireplace. Without a worry she turned onto the path and walked into the woods.

There was no way to calculate the number of times she’d crossed this bridge or walked from one house to the other. Enough so that nothing ever grew up in the path. Even in recent years, when cars and telephones were more common than walking to the neighbor’s house, nothing ever grew up to hide the way.

She followed the beaten and stunted grass around the orchard and through the vegetable garden, past the old pond that used to be their childhood fishing hole. As she pushed through the cattails and heard her boots squish in the soggy ground, she heard a long-forgotten echo of their childish laughter.