Magic hour: a novel (12 page)

Julia stopped. “That’s close enough, huh? I’m scaring you. That’s good, actually. You’re responding normally to this strange environment.” She bent down very slowly and tossed the stuffed animal to the girl. It landed right by her side. “Sometimes a soft toy can make us feel better. When I was a girl, I had a pink teddy bear named Tink. I took her everywhere.” She went back to the table and set the box on the floor, then sat down.

A moment later there was a knock at the door. At the sound, the girl scrambled farther into the corner, crouching down to appear as small as possible.

“It’s just your dinner. I know it’s early, but you have to be hungry. I’m not leaving you to eat alone; you might as well understand that now.” She opened the door, thanked the nurse for the food, then returned to the table.

The door clicked shut again, leaving Julia and the child alone.

As Julia unpacked the food, she kept up a steady stream of conversation. Nothing too personal or intense, just words; each one of them was an invitation that came back unopened. Finally, she pushed the box aside. On the table there was now an array of kid-friendly food. Macaroni and cheese—from a box, just the way kids liked it; glazed doughnuts, brownies, chicken tenders with ketchup, milk, Jell-O with fruit chunks, cheese pizza, and a hot dog with fries. The tempting aromas filled the small room. “I didn’t know what you liked so I pretty much ordered everything.”

Julia reached over and plucked a doughnut off the red plastic plate. “I can’t remember the last time I had a glazed doughnut. They’re not good for you, but oh man, are they good.” She took a bite. The flavor exploded in her mouth. Savoring it, she looked directly at the girl. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry? Maybe you’d like a bite.”

At the word
hungry,
the girl flinched. For just a moment her gaze skittered across the room and came to rest on the table of food.

“Did you understand that?” Julia said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Do you know what hungry means?”

The girl looked at her for a moment. It lasted less than a breath, but Julia felt its impact all the way to her toes.

Understanding.

She’d bet her degrees on it.

Very slowly Julia reached for a second doughnut. She placed it on a red plastic plate and then stood up. She walked closer to the girl than she’d been before—this time there was about six feet between them. Once again the child snorted and whimpered and tried to back up, but the wall pinned her in place.

Julia set the plate on the floor and gave it a little push. It skidded across the linoleum. Close enough to the child that she could smell its vanilly sweetness; far enough away that she had to move forward to take it.

Julia returned to her seat. “Go ahead,” she said. “You’re hungry. That’s food.”

This time the girl looked right at her. Julia felt the desperate intensity of those blue-green eyes. She wrote down:
Food.

“No one will hurt you,” Julia said.

The girl blinked. Was that a reaction to the word
hurt
? She wrote it down.

Minutes passed. Neither one of them looked away. Finally Julia glanced at the window by the door. Dr. Better-looking-than-God was there, watching them.

The second Julia glanced away, the girl ran for the food, snatched it up and returned to her spot, like a wild animal returning to its lair to feed.

And the way she ate . . .

The girl put most of the doughnut into her mouth and started to chew loudly.

Julia could tell when the taste kicked in. The girl’s eyes widened.

“Can’t beat a good doughnut. You should taste my mom’s brownies. They were delicious.” Julia stumbled slightly over the past tense of the word. The odd thing was, she would have sworn the child noticed, though she couldn’t have said why she thought so. “You’d better have some protein with that, kiddo. Too much sugar isn’t good.” She got a hot dog and doctored it up with ketchup and mustard then set it down on the floor about two feet closer to the table than before.

The girl looked at the empty plate where the doughnut had been. It was obvious that she recognized the difference. She seemed to be gauging the additional distance, calculating additional risk.

“You can trust me,” Julia said softly.

No response.

“I won’t hurt you.”

The girl’s chin slowly came up. Those blue-green eyes fixed on her.

“You understand me, don’t you? Maybe not everything, but enough. Is English your first language? Are you from around here?”

The girl glanced down at the hot dog.

“Neah Bay. Joyce. Sequim. Forks. Sappho. Pysht. La Push. Mystic.” Julia watched closely for a reaction. None of the local towns prompted a response. “A lot of families go hiking in the forest, especially along Fall River.”

Had the girl blinked at that? She said it again: “Fall River.”

Nothing.

“Forest. Trees. Deep woods.”

The girl looked up sharply.

Julia got up from her seat and very slowly moved toward the girl. When she was almost close enough to make contact, she squatted down so that she and the child were at eye level. Reaching behind her, she felt around for the hot dog plate. Finding it, she grasped the plastic rim and held the plate of food forward. “Were you lost in the woods, honey? That can be so scary. All that darkness, all those sounds. Did you get separated from your mommy and daddy? If you did, I can help you. I can help you go back where you belong.”

The girl’s nostrils flared, but whether from the words or the scent of the hot dog, Julia couldn’t be sure. For a moment there—maybe at the word
back
or
help
—there had been a flash of fear in those young eyes.

“You’re afraid to trust me. Maybe your mom and dad told you not to talk to strangers. That’s normally good advice, but you’re in trouble, honey. I can only help you if you’ll talk to me. How else can I get you home? You can trust me. I won’t hurt you,” she said again. “No hurt.”

At that the girl inched slowly forward. Not once did her gaze waver or lower. She stared directly at Julia as she scuttled forward in her awkward crouch.

“No hurt,” Julia said again as the girl neared.

The child was breathing fast; her nostrils were blowing hard. Sweat sheened her forehead. She smelled vaguely of urine because of the diapers they’d been unable to change. The hospital gown hung slack on her tiny body. Her toenails and fingernails were long and still slightly grimy. She reached for the hot dog, grabbed it in her hands.

She brought it to her nose, sniffed it, frowning.

“It’s a hot dog,” Julia said. “Your parents probably brought them on the camping trip. Where did you go on that trip, do you remember? Do you know the name of your town? Mystic? Forks? Joyce? Pysht? Where did your daddy say you were going? Maybe I could go get him.”

The girl attacked her. It happened so fast that Julia couldn’t respond. One second she was sitting there, talking softly, the next, she felt herself falling backward, hitting her head on the floor. The girl jumped on Julia’s chest and clawed at her face, screaming unintelligible words.

Max was there in an instant, pulling the girl off Julia.

Dazed, Julia tried to sit up. She couldn’t focus. When the world finally righted itself she saw Max sedating the child.

“No!” Julia cried, trying to get to her feet. Her vision blurred. She stumbled.

Max was back at her side, steadying her. “I’ve got you.”

Julia wrenched away from him and fell to her knees. “I can’t
believe
you sedated her. Damn it. Now she’ll never trust me.”

“She could have hurt you,” he said in an irritatingly matter-of-fact voice.

“She’s all of what—forty-five pounds?”

Her cheeks hurt. So did the back of her head. She couldn’t believe how fast the attack had come on. She let out a shaky breath and glanced around the room. The girl lay on a mattress by the back wall, asleep. Even in slumber she was curled into a tight ball, as if the whole world could hurt her.
Damn it.
“How long will she sleep?”

“Not more than a few hours. I think she was looking for a weapon when I came in. If she’d found one, she could have really hurt you.”

Julia rolled her eyes. No doubt he was one of those people whose lives had never been touched by violence of any kind. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve been attacked by a patient. I doubt it’ll be the last. Part of the job description. Next time don’t sedate her without asking me, okay?”

“Sure.”

She frowned. The movement hurt. “The question is: what did I say?”

“What do you mean?”

“You saw her. She was fine. I thought maybe she was even understanding a few words. Then:
bam!
I must have said just the wrong thing. I’ll listen to the tapes tonight. Maybe that will give me a clue.” She looked back at the girl. “Poor baby.”

“We should get you cleaned up. Those scratches on your cheek are pretty deep, and God knows what kind of bacteria is under her fingernails.”

Julia could hardly disagree.

As they walked down the hallway, she realized how much her head hurt. So much that she felt queasy and unsteady. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. She was like a cat.”

“Daisy Grimm swears she flew into the maple tree on Sealth Park.”

“Daisy still carrying Fred’s ashes around with her?”

“She is.”

“Fred died when I was in seventh grade. Need I say more?”

Max guided her into an empty examining room. “Sit.”

“Let me guess: you have dogs.”

He smiled. “Just sit down. I need to look at your injuries.”

She was too weak to argue, so she sat on the end of the table; paper rustled beneath her butt. Other than their breathing, it was the only sound in the room.

His touch was surprisingly gentle on her face. She’d expected him to be clumsier, a little uncertain. This was nurse’s work, after all.

She winced when he dabbed the antiseptic on her wounds.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” He was too close. She shut her eyes.

That was when she felt his breath on her cheek, a little stream of it that smelled of Red Hot gum.

She opened her eyes. He was right there, looking at her, blowing cool breath on her cuts. Her heart skipped a beat. “Thanks,” she said, jerking backward, trying to smile.
Oh, for God’s sake, Julia.
She’d always been uncomfortable around good-looking men.

“Sorry.” He didn’t seem sorry at all. “I just wanted to help.”

“Thanks. I’m fine.”

He closed up the supplies and stowed everything back in the overhead cabinets. When he turned back to face her, he kept a certain distance between them. “You should take the rest of the day off. Have Ellie watch you. Concussions—”

“I know the risks, Max, and the symptoms. I’m sure I don’t have a concussion, but I’ll be careful.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to lie down for a while.”

She saw the way he smiled when he said
lie down,
and it hardly surprised her. No doubt he was the type of man who could find a sexual innuendo in every conversation. “That little girl is counting on me, Max. I need to go to the police station and then to the library, but I’ll take it easy.”

“Why do I think you don’t know how to take it easy?”

She frowned. That
did
surprise her. She wouldn’t have pegged him as the kind of man who really understood women. Loved them, yes. Used them, certainly. But understood them, no. Philip had never been very intuitive. “Am I that transparent?”

“As glass. How are you getting to the station?”

“I’ll call Ellie. She’ll—”

“I could give you a ride.”

She slid off the table. This time when she stood, she felt a little steadier. She was about to say
That’s not necessary
when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

“Wow.” She moved closer. Four angry, seeping claw marks slashed across her left cheek. Already the skin was swelling, and it looked like she was going to wake up tomorrow morning with a black eye. “She really got me.”

He handed her a tube of antibiotic ointment. “Keep—”

“I know. Thanks.” She took it from him and slipped it in her pocket.

“Come on. I’ll take you to the station.”

Instead of arguing, she fell into step beside him.

But not too close.

SIX

A
RE YOU SURE THIS IS HOW IT’S DONE
?” P
EANUT ASKED FOR AT
least the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Do I
look
like Diane Sawyer?” Ellie responded sharply. Whenever she got nervous, she got snippy, and this was her first press conference. She needed to do everything right or she’d come off looking like an idiot. And if there was one thing Ellie hated, it was looking and feeling stupid. That was why she’d left college; it was better to quit than to fail.

“Ellie? Are you having a meltdown?”

“I’m fine.”