Magic hour: a novel (26 page)

“What choice do we have?”

“I don’t know. . . .” Ellie said. “Today, when she heard about Mort’s photo, she looked as fragile as I’ve ever seen her.”

“She’ll do it for Alice,” Cal said.

J
ULIA WAS STILL TRYING TO FORMULATE A DREAMCATCHER-USE PLAN
when Ellie barged into the room. Her keys and handcuffs jangled with every step. Behind her the dogs howled and scratched at the door, barking when she shut them out.

Alice ran for the plants and hid there.

Ellie clasped her keys and handcuffs, stilling them. “I need to talk to you.”

Julia fought the urge to roll her eyes. The interruption had come at a particularly tender time. “Fine.”

Ellie stood there a moment longer, then she said, “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” and left the bedroom.

Julia hid her pens and paper and notebooks. “I’ll be right back, Alice.”

Alice stayed hidden in her sanctuary, but when Julia reached for the knob, the child started to whimper.

“You’re upset,” Julia said softly. “You’re feeling afraid that I won’t come back, but I will.” There was nothing else she could say. She could only teach Alice about trust by returning. One of the fundamental truths of psychiatry was that sometimes you had to leave a patient who needed you.

She slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Alice’s low, pitiful howling could be heard through the door. The dogs were in the hallway, sitting up on their haunches, howling with Alice.

She went downstairs and found Ellie out on the porch. It wasn’t surprising. For as long as they’d been a family, important business and celebration had been taken care of outside. Rain or shine.

Ellie was sitting in Dad’s favorite chair. Of course. Ellie had always drawn strength from their father, just as Julia had gotten hope from her mother. The choice of Ellie’s chair meant something Big was on her mind.

Julia sat in the rocker. A soft breeze kicked up in the yard, sent drying leaves cartwheeling across the grass. The gurgling song of the Fall River filled the air. She looked at her sister. “I need to get back to her. What’s up?”

Ellie looked pale, shaken even.

It unnerved Julia to see her powerhouse of a sister look beaten. She leaned forward. “What is it, Ellie?”

“The reporters are leaving town. They think the whole wild child thing is a hoax. By tomorrow the
Gazette
and maybe the
Olympian
will be the only papers still writing about the story.”

Julia knew suddenly what this was about, why Ellie looked nervous.

“We need you to talk to the press,” Ellie said softly, as if the timbre of her voice could remove the sting from the words.

“Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

“What choice do we have? If the story dies, we may never know who she is. And you know what happens to abandoned kids. The state will warehouse her, ignore her.”

“I can get her to talk.”

“I know. But what if she doesn’t know her name? We need her family to come forward.”

Julia couldn’t deny it. As painful as this decision was, the stakes were clear. It came down to her best interest versus Alice’s. “I wanted to have something to tell them. A success that could be balanced against the failures. They won’t—”

“What?”

Believe in me.
“Nothing.” Julia looked away. The silvery river caught her gaze, reflecting like a strand of sunlight against the green lawn. In that instance of brightness, she recalled the flash of the camera lights and the barrage of ugly questions. When the press went in for the kill, there was nothing that could protect you; the truth least of all. She was damaged goods now; they wouldn’t listen to her opinion on anything. But they’d put her on the front page. “I guess I can’t be any more ruined,” she said at last, shivering slightly. She hoped her sister didn’t notice.

But Ellie saw everything; she always had. Becoming a police officer had only heightened a natural skill for observation. “I’ll be there with you all the time. Right beside you.”

“Thanks.” Maybe it would make a difference, not being so damned alone when the cameras rolled. “Schedule a press conference for tonight. Say . . . seven o’clock.”

“What will you tell them?”

“I’ll tell them what I can about Alice. I’ll show them the pictures and reveal a few interesting behavioral observations and let them ask their questions.”

“I’m sorry,” Ellie said.

Julia tried to smile. “I’ve lived through it before. I guess I can live through it again. For Alice.”

J
ULIA COULD HEAR THE RACKET GOING ON IN THE POLICE STATION.
Dozens of reporters and photographers and videographers were out there, setting up their equipment, running sound and picture checks.

She and Ellie and Cal and Peanut were crammed into the employee lunchroom like hot dogs in a plastic pack.

“You’ll be fine,” Ellie said for at least the tenth time in the same number of minutes.

As he had each time, Cal agreed.

“I’m worried about Alice,” Julia said.

“Myra is sitting just outside her door. She’ll call if Alice makes a peep,” Ellie said. “You’ll be fine.”

Peanut said, “They’ll call her a quack.”

Ellie gasped.
“Peanut.”

Peanut grinned at Julia. “I use that technique on my kids. Reverse psychology. Now anything they say will sound good.”

“No wonder your kids keep piercing their body parts,” Cal remarked.

Peanut flipped him off. “At least I don’t go to conventions in costume.”

“I haven’t worn a costume in twenty years.”

Earl appeared at the door. Everything about him looked spit-shined, from his faded red comb-over to his lacquer-coated dress shoes. The creases in his uniform were laser sharp. “They’re ready for you, Julia.” He flushed, stammered, “I mean Dr. Cates.”

One by one they peeled out of the lunchroom; the five of them collected again in the hallway.

“I’ll go first to introduce you,” Ellie said.

Julia nodded.
For Alice,
she thought.

Ellie walked down the hallway and turned the corner.

For Alice.

Then Earl was beside her, taking her arm.

She followed him down the hall, around the corner, and into the flash of her old life.

The crowd went wild, hurling questions like hand grenades.

“Qui-
et
!” Ellie yelled, holding her hands out. “Let Julia talk.”

Gradually the crowd stilled.

Julia felt their eyes on her. Everyone in the room was judging her right now, finding her lacking in both judgment and skill. She drew in a sharp breath and caught it. Her gaze scanned the room, looking for a friendly face.

In the back row, behind the reporters and photographers, were the locals. The Grimm sisters (and poor Fred, in ash form), Barbara Kurek, Lori Forman and her bright-faced children; several of her high school teachers.

And Max. He gave her a nod and a thumbs-up. It was surprising, but that show of support helped calm her nerves. In Los Angeles, she’d always felt totally alone in facing the press.

“As all of you know, I’m Dr. Julia Cates. I’ve been called to Rain Valley to treat a very special patient, whom we’re calling Alice. I know that many of you will wish to focus on my past, but I beg you to see what matters. This child is nameless and alone in the world. We need your help in finding her family.” She held up a photograph. “This is the girl we’re calling Alice. As you can see she has dark hair and blue-green eyes—”

“Dr. Cates, what would you say to the parents of those children who died in Silverwood?”

Once she’d been interrupted, all hell broke loose. The questions came at her like shrapnel.

“How do you live with the guilt—”

“Did you know Amber had purchased a gun—”

“Have you listened to the Death Knell lyrics—”

“—played the Doomsday Cavern video game?”

“Did you test her for an allergy to Prozac?”

Julia kept talking until her voice gave out. By the time it was over and the reporters had all run off to meet their deadlines, she felt utterly spent. Alone at the podium, she watched the people leave.

Finally, Ellie came up to her. “Jesus, Jules, that was bad,” she said looking almost as shaken as Julia felt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“You couldn’t have.”

“Can I do something to help?”

Julia nodded. “Watch Alice for me, will you? I need to be alone for a while.”

Ellie nodded.

Julia tried not to make eye contact with Peanut or Cal. They stood near his desk, holding hands. Both of them were pale. Peanut’s bright pink cheeks were streaked with tears.

Julia walked down the steps and into the cold lavender night. At the sidewalk she turned left for no particular reason.

“Julia.”

She turned.

He stood in the shadow of the street, almost lost in the shade from a giant evergreen. “I bought the motorcycle when I worked near Watts. Sometimes a man needs to clear his head. Seventy-five miles an hour on a bike will do it.”

She should walk away, maybe even laugh, but she couldn’t do it. In all of Rain Valley, he was probably the only person who really understood how she felt right now. How she knew that, she couldn’t have said. It made no sense, but the notion stuck with her. “I think forty miles an hour would do it. I have a smaller head.”

Smiling, he handed her a helmet.

She put it on and climbed onto the bike behind him, circling him with her arms.

They drove down the cool, gray streets of town, past the pod of news vans and the parking lot full of school buses. Wind beat at her sleeves and tugged at her hair when they turned onto the highway. They drove and drove, through the night, along the narrow, bumpy highway. She clung to him.

When he turned off the highway and onto his gravel driveway, she didn’t care. In the back of her mind she’d known when she climbed onto this man’s motorcycle where they would end up. Tomorrow, she would question her judgment—or lack thereof—but for now it felt good to have her arms around him. It felt good not to be alone.

He parked the motorcycle in the garage.

Wordlessly, they went into the house. She took a seat on the sofa while Max brought her a glass of white wine, then built a fire in the imposing river-rock fireplace and turned on the stereo. The first song that came on was something soft and jazzy.

“You don’t need to go to all this trouble, Max. For God’s sake, don’t start lighting the candles.”

He sat down beside her. “And why is that?”

“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.”