Magic hour: a novel (34 page)

Julia smiled.
This
was what mattered, not some near sexual encounter. “I’d say someone wants to go outside again.” She swung her legs out of bed and stood up.

After finishing her bathroom routine, she came back out into the bedroom, dressed now in a pair of faded jeans and an old gray sweatshirt.

Alice stamped her foot and punched the door, grunting for emphasis.

Julia walked casually toward their worktable, where all the books and blocks and dolls were spread out. There, she sat down and put her feet on the table. “If a girl wanted to go outside, she should use her words.”

Alice frowned and hit the door again.

“It won’t work, Alice. You see, now I know you can talk.” She got up and went to the window, pointing at the yard that was just beginning to turn pink with the dawn. “Outside.” She said it over and over again, then went to Alice and took the girl’s hand, leading her to the bathroom.

She pointed at herself in the mirror. “Ju-li-a,” she said. “Can you say that? Ju-li-a.”

“Her,” Alice whispered.

Julia’s heart did a little flip at the voice, whisper-soft and hesitant as it was. “Ju-li-a,” she said again, pressing a hand to her own chest. “Ju-lia.”

She saw when Alice understood. The child made a little sound of discovery; her mouth formed an O. “Jew-lee.”

Julia grinned. This was how people must feel when they scaled Everest without oxygen. Light-headed and giddy with triumph. “Yes. Yes. Julia.” Now she pointed at Alice’s reflection in the mirror. “The
ya
sound is hard to make, isn’t it? Now, who are you?” She touched Alice’s chest, just as she’d touched her own.

Alice’s frown deepened. “Girl?”

“Yes! Yes! You’re a girl.” She touched Alice’s chest again. “Who are you? Julia. Me. And you?”

“Girl,” she said again, her frown turning into a scowl.

“Do you know your name, little one?”

This time there was no answer at all. Alice waited a long moment, still frowning, then thumped the door with her fist again.

Julia couldn’t help laughing at that. “You might not have much of a vocabulary, kiddo, but you know what you want and you learn fast. Okay. Let’s go outside.”

W
HAT HAD BEGUN AS A CRISP, CLEAR MORNING WAS SLOWLY CHANGING
into an ominous afternoon. Heavy gray clouds bumped into one another and formed a mass that looked like steel wool. The pale sun that had lured Max out to the mountains on this cold autumn day had all but vanished. Every now and again a beam of light would poke through the clouds, but in the last hour even those moments of gold had become infrequent.

Soon, it would rain.

He knew he should hurry, but climbing down a rock face took time. That was one of the things he loved about climbing: you couldn’t control it.

He came to a drop-off. Below him, a lip of stone jutted out from the cliff; it was about the size of a kid’s sled.

Sweating hard, he continued climbing slowly down and to the left, choosing his hand- and footholds with exquisite care. He was nearing the end of his climb. It was a dangerous time for climbers, the end of the day. It was all too easy to let your thoughts drift to the next step, to the packing of the supplies and the hike out, to—

Julia.

He shook his head to clear it. Sweat blurred his vision. For a moment the granite looked like a solid sheet. He wiped his eyes, blinked, until the gradations and ledges and mosses reappeared.

A raindrop hit his forehead so hard he flinched. Within moments the skies opened up and let loose. Thunder roared across the mountains. Rain hammered him.

He got to the ledge and paused, looking down. He was no more than forty feet from the ground now. He didn’t need to rappel down this last distance. It would take time to set his equipment, to get ready, and it was a damned storm out here now. Wind rattled the trees and clawed his face.

He inched downward, dangled over the ledge.

He knew instantly that it was a mistake. The stone creaked and shifted, began to rotate. Tiny stones and wet dust rained down, hitting him in the face, blinding him.

He was going to fall.

Instinctively, he pushed back, trying to clear the jutting ledges and boulders below him.

And then he was connected to nothing; in the air. Falling fast. A rock smashed his cheekbone, another careened into his thigh. The boulder that had been his ledge fell alongside him. They hit the ground at the same time. It felt as if someone had just hit him in the chest with a shovel.

He lay there, dazed, feeling the rain pummel his face, slide in rivulets down his throat.

Finally, he crawled to his feet in the muddy ground and took stock. No broken bones, no extreme lacerations.

Lucky.

The thing was, he didn’t feel lucky. As he stood there, beside the boulder that could have killed him, looking up at the now slick rock face of the cliff, he realized something else.

He didn’t feel acutely alive, didn’t want to laugh out loud at his triumph.

He felt . . . stupid.

He picked up his gear, repacked his backpack, and headed down the long, winding trail to where he’d parked his car.

All the way there—and all the way home—he tried to keep his mind blank. Failing that, he tried to relive his near miss and enjoy it. Neither attempt was successful.

All he could think about was Julia, how she’d looked in the hot tub, how she’d tasted, how she’d sounded when she said
All or nothing.

And how those words had made him feel.

No wonder he couldn’t find that old adrenaline surge from mountain climbing today.

The real danger lay in another direction.

All or nothing.

EIGHTEEN

In the two weeks since I showed Alice a glimpse of the world outside, she has become a different child. Everything fascinates her. She is constantly grabbing my hand and pulling me somewhere so she can point to an object and say “What?” Each word I hand her, she holds on to tightly, remembering it with an ease and a will that surprises me. I can only assume that her quest for communication is so assertive because she was thwarted before. Now she seems desperate to become a part of this new world she’s entered.

She is slowly beginning to explore her emotions, as well. Previously, when she was nonverbal, most of her anger was directed at herself. Now, occasionally, she is able to express her anger appropriately. Yesterday, when I told her it was time for bed, she hit me. Social acceptability will come later. For now, I am pleased to see her get mad.

She is also developing a sense of possession, which is a step on the road to a sense of self. She hoards everything red and has a special place for “her” books.

She still has not provided a name for herself; nor has she accepted “Alice.” This is a task that requires more work. A name is integral to developing a sense of self.

I am not making much progress on her past life. Obviously, until she can communicate more fully, there can be little discovery of her memories, but I am patient. For now, I am her teacher. It is a surprisingly rewarding endeavor.

Julia scratched out the last two sentences as too personal, then put her pen down.

Alice was at the table, “reading” a picture-book version of
The
Velveteen Rabbit.
She hadn’t moved in almost an hour. She appeared spellbound.

Julia put her notebook away and went to the table. She sat down beside Alice, who immediately took hold of her hand, squeezing it hard. With her free hand she pointed to the book and grunted.

“Use your words, Alice.”

“Read.”

“Read what?”

“Boo.”

“Who wants me to read?”

Alice frowned heavily. “Girl?”

“Alice,” Julia said gently. She had spent the better part of two weeks trying to get Alice to reveal her real name. With each passing day, however, and each instance of the girl’s innate intelligence being shown, Julia was increasingly certain that whoever this girl really was, she didn’t remember—or had never known—her real name. Whenever Julia thought about that, it devastated her. It had to mean that, at least in the formative years, after about eighteen months to two years, no one had called this child by name.

“Alice.” She said it gently. “Does Alice want Julia to read the book?”

Alice thumped the book with her palm, nodding and smiling. “Read. Girl.”

“I’ll tell you what. If you play with the blocks for a few minutes, I’ll read to you. Okay?”

Alice made a disappointed face.

“I know.” Smiling, Julia bent down and retrieved her box of blocks. She set them out on the table, arranging them carefully. They were big plastic blocks with numbers on one side and letters on the other. Often she used them to teach Alice the alphabet, but today they were going to count. “Take the block that has the number one on it. One.”

Alice immediately grabbed the single red block and pulled it toward her.

“Good girl. Now the number four.”

They kept at the counting for almost an hour. Alice’s progress was nothing short of amazing. In less than two weeks she’d memorized all the numbers up to fifteen. Rarely did she make a mistake.

But by three o’clock she was getting cranky and tired. It was nearing nap time. She smacked the book again. “Read.”

“Okay, okay.” Julia leaned over and pulled Alice into her lap. She held her tightly, smoothing the silky black hair from her face. Finally, Alice popped her thumb in her mouth and waited.

Julia started to read. She had only gotten through the first paragraph when Alice tensed and let out a low growl.

A moment later there was a knock at the door.

Alice growled again, then stopped herself, as if remembering that this was a word world. “Scared,” she whispered.

“I know, honey.”

Ellie opened the door and stepped into the room.

Alice made a strangled sound, slid out of Julia’s lap, and ran over to her hiding place in the potted plants.

Ellie sighed. “Is she
ever
going to stop being afraid of me?”

Julia smiled. “Give her time.”

Ellie glanced around the room. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s like any developing toddler. She’s learning words and reading expression and body language to pull it all together.”

“How do I tell her I’m sorry? Make her understand I trapped her for her own good?”

“She can’t understand that complex an idea yet.”

“Thirty-nine years old and I can’t make one little girl like me. No wonder I’m sterile. God saw my parenting potential.”

“You’re not sterile.”

“If I’m not, it’s over anyway. My eggs are drying up faster than fish on a barbecue.”

Julia went to her sister and said softly, “That’s about the fifth time you’ve told me you want to have kids.”

“It comes out at the weirdest times.”

“Dreams are like that. You can’t keep ’em submerged. I’ll tell you what, Ellie. Why don’t you try to connect with Alice? I’ll teach you how.”

Ellie sighed miserably. “Yeah, right. I can’t even get my dogs to heel.”

“Alice will give you a chance. Just spend time with her.”

“She can’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

“Try harder. Tonight, you’ll read her a story after dinner. I’ll go downstairs, leave you two alone.”

Ellie seemed to think about that. “She’ll stay in the fake forest.”

“Then try again tomorrow night. Sooner or later, she’ll give you a chance.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Ellie seemed to think about it. “Okay. I’ll give it a try.” She looked at Julia. “Thanks.”

Julia nodded.

Ellie started to leave. At the door, she paused and turned around. “I almost forgot why I came in here. Thursday is Thanksgiving. Can you cook?”

“Salads. You?”

“Only meals that involve melted cheese. Preferably Velveeta.”

“We’re a pathetic pair.”

“We are.”

Julia said, “We could try Mom’s old recipes. I’ll order a turkey today and go shopping. How hard can it be?”

“It’ll be like the old days with Mom and Dad. We can invite people over.”

“Cal’s family?” Julia said.

“Of course. Is there anyone else you’d like to ask?”

“What about Max? He doesn’t have any family here.”

Ellie’s gaze was a laser beam. “No,” she said slowly. “He doesn’t.”

“I’ll . . . call him, then.”

“You’re playing with fire, little sister, and you burn easily.”

“It’s just a dinner invitation.”

“Yeah, right.”

“H
AVE YOU
SEEN
THE AMOUNT OF BUTTER THAT GOES IN
M
OM’S DRESSING
? This can’t be right.”