Magic hour: a novel (38 page)

Ellie had always answered first, shouting out her agreement and then running to her dad for his hug.

For the first time, as she held a memory in her hands, she tilted it, saw it instead from a different angle. The other little girl who’d been in the room, who’d never called out agreement with her father, whose opinion had never been sought.

Ellie looked at Julia over the rim of her mug. “How come he did it every year? Cut the top of the tree, I mean.”

Julia smiled. “You know Dad. He cared about what he cared about. The tree didn’t matter so he didn’t think about it.”

“But you and Mom cared.”

“You know Dad,” Julia said.

“I’m like him,” Ellie said. All her life she’d been proud of that fact.

“You always have been. People adore you, just as they adored him.”

Ellie took a sip of her drink. “Cal accused me of being selfish,” she said quietly.

“Really?”

“The correct response would have been surprise. Shock, even. Something like: how could he even
think
that?”

“Oh,” Julia said, trying not to smile.

“Say what’s on your mind,” Ellie snapped.

“When I was little, I had a huge crush on Cal. He was everything I dreamed of when I was eleven. But he only had eyes for you. He followed you everywhere. I was jealous every time you snuck out to be with him.”

“You knew about that?”

“We shared a bedroom. What am I, deaf? Just because I never told doesn’t mean I didn’t know. The point is, I remember when you dumped him. He kept coming around for the rest of that summer, tossing rocks at the window, but you never answered.”

“We grew apart.”

Julia gave her a look. “Come on. Once those football boys saw your new boobs, you were
in.
Poor Cal was left in the dust. And when you made cheerleader, well . . .” Julia shrugged. “You became royalty in this town and you loved every second. In that, you were like Dad. You . . . moved on from Cal, but somehow you kept him around like a moon caught in your orbit. It’s that magic you and Dad have. People can’t help loving you—even if you’re sometimes too focused on your own life.”

“So I
am
selfish. Is that why my marriages failed?”

“Is it?”

“Is that the kind of questions you learned in that decade of college?”

Julia laughed. “Exactly so. Here’s another one: how does it make you feel?”

Ellie didn’t quite know how to answer that. She’d heard this new picture of herself, but it didn’t feel like a reflection yet. It felt like a possibility, one she could change or talk her way out of if she really wanted to. She’d always thought of herself as a good person who really cared about others. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“I threw you to the media wolves. All I cared about was . . .” She started to say
finding Alice’s name,
but the pretty little lie caught in her throat. It was only partially true. “I didn’t want to fail. I hardly thought about your feelings.”

Julia surprised her by smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If it matters, I didn’t really know how bad it would be for you. Maybe if I’d known—” At Julia’s look, Ellie laughed. “Okay, it wouldn’t have mattered. But I
am
sorry.”

“Don’t be. Really. Alice is my second chance. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“I want to adopt her,” Julia said finally. “Alice needs to know she belongs someplace, and with someone, even if she doesn’t really understand it all yet. And I need her.”

“What happens if someone shows up to claim her?”

Softly, Julia said: “Then I’ll need my sister, won’t I?”

Ellie’s throat tightened. She realized right then how much she’d missed when she and Julia went their separate ways, and how much it mattered to her that they had come back together. “You can count on me.”

“A
LICE, YOU’RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION.
W
E’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.”