Magic hour: a novel (42 page)

“No kidding?”

“You should see the way you’re smiling. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

Ellie eased out of the lunchroom and peered down the hallway. From here all she could see was a man—with his back to her—sitting in the chair opposite her desk. He was dressed all in black. “Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t give his name. Won’t take off his sunglasses, either.” She snorted. “Must be from California.”

Ellie ducked back into the lunchroom and grabbed her purse. Five minutes in the bathroom and she’d touched up her makeup and brushed her teeth. Back in the lunchroom, she turned to Peanut. “How do I look?”

“This is
so
not good. You’re going to go into full slut mode now.”

“Bite me. I haven’t had a date in months.” Ellie smoothed the wrinkles from her uniform, adjusted the three gold stars on her collar, and walked out into the main room of the station house. Peanut hurried along behind her.

Cal looked up at her approach. He immediately noticed her makeup then glanced at the man across from him and shook his head. “Big surprise,” he muttered.

She kept moving. “Hello. I’m Chief Barton,” she said, rounding her desk. “I understand—”

He turned to her.

Ellie forgot what she’d been about to say. All she saw were chiseled cheekbones, full lips, and a mass of unruly black hair. He took off his sunglasses and revealed a pair of electric blue eyes.

Holy Mother of God.

Ellie sat down without shaking his hand.

“I’ve come a long way to see you,” he said in a worn, gravelly voice.

An accent. Just a hint of one, but enough.
She couldn’t place it. Australian, maybe. Or Cajun. She
loved
a man with an accent.

“I’m George Azelle.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he set on her desk.

The name registered.

“I see you remember me.” He leaned forward, pushing the paper closer to her. “Don’t worry about the way you’re looking at me. I’ve grown used to it. I’m here about her.”

“Her?”

He unfolded the paper he’d pushed forward. It was a picture of Alice. “I’m her father.”

“A
LICE, HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO HAVE THIS SAME
discussion?” Julia couldn’t help laughing at her own comment. She and Alice did many things together these days. None of them could accurately be characterized as a discussion. “Put your shoes on.”

“No.”

Julia went to the window and pointed outside. “It’s raining.”

Alice collapsed to a sit on the floor. “No.”

“We’re going to the diner. Remember the diner? We were there last week. Yummy pie. Put your shoes on.”

“No. Smelly shoes.”

Julia threw up her hands in dramatic despair. “All right, then. You stay here with Jake and Elwood. I’ll bring you home some pie.” She went into the kitchen. With slow, exaggerated movements she gathered her keys and purse, then put on her coat. She was halfway to the door when she heard Alice stand up.

“Girl go?”

Julia didn’t let herself smile as she turned around. Alice stood there, her little face scrunched in a scowl that was equal parts worry and anger. Her overalls were splattered with paint from their last art project. Julia meant to be firm, to say
I’m sorry, you can’t go without shoes—not to a restaurant
and pretend to go on her way while Alice hurriedly put on her shoes. That was what she would have done with an ordinary stubborn child.

Instead, Julia went to her and knelt down so that they were eye-to-eye. “Remember our talk about rules?”

“Good girl. Bad girl.”

Julia winced at the characterization, but rules of behavior were a complex idea. They took years to process and understand; it was one of the hallmarks of socialization. Societies only existed in the presence of rules that governed people’s behavior. “Some places make little girls wear shoes.”

“Girl no like.”

“I know, honey. How ’bout this: no shoes in the car. You put them on in town and take them off when we leave. Okay?”

Alice frowned in thought. “No socks.”

“Okay.”

Alice dutifully crossed the room and got her shoes out of the box by the front door. Without bothering with a coat, she went outside.

As she stepped onto the porch, a cloud crossed the sky overhead, casting the yard in shadow. The drizzling rain turned to tiny flakes of snow. They kissed Alice’s dark head and upturned face, immediately turning to droplets of freezing water.

“Look, Jewlee! Prittee.”

It was snowing and Alice was barefooted.
Perfect.

Julia grabbed Alice’s coat and scooped the girl into her arms, carrying her to the car. She was halfway there when she heard the phone ring.

“That’s probably Aunt Ellie, telling us to watch the snow.” She strapped Alice into the car seat.

“Icky. Tight. Bad,” Alice said, running through her words for displeasure. “Smelly.”

“It does not smell and it keeps you safe.”

That shut Alice up.

Julia put a CD in the player and drove away.

Alice listened to the
Pete’s Dragon
soundtrack seven times without pausing. Her favorite song was “Candle on the Water.” Every time it ended, she cried out “Again!” until Julia complied.

Finally, they pulled into a spot in front of the Rain Drop and parked.

The song snapped off.

“Again?”

“No, Alice. Not now.” Julia leaned sideways and tried to put Alice’s clammy feet into her boots. It was like trying to put surgical gloves on wet hands. “Next time, I’m going to the mat for socks.”

She got out of the car and came around to Alice’s side. Opening the door, she smiled. “You ready?”

Fear flashed through Alice’s eyes, but she nodded.

“You’re such a brave girl.” Julia helped Alice out of the seat.

Alice moved slowly toward the restaurant, staring down at her feet.

“Don’t be afraid, Alice. I’m right here. I won’t let go.”

Alice clung so tightly it hurt, but didn’t say a word.

Julia opened the diner’s door. A bell tinkled overhead. At the sound, Alice shrieked and threw herself at Julia.

She bent down to hug the girl, held her tightly.

The Grimm sisters were at the cash register, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They’d obviously turned in unison at the noise, for now they were staring at Alice. Rosie Chicowski was behind them, tucking a pencil in her pink, beehived hair. To the left, an old logger sat alone in a booth.

Everyone was staring at Julia and Alice.

They should have come an hour ago, between the breakfast and lunch crowds. That was what she’d done last week, and they’d had the place to themselves. Slowly, she stood back up.

The Grimm sisters advanced, three abreast; Julia had a sudden thought about the horsemen of the Apocalypse. These days, apparently, Death rode in a battered urn in an old woman’s arms.

They stared at Julia, then at Alice.

Julia stared back.

Alice snorted nervously, tugged on Julia’s hand.

Violet reached into her purse and pulled out a bright purple plastic coin purse. “Here you go. My granddaughter loves these.”

Alice’s eyes lit up at the gift. She touched it reverently, took it in her small hand, and stroked her cheek with it. After a moment she blinked up at Violet and said, “Ank ’ou.”

The three old women gasped and looked at one another. Finally they looked at Julia. “You saved her,” Daisy said in a stiff voice, obviously bothered by the emotion behind the words.

“Your mom would be so proud,” Violet said, nodding to her sisters for confirmation. They bobbed their heads in unison.

Julia smiled. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without all of you. The town really protected us.”

“You’re one of us,” Daisy said simply.

As one, the trio turned and left the diner.

Tightening her hold on Alice’s hand, Julia led her to a booth in the corner. There, they ordered grilled cheese sandwiches, fries, and milk shakes from Rosie. The food hadn’t been served yet when the bell over the door tinkled again.

Alice glanced up and said, “Max,” matter-of-factly.

He didn’t see them until he’d picked up his lunch order and turned for the door.

When he looked at her, Julia’s heart did a little flip.

“Hey,” he said.

She smiled up at him. “No date for lunch, Doctor?”

“Not yet.”

“Then perhaps you should join us.”

He looked down at Alice. “May I sit next to you?”

Her little face scrunched in thought. “No hurt Jewlee?”

Max looked surprised by that. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” When he saw Alice’s confusion, he said softly, “No hurt Julia.”

Alice finally scooted sideways to make room for him.

Max sat down across from Julia. He’d barely made contact with the vinyl seat when Rosie swooped in beside him. She was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s like watching the moon landing. I
knew
it was true about you two.” She set out a place setting in front of him.

“Alice is my patient,” Max said evenly.

Rosie winked one heavily made-up, false-lashed eye. “’Course she is.”

When she was gone, Max said, “Before I finish my sandwich, everyone in town will know about this. Every patient I see for a week will ask about you.”

A few minutes later Rosie showed up with their lunches.

“Ank ’ou,” Alice said, grinning up at the waitress.

Rosie returned to the kitchen.

Julia was about to tell Alice to eat one french fry at a time when she realized that Max was staring at her.

She met his gaze and saw fear in his blue eyes. He was afraid of her, of
them.
It was a fear she understood; it had shaped much of her life. Passion was a dangerous thing, and love even more so. More often than not, it was love that had devastated her patients—either its excess or its lack. But Alice had taught her a thing or two about love . . . and courage.

“What?” he said, unsmiling.

Julia felt something new, a kind of opening wonder. She wasn’t afraid anymore.

“Come here.” She said it softly.

Frowning, he leaned toward her.

She kissed him. For a heartbeat of time, he resisted. Then he gave in.

Alice giggled. “Kisses.”

When Max drew back, he was pale.

Julia laughed. “Might as well give the gossips something to talk about.”

After that, they went back to their lunches as if it hadn’t happened. Later, as they stood at the front door putting their coats on, Julia dared to touch his arm. She’d already branded him publicly with her mouth; what was a touch on the arm after that?

“I’m taking Alice to the game farm in Sequim. Would you like to join us?”

He paused just long enough to look at his watch, then said, “I’ll follow you.”

Julia bustled Alice out of the restaurant and back into the car. By the time they reached the entrance to the Game Farm, it was snowing in earnest. Big, fluffy white flakes fell from the sky. A few had begun to stick; a thin layer of white had formed on the fence line and on the grass.

Julia pulled up to the small wooden house where the farm’s owner lived. A pair of black bear cubs sat on the porch, chewing on huge sticks of wood.

“You need to put on your boots, your gloves, and your coat,” Julia said.

“No.”

“Stay in the car, then.” Julia bundled up and got out of the car. She joined Max, who stood by his own car. Snow peppered them, landed like bits of fire on her nose and cheeks.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

The car door opened. Alice climbed out. She was dressed for the weather, except that her boots were on the wrong feet.

Just then Floyd came out of the house, wearing a huge arctic parka. Stepping past the playing bear cubs, he walked down the porch steps and across the snowy yard. “Hello, Dr. Cates. Dr. Cerrasin.” At Alice, he bent down. “And you must be Alice. I know a friend of yours.”

Alice hid behind Julia.

“It’s okay, honey. This is your surprise.”

Alice looked up. “Prize?”

“Follow me,” Floyd said.

They hadn’t taken more than three steps when the howling started.

Alice looked up at Julia, who nodded.

Alice ran toward the sound. It was sad and soulful, that cry; it floated on the icy air. Alice answered in her own howl.

They came together at the chain-link fence, the little girl in the black woolen coat and the oversized boots on the wrong feet and the wolf that was now almost half its full-grown size.

Floyd went to the gate. Alice was beside him in an instant, jumping up and down.

“Open. Play. Girl.”