Magic hour: a novel (46 page)

“Oh. Hullo,” John said, then herded Julia and Ellie to their desk.

The judge entered the courtroom and took her seat. From there, she stared down at all of them. Without preamble, she began. “I’ve read your motion, Mr. Azelle. As you know, Dr. Cates has been temporary foster parent for your daughter for nearly four months and had recently begun adoption proceedings.”

“That was before, Your Honor, when the child’s identity was unknown,” his attorney said.

“I’m well aware of the time sequence, and I understand the procedural history of this case. The question for this court is placement of the minor child. Obviously, public policy favors the reunification of biological families whenever possible, but these are far from ordinary family circumstances.”

“Mr. Azelle has a history of domestic violence, Your Honor,” John said.

“Objection!” Azelle’s attorney was on his feet again.

“Sit down, counsel. I know he’s never been formally charged with that.” The judge took off her reading glasses and set them on her desk, then looked at Julia. “The white elephant in this courtroom is you, Dr. Cates. You’re hardly the average foster parent seeking permanent custody. You’re one of the preeminent child psychiatrists in this country.”

“I’m not here in that capacity, Your Honor.”

“I’m aware of that, Doctor. It would represent a conflict of interest. You’re here because you won’t withdraw your petition for adoption.”

John started to stand up. Julia stopped him with a touch. No one could plead for Alice better than she could. She looked up at the judge, said, “In any other instance, Your Honor, I would have withdrawn if a family member had come forward. But I’ve read the records in this case and I’m deeply concerned for the child’s safety. The mother’s body has never been found and there’s no finding of not guilty on the record. Mr. Azelle claims to be innocent, but in my experience most guilty people do. I just want what’s best for this poor child who has already suffered so much. As you can see from my report, she’s an extremely traumatized child. Until recently, she was completely mute. I’m making progress with her because she trusts me. To remove her from my care would cause her irreparable harm.”

“Come on, Your Honor,” Azelle’s attorney said. “She’s a psychiatrist. My client can afford to replace her. The truth is, my client has already suffered a tremendous loss of time with his daughter. Justice demands that he be given immediate custody.”

The judge put her glasses back on and looked at them all. “I’m going to take this under advisement. I’ll appoint a guardian
ad litem
to assess the child’s special needs and current condition and let you know when I’ve reached a decision. Until then, the child will remain with Dr. Cates. Mr. Azelle is to be granted supervised visitation.”

The attorney shot to his feet. “But, Your Honor—”

“That’s my ruling, counselor. We’re going to proceed with the utmost care here. This child has already suffered enough. And I’m sure your client only wants what’s best for his daughter.” She hit the bench with her gavel. “Next case.”

It took Julia a moment to process what had just happened. She still had custody of Alice—for now, at least.

She heard John talking to Ellie about the logistics of visitation.

Julia knew all that. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been appointed guardian
ad litem
to protect a child’s interests.

She eased away from the desk and started to leave the courtroom. In the back, by the doors, she saw Max waiting for her.

Then someone grabbed her arm. The grip was a little too tight.

George Azelle pulled her aside. His Hollywood smile was gone, watered down now by failure. In his eyes was a sadness she hadn’t expected. “I need to see her.”

She had no choice but to agree. “Tomorrow. But I won’t tell her who you are. She wouldn’t understand, anyway. We’re at 1617 River Road. Be there at one.” She pulled free of his arm and began to walk away.

He grabbed her again.

She looked down at his long, tanned fingers, wrapped possessively around her bicep. He was a man used to taking what he wanted; he didn’t care much about crossing personal space boundaries, either. “Release me, Mr. Azelle.”

He complied instantly.

She expected him to back away—cowards who were called out usually did, and men who beat their wives were always cowards and bullies—but he didn’t. He stood there, towering over her and yet cowed somehow, bent.

“How is she?” he asked finally.

She would have sworn there was a fissure in his voice, that the words hurt him to say. Murderers and sociopaths were often great actors, she reminded herself. “It’s about time you asked that.”

“You think you know me, Dr. Cates. The whole world does.” He backed away, sighing, shoving a hand through his hair and pulling his ponytail free. “Christ, I’m tired of fighting a war I can’t win. So just tell me: how’s my daughter? What the hell does developmentally delayed mean?”

“She’s been through hell, but she’s coming through. She’s a tough, loving little girl who needs a lot of therapy and stability.”

“And you think I’m unstable?”

“As you’ve pointed out, I don’t know you.” She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a stack of videocasette tapes, which she handed to him. “I made these for you. They’re tapes of our sessions. They will answer some of your questions.”

He took them cautiously, as if he were afraid the black plastic would burn him. “Where has she been?” he finally asked. This time his voice was velvety soft; she was reminded of his Louisiana roots. According to the trial transcripts, he’d been raised dirt poor in the bayou.

“We don’t know. Somewhere in the woods, we think.” Julia wouldn’t let herself be fooled by the concern in his voice. He was playing her; she was sure of it. He wanted her to think he was a victim in this, too. “But I suspect you know that.”

Ellie came up beside Julia, touched her arm. “Everything okay?”

“Mr. Azelle was finally asking about Alice.”

“Call me George. And her Brittany.”

Julia flinched at the reminder. “She’s been Alice to us for a long time.”

“About that . . .” He looked at both of them. “I want to thank you both for taking such good care of her. You literally saved her life.”

“Yes, we did,” Julia said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at one, Mr. Azelle. Promptly.”

Julia nodded and walked away. It was a moment before she realized that Ellie hadn’t followed her.

She glanced back. George and Ellie were talking.

Peanut came up to her, nodded back toward Ellie and George. “That’s trouble,” she said, crossing her arms. “Your sister can turn to Jell-O around a good-looking man.”

“I hope not,” Julia said, feeling exhausted suddenly. “But maybe you should go eavesdrop.”

“Glad to,” Peanut said, and she was off.

Sighing, Julia walked to Max, who was waiting for her at the back door.

TWENTY-THREE

M
ID-AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT, AS UNCERTAIN AS TOMORROW,
shone through the small barred window and landed in a puddle on the hardwood floor.

The girl on the narrow twin bed whined like any other child at naptime. “No sleep. Read.”

From his place just outside the bedroom door, Max heard Julia say, “Not now, honey. Sleep.”

Very quietly, she began to sing a song that Max couldn’t quite hear.

It made him recall another life; in that one, the woman sitting on the bed would have had dark brown hair and the child would be a boy named Danny.

One more story,
he would have said, that little boy they’d called One-More Dan and Dan the Man.

Max went downstairs. In the kitchen, he rifled through the cupboards until he found coffee. Making a pot, he then returned to the living room and made a fire.

He was on his second cup of coffee when Julia finally came downstairs. She looked worn; he would have sworn her cheeks were streaked by tears. He wanted to go to her, hold her in the way she’d held Alice and promise her that everything would be okay, but she looked too fragile to be touched. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he said instead.

“Coffee would be great. Lots of milk and sugar.”

He went to the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee, doctored it for her, and returned.

She was sitting on the hearth, with her back to the fire. Her blond hair had come free from the twist she’d had it in. Now, pale tendrils fell around her face. The area below her eyes was puffy and shadowed, her lips were pale.

“Here.” He handed her the coffee.

She gave him a fleeting look, a flashing smile. “Thanks.”

He sat down on the floor in front of her.

“I want him to be guilty.”

“Do you? Really?”

Her face crumbled at that. She sighed and shook her head. “How can I want it?” she whispered. “It would make her dad a monster. No child deserves that. As her doctor, I want him to be a loving parent, wrongly convicted. As her mother . . .” She sighed.

He had no words to give her. They both knew that either way, Alice—Brittany—would be wounded. She would either lose the woman who’d become her mother or be taken away from her biological father. Maybe that wouldn’t hurt her now, when she couldn’t understand what it meant, but someday she’d feel the loss. She might even blame Julia for it. “She
needs
you; that’s all I know, and you need her.”

Julia’s gaze met his. She slid off the hearth and knelt in front of him. “I want to wake up and find that this was all a bad dream.”

“I know.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. He felt turned inside out by that kiss, broken.

Now that he’d started feeling again, he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He drew back just enough to look at her, and whispered, “You told me once I could have all or nothing from you. I choose all.”

She tried to smile. “It took you long enough.”

W
HEN
G
IRL WAKES UP, SHE GOES TO THE
WINDOW
AND STANDS THERE,
staring out at the
yard.
She loves these new words, especially when she adds
my
in front of it. This word means something is hers.

There are hundreds of birds in her yard right now, though not so many as there will be when the
snow
is gone and the sun is hot again. Down below, lying on top of the melting snow, is a pink flower.

Maybe she should bring it inside. That would make Jewlee smile, maybe, and Jewlee needs to smile more.

She tries not to think about that, but already it is too late. She is remembering last night, when Jewlee held Girl so tightly she had to push her away . . . and how Jewlee’s eyes had watered at that.

Lately, Jewlee’s eyes water all the time. This is a Bad Thing. Girl knows this. Although it now seems long ago that Girl was in the deep forest, she sometimes remembers Him. And Her.

Her’s eyes watered more and more . . . and then one day she was DEAD.

The memory of it is terrifying. Before, in days past, Girl would have howled now, called out to her friends in the deep woods.

Use your words.

This is what she must do now. Using her words is a Good Thing that makes Jewlee happy. But which words? And how can she put them together? How can she tell Jewlee how it feels to be warm . . . to not be afraid anymore. These words are too big; too many are needed. Maybe she’ll just hold Jewlee extra tightly tonight and kiss her cheek. She loves it when Jewlee does that to Girl at bedtime. It is like a bit of magic that makes Girl dream of the pretty things in her yard instead of how she used to sleep in her cave, freezing cold and all alone.

She hears the door to the bedroom open and close. Hears footsteps.

“You’ve been standing at that window a long time, Alice. What do you see?”

Is that a bad thing? There are so many rules in this place. Sometimes she can’t remember them all.

She turns to Jewlee, who looks like a princess in one of the
books
they read. Still, Girl can see the water trails on Jewlee’s cheeks and it makes her feel sad inside, like the rabbit who’d been forgotten by his little boy in the story. “Bad?” she wonders. “No window stand?”

Jewlee smiles, and just like that, Girl feels happy again. “You can stand there all day if you like.” She goes to the bed she sleeps in and sits down, putting her legs out on top of the covers.

“Book time?” Girl hopes, reaching for the story from last night. Grabbing it, she rushes over to the bed. “Teeth, first?” she says, proud of herself for remembering. It is hard to think of such things at story time.

“And pajamas.”

Girl nods. She can do it all—go potty, brush her teeth, and put on the pink
jammies
with the stiff white feet. Then she is on the bed beside Jewlee, tucked in close.

Jewlee pulls her sideways, settles Girl on her lap so they are nose-to-nose. Girl giggles, waiting for kisses.

But Jewlee doesn’t do that. She doesn’t smile. Instead, very softly, she says: “Brittany.”