“I don’t. I’m betting on her attachment to me, though. There are bad memories out there for her.”
“A mammoth understatement.”
Julia watched Alice draw nearer to the rosebush, wondering what the girl would do if a thorn bit her flesh. Would she turn to her for help or comfort? Had she learned at all that she wasn’t alone any longer, or would she feel betrayed by this strange place and run back to the world she knew?
“Be careful, Alice,” Julia said. “There are thorns.”
The girl reached for a single, pink bud, plucked it from the bush.
Alice petted the rose with a gentleness that surprised Julia, then she turned away. Moving slowly, she walked toward the river. When she reached a little lip of land, she paused.
Julia and Ellie followed her, both ready to save her if she jumped.
But Alice kept moving down the bank, to the place where the grass was tamped down and dead. There, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head, howling softly.
“She’s calling her wolf,” Julia said quietly. “Telling him her story and that she misses him.”
They waited for an answer, breath held, but all they heard were the trees whispering overhead and the river’s throaty laughter.
“He’s at the game farm with other wolves,” Ellie finally said. “Too far away to hear her.”
Julia left Ellie standing there and moved toward Alice. Coming up behind the girl, Julia touched her shoulder.
Alice turned around and peered up at Julia through eyes so dark and unfathomable they seemed to reflect the endless night sky.
Julia knelt in the damp grass. “Talk to me, Alice. What are you feeling right now? You don’t need to be afraid. You’re safe here.”
THE NIGHT IS FULL OF NOISES. SOMETIMES IT IS SO LOUD THAT GIRL HAS trouble hearing the quiet that lies beneath. It has always been like that for her. She has to work hard at not hearing the animals, the insects, the wind, and the leaves. She needs to close her eyes and listen to her own heartbeat until that’s all there is. Even in the dark she sees too much—a spider crawling along the ground at her feet, a pair of crows watching her from the purple tree, a moth flying along the river. In the distance she hears the rustling movement of a hunting cat.
If only the two Hers would stop talking so loudly; then Girl could breathe again. She feels a tightness in her chest and it scares her. She should feel safe out here on the edge of her world. She could run away now if she wanted to. If she was careful and followed the river, she could find her cave again.
All those times she stood at the lying box, with her arm held out in the green-scented air, she imagined a chance like this. The moment when Sun Hair would look away and Girl would run.
But now she doesn’t want to leave.
She looks down at her feet. They are planted as firmly as any tree root. This is where she wants to be. With Sun Hair.
“Talktomealis.”
Sun Hair is there, in front of her, reaching a hand out to Girl. In the light of this round-faced moon, everything about Sun Hair is white.
Girl is afraid and confused. What if Sun Hair doesn’t want Girl to stay? Maybe she is being let go now?
She doesn’t want to go back to the cold, hungry darkness of her cave. Maybe Him is there. . . .
Sun Hair bends down. “Canyoutalktomealis?”
The other one, the big, jangling Night-Haired Her says something from the shadows. There is no color around that one, no scent. Girl cannot sense what that one feels or thinks, but she knows it is bad.
Something is wrong.
“Leavethis. Toodamnspooky,” Night Hair says. She shivers as if it is cold, which confuses Girl even more. It is moons and moons away from cold.
“Goaheadandleave. Illstay.” Sun Hair is looking at Girl and smiling. “Ineedyoutotalkalis. Isanyofthismakingsense?”
Girl hears something. It sneaks up on her like a hunting wolf. She frowns, trying to understand.
Need.
Talk.
Did Sun Hair want Girl to make the sounds that meant things?
No.
It couldn’t be. That is the Bad Thing.
Sun Hair’s smile slowly disappears. The color of her eyes seem to change from green to the palest gray. It is the color of lostness, of the water that leaks from your eyes. At last Sun Hair makes a sad, lonely sound and straightens.
“MaybeIwasrightElandImnottheonetohelpthisgirl.”
It seems now that Sun Hair is miles away from Girl and getting farther. Sooner they will be so far apart that Girl won’t be able to find her.
“Ineedyoutotalklittleone.” Sun Hair takes a breath. “Please.”
Please.
From somewhere, Girl remembers this sound. It is special, like the first bud in spring.
Sun Hair wants Girl to make the forbidden noises.
Girl gets slowly to her feet. She feels light-headed with fear.
Sun Hair is walking away now.
Leaving.
Girl’s fear pushes her forward. She follows, grabs Sun Hair’s hand and holds so tightly it hurts.
Sun Hair turns to her, kneels. “Itsokayalis. Itsokay. Imnotleavingyou.”
Leaving. Out of the jumble of sounds, Girl hears this. It is as clear as the sound of a river rising.
Girl looks at Sun Hair. Holding tightly to her hand, she wants to look away or close her eyes so that if Sun Hair is going to hit her, she will not have to see it coming, but she forces her eyes to stay open. It will take all her heart, everything she has inside of her to think and remember and make the forbidden noise.
“Whatisit? Areyouokay?” Sun Hair’s voice is so soft it makes Girl’s heart ache.
She looks up into those pretty green eyes. Girl wants to be good. She licks her lips, then says quietly, “Stay.”
Sun Hair makes a sound like a stone falling in deep water. “Didyou saystay?”
Girl gives her the special rose. “Peas.”
Sun Hair’s eyes start leaking again, but this time her mouth is curled up in a way that makes Girl feel warm inside. She puts her arms around Girl and pulls Girl toward her.
It is a feeling Girl has never known before, this holding of the wholeness of her. She closes her eyes and lets her face burrow into the softness of Sun Hair’s neck, which smells of the flowers that grow when the sun comes sneaking up through nighttime.
“Stay,” she whispers again, smiling now.
SEVENTEEN
ELLIE SAT IN HER DAD’S OLD CHAIR ON THE PORCH, WRAPPED UP in a heavy woolen blanket. Beside her, a cup of tea sent thin shoots of steam into the air.
Although it had been almost three hours since the Alice-in-the-woods show, she could still hear the sad, wavery notes of the girl’s howling, like a mournful music of the night.
So much had happened tonight; the hell of it was, had anything changed? Alice could speak. That much they knew now, and it might be the open door they needed through which they could find her identity.
But for some reason, Ellie didn’t believe it. She didn’t think Alice belonged anywhere or to anyone. Somehow, she’d been set adrift in her life like one of those elder Eskimo women who crawl out onto the ice floes, where they remain, cold and alone and infinitely unwanted, until they simply gave up their lives.
Ellie wrapped her hands around the cup of tea. Steam pelted her face, brought with it the scent of oranges.
Behind her the porch door squeaked open.
Julia took a seat in Mom’s rocker.
“Is she asleep?” Ellie asked.
“Like a baby.”
Ellie tried to corral her thoughts; they were like mustangs on the open range, running wild at her approach. “Did she say anything else?” That was the starting place. Hopefully, the two words had been only the beginning.
“No. And it might be a while. Tonight was a big event, to be sure, but did you hear the way she said please? Peas. Like a two-year-old. And she didn’t put the two words together as a sentence. To her, I believe the words were separate entities.”
Julia was smiling brightly. Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that.
“What does all that mean?”
It took Julia a moment to answer. “It’s all very complicated and scientific, and I need a lot more information to really form a solid opinion, but in a nutshell, Alice is either electively mute—which means that she is choosing not to speak because of the traumas she’s experienced—or she is developmentally delayed in her acquisition of speech. I believe it is the latter. I say this for a couple of reasons. First, she seems to understand specific, simple words, but not sentences comprised of those words. Secondly, tonight she used the two words independently, which reveals the level of syntax learning of an average two-year-old. Think of how children learn language. First it’s simple word identification. Mama. Dada. Ball. Dog. Gradually, they’ll string two words together to communicate a more complex idea, then three. In time, they learn to form negative sentences—‘No play. No nap’—and begin to use pronouns. As they become more proficient, they will form their sentences into questions. Most scientists believe that a child can learn these complex, unvoiced rules and acquire language at any age up to puberty. After that, for some reason, it becomes almost impossible. It’s why kids learn foreign languages so much easier than adults do.”
Ellie held up her hand. “Slow down, Einstein. Are you saying that Alice can speak but hasn’t been taught much, so she’s got the verbal skills of a toddler?”
“That’s my guess. I think she was raised in a verbal, perhaps even a caring environment, for the first eighteen months to two years of her life. It was then that she began to learn a few words and bonded physically with someone. After that . . . something very bad happened and she stopped developing her language skills.”
Something very bad.
The words left a heaviness behind, a residue. “A toddler doesn’t know her name. Not her last name, anyway.”
“I know.”
Ellie leaned back in her dad’s chair and sighed heavily. “It seems like no one is looking for this kid, Jules. The NCIC has come up completely blank on any known missing or kidnapped children who match her description. The DNA had done nothing for us, and the press isn’t interested anymore. And now you’re telling me that even if you get her to start talking up a blue steak, she may have no idea what her name is. Or who her parents are, or what city she lives in.”
“Jeez, El. I was feeling pretty good about tonight. We got her outside and talking.”
“I’m sorry. You’ve done a hell of a job with her, Jules. Really. But I have responsibilities, too. DSHS thinks we should start permanent foster care proceedings.”
“Don’t do it, El. Please. I have a chance with her. It’s not only about finding her family anymore. It’s about saving her, bringing her back to the world. You reminded me of all that, of how much good I can do for Alice.”
“You make it sound like you’ll stay as long as you need to.”
“Why wouldn’t I? There’s nothing left for me in L.A. When you don’t have a husband, or kids, or a job, it’s easy to walk away from your life. Just lock up your condo and go.” She finally lifted her gaze. “The truth is, I need Alice right now. I’ll do whatever I have to do to help her. Can that be enough for now? Can we just let the temporary custody agreement stand?”
“Of course.” Ellie didn’t know how she felt about the idea of her sister living here all through the winter. It was something she’d have to worry over later, in the dark, while she tried to fall asleep. But she knew she appreciated someone else shouldering the burden of little Alice’s damaged soul. “What about . . . all that weirdness? The birds?”
Julia stared over the rim of her teacup at the moonlit river beyond. “I don’t know. She’s lived in a world that’s different than ours, with different fundamental rules. When I was doing research on the documented cases of wild children, it was clear that in most previous centuries, these children were romanticized, seen as examples of true nature. Uncorrupted and uncivilized, they came to represent a purity of man that couldn’t exist in a society that set down rules of behavior.”
“And all that means what?”
“Maybe she’s more a part of nature than of man, more connected to the natural world—sights, smells, plants, animals—than to us.”
Ellie didn’t even know what to make of that. “It looked more like magic than science to me.”
“That’s another explanation.”
“So what now? How do we get her to start talking?”
Julia looked at her. “She needs to learn that she’s safe here. I think we need to show her what a family is. Maybe it’ll ring some bells with her, make her remember. And we teach her the way you’d teach any two-year-old: one word at a time.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER ELLIE WENT TO BED, JULIA LAY IN HER BED, staring at the ceiling. She was too wound up to sleep. Her blood seemed to be tingling just beneath her skin.
Stay.
That moment kept repeating itself, over and over. Each time she remembered it, she felt a shiver of awe at what it meant.
Until tonight, that very moment when Alice had spoken her first word, Julia hadn’t even realized how lost she’d become, how far she’d fallen. Her grasp on confidence had been fragile and slippery. But now she was back. She was her old self.
And she’d never give up again. First thing tomorrow morning she would call the team of doctors and scientists who wanted to study Alice and tell them to back off. Then she’d convince DSHS that they had nothing to worry about with the girl’s current placement.
Maybe that was the lesson she’d needed to learn from the tragedy with Amber, the missing sign she’d been so desperate to find.
In her business, there would be failures. Heartbreaking losses. But to be the best, she had to stay strong in her belief that she made a difference.
She was strong again. No phone calls from scientists or so-called colleagues or questions from the media would ruin her again. No one would take Alice from her.
She needed to talk to someone tonight; to share her triumph, and there was only one person who would understand.
You’re crazy, Julia.
She threw the covers back and got out of bed. Dressing in a pair of well-worn black sweats and a blue tee shirt, she kissed Alice’s soft cheek and then left the room.
Outside Ellie’s bedroom, Julia paused. There was no light from beneath the door, no sounds from within.
She didn’t want to wake her sister. Besides, Ellie didn’t truly appreciate the importance of tonight’s events.
Without letting herself think, she moved. She went out to the car and drove toward the old highway. There were no other cars on the road this time of night; the world was dark and still. Stars splattered the sky like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Just before the entrance to the national park, she turned onto a rutted gravel road. At the final bend, she flicked off her headlights. Under cover of darkness, she pulled into his yard.
In truth, she didn’t know why she was here, parked in front of his house like a teenage girl on a lonely Saturday night.
That wasn’t true. She didn’t want to admit why she was here, perhaps, but she knew.
No matter how often she’d told herself she was being stupid—the fly going straight into the web—she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
She got out of the Suburban and walked across the dark yard, hearing the gentle lapping of the lake along the shore.
MAX HEARD THE CAR DRIVE UP AND HOPED LIKE HELL IT WASN’T A medical emergency. This was his only night off call this week and he had already finished his second scotch.
He heard footsteps on the porch. Then a knock on his front door.
“I’m out here,” he called out. “On the deck.”
There was a pause, a long time of quiet. He was about to call out again when he heard footsteps.
It was Julia. At the sight of him in the hot tub, she stopped dead.
She stood beneath the orangey bulb that illuminat
ed the covered deck. He hadn’t seen her since the diner, and yet—to be honest—he’d thought about her often. He couldn’t help noticing how pale she looked, how thin and drawn. Her stunning bone structure now looked edgy and sharp; her chin was pointier than before.
But it was her eyes that caught him, held him as firmly as a child’s grip on a favorite toy.
“A hot tub, Doctor? How clichŽ.”
“I went climbing today. My back is killing me. Get in.”
“I don’t have a suit.”
“Here. I’ll turn off the light.” He pressed the button and the tub went dark. “There’s wine in the fridge. Glasses are above the sink.”
She stood there a long time. So long, in fact, he thought she was going to decline. Finally, she turned and left. He heard the front door open and close. A few moments later she returned, holding a wineglass and wearing a towel.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“I can see your bra straps, Julia.”
“Are you going to close your eyes?”
“What are we, eighth graders? Are you planning on spin-the-bottle later? I doubt—”
She walked away.
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “My eyes are closed.”
He heard her return, heard the muffled thump of the towel landing in a chair and the quiet splashing of her getting in the hot tub. Water rippled against his chest; for a split second he thought it was her touch.
He opened his eyes.
She sat pressed to her side of the tub, her arms at her sides. The white lacy bra she wore had gone transparent; he saw the creamy swell of her breasts above the fabric and the water, and the dark spots of her barely covered nipples.
“You’re staring,” she said, sipping her wine.
“You’re beautiful.” He was surprised by the thready tone of his voice, surprised by how much he suddenly wanted her.
“I struggle to calculate how many times you’ve said that to women foolish enough to get into this tub.”
“Are you foolish?”
She looked at him. “Absolutely. But I’m not stupid. Stupid would be naked.”
“Actually, you’re the first woman who has ever been in this hot tub.”
Magic Hour Page 23