Magic Hour

by Kristin Hannah

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and stood up to face her. “You stopped seeing me a long time ago, El. You saw the gangly, screwed-up kid I used to be, and the quiet always-there-for-you guy I became. But you haven’t really looked at me in a long time.”

  “I see you, Cal.”

  “Good. Because I’ve waited a long time to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  He took her by the shoulders, held her firmly.

  And he kissed her.

  Not a friendly peck or an I-hope-you-feel-better brushing of the lips. An honest to God, send the blood rushing to her head, kiss. Tongue and all.

  Ellie resisted at first—it was all so unexpected—but Cal wasn’t letting her run the show this time. He backed her up against the wall and kept kissing her until her breathing was ragged and her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d faint. It was a kiss that held back nothing and promised everything.

  When he finally drew back, making her whimper at the sudden loss, he wasn’t smiling. “You get it now?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Everyone in town knows how I feel about you.” He kissed her again, then drew back. “I was beginning to think you were stupid.”

  She didn’t know how a nearly forty-year-old twice-divorced woman could feel like a teenage girl again, but that was exactly how she felt. All giddy and breathless. In an instant her whole life had clicked into place. It all fit now. Cal.

  Behind them the door opened. Ellie turned around slowly, still feeling dazed.

  Peanut stood in the doorway. Like flowers from a single stem, three little faces hovered beside her. Peanut said, “Go put on your jammies. Daddy will be up in a minute to put you to bed.” When they were gone and their footsteps on the stairs had faded to nothing, Peanut’s gaze moved from Cal to Ellie and back to Cal.

  A smile finally tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You kiss her?”

  Ellie had the thought: Peanut knew? and felt a flash of irritation. Then Cal was pulling her toward him and she forgot about everything else. In those eyes she’d known forever, she saw love. True, this time; the kind that began on a cold day between two kids and lasted for a lifetime. He squeezed her hand. “I did.”

  Peanut laughed. “It’s about damn time.”

  Ellie put her arms around Cal and kissed him. She didn’t care if Peanut was watching. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been on Main Street, in uniform, during a traffic stop. All her life she’d been looking for love and it had been there all along, across the field, waiting for her. “It is,” she whispered against his lips. “About damn time.”

  JULIA KNEW SHE WAS HOLDING ALICE TOO TIGHTLY, BUT SHE COULDN’T seem to let go. Neither could she think of her as Brittany. For the last hour, no matter what she did—or appeared to be doing—Julia was also watching the clock, thinking Not yet. But time kept moving on, slipping past her. Every second that passed brought her closer to the time when George would drive up to the house and knock on the door and demand his daughter.

  “Read Alice.” The child thumped her finger on the page. Somehow she knew exactly where they’d left off.

  Julia knew she should close the book quietly, say that it was time to talk of other things, of families that had been split up and fathers who came back, but she couldn’t do it. Instead she let herself hold her little Alice and keep reading, as if this were any other rainy January day. “‘Weeks passed,’” she read, “‘and the little rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit anymore except to the boy.’” Julia’s voice gave out on her. She sat there, staring at the words, watching them blur and dance on the page.

  “Want Alice real.”

  She touched Alice’s velvety cheek. Every time they read this story, Alice said the same thing. Somehow the poor little girl thought she wasn’t real. And now there was no time to prove otherwise to her. “You’re real, Alice. And so many people love you.”

  “Love.” Alice whispered it softly, as she always did, with a kind of reverence.

  Julia closed the book and set it aside, then pulled Alice onto her lap so they were looking at each other.

  Alice immediately looped her arms around Julia’s neck and gave her a butterfly kiss. Then she giggled.

  Be strong, Julia thought.

  “You remember Mary and the secret garden and the man who loved her so much? The man who was her father? He’d been gone, remember?” Julia lost steam. She stared into Alice’s worried face and felt as if she’d fallen into the turquoise pools of her eyes. “There’s a man. George. He’s your father. He wants to love you.”

  “Alice loves Jewlee.”

  “I’m trying to tell you about your father, Alice. Brittany. You have to be ready for this. He’ll be here soon. You have to understand.”

  “Be Mommy?”

  Julia almost gave in, but a glance at the clock reminded her how short time was. She had to try again.

  Alice had to understand that she wasn’t abandoning her, that she had no choice. She glanced over at the suitcase she’d packed so carefully last night. In it were all of the clothes and toys the town had gathered for “their” girl. Additionally, Julia had packed all of Alice’s favorite books and a few of her own childhood favorites that they hadn’t gotten around to yet. And there were the boxes that had been donated by the local families. Everyone in town had given their Alice something.

  How would she button Alice’s—Brittany’s—coat, kiss her on the cheek, and say good-bye? You’ll be fine. Go off with this man you don’t know and who doesn’t know you. Go live in a big house on a street you can’t cross without help in a city where you’ll never quite be understood.

  How could she do it?

  And how could she not? No matter how she tussled with all of this, she couldn’t escape the fact that George Azelle was a victim in this, too. He’d lost his daughter and found her again, against all odds. Of course he wanted to take her home. And he’d hired all the best medical professionals to care for her. Julia was terrified that it wouldn’t be enough, but she didn’t know how to stop the inevitable.

  She drew in a ragged breath and tightened her hold on Alice. Outside, she heard a car drive up.

  “Mommy?” Alice said again. This time it was her little girl’s voice that sounded wobbly and afraid.

  “Oh, Alice,” she whispered, touching her soft, pink cheek. “I wish I could be that for you.”

  ALICE HAS A VERY BAD FEELING. IT IS LIKE THE TIME WHEN HIM FIRST left and she was so hungry that she ate the red berries off the bush by the river and threw up.

  Jewlee is saying things that Alice can’t make herself understand. She is trying hard; she knows these words are important. Father. Chance. Daughter. Jewlee says them all slowly, as if they weigh down her tongue. Alice knows they mean something important.

  But she cannot understand and the trying is hurting now.

  Jewlee’s eyes keep watering.

  Alice knows this means Jewlee is sad. But why? What has Alice done wrong?

  She has tried so hard to be Good. She showed the grown-ups the Bad Place in the woods, even went to the rocks that covered Her, even though it made Alice feel so sad. She let herself remember things she’d tried to forget. She’d learned to use forks and spoons and the toilet. She’d let them call her Alice, and had even learned to love that word, to smile inside when someone said it and meant her.

  So what is left, what has she not done?

  She knows about Leaving. Mommies who are soon to be DEAD have pale cheeks and shaking voices and leaking eyes. They try to tell you things you don’t understand, hug you so tightly you can’t breathe.

  And then one day they’re gone and you’re alone and you wish your eyes would leak and someone would hold you again, but you’re alone now and you don’t know what you did wrong.

&
nbsp; Alice feels that sick stomach feeling coming back, the panic that makes breathing hurt. She keeps trying to figure out what she has done wrong.

  “Shoes!” she says suddenly. Maybe that is it. She never wants to wear her shoes. They pinch her toes and squish her feet, but she will sleep in them if Jewlee will keep loving her. “Shoes.”

  Jewlee gives Alice a sad, sorry smile. From outside comes a sound, like a car driving into the yard. “No shoes now, honey. We’re inside.”

  How can she say I’ll be good, Jewlee? Always. Always. I’ll do everything you say.

  “Good girl.” She whispers it as a promise, meaning it with every piece of her.

  Jewlee smiles again. “Yes. You’re a very good girl, honey. That’s why all this hurts so much.”

  It isn’t enough, being a good girl. That much she understands.

  “No leave Alice,” she says desperately.

  Jewlee looks toward the glass box that holds the outside. The window.

  She is waiting, Alice knows. For Something Bad.

  Then Jewlee will Leave.

  And Alice will be Girl again . . . and she will be alone. “Good girl,” she says one more time, hearing the crack in her voice. There is nothing else she can say. She runs across the room and picks up her shoes, trying to put them on the right feet. “Shoes. Promise.”

  But Jewlee says nothing, just stares outside.

  TWENTY-SIX

  ELLIE SAW THE CLOT OF NEWS VANS PARKED ON EITHER SIDE OF the old highway. A white police barricade had been set up across her driveway, barring entrance. Peanut stood in front of it, her arms crossed, a whistle in her mouth.

  Ellie hit the lights and siren for a second; the sound cleared the street instantly. Reporters parted into two groups and went to either side of the road. She pulled around the barricade and rolled down her window to talk to Peanut.

  “They’re a roadside hazard. Get Earl and Mel out here to disperse the crowd. This day is bad enough without the media.”

  A bright red Ferrari pulled up behind the cruiser. Ellie looked in her rearview mirror. George smiled at her, but it was faded, less than real. There was a sad, haunted look in his eyes.

  Reporters swarmed his car, hurling questions.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Will there be a funeral?”

  “Who did you sell your story to?”

  “Get them out of here, Peanut,” she said, then stepped on the gas.

  The Ferrari followed her down the potholed gravel road.

  Ellie kept looking in her mirror, hoping he’d turn around or disappear.

  By the time she pulled up in front of the porch, her stomach was coiled into a tiny ball.

  She parked and killed the engine, then got out of the car.

  George walked over to her. “How do I look?” he said, sounding nervous. He tucked a wavy strand of hair behind one ear.

  “Good.” She cleared her throat. “You look good.”

  He smiled and it took over his face, wiping away the nervousness, lighting those blue, blue eyes. Then his smile faded. He looked at the house and said, “It’s time.” His voice was soft, seductive. She wondered how many women had been drawn into the darkness by it and left there, alone, wondering vaguely how they’d gotten so lost. “I told your sister I’d pick up Brittany at three.”

  Brittany.

  With a sigh, she led him across the yard. They were almost to the steps when a gray Mercedes pulled up behind them and parked.

  “Who’s that?” she asked George.

  “Dr. Correll. He’s going to work with Brit.”

  The man got out of his car. Tall, thin, almost elegantly effete, he walked toward them. His lean face showed plenty of lines but no hint of personality. “George.” He nodded at George, then he shook Ellie’s hand. “I’m Tad Correll.”

  He had the grip strength of a toddler. Ellie had an almost overwhelming urge to coldcock him. “Nice to meet you.” She was about to turn away when she noticed the hypodermic needle sticking out of his breast pocket. “What’s that for? You a heroin addict?”

  “It’s a sedative. The girl might be upset by the transition.”

  “You think?” Ellie couldn’t help looking at George. She knew it was in her eyes—the pleading, the desperate don’t do this—but she didn’t say it again.

  “She’s my daughter,” he said quietly.

  There was no answer to that. Ellie knew that if she were in his shoes, no force on Earth would keep her from her child.

  She nodded.

  The three of them headed for the house. At the front door, Ellie knocked.

  Anything to put off the inevitable.

  Then she opened the door.

  Julia sat on the sofa with Alice tucked beside her. At the foot of the sofa was a small red suitcase.

  Julia looked up at them. Her beautiful face glistened with tear tracks; her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She didn’t move. Ellie was pretty sure she couldn’t. At the knock, Julia’s legs had probably given out on her. Max stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

  “Mr. Azelle,” Julia said in a shaky voice. “I see you’ve brought Dr. Correll.” She nodded at the doctor and got to her feet. “Your reputation precedes you, Doctor.”

  “As does yours,” Dr. Correll said. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I watched the tapes. Your work with her has been phenomenal. You should publish it in the journal.”

  Julia looked down at Alice, who looked scared now.

  “Jewlee?” Alice said, her voice spiking up in fear.

  “It’s time for you to go now,” Julia said in a voice so quiet they all moved a little closer to hear.

  Alice shook her head. “No go. Alice stay.”

  “I wish you could, honey, but your daddy wants to love you, too.” She touched Alice’s tiny face. “You remember your mommy? She would have wanted this for you.”

  “Jewlee Mommy.” There was no mistaking the fear in Alice’s voice now. She tried to hug Julia more tightly.

  Julia worked to uncoil the girl’s spindly arms. “I wanted to be . . . but I’m not. No Jewlee Mommy. You have to go with your father.”

  Alice went crazy. Kicking and screaming and growling and howling. She scratched Julia’s face and her own.

  “Oh, honey, don’t,” Julia said, trying to calm the child, but she was crying too hard to be heard.

  Dr. Correll swooped in and gave Alice a shot.

  The child howled at that. A huge, desperate wail that came from all the dark places she’d seen in her life.

  Ellie felt tears in her own eyes, stinging, blurring everything.

  Julia held onto Alice, who slowly quieted as the sedative took effect.

  “I’m sorry,” Julia said to her.

  Alice’s eyes blinked heavily. She coiled her arms around Julia and stared at her. “Love. Jewlee.”

  “And I love Alice.”

  At that, Alice started to cry. It came with no sound, no shuddering, no childlike hysterics, just a soul deep release that turned into moisture and dripped down her puffy pink cheeks. She touched her tears, frowning. Then she looked up at Julia and whimpered two words before she fell asleep. “Real hurts.”

  Julia whispered something none of them could hear. She looked ruined by those quietly spoken words and Alice’s tears.

  They all stood there a moment, staring at each other. Then Dr. Correll said, “We should hurry.”

  Julia nodded stiffly and carried Alice out to the Ferrari. She looked down into the passenger seat, then turned to George. “Where’s her booster seat?”

  “She’s not a baby,” he said.

  “I’ll get it,” Ellie said, going to the truck. Somehow that did it to her, after all she’d just seen; unhooking the booster seat—Alice’s seat—and yanking it out of the truck made her cry. She tried to hide her face from George as she fit the seat into the Ferrari.

  Very slowly, Julia bent down and put the sleeping child into the car. She whispered
something into Alice’s tiny ear; none of them heard what it was. Then she kissed her cheek and backed away, shutting the car door gently.

  Julia stood face-to-face with George. She handed him a thick manila envelope. “This is everything you need to know. Her naptimes, bedtimes, allergies. She loves Jell-O now—but only if it has pineapple in it—and vanilla pudding. She tries to play with pasta, so unless you want a real mess, I’d keep it away from her. And pictures of bunnies with big ears will make her giggle; so will tickling the bottoms of her feet. Her favorite book—”

  “Stop.” George’s voice was harsh, throaty. He took the envelope in shaking hands. “Thank you. For everything. Thank you.”

  “If you have problems, you’ll call. I can be there in no time—”

  “I promise.”

  “I want to throw myself in front of your car.”

  “I know.”

  “If you—” Her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes, said, “Take care of my—our—girl.”

  “I will.”

  Overhead, a cold breeze rustled through the leaves. In the distance, a crow cawed, then another. Ellie half expected to hear a wolf howl.

  “Well,” George said. “We need to go.”

  Julia stepped back.

  Ellie went to her sister, put an arm around her. Julia felt frail and too thin suddenly, like someone who has been hospitalized for a long time and had only recently gotten out of bed. Max came up, too; they bookended her. Without their steadying presence, Ellie thought her sister might collapse.

  George got into his car and drove away. Dr. Correll followed.

  For a few moments their tires crunched on the gravel driveway, their engines purred. Then there was no sound left, no trace of them.

  Just the wind.

  “She cried,” Julia whispered, her whole body trembling. “All the love I gave her . . . and in the end all I did was teach her to cry.”

  Max pulled Julia into his arms and held her tightly. There was nothing more they could say.

  Alice was gone.

  SHE IS IN A CAR.

  But it is not the kind of car she knows. This one is low—almost on the ground—and it darts around like a snake. The music is so loud it hurts her ears.