She was surprised by how much those simple words meant to her. “How is it you always know what I need to hear?”
He smiled. “It’s my superpower.”
Beside them a bell tinkled and Peanut came out of the diner.
“Dr. Cerrasin. How are you?” Peanut said, looking from one of them to the other. She seemed certain that she’d missed something important.
“Fine. Fine. You?”
“Good,” Peanut said.
Max stared at Julia. She felt a little shiver move through her; it was probably from the cold. “Well,” she said, trying to follow it up with anything that made sense. But all she could do was stare at him.
“I should go,” he finally said.
Later, when Peanut and Julia were in the car, driving home, Peanut said, “That Dr. Cerrasin is certainly a fine-looking man.”
“Is he?” Julia said, staring out the window. “I didn’t notice.”
Peanut burst out laughing.
SIXTEEN
ELLIE WAS IN THE LIVING ROOM, READING THROUGH THE MISSING children reports—again—when Julia got home.
She knew how the press conference had gone by the disappointed look on her sister’s face. It was one of those moments when Ellie wished she weren’t so observant. She saw all the new lines on Julia’s face, the pallor of her skin, and the pounds she’d lost. The woman was practically a scarecrow.
Ellie felt a tinge of guilt. It was her fault that Julia was disappearing. If she had done her job better, the whole burden of identification wouldn’t have fallen on Julia’s thin shoulders. Amazingly, though, Julia had never once blamed her.
Of course, they hardly spent any time together these days. Since the press conferences began, Julia had worked like a machine. Every hour of every day, she kept herself in that bedroom upstairs.
“No one showed,” Julia said, tossing her briefcase on the sofa. There was the merest tremble in her voice; it could be exhaustion or defeat. She sat down in Mom’s favorite rocker, but didn’t relax. She sat stiffly; Ellie was reminded of a sliver of pale ash that had been filed too thin. There wasn’t enough left to bend without snapping in half.
A silence followed, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.
Ellie glanced up the stairs, thinking of Alice. “What do we do now?”
Julia looked down at her hands, balled up in her lap. Her sudden fragility was sad to see. “I’m making remarkable progress, but . . .”
Ellie waited. The sentence remained a fragment, swallowed by the stillness in the room. “But what?”
Julia finally looked up at her. “Maybe . . . I’m not good enough.”
Ellie saw how vulnerable her sister was right now and knew she needed to say just the right thing; it was a talent she’d rarely possessed. “Dad used to tell me all the time how brilliant you were, how you were going to light up the world with your brightness. We all saw it. Of course you’re good enough.”
Julia made a funny sound, almost a snort. “Dad? You must be joking. All he ever thought about was himself.”
Ellie was so stunned by that observation that it took her a moment to marshal a response. “Dad? He had huge dreams for us. Well, me, he gave up on by the second failed marriage, but you—you were his pride and joy.”
“Are we talking about Big Tom Cates, who used up all the air in the room and squashed his wife’s personality?”
Ellie laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that. “Are you kidding? He adored Mom. He couldn’t breathe without her.”
“And she couldn’t breathe beside him. She left him once, for two days. Did you know that? When I was fourteen.”
Ellie frowned. “That time she went to Grandma Dotty’s? She came right back.” Ellie made an impatient gesture with her hand. “The point is, they both believed in you, and it would break their hearts to see you questioning yourself. What would you do right now if you were your old self and that girl upstairs needed your help?”
Julia shrugged. “I’d go up and try something radical. See if a little shaking up would help.”
“So, do it.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then you try something else. It’s not like she’ll kill herself if you’re wrong.” Ellie realized a second too late what she’d said. When she looked at Julia, saw her sister’s pale face and watery eyes, it all finally fell into place. “That’s it, isn’t it? This is about what happened in Silverwood. I should have figured it out.”
“Some things . . . scar you.”
Ellie couldn’t imagine how heavy that weight was, how her sister could bear it. But there was still only one thing to say. “You’ve got to keep trying.”
“And what if I’m not helping her enough? The doctors at the care facility—”
“Are assholes.” She leaned forward, made eye contact. “Remember when you came home for Dad’s funeral? You were in the middle of your surgical rotation. I asked you how you could stand it . . . knowing that if you screwed up, people could die.”
“Yeah.”
“You said, and I quote: ‘That’s part of being a doctor.’ You said that sometimes you just kept going because you had to.”
Julia closed her eyes and sighed. “I remember.”
“Well, now is the time to keep going. That little girl upstairs needs you to believe in yourself.”
Julia glanced up the stairs. It was a long moment before she said, “If I were going to do something radical, I’d need your help.”
“What can I do?”
Julia’s frown was there and gone so quickly Ellie thought she’d imagined it. Then Julia stood. “Find a place in the shadows, park your butt, and sit quietly.”
“And?”
“And wait.”
JULIA FELT A SURPRISING BUOYANCY IN HER STEP AS SHE WENT UP THE stairs. Until the conversation downstairs, she hadn’t even realized that she’d been quietly giving up. Not on Alice; never that. On herself. More and more often, in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, she’d been questioning her abilities, wondering if she was helping Alice or hurting her, wondering about Amber and the other victims. The more she wondered about it all, the weaker she became, and the weaker she became, the more she wondered. It was a vicious cycle that could destroy her.
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up, adopting a winner’s stance. Combined with this fledging hope of Maybe I’m still okay, it gave her the strength to open her old bedroom door.
Alice lay in her bed, curled up like a little cinnamon roll. As always, she was on top of the covers. No matter how cold the room got, she never pulled the blankets over her.
Julia glanced at the clock. It was nearing six o’clock. Any minute, Alice would wake from her nap. The child was like a Japanese train in the adherence to her routine. She woke at five-thirty every morning, took a nap from four-thirty to six, and fell asleep at 10:45 each night. Julia could have set her watch by it; that schedule had allowed them to conduct the press conferences.
She shut the door behind her. It clicked hard. She took her notebooks out of their storage box on the uppermost shelf of the closet and went to the table, where she read through her morning’s notes.
Today Alice picked up our copy of The Secret Garden. With remarkable dexterity, she flipped through the pages. Whenever she found a drawing, she made a noise and hit the page with her palm, then looked up to find me. She seems to want me watching her all the time.
She is still following me like a shadow, everywhere I go. She often tucks her hand into my belt or the waistband of my pants and presses against me, moving with a surprising ability to gauge where I’m going.
She still shows no real interest in other people. When anyone comes into the room, she races to the “jungle” of hers and hides. I believe she thinks we can’t see her.
She is increasingly possessive of me, especially when we are not alone. This shows me that she has the ability to make attachments and bond. Unable—or unwilling—to vocalize this posse
ssiveness when others are speaking to me, she uses whatever is available to make noise—hitting the wall, snorting, shuffling her feet, howling. I’m hopeful that someday soon her frustration at the limitations of these forms of communication will force her to try verbalizing her feelings.
Julia picked up her pen and added:
In the past week, she’s become quite comfortable in her new environment. She spends long spans of time at the window, but only if I will stand with her. I have noticed increasing curiosity about her world. She looks under and around things, pulls out drawers, opens closets. She still won’t touch anything metal—and screams when an accidental contact is made—but she’s edging toward the door. Twice today she dragged me to the door and then forced me to lie down beside her. She spent almost an hour in total silence, staring at the bar of light from the hallway. The dogs were on the other side, whining and scratching to be let in. Alice is beginning to wonder what’s beyond this room. That’s a good sign—she’s gone from fear to curiosity. Thus, I think it’s time to expand her world a bit. But we’ll have to be very careful; I believe the forest will exert a powerful pull on her. Somewhere out there, in all that darkness, is the place that was her home.
Julia heard a movement on the bed. The old wooden frame creaked as Alice got up. As always, the girl woke up and went straight into the bathroom. She ran nimbly, almost soundlessly, across the floor and ducked into the smaller room. Moments later the toilet flushed. Then Alice ran for Julia, tucking up alongside her, putting her tiny hand in Julia’s pants pocket.
She put her pen down, then gathered up her journals and notebooks and put everything on a high shelf. Alice moved soundlessly beside her, never losing contact.
Julia went to the chest of drawers and withdrew a pair of blue overalls and a pretty pink sweater. “Put these on,” she said, handing them to Alice, who complied. It took her several attempts to put on the sweater—she kept confusing the neck and sleeves. When she grew frustrated and started breathing heavily and snorting, Julia dropped to her knees.
“You’re getting frustrated. That’s okay. Here. This is where your head goes through.”
Alice instantly calmed and let Julia help her, but she drew the line at shoes. She simply would not put them on. Finally, Julia conceded defeat.
“Come with me,” she said, “but your feet will be cold.” She held out her hand.
Alice sidled up to Julia, put her hand in the pocket again.
Very gently, Julia eased Alice away from her. Then she held out her hand again. “Take my hand, Alice.” She made her voice as soft as a piece of silk.
Alice’s breathing grew heavier. Confusion tugged at her brow and forehead.
“It’s okay.”
Long minutes passed. They both stood perfectly still. Twice more Alice went for Julia’s pocket and was very carefully rebuffed.
Finally, just when Julia was considering the viability of her plan, Alice took a step toward her.
“That’s it,” Julia said. “Take my hand.”
Alice’s reaching out was slow, unsteady, and perhaps the most courageous moment Julia had ever witnessed. The girl was clearly terrified—she was breathing hard, trembling; the look in her eyes was of near terror—and yet she reached out.
Julia held the tiny, shaking hand in hers.
“No hurt,” she said, looking down at Alice.
Alice breathed a sigh of relief.
Holding hands, Julia led her toward the door.
Alice halted as they drew close. This was the closest she’d ever really been to the door. She stared at the bright, shiny knob in horror.
“It’s okay. No hurt. You’re safe.” Julia squeezed Alice’s hand in reassurance. She didn’t move, let Alice accept the moment thus far; when the girl’s trembling subsided, Julia reached for the door.
Alice tried to pull back.
Julia held fast to her hand, saying soothingly, “It’s okay. You’re afraid, but no hurt.” She twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The hallway was revealed. Long and straight, illuminated by sconces, there were no shadows in front of them, no hidden spaces. The dogs were there. At Alice’s presence, they erupted into barking, prancing movements and started to run toward her.
Alice pressed against Julia. At the dogs’ approach, she held out one small, pale hand and made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat.
The dogs stopped in their tracks and dropped to their haunches, waiting.
Alice looked up at Julia.
Julia couldn’t make sense of it. “Okay, Alice,” she said, not even sure what she was agreeing to, but she saw the question in the child’s eye.
Very slowly, Alice let go of Julia’s hand and moved toward the dogs. They remained perfectly still. When Alice reached them, it was as if a switch had been turned. The dogs pounced to life, licking Alice and pawing her.
Alice threw herself at the dogs, giggling hard when they nuzzled her throat.
Julia soaked in the new sight of Alice’s smile.
Long minutes passed. Finally, Alice drew back from the dogs and returned to Julia’s side. She tucked her hand in Julia’s waistband. “Come on, Alice,” Julia said.
Alice let herself be pulled slowly into the hallway. Once there, she got nervous. She looked longingly back at the plants in the bedroom. When she tried to take a step backward, Julia firmly said, “This way.”
She led Alice to the top of the stairs. Here, they paused again. The dogs followed them, moving quietly.
Julia wanted to scoop Alice into her arms and carry her down each step, but she didn’t dare. The girl might flail so mightily to be free that Julia would lose her hold.
Instead, still holding the little hand, Julia took one step down.
Alice gazed at her for a long time, obviously gauging this turn of events. Finally, she followed. They made their way down to the living room one step at a time. By the time they reached the sofa, it was full-on night.
She opened the porch door, revealing the darkness outside. The air smelled of coming winter, of dying leaves and rain-soaked grass and the last few roses on the bushes along the side of the house. The dogs made a beeline for the yard and started playing.
Alice made a quiet, gasping sound and took a step on her own, then another, until they were on the porch. The old cedar floorboards creaked in welcome. Mom’s rocker was touched by the breeze and rocked to and fro.
Alice was easily led now, down the steps and around the corner and into the grassy yard. The sound of the river was loud; leaves whispered among themselves and floated downward. Thousands of them, all at once, though the breeze was as soft as a baby’s breath.
Alice let go of Julia’s hand and grabbed onto her pant leg instead; then she dropped to her knees. She sat utterly still, her head bowed.
The sound was so quiet at first, so thready, that Julia mistook it for a growing wind.
Alice lifted her face to the night sky and let out a howl that undulated on the air. It was a noise so sad and lonely that you wanted to cry, or howl along with her. It made you think of all that you’d ever loved, all that you’d lost, and all the love you’d never known.
“Go ahead, Alice,” Julia said, hearing the throatiness of her voice. It was unprofessional to be so moved, but there was no way to help it. “Let it all out. This is crying for you, isn’t it?”
When the howling faded, Alice was quiet again. She sat there, kneeling in the grass; she was so motionless it was as if she’d melted onto the landscape. Then, all at once, she moved. She bent forward and picked up a tiny yellow dandelion from the darkness in front of her. Julia hadn’t even been able to see the flower. In a single motion she separated the root from the stem and ate the root.
“This is the world you know, isn’t it?” Julia tried to get Alice to let go of her pants so the child could wander freely, but Alice wouldn’t let go.
“I won’t leave you, but you don’t know that, do you? Someone has already left you out in these woods, haven’t they?”
> In the silence that followed the question, a crow cawed, then an owl hooted. Within seconds the forest at the edge of their property was alive with birdsong. The unseen branches creaked and sighed; the pine needles rustled.
Alice imitated each of the calls; each of her versions flawless. The birds answered her.
In the darkness, it took Julia’s eyes a moment to notice what was happening.
The yard was full of birds; they formed a wide circle around them.
“My God . . .” It was Ellie’s voice, from somewhere in the shadows.
At the sound, the birds flew away, their wings sounding breathy and fast.
Somewhere, far away, a wolf howled.
Alice answered the call.
A shiver crept down Julia’s spine; suddenly she was icy cold. “Don’t move,” she said to Ellie when she heard a rustling in the leaves.
“But—”
“And don’t talk.”
Alice tugged on Julia’s hand. It was the first time the girl had ever tried to lead. Julia couldn’t help smiling. “That’s good, little one. I’ll follow.”
A cloud moved away from the moon, floated across the sky. In its wake, moonlight painted the grass, lit the river. Everything looked silvery and magical.
Alice pointed at the rosebushes. They were leggy and winter bare, sorely in need of cutting back. She pulled free and approached the roses with a confidence Julia had never seen before. She straightened, lifted her chin. For once she didn’t hunch over and hold an arm across her stomach. Moonlight glanced off her hair; it looked black as a crow’s wing, tinged with blue.
The night felt steeped in magic, shimmering with it. Stars sparkled in the sky. Julia would have sworn she could hear the ocean. She backed away slowly, letting Alice explore this perimeter of her own world. She felt her sister’s approach.
Ellie stopped beside her. “How do you know she won’t run away?”