“Her?”
He unfolded the paper he’d pushed forward. It was a picture of Alice. “I’m her father.”
“ALICE, 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, i
t 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.”
He worked the lock. When it clicked, he turned to Julia. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“I’m sure.”
He eased the door open.
Alice slipped into the pen. She and the wolf rolled around together, playing like littermates in the snow. Every time he licked her cheek, Alice giggled.
Floyd shut the gate again. He stood there, watching them play. “This is the first time he’s stopped howling since I got him.”
“She missed him, too,” Julia said.
“What do you suppose—”
“I don’t know, Floyd.”
They fell silent again, watching the girl and wolf roll around in the snow.
“It’s amazing what you’ve done with her,” Max said to Julia.
She smiled. “Kids are resilient.”
“Not always.” His answer was so quiet she almost missed it.
She was about to ask him what he meant, but before she’d formed the question, she heard sirens. “Do you hear that?”
He nodded.
The sound was far off at first, then it drew closer.
Closer.
When the first flashing lights appeared, cutting through the hazy snowfall, Floyd jumped into action. He grabbed Alice’s coat and pulled her out of the pen, then slammed the gate shut.
Alice dropped to her knees and howled miserably.
The police cruiser drove into the yard and parked. The lights remained on, flashing in staccato bursts of color. Ellie walked toward them in the surreal light. “He’s come for her,” she said without preamble.
“Who?” Julia asked, but when Ellie glanced at Alice, Julia knew.
“Alice’s father.”
MAX CARRIED ALICE INTO THE HOUSE. SHE WEIGHED ALMOST NOTHING.
He tried not to think about how natural this felt, carrying a child, but some memories were imprinted too deeply to ever erase, and some movements felt as natural as breathing.
He tried to set her down on the sofa so he could build a fire.
But she wouldn’t free him, wouldn’t uncoil her arms from around his neck, and all the while, as he carried her around the house and built the fire, she was howling in a quiet way that broke his heart.
Finally, he sat down on the couch and drew her onto his lap. Her eyes were tightly shut; her cheeks were still pink with cold. The sound she made—more whimper now than howl—was the physical embodiment of loss. Too much feeling and too few words.
Look away, he told himself. Put on a movie or turn up the music.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew instantly it was a mistake. In his mind he heard a child crying—great big crocodile tears. My fish isn’t swimming anymore, Daddy. Make him all better.
Max tightened his hold on Alice. “It’s okay, little one. Let it out. That’s a good thing, actually.”
At the sound of his voice, she drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him. It made him realize that it was the first time he’d spoken since they left the game farm. “Julia had to go to the police station with Ellie. They’ll be back soon.”
She blinked up at him through eyes that were surprisingly dry. He found himself wondering if she knew how to cry. The very idea of it—that she couldn’t release her pain that way—wounded him.
“No Jewlee leave Girl?”
“No. She’ll be back.”
“Home Girl?”
“Yes.” He tucked a straggly, still damp lock of hair behind her tiny ear.
“Wolf?” Her mouth trembled. The question was so big and complex; yet she asked it all with that one word.
“The wolf is okay, too.”
She shook her head, and suddenly she appeared too old for her face, too knowing. “No. Trap. Bad.”
“He needs to be free,” Max said, understanding her easily.
“Like birds.”
“You know about trapped, don’t you?” He stared down into her small, heart-shaped face. As much as he wanted to look away—needed to look away—he couldn’t. She made him remember too many moments that had passed. The surprising thing was, they were good memories, some of them. From a time when he’d been able to stand still . . . a time when holding a child had made him laugh instead of cry.
“Read Girl?” She pointed to a book on the coffee table. It was already open to a page.
He picked it up.
She immediately resettled herself so that she was positioned closely beside him.
He looped one arm around her and opened the book between them.
She pointed to the top of the page, very certain where she’d left off.
He began to read: “‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the skin horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’”
Read to me, Daddy.
He felt Alice’s hand on his cheek, comforting him. Only then did he realize that he was crying.
“Ouch,” she said.
He looked down at her, trying to
remember the last time he’d let himself cry.
“All better?”
He tried to smile. “All better.”
Smiling at that, she snuggled up against him. He closed the book and started telling her another story, one he’d spent a long time trying to forget, but some words stayed with you. It felt good, saying it all to someone, even if, by the time he got to the sad part, the part that made him want to cry again, she was fast asleep.
TWENTY-TWO
THE DNA IS CONCLUSIVE?” JULIA ASKED. IN THE QUIET OF THE car her voice sounded louder than she would have liked. Because of the snow and the falling night, it felt as if they were cocooned in some strange spaceship.
“I’m no expert,” Ellie said, “but the lab report indicated certainty. And he knew about the birthmark. I have a call into the FBI. We’ll know more in the morning. But . . .”
“What’s her real name?”
“Brittany.”
“Brittany.” Julia tested out the name, trying to make a match in her mind. She thought that if she focused on little things like that—tasks—she wouldn’t think of the big things. Alice—Brittany—wasn’t her daughter; she never had been. All along, the A answer had been this moment—Alice’s reunification with her real family. It didn’t matter that she had made a fatal mistake and fallen in love with the child. What mattered was Alice. That was the ledge Julia clung to. “Why did it take him so long to get here?”
Ellie pulled into the parking slot marked CHIEF OF POLICE and parked.
Julia stared at the sign. The beam of the headlights seemed to set it aglow. At the same time, the falling snow obscured it. Everything about this night was conflicted, it seemed. “I understand you have a job to do, El. We both do. We let ourselves get too involved with her. I get it. But I’m a professional. Believe me when I tell you that I never lost sight of the risk I was taking, and I understand what’s best for Alice.”
“That’s a bunch of shit, but I know why you’re saying it.” Ellie turned to her. In the weird mixture of light and darkness, her face seemed older and full of shadows. “There’s a problem.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you know who George Azelle is?”
Julia frowned. It took her a moment to remember. “Oh, yeah. The guy who murdered his wife and baby daughter? Sure. He—”