Authors: Kristin Hannah
“There’s nothing I like better than hanging around with fat men in matching polyester shirts,” said Cal. “I’m in.”
Peanut glared at him. “You want me to tell Benji you called him fat?”
Cal laughed. “It’ll come as no surprise to him, Pea.”
“Don’t get started, you two,” Ellie said tiredly. The last thing she wanted to listen to was a he said/she said fight over nothing. “I’m going home. You should, too, Cal. It’s Friday night. The girls will miss you.”
“The girls and Lisa went to Aberdeen to see her folks. I’m a bachelor this weekend. So, it’s the Big Bowl for me.” He looked at her. “You used to love bowling.”
Ellie found herself remembering the summer she and Cal had worked at the Big Bowl’s lunch counter. It had been that last magical year of childhood, before all the sharp edges of adolescence poked through. They’d been outcasts together that summer, best friends in the way that only two social rejects can be. The next summer she’d been too cool for the Big Bowl.
“That was a long time ago, Cal. I can’t believe you remember it.”
“I remember.” There was an edge to his voice that was odd. He walked over to the hooks by the door and grabbed his coat.
“It’s karaoke night,” Peanut said, smiling.
Ellie was lost and Peanut damn well knew it. “I guess a margarita couldn’t hurt.” It was better than going home. The thought of telling Julia about the DNA was more than she could bear.
On either side of river road, giant Douglas fir trees were an endless black saw blade of sharp tips and serrated edges. Overhead, the sky was cut into bite-sized pieces by treetops and mountain peaks. There were stars everywhere, some bright and so close you felt certain their light would reach down to the soggy earth, but when Ellie looked at her feet, there was only dark gravel beneath her.
She giggled. For a second she’d almost expected to look down and see a black mist there.
“Slow down,” Cal said, coming around the car. He took hold of Ellie’s arm, steadying her.
She couldn’t seem to stop looking at the sky. Her head felt heavy; so, too, her eyelids. “You see the Big Dipper?” It was directly to the left and above her house. “My dad used to say that God used it to pour magic down our chimney.” Her voice cracked on that. The memory surprised her. She hadn’t had time to raise her shield. “This is why I don’t drink.”
Cal put an arm around her. “I thought you didn’t drink because of the senior prom. Remember when you puked on Principal Haley?”
“I need new friends,” Ellie muttered. She let herself be guided into the house, where the dogs rammed into her so hard she almost fell again.
“Jake! Elwood!” She bent down and hugged them, letting them lick her cheek until it was so wet it felt like she’d been swimming.
“You need to train those dogs,” Cal said, stepping away from their sniffing noses.
“Training anything with a penis is impossible.” She grinned at him. “And you thought I didn’t learn anything from my marriages.” She pointed to the stairs. “Upstairs, boys. I’ll be right up.”
She only had to say it another fifteen times before they obeyed. Once the dogs were gone, Cal said, “You better get to bed.”
“I’m sick of sleeping alone. Pretend I didn’t say that.” She started to pull away from Cal, then stopped dead. “Did you hear that? Someone’s playing the piano. ‘Delta Dawn.’ ” She started singing. “ ‘Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on?’ ” She danced across the room.
“No one is playing music,” Cal said. He glanced over at the corner, where her mom’s old piano sat, gathering dust. “That’s the song you sang tonight for karaoke. One of them, anyway.”
Ellie came to an unsteady stop and looked at Cal. “I’m the chief of police.”
“Yes.”
“I got drunk on margaritas and sang karaoke … in public. In my
uniform.
”
Cal was trying not to smile. “Look at the bright side, you didn’t strip and you didn’t drive home.”
She covered her eyes with her hand. “That’s my bright side? I didn’t get naked or commit a crime.”
“Well … there was that time—”
“I am
definitely
making new friends. You can go home. I won’t be seeing you anymore.” She turned away from him too quickly, lost her balance, and went down like a tree at harvest time. The only thing missing was a cry of “Timber!”
“Wow. You really hit hard.”
She rolled over and lay there. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to hook me up to some sort of pulley system and get me up?”
Cal was openly smiling now. “I’m going to stand here. Us not being friends anymore, and all.”
“Oh, damn it. We’re back on.” She reached up. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “That hurt,” she said, brushing dust off her pants.
“It looked like it did.”
Cal was still holding her hand. She turned to him. “It’s okay, big brother. I’m not going to fall again.”
“Sure?”
“Semi-sure.” She pulled free. “Thanks for driving me home. See you back at the station at eight sharp. The DNA will find a match. I feel it in my blood.”
“That might be tequila.”
“Naysayer. ’Night.” She lurched toward the stairs, grabbing the handrail just as she started to fall.
Cal was beside her in an instant.
“Hey.” She frowned, feeling his hold on her forearm. “I thought you left.”
“I’m right here.”
She looked at him. With her on the stair and him on the floor, they were eye-to-eye and so close she could see where he’d nicked himself shaving that morning. She noticed the jagged scar along his jawline. He’d gotten that the summer he turned twelve. His dad had come after him with a broken beer bottle. It was Ellie’s dad who’d gotten him to the hospital.
“How come you’re so good to me, Cal? I was crappy to you in high school.” It was true. Once she’d sprouted boobs, plucked her eyebrows, and outgrown her acne, everything had changed. Boys had noticed her, even the football players. She’d left Cal behind in the blink of an eye, and yet he’d never made her feel bad about it.
“Old habits die hard, I guess.”
She backed up one step. It was just enough to put some distance between them. “How come you never drink with us?”
“I drink.”
“I know. I said
with us.
”
“Someone has to drive you home.”
“But it’s always you. Doesn’t Lisa care that we keep you out all night?”
He was looking at her closely. “I told you: she’s gone this weekend.”
“She’s always gone.”
He didn’t answer. After a minute she’d forgotten what they were talking about.
And suddenly she was thinking about the girl again, and failure. “I won’t find her family, will I?”
“You’ve always found a way to get what you want, El. That was never your problem.”
“Oh? What is my problem, then?”
“You always wanted the wrong things.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He seemed disappointed by that. Like he’d wanted her to say something else. She couldn’t imagine how she’d let him down, but somehow she had. If she were sober, she’d probably know the answer.
“You’re welcome. You want me to pick you up tomorrow morning?”
“No need. I’ll get Jules or Peanut to give me a ride.”
“Okay. See you.”
“See you.”
She watched him walk away, close the front door behind him.
The house fell silent again. With a sigh, she navigated the narrow, too-steep stairway and emerged onto the second floor. She meant to turn left, to her parents’—now her—bedroom, but her mind was on autopilot and steered her right into her old room. It wasn’t until she saw that both twin beds were full that she realized she’d made a wrong turn.
The girl was awake and watching her. She’d been asleep when the door opened, Ellie was certain of it. “Hello, little one,” she whispered, flinching when she heard the low, answering growl.
“I would never hurt you,” she said, backing toward the door. “I only wanted to help. I wish …”
What did she wish? She didn’t know. When she thought about it, that was the problem with her life, now and always; she’d never known what to wish for until it was too late.
She wanted to promise that they’d find the girl’s family, but she didn’t believe it. Not anymore.
Like a riverbank in a spring thaw, the erosion of Julia’s self-confidence was a steady, plucking movement. No instant of it could really be seen—no giant chunks of earth fell away—but the end result was a change in the course of things, a new direction. More and more, she found herself retreating to the safe world of her notes. There, on those thin blue lines, she analyzed everything. While she still believed that Alice understood at least at the toddler level—a few words, here and there—she was making no real progress in getting the girl to speak. The authorities were breathing down her neck. Every day, Dr. Kletch left a message on the machine. It was always the same.
You’re not helping this child enough, Dr. Cates. Let us step in.
This afternoon, when she’d put Alice down for her nap, Julia had knelt by the bed, stroking the girl’s soft black hair, patting her back, thinking,
How can I help you?
She’d felt the sting of tears in her eyes; before she knew it, they were falling freely down her cheeks.
She’d had to go to the bathroom and redo her makeup for the press conference. She’d only just finished her mascara when a car drove up outside. She was halfway down the stairs when she ran into Ellie, coming up.
“You okay?” Ellie asked, frowning.
“I’m fine. She’s asleep.”
“Well. Peanut’s waiting in the car. I’ll stay here today.”
Julia nodded. She grabbed her briefcase and left the house.
They drove the mile and a half to town in a heavy rain. The drops on the windshield and roof were so loud that conversation was impossible. Rain seemed to be boiling on the hood.
While Peanut parked the car, Julia opened an umbrella and ran for the station. She was hanging up her coat and walking to the podium when it struck her.
Every seat was empty.
No one had come.
Cal sat at the dispatch desk, looking at her with pity.
She glanced at the clock. The press conference should have started five minutes ago. “Maybe—”
The door burst open. Peanut stood there, wearing her department issue slicker, rain dripping down her face. “Where the hell is everyone?”
“No one showed,” Cal said.
Peanut’s fleshy face seemed to fall at that. Her eyes rounded, first in understanding, then in resignation. She went over to where Cal stood and tucked in close to him. He took hold of her hand. “This is bad.”
“Very bad,” Julia agreed.
For the next thirty minutes they waited in terrible silence, jumping every time the phone rang. By 4:45 no one could pretend that it wasn’t over.
Julia stood. “I need to get back, Peanut. Alice will be waking up soon.” She reached for her briefcase and followed Peanut into the car.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The sky looked gray and bruised. Exactly how she felt. She knew she should made small talk with Peanut, at least answer her endless string of questions, but she didn’t feel like it.
Peanut turned onto Main Street. After a quick “Aha!” she pulled into one of the slanted parking stalls in front of the Rain Drop Diner. “I promised Cal I’d get him dinner. It’ll only take a jiff.” She was gone before Julia could answer.
Julia got out of the car. She’d intended to get herself a cup of coffee, but now that she was here, she couldn’t seem to move. Across the street was Sealth Park. It was where Alice had first appeared. The maple tree, now bare, sent empty branches reaching for the darkening sky. The forest in the distance was too dark to see.
How long were you out there?
Julia felt someone beside her. She pulled her thoughts back to the now and turned, expecting to see Peanut’s smiling face.
Max stood there, wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and a white tee shirt. It was the first time she’d seen him in weeks. The avoidance had been entirely intentional. And now here he was, looking down at her, taking up too much space and breathing too much air.
“Long time no see.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Me, too.”
They stood there, staring at each other.
“How’s Alice?”
“She’s making progress.”
“Still not talking?”
She winced. “Not yet.”
He frowned. It lasted only a second, maybe less; she thought perhaps she’d imagined it until he said, “Don’t be frustrated. You’re helping her.”
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 possessiveness 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.