Authors: Kristin Hannah
There’s a snake in the water, Cal—get out!
That’s just an ol’ twig. You need glasses.
You’re the one who needs glasses—
She remembered their laughter … the way they’d sit on that muddy bank for hours, talking about nothing.
She followed the path back around the bend, and there was the house. For a second she expected it to look as it once had: a slant-sided shack with fake shingles; shutters hanging askew on cracked, dirty windows; a battalion of snarling pit bulls chained in the yard.
She blinked and the memory moved on. She was staring at the house Cal had built by himself, in the years after junior college and before marrying Lisa. He’d worked for a construction company back then. After a forty-five-hour workweek he’d piled on the extra hours at his own house, literally building the place around his drunken, useless father.
It was a small house that seemed to have sprouted outward, growing in a collection of sharp angles and awkward slants. Rooms had been added on as money came in, without real rhyme or reason. Cal had poured his energy into the place, trying to build for his family the home he’d never had. The end result was a quaint shingled cabin set on a patch of velvet green grass, surrounded by two-hundred-year-old evergreens.
As always, the holiday lights and decorations were world-class. Ellie always figured he went overboard to make up for all the years there hadn’t even been a tree in the living room.
The porch was studded with white lights; the railings were festooned with boughs. A giant homemade wreath decorated the front door.
Ellie expected to hear music seeping through the walls, but it was oddly still. For a second she wondered if they were home. She glanced behind her and saw Cal’s baby—the 1969 GTO he’d restored to perfection.
She knocked on the door. When no one answered, she tried again.
Finally she heard a thunder of footsteps.
The door wrenched open and Cal’s daughters stood there, huddled together, smiling brightly. Amanda, the eleven-and-a-half-year-old, looked impossibly grown-up in her low-rise jeans and studded silver belt and pink tee shirt. Her long black hair had been coiled into the haphazard braid that could only be made by a father’s clumsy hands. Nine-year-old Emily was dressed in a green velvet dress that was at least a size too big, and eight-year-old Sarah—the only child to have inherited her mother’s strawberry-blond hair and freckled complexion—hadn’t bothered to change out of her Princess Fiona pajamas.
At the sight of Ellie, all three smiles faded.
“It’s just Aunt Ellie,” Amanda said.
The trio mumbled “Merry Christmas.” Then Emily called out for her dad.
“Gee, thanks,” Ellie said, watching them walk away.
Cal came down the stairs. He was moving slowly, as if maybe he’d just woken up. His black hair was a tangled mess. Tiny pink lines creased his left cheek. He wore a pair of Levi’s so old that both knees were gone and the hemlines were foamy fringe. His Metallica tee shirt had seen better days, too.
“Ellie,” he said, trying to smile. As he passed each of the girls, he hugged them, then let them go.
“You look like hell,” she said when the girls were gone.
“And I was going to say how
beautiful
you are.”
Ellie closed the door behind her and followed him to the living room, where a huge decorated tree took up the entire corner. She set the bag of gifts down beside it.
Cal flopped down on the sofa, put his feet on the hammered copper coffee table. His sigh was loud enough to set a tiny ornament spinning and jingling.
Ellie sat down beside him. It confused her to see Cal this way. He’d laughed his way through too many hard times to fall apart now. If Cal could become fragile, then nothing was safe. “What happened?”
He glanced behind him, made sure no little ears were nearby. “Lisa didn’t come for Christmas morning … or dinner. She didn’t send any presents. I told the girls she’d call, but I’m starting to wonder.”
Ellie frowned. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. I called her parents. She’s out with her new guy.”
“That doesn’t sound like Lisa.”
Cal looked at her. “Yes, it does.”
Ellie heard the wealth of pain behind those few words. She knew it was all Cal would ever tell her about his failed marriage. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been here before, right? A divorce is like a cut. It heals. That’s what you always said.”
The truth was, she had never been in his shoes. She’d never stayed married for more than two years, never become a love instead of a lover with her spouse. God knew she’d never had children’s hearts in her grasp. “I don’t think my marriages should be compared to yours, Cal. You might hurt for a long time.”
“Not loving her can’t be more painful than loving her was.” He stared into the fire.
Ellie let him have his time. In a way, it was like the old days when they were kids. They’d sometimes sit on that bridge all day and never say more than
You got any more Bazooka?
“How was your Christmas?” he finally said.
“Great. We made Dad’s stew and Grandma Dotty’s corn bread. Alice never could get the whole Santa-down-the-chimney concept. She wouldn’t unwrap her presents, either. She just carried the boxes around.”
“By next year she’ll be a champ. Gift holidays, they learn fast. I remember the first time I took Amanda trick-or-treating.”
“It was to my house.”
He wanted to smile; she could tell. “Yeah. She couldn’t figure out why she was dressed up like a pumpkin, but once you gave her the candy, she didn’t care.”
“She wore my mom’s green felt hat, remember?”
Cal looked at her. In his familiar eyes she saw a longing so deep and raw she wanted to reach out for him, tell him it would be okay. “I thought you’d forgotten all that.”
“How could I forget? We’ve been best friends for decades.”
He sighed, looked over at the tree. She got the feeling that she’d disappointed him again. That was starting to happen a lot, and she had no idea why. Then again, what she knew about a truly broken heart was only slightly more than she knew about kids. It was best, probably, to change the subject, get Cal thinking about something beside his cracked family on this special day. “Julia wants to adopt Alice. She thinks the kid needs permanence.”
“Good idea. How do you do it?”
“We start with a Motion to Terminate Parental Rights. If no one comes forward to claim her in the publication period, Julia’s in the clear.”
It was a moment before Cal said, “What if her folks finally do come forward? And they never knew she’d been found?”
Ellie and Julia had avoided that question like the plague. It was the one that could ruin it all. “That would be bad.”
“Washington bends over backward for biological parents. Even if they’re scum.”
“Yeah,” Ellie said. “I know.”
“So we go from hoping they show up to hoping they don’t.”
“Right.” Ellie paused, looked at him. They fell silent again. “It wasn’t quite Christmas without you.”
“Yeah,” he said with a faded smile. “Things change.”
Ellie didn’t want to walk down that road with him. Truthfully, she was afraid that if she did, she’d start thinking about her own loneliness. Being with Cal did that to her sometimes, reminded her of how much she’d missed out on in life. She got up and went into the kitchen. She poured two tequila straight shots and set them on a tray, alongside a shaker of salt. In the living room, she set the tray down on the coffee table, pushing his feet aside.
“What the—straight shots? On Christmas day?”
“Sometimes a mood changes on its own.” Ellie shrugged. “Sometimes it needs a shove.” She plopped down beside him. “Bottoms up.”
“What’s the salt for?”
“Decoration.” She clanked her glass against his and drank up. “Here’s to a better year coming up.”
“Amen to that.” Cal downed the drink and put his shot glass on the coffee table. When he turned to her again, he seemed to be
studying
her, looking for something hidden. “You’ve been in love a lot.”
She laughed. “And out of it a lot.”
“How do you … keep believing in it? How do you tell someone you love them?”
She felt her smile shake. “Saying it is easy, Cal. Meaning it is practically impossible. I pity the poor guy who falls for me.” She wanted to smile again but couldn’t. This whole conversation was depressing her. The way Cal was looking at her made it all worse. “Enough sadness. This is a holiday.”
She cleared the alcoholic evidence away and went over to the stereo. There, she put a CD in the player and turned the volume on high enough to bring the girls out of the family room, where they’d probably been watching another Hilary Duff movie.
“What’s going on?” Amanda asked, tugging on her askew, falling-out braid. The girls stood close together. All of them had sad eyes on this most magical of days.
“First off, you have presents to open.”
That made them smile a little, but not all the way.
“Then I’m taking you bowling.”
Amanda made a very grown-up face. “We don’t bowl. Mom says it’s for trailer trash.”
Ellie looked at Cal. “Are you telling me they don’t know about secret bowling?”
Sarah took a step forward. “What’th thee-cret bowling?”
Ellie bent down. “It’s bowling after hours, all by yourself, with the music blaring and all the junk food you can eat.”
“Mom would never agree to this,” Amanda said.
“I’ll have you know,” Ellie said, “that your dad and I used to work at the Big Bowl. And that’s why you’re the only kids in Rain Valley who get to know about secret bowling. Now, go get dressed.”
Sarah tugged on Ellie’s sleeve, said in a stage whisper, “C’n I be Princeth Fiona?”
“Absolutely,” Ellie said. “In secret bowling, you can wear whatever you want.”
Amanda looked up. “Can I wear makeup?”
Before Cal could answer, Ellie said, “Sure.”
In a flurry of laughter, the girls ran up the stairs.
Cal looked at Ellie. “We haven’t snuck into the Big Bowl in twenty-five years.”
“I’ll call Wayne and let him know. He still keeps the keys in the gnome’s hat. We can leave fifty bucks in the register.”
“Thanks, El.”
She smiled. “Just remember this the next time I get divorced. Tequila and midnight bowling.”
“Is that the magic potion?”
Her smile faded as she looked at him. “No. But sometimes it’s all there is.”
TWENTY-ONE
It was nearing the end of January, that month when the skies were steely and tempers were lost as easily as car keys. All across town, children stood at windows, peering out at rainy backyards; their mothers spent extra hours wiping fingerprints from the glass.
Inside the Cates’ house, the only light came from artificial bulbs, and the pattern of rain falling from the eaves sounded like a quickened heartbeat that wouldn’t calm down.
It made Ellie uneasy.
No, it wasn’t the weather that had her so unnerved. It was the company.
The woman from the Department of Social and Health Services sat stiffly erect on the sofa, as if she were terrified by the thought of an airborne dog hair finding a perch on her gray wool pants.
Julia, who looked composed and comfortable in winter white, sat beside the woman. “May I answer any other questions for you, Ms. Wharton?”
The woman’s smile was as nervous as the rest of her; there and gone. All Ellie really saw was a flash of crooked teeth. “Call me Helen. And I do have some final questions.”
Julia gave her the camera-ready smile. “Fire away.”
Helen put down her pen and looked across the room to where Alice played by herself. She had not made eye contact with Helen once. In fact, upon introduction to the woman, she’d howled and run away. After cowering behind a tiny potted ficus tree for almost an hour, she’d finally emerged from her hiding place, only to begin eating the flower arrangement. “Obviously, this environment is perfectly acceptable. Your home study was approved for temporary foster care of … the minor child, and I see no deterioration that would warrant a reversal of our recommendation. As you’ve repeatedly reminded us, the child is flourishing in your care. My concern, actually, is for you, Dr. Cates. May I be frank?”
“I’d love to hear what you have to say,” Julia said.
“Obviously she’s a profoundly damaged child. Perhaps you’re correct and she’s not autistic or otherwise mentally challenged, but she clearly has issues. I doubt she’ll ever be normal. All too often, we find that parents go into adoption of special needs children with big hearts and high hopes, only to realize that they’ve taken on too much. The state has some wonderful facilities for kids like … her.”
“There are no kids like her,” Julia said. “She’s been uniquely harmed, I think, and there’s no way to judge her future. As you know, I’m more than qualified to treat her as a patient, and I’m entirely ready to love her as a parent. What could be a better situation for her?”
Helen’s smile came late and seemed as thin as nonfat milk. “She’s a lucky young girl that you found her.” She shot a glance at Alice, who was now standing at the window, “talking” to a squirrel. The social worker stood up and offered Julia her hand. “I see no reason to pretend anyone needs to review this. I’ll certainly recommend placement with you from a home study perspective.”
“Thank you.”
After the social worker left, Julia’s smile finally slipped.
Alice ran to her, jumped into her arms. “Scared,” she whispered.
“I know, honey.” Julia held her tightly, stroked her hair. “You don’t like people who wear glasses. And she had an awful lot of shiny jewelry, didn’t she? Still, you should have smiled at her.”
“Smelly lady.”
Ellie laughed. “I have to agree with the kid on that one.” She headed for the coatrack by the front door and grabbed her jacket. “I’ll call John and tell him you finished the home study. He can get started on the hearing date and start on the Summons for Termination of Parental Rights.”
Still holding Alice, Julia moved toward her. “Once a week for three weeks, in all the area newspapers, huh? That’s how we announce it to the world.”
“They have sixty days from the first publication to file a Notice of Appearance. After that, you’re home free.”
They.
Alice’s biological family.
Though they didn’t speak of it, Julia and Ellie both knew that Alice wasn’t like other kids who’d been lost or abandoned. Someone, somewhere, could be dreaming of her, remembering her, but not looking anymore. A parent could show up anytime, even years from now, and lay a truer claim to the child’s heart than Julia had.
Ellie knew her sister had thought about that, agonized over it, in fact, and decided that she’d take the risk. It was better, Julia thought, to give Alice a home now and worry about the future, than to let the child spend a lifetime in limbo, waiting for a biological parent who might never arrive.
“Well, it’s off to work for me,” Ellie said. “ ’Bye, Alice.”
Alice hugged Ellie. “ ’Bye, Lellie.”
Ellie hugged her back. “Cal said it’s a half day today at the girls’ school. He’ll bring Sarah by for a while after lunch.”
“Tell him thanks. Maybe Alice will talk to Sarah this time.” She nuzzled Alice’s neck. “Right, little girl?”
Alice’s answer was a high-pitched giggle.
Ellie left the house and went out to her cruiser. With a quick honk—Alice loved that noise—she was off.
In the weeks since Christmas and New Year’s, Rain Valley had settled back into its usual midwinter routine. More often than not, the downtown streets were empty of both cars and people. The taverns filled up earlier and stayed busy longer. Ellie and Earl and Mel took turns waiting just off the highway for drivers who thought it was okay to pound beers and then operate a vehicle. Weekend matinees at the theater were jammed to the rafters with kids, and it was impossible to get a lane or a parking stall at the bowling alley.
News of the Flying Wolf Girl had all but faded from the newspapers. Even Mort had better things to write about these days, like the rumblings at Mount St. Helens and the court-sanctioned Makah tribe whale hunt.
Days at the station slid back into their comforting routine. Calm had returned to Rain Valley, and those who were charged with keeping that peace were glad. Cal had more time again to read his comics and draw his drawings, since the phone rarely rang. Peanut scheduled everyone according to their family needs and paid their paychecks on time.
In short, life was good.
Now, Ellie drove through the Ancient Grounds coffee stand, got a Grande Mocha Latte, then continued on to the station. She pulled into her parking stall behind the station and went in the back door. She was in the lunchroom, checking out what was in the fridge, when Peanut bustled into the room and slammed the door shut behind her.
“Ellen!” she said in the stage whisper she reserved for Big Gossip.
Ellie took a sip of her coffee and glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty was pretty early for big news. “Let me guess: the wrong person was voted off
Survivor.
”
Peanut smacked her. “
Survivor
’s over.”
Ellie shut the fridge. “Okay, what’s the skinny, big girl?”
“It’s important that you keep your wits about you. Cal and I are worried.”
“That I’m witless? How comforting.”
“You
know
how stupid you get around certain men.”
“I’m not admitting that. However, the only good-looking man in town is hot for my sister.”
“Not anymore.”
“Max isn’t into Jules anymore?”
Peanut hit her in the shoulder. “Pay attention.”
Ellie frowned. “What in the hell are you babbling about?”
“There’s a guy waiting for you out front.”
“So? Why the full panic?”
“He’s
gorgeous.
And he won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“No kidding?”
“You should see the way you’re smiling. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
Ellie eased out of the lunchroom and peered down the hallway. From here all she could see was a man—with his back to her—sitting in the chair opposite her desk. He was dressed all in black. “Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t give his name. Won’t take off his sunglasses, either.” She snorted. “Must be from California.”
Ellie ducked back into the lunchroom and grabbed her purse. Five minutes in the bathroom and she’d touched up her makeup and brushed her teeth. Back in the lunchroom, she turned to Peanut. “How do I look?”
“This is
so
not good. You’re going to go into full slut mode now.”
“Bite me. I haven’t had a date in months.” Ellie smoothed the wrinkles from her uniform, adjusted the three gold stars on her collar, and walked out into the main room of the station house. Peanut hurried along behind her.
Cal looked up at her approach. He immediately noticed her makeup then glanced at the man across from him and shook his head. “Big surprise,” he muttered.
She kept moving. “Hello. I’m Chief Barton,” she said, rounding her desk. “I understand—”
He turned to her.
Ellie forgot what she’d been about to say. All she saw were chiseled cheekbones, full lips, and a mass of unruly black hair. He took off his sunglasses and revealed a pair of electric blue eyes.
Holy Mother of God.
Ellie sat down without shaking his hand.
“I’ve come a long way to see you,” he said in a worn, gravelly voice.
An accent. Just a hint of one, but enough.
She couldn’t place it. Australian, maybe. Or Cajun. She
loved
a man with an accent.
“I’m George Azelle.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he set on her desk.
The name registered.
“I see you remember me.” He leaned forward, pushing the paper closer to her. “Don’t worry about the way you’re looking at me. I’ve grown used to it. I’m here about her.”
“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.