Magic hour: a novel

by Kristin Hannah

  “Who are you, little one?” Ellie whispered, feeling that weight of responsibility again. “I’ll find your family. I swear I will.”

  FORTY YEARS AGO, WHEN THE ROSE THEATER WAS BUILT, IT HAD BEEN on the far edge of town. Old-timers still called the neighborhood Back East; it had been given that nickname when Azalea Street seemed miles away. Now, of course, it was practically in town. All around it there were small two-story homes, built in the timber rich years to house mill workers. Across the street was the library, and just down the road a block or two was the new hardware store. Sealth Park, where the girl had first shown up, was kitty-corner to it.

  Max came to the movies every Friday night, alone. At first there had been talk about the weirdness of his habit, and women had shown up “accidentally” to sit with him, but in time it had settled into a routine, and there was nothing the people of Rain Valley liked better than routine.

  He waved to the theater’s owner, who stood at the tiny concession counter, carefully rearranging the boxes of candy. He didn’t stop to chat, knowing that any conversation would inevitably circle back to the man’s bursitis.

  “Hey, Doc, how’d yah like the movie?”

  Max turned to his left and found Earl and his wife, Myra, beside him. They, too, were at the movies every Friday night, cuddling in their seats like teenagers. “Hey, Earl. Myra. It’s good to see you.”

  “That was some great movie,” Earl said.

  “You love every movie,” Myra said to her husband. “Especially the romances.”

  They fell into step. “How’s the search going?” Max asked Earl.

  “It ain’t no picnic, that’s for sure. The phone is ringin’ off the hook and the leads are pourin’ in like the Hoh River in spring. There are so many lost girls out there. It breaks your danged heart. But we’ll find out who she is. Chief is determined.”

  “That Ellen Barton is quite a woman,” Myra said to Max.

  He couldn’t help smiling. Myra never missed an opportunity to mention Ellie. It seemed that the whole town had expected them to fall in love. For the short time they’d been an item, the gossip alert had been Defcon 4. A few die-hard romantics like Myra thought for sure there would be a sequel. “Yes, she is, Myra.”

  They were outside now, standing on the wide concrete path that connected the entrance of the theater to the sidewalk. On this unexpectedly dry night the other moviegoers drifted toward their cars, talking among themselves.

  The crowd dissipated slowly. For a few moments people gathered in small groups along the sidewalk and in the street. Neighbors talking to one another on this beautiful night. The sound of their voices carried on the still, clean air. Earl and Myra were among the first to leave.

  One by one the cars drove away, until the street was empty except for an old white Suburban and his pickup truck.

  Max was halfway to his truck when a movement across the street caught his eye: a woman was leaving the library, her arms full of books. Light from a streetlamp fell down on her, made her look too alive somehow, an angel against the dark night.

  Julia.

  Across the street, she opened the passenger door of the Suburban and tossed her books onto the seat. She was almost to the driver’s side when he said her name.

  She paused and looked up.

  “Hey, Julia,” he said, coming up to her. “You’re working late.”

  She laughed. It sounded nervous. “Obsessive is a word that’s often been used about me.”

  “How’s your patient?”

  “Actually, I’d like to talk to you about her. Later. At the hospital.”

  “How about right now? We could go to my house.”

  Julia looked confused. “Oh. I don’t think—”

  “This is as good a time as any.”

  “I do have a babysitter right now.”

  “Then it’s settled. Follow me.” Before she could say no, he walked over to his truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. As he started the engine, he watched her in the rearview mirror.

  She stared at his truck, biting her lip, then finally got into her own car.

  ON EITHER SIDE OF THE ROAD A THICKET OF BLACK TREES STOOD WATCH, their tops pressed into the starry underbelly of the night sky. Moonlight turned the ordinary asphalt into a ribbon of tarnished silver that snaked between the twin curtains of trees. At the turnoff, an old brown and yellow Forest Service wooden sign pointed the way to Spirit Lake.

  Julia hadn’t been out this way in years. Even now, with all the growth that had taken place on the peninsula in the two decades since high school, this was still the boonies. The locals called it the End; not only because of its location, but because of its isolation.

  It was a stunningly beautiful, majestic corner of the rain forest, but she couldn’t quite match it to Dr. Casanova. He definitely struck her as a big city guy. What was he doing out here in the middle of all this green darkness?

  As she turned onto the gravel road, the landscape changed. The trees blocked out the pearly moonlight. No lights cut through the inky night. The ever present fog off the lake gave the forest a brooding, otherworldly feel.

  It occurred to her suddenly that she was following a man she barely knew into the deep woods. And that no one knew where she was.

  You’re being an idiot.

  He’s a doctor.

  Ted Bundy was a law student.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Amazingly, she got service. She punched in Ellie’s phone number and got voice mail. “Hey, El. I’m at Dr. Cerrasin’s house, talking about the girl.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll be home by midnight.”

  She clicked the End button. “At least they’ll know where to start looking for my body.”

  That actually wasn’t funny.

  In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure why she was following him, anyway. She wasn’t really ready for a consult, and what she did have to present as a theory would make her look like a nutcase.

  Unfortunately, the past year had stolen more than her reputation. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her confidence. She needed to hear that she was on the right path.

  There it was. The true reason she was here. He was the only colleague she had in Rain Valley, and he’d examined Alice.

  She hated the glimpse into her own weakness, but she was not one to deny the obvious.

  Up ahead, Max turned off the main road. She followed him onto the driveway that had recently been graveled. The single-lane roadway took a hairpin turn to the left and ended abruptly in a tree-ringed meadow.

  Max drove into the garage and disappeared.

  Julia parked alongside it. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her briefcase and got out of the car.

  The beauty of the place stunned her. She was in the middle of a huge grassy field, ringed on three sides by enormous evergreens. On the fourth border lay Spirit Lake. Mist rose from the lake like steam from a boiling pot, giving everything a surreal, fairy-tale look. Close by, an owl hooted.

  She jumped at the sound.

  “The infamous spotted owl,” Max said, coming up beside her.

  She eased sideways. “The enemy of every logger.”

  “And the champion of every tree hugger. Come on.”

  He led her past the garage and toward the house. As she got closer, she saw the craftsman-style beauty of the place. Plank cedar siding, handcrafted eaves, a big wraparound porch. Even the chairs seemed to have been handmade of clean, pure fir. It was the kind of house you didn’t see in Rain Valley. Expensive and hand-tooled, yet plain. It was an Aspen or Jackson Hole kind of place.

  He opened the front door and let her enter first. The first thing she noticed was the spicy aroma of bayberry; somewhere, he had a scented candle burning. Sexy music floated through the speakers. No doubt he kept the place in constant readiness for female guests.

  Julia tightened her hold on the briefcase and walked into the house.

  A gorgeous river-rock fireplace dominated the left wall. Windows
ran the length of the house, looking out from the porch to the lake beyond. Two pairs of French doors led outside. The kitchen was small but perfectly constructed; every cabinet gleamed in the soft light of an overhead fixture. The dining room was big, and bracketed on two sides by windows that overlooked the lake. A huge trestle table took up most of the space. Oddly, there was only a single chair next to it. In the living room there was an oxblood leather sofa—no chairs—and a big-screen plasma TV. A thick alpaca wool rug covered the wide-planked wood floor in front of the fireplace.

  There was also a jumble of ropes and pullies by the back door. They lay in a tangled heap beside an ice pick and a backpack.

  “Rock climbing gear,” she said. It was too, too cliché. “Someone is into danger, I see. A man who needs extreme circumstances to feel alive?”

  “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Julia. Drink?” He turned away from her and went into the kitchen area. Opening the refrigerator door, he said, “I have whatever you want.”

  “How about a glass of white wine?”

  He returned a moment later carrying two glasses. White wine for her, scotch on the rocks for himself.

  She took the one he offered and sat down at the very end of the sofa, close to the arm. “Thanks.”

  He smiled. “You don’t have to look so terrified, Julia. I’m not going to attack you.”

  For a moment she was caught by the low, soft tone of his voice and the blue of his eyes. It was a little spark, barely anything, but it made her angry. She needed to get back on solid ground. “Let me guess again, Dr. Cerrasin. If I went out to the garage, I’d find a Porsche or a Corvette.”

  “Nope. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Upstairs I’d find a king-sized bed with expensive silk sheets, maybe a faux fur coverlet, and a nightstand drawer full of condoms that are ribbed for her pleasure.”

  A frown pulled at his forehead. She got the distinct feeling that he was toying with her. “Her pleasure is always important to me.”

  “I’m sure it is. As long as her pleasure doesn’t require any real emotion on your part, or—God forbid—a commitment. Believe me, Max, I’ve known men like you before. As appealing as the Peter Pan syndrome is to some women, it’s lost its charm for me.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who hurt you so badly.”

  Julia was surprised by the perceptiveness of the question. Even more surprising was how it made her feel. Almost as if he knew her.

  But he didn’t. He was just fishing, casting the kind of line that only men like him could handle. His gift was the appearance of sincerity, of depth. For some bizarre reason, when she looked at him now, she saw a kind of loneliness in his gaze, an understanding that made her want to answer him.

  And then she would be caught.

  “May we please keep ourselves on track?”

  “Ah. Business. Tell me about the girl.” He went to the fireplace and built a fire, then returned to the sofa and sat down.

  “I’m calling her Alice for now. From Alice in Wonderland. She responded to the story.”

  “Seems like a good choice.”

  He waited for more.

  Suddenly she wished she weren’t here. He might be a player and a flirt, but he was also a colleague, and as such, he could ruin her with a word.

  “Julia?”

  She started slowly. “When you first examined her, did you see any evidence of what her diet had been?”

  “You mean beyond the dehydration and malnutrition?”

  “Yes.”

  “Facts, no. Ideas; I have a few. I’d say some meat and fish and fruit. I would guess she ate no dairy and no grains at all.”

  Julia looked at him. “In other words, the kind of diet that would come from living off the land for a long time.”

  “Maybe. How long do you think she was out there?”

  There it was. The question whose answer could both make and break her.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy,” she said after too long a silence.

  “I thought you shrinks didn’t use that word.”

  “Don’t tell.”

  “You’re safe with me.”

  She laughed at that. “Hardly.”

  “Start talking, Julia,” he said, sipping his drink. The ice rattled in his glass.

  “Okay.” She started with the easy stuff. “I’m sure she’s not deaf, and I strongly question the idea of autistic. Strangely enough, I think she might be a completely normal child reacting to an impossibly foreign and hostile environment. I believe she understands some language, although I don’t yet know if she knows how to speak and is choosing not to or if she’s never been taught. Either way, she hasn’t hit puberty, so—theoretically, at least—she’s not too old to learn.”

  “And?” He took another drink.

  She took a drink, too. Hers was more of a gulp. Her sense of vulnerability was so strong now she felt her cheeks warm. There was nothing to do now except dive in or walk away. “Have you ever read any of the accounts of wild children?”

  “You mean like that French kid? The one Truffaut made the movie about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on—”

  “Hear me out, Max. Please.”

  He leaned back into the cushions, crossed his arms and studied her. “Tell me.”

  She started pulling stuff out of her briefcase. Papers, books, notes. She laid them all out on the cushion between them. As Max examined each article, she outlined her thoughts. She told him about the clear signs of wildness—the apparent lack of sense of self, the hiding mechanism, the eating habits, the howling. Then she offered the oddities—the humming, birdsong mimicry, the insta–toilet training. When she’d presented all of it, she sat back, waiting for his comment.

  “So you’re saying she was out there, in the woods, for most of her life.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the wolf they found with her . . . that was what, her brother?”

  She reached for her papers. “Forget it. I should have known—”

  Laughing, he grabbed her hand. “Slow down. I’m not making fun of you, but you have to admit that your theory is out there.”

  “But think about it. Plug our evidence into the known fact patterns.”

  “It’s all anecdotal, Julia. Kids raised by wolves and bears . . .”

  “Maybe she was held hostage for a while and then let go to survive on her own. She’s definitely been around people at some point.”

  “Then why can’t she speak?”

  “I think she’s electively mute. In other words, she can speak. She’s choosing not to.”

  “If that’s true, even partially, it’ll take a hell of a doctor to bring her back to this world.”

  Julia heard the question in his voice. She wasn’t surprised. The whole world thought she was incompetent now; why should he be any different? What did surprise her was how much it hurt. “I am a good doctor. At least, I used to be.” She reached for her papers, started putting them in her briefcase.

  He leaned closer, touched her wrist. “I believe in you, you know. If that matters.”

  She looked at him, even though she knew instantly that it was a mistake. He was so close now that she could see a jagged scar along his hairline and another at the base of his throat. Firelight softened his face; she saw tiny flames reflected in the blue sea of his eyes. “Thanks. It does.”

  Later, when she was back in her car and driving home alone, she thought back on it, wondered why she’d revealed so much to him.

  The only answer came buried in her own lack of confidence.

  I believe in you.

  The irony was that there, in that room with the soft music playing and the stairs that undoubtedly led to a huge bed, his words were what had seduced her.

  TWELVE

  ELLIE WAS SIPPING HER NOW WARM BEER AND PORING OVER stacks of police reports when she heard Julia come home. Ellie looked up. “Hey.”

  Julia closed the do
or behind her. “Hey.” Tossing her briefcase on the kitchen table, she headed for the refrigerator and got herself a beer. “Where are Jake and Elwood?”

  “See? You miss it when they don’t go for your crotch. They’re camped outside your bedroom. They almost never move from there anymore. I think it’s the girl. They’re crazy for her.” She smiled. “So you went to see Max.”

  Julia sat down on the sofa beside Ellie. “I’m hardly surprised to hear his name in the same sentence as the words ‘go straight for your crotch.’ So, what’s the deal with him?”

  “That’s a question every single woman in town has asked.”

  “I’ll bet he’s slept with every one of them.”

  “Not really.”

  Julia frowned. “But he acts like—”

  “I know. He flirts like crazy but that’s as far as it usually goes. Don’t get me wrong—he’s slept with plenty of women in town, but he’s never really been with any of them. Not for long, anyway.”

  “What about you?”

  Ellie laughed. “When he first moved here, I was all over him. It’s my way—as you know. No subtlety here . . . and no waiting around. If a good-looking man comes to town, I pounce.” She finished her beer and set the bottle down. “We had a blast. Tequila straight shots, dancing at The Pour House, necking by the bathrooms . . . by the time I got him home, we were pretty well toasted. The sex was . . . to be honest, I don’t remember it. What I do remember was telling him how easy it would be to fall in love.”

  “On the first date?”

  “You know me. I always fall in love, and men usually like it. But not Max. He pretty much killed himself in his hurry to leave. After that he treated me like I had a communicable disease.” Ellie glanced sideways, expecting to see censure in the green eyes that were so like her own. Julia couldn’t know about throwing yourself at the wrong guy, about how it felt to be so desperate for love that you’d reach for anyone who smiled at you. But what she saw in her sister’s eyes surprised her. Julia looked . . . fragile suddenly, as if the talk of love had upset her. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  But Ellie could see the lie on her sister’s face, and for the first time, she understood. Her sister had been broken by love, too. Maybe not as often as she had—or as publicly—but Julia had been hurt. “What happened with him . . . with Philip? You guys were together for a long time. I thought you’d get married.”