JULIA PAUSED IN HER NOTE-TAKING TO READ WHAT SHE HAD WRITTEN.
She stands behind the plants for much of the day, staring alternately at me or out the window. Sunshine particularly engages her attention, as do bright plastic objects and dishes. Many things seem to frighten her—loud noises, thunder, the color gray, bright and shiny metal objects, dreamcatchers, and knives. The dogs’ barking always sends her running to the door. It is the only time she even approaches that side of the room. Often she howls in response.
Right now, she is sitting at my feet, looking up at me. This is her new favorite spot. Since ruining the dreamcatchers, she has broken through the solitary border of the previous days. She is never more than a few inches away from me. Often, she paws at my feet and legs. When tired, she curls up on the floor beside me, resting her cheek on my foot.
Julia looked down at the girl. “What are you thinking, Alice?”
As always, there was no response. Alice stared up at her intently; it was as if she were trying to understand.
So intent was she that it took her a moment to realize that someone was knocking on the door. “Come in,” she said distractedly.
The door opened just a crack and Ellie slipped into the room. Behind her, the golden retrievers were going crazy; barking, scratching, whining. She shut the door firmly. At Ellie’s entrance, Alice ran to her hiding place.
“You’ve got to teach those dogs some manners,” Julia said without looking up. She made a notation on Alice’s chart. Responds to dogs by howling quietly. Today she moved toward the door.
“Jules?”
She heard something in her sister’s voice and looked up. “What?”
“Some people are here to see you. Doctors from the state care facility, a researcher from the U.W., and a woman from DSHS.”
She should have expected it. The media had hinted that Alice was “wild.” Just the suggestion of it would tempt other doctors, researchers. In the old days, no one would have dared to encroach on her patient. These were not those days. Now, she would look weak; predators would begin to circle her. She got slowly to her feet and methodically put her notes and charts and pens away.
All the while, Alice watched her, looking worried.
“I’ll be right back, Alice,” she said to the girl hidden in the foliage, then followed her sister downstairs.
At first glance, the living room seemed full of people. On closer examination, Julia saw that there were only three men and one woman. They simply appeared to take up a lot of space.
“Dr. Cates,” said the man closest to her, moving forward. He was tall and scarecrow thin with a nose big enough to hang an umbrella on. “I’m Simon Kletch, from the state’s therapeutic residential care facility, and these are my colleagues: Byron Barrett and Stanley Goldberg, from the Behavioral Sciences lab at the U.W. You know Ms. Wharton, from DSHS.”
Julia said evenly, “Hello.”
Ellie went to the kitchen and stood by the counter.
A silence fell. They all stared at one another until Ellie asked them to sit.
And still it was too quiet.
Finally Simon cleared his throat. “Rumors are that this girl in your care is a wild child, or something close to that. We’d like to see her.” He glanced up the stairs; his eyes glinted with excitement.
“No.”
He seemed surprised by that. “You know why we are here.”
Julia could hear his eagerness. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You’re making no progress with her.”
“That’s hardly true. In fact, we’ve made huge strides. She can eat and dress herself and use the toilet. She’s beginning to communicate, in her way. I believe—”
“You’re civilizing her,” the behavioral scientist said sharply, peering at her through small oval glasses. A sheen of sweat sparkled on his upper lip. “We need to study her, Dr. Cates. As she is. We men of science have sought a child like this for decades. If taught to talk, she can be a gold mine of information. Think of it. Who are we in the absence of one another? What is true human nature? Is language instinctive? And what is the link between language and humanity? Do words allow us to dream—to think—or vice versa? She can answer all these questions. Even you must see that.”
“Even I? What does that mean?” she asked, although she knew.
“Silverwood,” Dr. Kletch said.
“You’ve never lost a patient?” she said sharply to him.
“Of course I have. We all have. But your failure was public. I’m getting a lot of pressure to take over this girl’s case.”
“I’m her foster parent as well as her therapist,” Julia said. She didn’t call Dr. Kletch a bottom-feeder by sheer force of will. Of course he wanted to “help” Alice; she could advance his career.
“Dr. Kletch believes that the minor child belongs in a therapeutic care facility,” said the woman from DSHS. “If you can’t assure us that you’ll get her talking and find out her name, then—”
“I will get her talking,” Julia said.
“We need to study her.” This from the behavioral scientist.
“And learn from her,” added Dr. Kletch.
Julia stood. “You are like all the doctors who have been associated with children like this in the past. You want to use her, treat her like a lab rat so that you can write your papers and find fame. When you’ve sucked her dry, you’ll move on and forget her. She’ll grow up warehoused and behind bars and medicated beyond recognition. I won’t let you do it. She’s my foster child and my patient. The state has authorized me to care for her, and that’s what I intend to do.” She forced a thin smile. “But thank you for your concern.”
No one spoke for a moment. Julia turned to the social worker. “Don’t be fooled by them, Ms. Wharton. I’m the one who cares about this child.”
Ms. Wharton bit her lip nervously and looked at the doctors, then at Julia. “Get the child talking, Dr. Cates. There’s a lot of interest in this case. A lot of pressure being put on our office to move her into therapeutic residential care. Your history and the media frenzy doesn’t sit well with my boss. No one wants another incident.”
Ellie stepped forward. “And that’s the end of the meeting. Thank you all for coming.” She walked through the room, herded the crowd toward the door.
The doctors were arguing, sputtering, gesturing with their hands. “But she’s not good enough,” one of them said. “Dr. Cates isn’t the best doctor for that child.”
Ellie smiled and pushed them out the door, locking it behind them.
When it was quiet again, the dogs started to whine upstairs. Julia could hear them pacing outside the bedroom door. “Alice is upset. The dogs always respond to her emotions. I should get back.”
Ellie moved forward fast, touched Julia’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I should have expected it. Mort’s picture and the press conference my past. There are all kinds of doctors who would use Alice to advance their careers.” On that, her voice finally broke.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Ellie said. “You’re helping that little girl.”
Julia looked down at her sister. “I . . . missed things with Amber. Important things. Maybe—”
“Don’t,” Ellie said. “They want you to question yourself, to lose confidence. Don’t let them win.”
Julia sighed. She felt as if she were melting from the inside out, shrinking. “It’s not a game. It’s her life. If I’m not the best doctor for her . . .”
“Go back upstairs, Jules. Do what you do best.” Ellie smiled. “You hear that howling? That’s her, telling you she needs you. You.”
“I’m afraid—”
“We’re all afraid.”
To that, Julia had no answer. With another heavy sigh, she left the living room and went upstairs. In the hallway, the dogs were going crazy, whining and howling and running into each other. Alice’s low, keening growl could be heard through the door.
Julia paused, trying to refind h
er confidence. In its place she found a fake smile and shaking hands. Pushing past the dogs, she went into her old bedroom.
Alice immediately stopped howling.
“Talk to me. Please.” To Julia’s horror, her voice broke on that last, desperate word. All the emotions she’d tamped down and stored away rose again. All she could think about now was her failure with Amber.
She wiped her eyes, although no tears had fallen. “I’m sorry, Alice. It’s just been a bad day.”
She went to the table and sat down, needing the safe harbor of her profession. She studied her notes, trying to concentrate.
At first the touch was so soft that Julia failed to notice.
She looked down.
Alice was staring up at her, stroking Julia’s arm. She wiped her eyes, although she wasn’t crying.
Sympathy. Alice was offering sympathy. The child had recognized her sadness and wanted to alleviate it. She was connecting, answering in the only way she knew how.
Suddenly, none of the rest of it mattered.
Julia felt a wave of gratitude to this poor, strange little girl who had just reached out to her, reminded her that she made a difference. No ugly headlines or ambitious doctors or unfeeling child welfare system could steal that from her. She touched Alice’s soft, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”
Alice flinched at the touch. She started to pull away, probably so that she could go hide among the plants again.
“Stay,” Julia said, grasping her frail, thin wrist. “Please.” Her voice broke on the sharp desperation of that word.
Alice drew in a deep, shaky breath and stared at Julia.
“You know that word, don’t you? Stay. I need something from you, too, Alice. I need to help you.”
They sat that way for a long time, staring at each other.
“You’re not autistic, are you?” Julia said finally. “You’re worried about my feelings. Now how about I return the favor? You tell me something secret and I’ll be here for you.”
FIFTEEN
FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS THE STORY OF THE DISGRACED DOCTOR and the nameless, voiceless girl was headline news. The phones at the police station were jammed with calls from doctors, psychiatrists and counselors, kooks and scientists. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to save Alice from Julia’s incompetence. Drs. Kletch and Goldberg called daily. The Department of Social and Health Services required updates twice a week. They were beginning to suggest residential care at almost every turn.
Julia worked eighteen hours a day. She was with Alice from sunup to sundown; after the child fell asleep, she went to the library and spent more hours in front of a computer screen or online.
Everything she did was for Alice. On Wednesdays and Fridays, like clockwork, she went to the police station, where she conducted a press conference. She stood at that podium, inches from the microphones that amplified her words. She told them every aspect of Alice’s treatment, offered every identity hint that was revealed. None of it interested them.
They asked endless questions about Julia’s past, about her regrets and failures and lost patients. They cared nothing for the milestones of Alice’s recovery. Still, Julia tried. She reached for me today. . . . She buttoned her blouse. . . . She pointed at a bird. . . . She used a fork.
All that mattered to the reporters was that Alice hadn’t spoken. To them, it was more proof that Julia could no longer be trusted to help even one troubled child.
But in time, even the rehashing of Julia’s past began to lose momentum. The stories went from headline news on page one to a paragraph or two in the local interest or Life sections. Local water cooler conversation left the unknown girl behind; now the mini quakes shaking Mount St. Helens were on everyone’s mind.
From her podium, Julia stared out at the few reporters in the police station. CNN, USA Today, the New York Times, and the national television stations weren’t here anymore. Only a few of the local papers were left, and most of them were from small peninsula communities like Rain Valley. Their questions were still pointed and cruel, but they were asked in dull, monotone voices. No one expected any of it to matter anymore.
“That’s all for this week,” Julia said, realizing the room had gone still. “The big news is that she can dress herself. And she shows a true affinity for anything made of plastic. She can take or leave television—I think the images move too quickly for her—but she can watch cooking programs all day. Maybe that will strike a chord with someone—”
“Come on, Dr. Cates,” said a man at the back of the room. He was desperately thin, with shaggy hair and a mouth made for cigarettes. “No one is looking for this kid.”
There was a murmur of assent from the crowd as they talked among themselves. Julia heard the papery rustle of their laughter.
“That’s not true. A child doesn’t simply appear and disappear in this world. Someone is missing her.”
A man from KIRO-TV stepped forward. The compassion in his dark eyes was almost harder to bear than the disinterest of his colleagues. “I don’t know what’s true about your past and what’s media spin, Dr. Cates, but I know that you’re a smart woman. There’s something wrong with this kid. Big-time wrong. I think that’s why her family dumped her in the woods and walked away.”
Julia stepped out from behind the podium and moved toward him. “You have no evidence to support that. It’s just as likely that she was kidnapped so long ago that her family has given up on her. Stopped looking.”
His gaze was steady. “Stopped looking? For their daughter?”
“If—”
“I wish you luck, I really do, but KIRO is pulling out. The rumblings at Mount St. Helens are front and center now.” He reached into his rumpled white shirt pocket and withdrew a card. “My wife’s a therapist. I’ll be fair to you. Call me if you find out something substantive.”
She looked down at his card. JOHN SMITH, TV NEWS. KIRO, she knew, had a top-notch research staff and access to people and places she couldn’t begin to reach. “How hard did you guys try to find out who she is?”
“Four researchers worked on it full-time for the first two weeks.”
Julia nodded. She’d been afraid of that.
“Good luck.”
She watched him leave, thinking, And there goes the last of the good ones. Next Wednesday she’d be giving her update to representatives of local newspapers, with smaller circulations than most high schools, and—if she was lucky—some low-rent stringer for the tabloids.
Peanut crossed the room, weaving through the row of metal folding chairs, picking up the discarded news releases they’d handed out. Her black rubber clogs made a thumping sound on the floor. Cal went along behind her, grabbing the chairs, clanging them shut.
Within moments the podium was the only remaining evidence of today’s press conference. Soon there would be no audience for any of this. The pressure of that knowledge had been building in Julia, filling her lungs like a slow-growing case of pneumonia.
The milestones she’d reported to the media today were important. In ordinary therapy, the amount of progress Alice had made in three weeks would be considered successful. Now the child could eat with utensils and use the toilet. She’d even come so far as to show sympathy for someone else, but none of it answered the central question of identity. None of it would get Alice back to her family and her real life. None of it would guarantee that Julia could keep working with her. In fact, with every day that passed in the child’s silence, Julia felt her grasp on her confidence loosen. At night, as she lay in her bed, listening to Alice’s quiet nightmares and violent moments, Julia thought: Am I good enough?
Or worse: What am I missing this time?
“You did a great job today,” Peanut said, trying to force a smile. It was the same thing she’d said after each press conference.
“Thanks,” was Julia’s standard answer. “I better get back,” she said, bending down for her briefcase.
Peanut nodded, then yelled to Cal, “I’m takin’ her home.”
<
br /> Julia followed Peanut out of the station and into the gunmetal gray light of sundown. In the car, they both stared straight ahead. Garth Brooks’s voice floated through the speakers, complaining about friends in low places.
“So . . . I guess it isn’t going so well, huh?” Peanut said, strumming her black-and-white checkerboard fingernails on the steering wheel at the four-way stop.
“She’s made huge progress, but . . .”
“She still isn’t talking. Are you sure she can?”
The same series of questions ran like an endless monologue through Julia’s thoughts. Day and night, she thought: Can she? Will she? When? “I believe it with my whole heart,” Julia said slowly. Then she smiled ruefully. “My head is beginning to wonder, however.”
“When I was a young mother, the thing I hated most was changin’ diapers. So the day my Tara turned two, I set about teachin’ her to use the toilet. I followed all the how-to books down to the letter. And you know what happened? My Tara stopped pooping. Just stopped. After about five days, I took her to Doc Fischer. I was worried sick. He examined my baby girl, then looked at me over his glasses. He said, ‘Penelope Nutter, this girl is trying to tell you something. She doesn’t want to be potty trained.’” Peanut laughed, then hit the turn signal and veered onto the old highway. “There’s no metal on earth stronger than a child’s will. I guess your Alice will talk when she’s ready.” Peanut turned down their driveway and pulled up in front of the house, honking twice.
Ellie came out of the house almost immediately; so quickly, in fact, that Julia suspected she’d been at the door, waiting.
“Thanks for the ride, Peanut.”
“See you Wednesday.”
Julia got out of the car and slammed the door shut. She met Ellie halfway across the yard.
“She’s howling again,” Ellie said miserably.
“When did she wake up?”
“Five minutes ago. She’s early. How’d it go?”
“Bad,” she said, trying to sound strong and failing.
“The DNA results will be back soon. Maybe they will give us an answer. If she’s a kidnap victim, there will be crime scene evidence to compare to.”
Magic hour: a novel Page 20
