“Yeah, right.”
“HAVE YOU SEEN THE AMOUNT OF BUTTER THAT GOES IN MOM’S DRESSING? This can’t be right.”
Ellie didn’t bother answering her sister. She was facing issues of her own. Somewhere in this turkey (what the hell had Julia been thinking to buy a twenty-pound bird? They’d be eating turkey until Lent) was a bag of body parts she didn’t want to eat, but apparently also didn’t want to cook. “You think the giblet bag dissolves during cooking? If I get my arm any farther up this bird’s ass, I’m gonna see my own fingers.”
Julia looked down at her own task, frowning. “Do you have an at-home defibrillator?”
Ellie laughed at that. “Aha!” she said a minute later, finding the giblet bag and pulling it out. She then basted the bird with butter (to Julia’s horror) and placed it on Grandma Dotty’s roasting pan. “Are you going to put some of the dressing in the bird?”
“I guess so.”
When the bird was stuffed and in the oven, Ellie looked around the kitchen. “What’s next?”
Julia pushed the hair out of her eyes and sighed. It was only nine o’clock in the morning and already she looked as wiped out as Ellie felt. “I guess we could start on Aunt Vivian’s green bean recipe.”
“I always hated that. Green beans and mushroom soup? Why not just have a salad—we have a bagged one in the fridge.”
“You’re a genius.”
“I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“I’ll get started on the potatoes.” Julia headed for the porch. When she opened the door, cold air swept through, mingling with the hot air from the roaring fireplace to create a perfect mixture of warmth and crispness. On the top step, she sat down. A bag of potatoes was on the floor at her feet, along with a peeler.
Ellie poured two mimosas and followed her sister out to the porch. “Here. I think we’ll need alcohol. Last year a lady in Portland served wild mushrooms at a dinner party and killed all her guests.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”
Laughing, Ellie handed her a glass and sat down.
Together, they stared out at the backyard.
Alice was dressed in a pretty eyelet dress and pink tights, sitting on a wool blanket. There were birds all around her—mostly crows and robins—fighting among themselves to eat from her hand. Beside her, a bag of past-their-prime potato chips provided her with endless crumbs.
“Why don’t you take her a glass of juice or something? She’s really calm when she’s with her birds. It might be a good time to start bonding.”
“She looks like a Hitchcock movie. What if the birds peck my eyes out?”
Julia laughed. “They’ll fly away when you get there.”
“But—”
Julia touched Ellie’s arm. “She’s just a little girl who has been through hell. Don’t saddle her with anything else.”
“She’ll run away from me.”
“Then you’ll try again.” Julia reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a red plastic measuring cup. “Give her this.”
“She still gaga over the color red?”
“Yep.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“No idea yet.” Julia stood up. “I’ll go set the table. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Ellie felt Julia’s eyes on her back as she walked down the steps across the grass.
Behind her the screen door screeched open and banged shut. At the noise, the birds cawed and flew off. There were so many of them that for a second they were a dark blight against the gray sky.
Ellie stepped on a twig, snapped it.
Alice jumped up and spun around. She remained crouched, looking cornered, although the whole yard lay open behind her. Fear rounded the girl’s eyes, making Ellie profoundly uncomfortable.
She wasn’t used to fighting for affection. All her life, people had liked her.
“Hey,” Ellie said, standing motionlessly. “No net. No shot.” She held her hands out, palms up to prove it. The red measuring cup was bright in her open hand.
Alice saw it and frowned. After a minute or so she pointed and grunted.
Ellie felt the magical pull of possibility unwind between them. This was the first time that Alice hadn’t run from her. “Use your words, Alice.” It was what Julia always said.
As the silence went on, Ellie tried another tack. She started to sing, quietly at first, but as Alice’s frown faded and an expression of interest began to take its place, Ellie turned up the volume. Just a bit. She sang one kid-friendly song after another (the kid could stay motionless forever). When she got to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” Alice’s whole demeanor changed. It was as if she’d been hypnotized or something. A curve that was almost a smile touched her lips.
“Star,” Alice whispered at exactly the right time in the song.
Ellie bit back a grin by sheer force of will. When the song was over, she knelt down and handed Alice the measuring cup.
Alice stroked it, touched it to her cheek, then looked expectantly at Ellie.
Now what?
“Star.”
“You want me to keep singing?”
“Star. Peas.”
Ellie did as she was asked. She was on her third go-round when Alice cautiously moved toward her.
Ellie felt as if she’d just bowled a strike in the tenth frame. She wanted to whoop out and high-five someone. Instead she kept singing.
At some point Julia came out and joined them. The three of them sat in the grass, beneath a graying November sky, while the Thanksgiving turkey browned inside the house, and sang the songs of their youth.
MAX KNEW HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE HOUSE A HALF HOUR AGO. Instead he’d poured himself a beer and turned on the television.
He was afraid to see Julia again.
All or nothing.
Go to her, Max.
He could hear Susan’s voice in his head, gently admonishing him. If she’d been here, beside him, she would have given him one of her crooked I-know-you smiles. She knew that, for all of his running, there was a time when it all caught up to him. The holidays. He picked up the phone and dialed a California number.
Susan answered on the first ring. He wondered if she’d been waiting for his call.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“To you, too.”
He waited for her to say something more; the quiet that crackled through the lines made him remember how easily they’d once talked.
“Hard day for you, huh?” Her voice was soft, sad. He heard talking in the background. A man’s voice. A child’s.
“I’ve been invited to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“That’s great. Are you going?”
He heard the doubt in her voice. “I am.”
“Good.”
They talked for a few minutes about little things, nothing that mattered, then came to a natural pause. Finally, Susan said, “I need to get back. We’ve got company.”
“Okay.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” he said. “Tell your folks hi from me.”
“I will.” She paused. Her voice lowered. “Let it go, Max. It’s been too long.”
She made it sound easy, but they both knew better than that. “I don’t know how to do that, Suze.”
“So you keep risking your life. Why don’t you try taking a real chance, Max?” She sighed and fell silent.
“Maybe I will,” he said softly.
In the end, as always, it was Max who hung up first.
He sat there, staring down at his watch. The minutes ticked past.
It was time. There was no reason for him to be hiding out here, worrying, and the truth was, he wanted to go. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a holiday.
As the crow flies, if one followed the river, the distance between their two houses was less than a mile. Crows, however, flew well above the dense thicket of trees. On the old highway and out along the River Road, it was slow going. T
he week’s rainfall had left huge potholes in the road.
He parked back from the house and killed the lights and engine. Getting the wine from the backseat, he shut the car door with his hip and turned to the house. It was a pretty little farmhouse with a wraparound porch, perched on a patch of grass that rolled gently down to the river. An old, thick-stemmed garden of roses ran the length of the house. There were no blossoms now, just dark thorns and blackening leaves. Giant trees protected the west side of the house, their tips pointed up to a velvety sky.
Susan would have loved this house. She would have run across the yard now, pointing to places only she could see. The orchard will be there . . . the swing set goes there. They’d spent two years looking for their dream house. Why hadn’t they seen that any house they’d chosen would have become the very thing they sought?
He crossed the yard and slowly climbed the steps. As he neared the front door, he could hear music. It was John Denver’s voice: “Coming home to a place he’d never been before.”
He could see them through the oval etched glass in the front door.
Julia and Ellie were dancing with each other, bumping hips and falling sideways and laughing. Alice stood by the fireplace, watching them with huge, unblinking eyes, eating a flower. Every now and then a smile seemed to take her by surprise.
He heard a car drive up behind him and then shut off. Doors opened, closed. Footsteps crunched through the gravel driveway, accompanied by the high-pitched chatter of children’s voices.
“Doc!”
It was Cal’s voice, calling out to him.
Before he could turn and answer, the front door opened and Ellie stood there, staring up at him. It was a cop’s look; assessing.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said, stepping back to let him in. Dressed in emerald velvet pants and a sparkly black sweater, she was every inch the legendary small-town beauty queen.
He handed her the bottles of wine he’d brought. “Thanks for inviting me.”
At the sound of his voice, he saw Julia look up. She was kneeling beside Alice in the living room.
Ellie took his arm and maneuvered him over to Julia. “Look who’s here, little sis.” With that, she left them.
He stared down at Julia, wondering if she felt as out of breath right now as he did.
Slowly, she stood. “Happy Thanksgiving, Max. I’m glad you could make it. I haven’t had a real family holiday in years.”
“Me, either.”
He saw how she reacted to his confession; the words connected them somehow. “So,” he said quickly, “how’s our wild one?”
Julia seized on the subject and launched into a monologue about their therapy. As she spoke, she smiled often and looked down at Alice with a love so obvious it made him smile, too. He felt swept along by her enthusiasm and caring, and then he remembered: All or nothing.
He was looking at all.
“Max?” She frowned up at him. “I’m putting you into a coma, aren’t I? I’m sorry. Sometimes I just get carried away. I won’t—”
He touched her arm; realizing it was a mistake, he pulled back sharply.
She stared up at him.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Yeah,” she said. “I know what you mean.”
Max had no idea what to say next, so he said nothing. Finally, when the silence grew uncomfortable, he made some lame excuse and made his way to the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen.
For the next hour he tried not to look at Julia. He laughed with Cal and Ellie and the girls and helped out in the kitchen.
At a few minutes before four o’clock Ellie announced that dinner, “such as it is,” was ready. They all hurried around like ants, moving in and out of the bathroom, clustering in the tiny kitchen, offering to help serve.
All the while, Julia was kneeling beside Alice, who stood hidden behind a potted ficus tree in the living room. The child was obviously frightened, and it was literally like seeing magic when Julia changed all that. Everyone else was seated at the oval oak table when Julia finally shuttled Alice to the table and seated her on a booster seat between herself and Cal.
Max took the only available seat: it was next to Julia.
At the head of the table, Ellie looked at them across a sea of food. “I’m so glad you’re all here. It’s been a long time since this table hosted a Thanksgiving dinner. Now I’d like to follow an old Cates’ family tradition. Will everyone hold hands, please?”
Max reached right and took Amanda’s hand in his. Then he reached left and touched Julia. He didn’t look at her.
When they were all linked, Ellie smiled at Cal. “Why don’t you start for us?”
Cal looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled. “I’m thankful for my beautiful daughters. And to be back in this house for Thanksgiving. I’m sure Lisa is really missing us all right now. There’s nothing worse than a business trip over the holidays.”
His three daughters went next.
“I’m thankful for my daddy—”
“—my puppy—”
“My pretty new boots.”
Next came Ellie. “I’m thankful for my sister coming home.”
Julia smiled. “And I’m thankful for little Alice here, who has shown me so much.” She leaned over and kissed the girl’s cheek.
All Max could think about was how warm Julia’s hand felt in his, how steadied he was by her touch.
“Max?” Ellie said finally.
They were all looking at him. Waiting. He looked at Julia. “I’m thankful to be here.”
NINETEEN
WINTER CAME TO THE RAIN FOREST LIKE A HORDE OF greedy relatives, taking up every inch of space and blocking out the light. The rains became earnest in this darkening season of the year, changing from a comforting mist to a constant drizzle.
In the midst of all this dark weather, Alice blossomed; there was no other word for it. Like a fragile orchid, she bloomed within the walls of this house where each day felt more like a home. The girl’s quest for language had been both tireless and desperate. Now she strung two words together regularly—and sometimes three. She knew how to get her ideas and wants across to the two women who had become her world.
As remarkable as Alice’s changes were, Julia’s were perhaps even more surprising. She smiled easier and more often, she made outrageously bad jokes at dinner, and danced with them at the drop of a hat. She’d stopped running every single morning and put on a few much-needed pounds. Most important, she had reclaimed her self-confidence. She was so proud of Alice’s accomplishments. The two of them still spent every waking hour together—doing art projects, working with letters and numbers, taking long walks in the woods. They seemed almost to be communicating telepathically, that’s how close they were. Alice still shadowed Julia everywhere; often, she kept a hand in Julia’s pocket or on her belt. But more and more often, Alice would venture a little ways on her own. Sometimes, she went to “Lellie,” too, showing off some trinket she had made or found. Almost every night, Ellie read her a bedtime story while Julia wrote in her notebook. Lately, Alice had begun to curl up against Ellie for story time. On very good nights, she petted Ellie’s leg and said, “More, Lellie. More.”
All of it, Ellie knew, should have made her happy. It was what Mom and Dad had always dreamed of for their daughters’ future, and that this closeness would finally return in the house on River Road—well, it couldn’t get better than that.
It made Ellie happy.
And it didn’t.
The unhappiness was pale and seldom seen, like a spider’s web in the deep woods. You saw it only when you were looking for it or stumbled off the path. The new and tender closeness of their trio sometimes underscored the solitary edge of her life. A woman who’d fallen in love as often as she had didn’t expect to be approaching forty alone. Even though she was happy for Julia, sometimes Ellie watched her sister’s growing bond with Alice, and it made h
er heart ache. Whether Julia knew it or not—or admitted it or not—she was becoming Alice’s mother. They would leave this house someday, find their own home, and Ellie would be alone, like before. Only it would be different now because she’d been part of a family again. She didn’t want to go back to her previous life, where work and friends and dreams of falling in love made up the bulk of her life. She didn’t know if it would be enough anymore. Now that she’d lived in a house where a child played games and followed you around and kissed you good-night, would she be okay again on her own?
“You don’t look so good,” Cal said from across the room.
“Yeah? Well, you’re ugly.”
Cal laughed. Taking off his headset, he put down his pencil and walked out of their office. A few moments later he returned with two cups of coffee. “Maybe you need some caffeine.” He handed her the cup.
She looked up at him, wondering why she couldn’t find men like him attractive—men who kept their promises and raised their children and stayed in love. Oh, no. She had to fall head over heels for guys with “issues.” Guys who grew their hair too long and had trouble keeping a job and confused “I do” with “I did” pretty damned fast.
“What I need is a new life.”
He pulled a chair from his desk and set it by hers. “We’re getting to that age.”
“You used to tell me I was crazy when I said things like that.”
He leaned back in the chair and put his feet on her desk. She couldn’t help noticing that the white soles of his tennis shoes were covered with purple ink. Someone had written his youngest daughter’s name on the rubber, surrounded by pink hearts and stars.
It made her heart lurch, that little sight. “It looks like someone wanted to decorate Daddy’s shoes.”
“Sarah thought my shoes were dorky. I never should have given her a set of markers.”
“You’re lucky to have those girls, Cal.” She sighed. “I always thought I’d be the one with three daughters. Both times I got married, I went right off the pill and started praying.” She tried to smile. “I guess I have divorce lawyers instead of babies.”
“You’re thirty-nine, Ellie. Not fifty-nine. The game isn’t over.”
Magic hour: a novel Page 25
