Every newspaper and radio station and television show proclaimed George Azelle’s innocence.
The jury system had failed, they said. A man everyone from waitresses to senators had blown off as a “guilty son of a bitch” had been innocent. Pundits from CNN and Court TV—especially Nancy Grace, who’d called him a vicious sociopath with a killer smile—were busy wiping the egg from their made-up faces.
Now, George stood at the podium in the police station with his lawyer. They’d been answering the same questions all afternoon. The revelation that the wolf girl—so easily discarded as sensationalism by them only a few weeks before—was his daughter only fueled the fire. The headline LIVING PROOF was even now being inked across millions of newspapers.
Ellie stood at the back wall, shoulder-to-shoulder between Cal and Peanut, watching the show.
She felt Cal’s gaze on her. In fact, he’d been watching her too closely all day. Wherever she went, he was there, standing by but saying nothing. “What?”
“What what?”
Peanut laughed. “You two are gonna have to quit with the philosophical discussions. I can’t keep up.”
Ellie ignored her friend. “What, Cal?” she said, irritated.
“Nothing.”
“If you’ve got something on your mind, you might as well spit it out. We’ve been friends long enough that I know when you’re pissed off about something. What did I do?”
She expected him to smile at that, maybe make some smart-ass geek boy response, but he just stared at her. After a second or so she started to feel uncomfortable.
Finally, he smiled, but it didn’t light his eyes. “I don’t think that’s true, El. In fact, I think you hardly know me.” With that, he walked away, went back to his desk, and sat down. Putting on his headset, he pulled a sketch pad out and began drawing.
Ellie rolled her eyes.
Peanut didn’t smile.
“He’s going all Napoleon Dynamite again,” Ellie said, irritated.
“There’s a rumor going ’round town,” Pea said. “I heard it this A.M. myself. From Rosie at the diner who heard it from Ed at The Pour House.”
“I’m guessing it’s about me.”
“It seems a certain female police chief was seen kissing a certain famous out-of-towner last night. Right in the parking lot in front of everyone. Oh, and did I mention his track record with women?” She made a tsking sound. “Not good.”
Ellie winced. “Actually, he kissed me.”
“Well, that makes a world of difference.” Peanut sighed and shook her head. It was exactly how she responded when one of her kids was making her crazy. “Ellie, you’re a fool. There, I finally said it. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and see what’s in your own backyard—we both have—but clearly that isn’t going to happen. A good-looking felon comes to town and you’re all over him like gray on Seattle. In fact, I hear wedding bells now. Who cares that he’s going to take Alice away from Julia and break all our hearts? What matters is he’s got a great smile and a big dick and he knows how to use them both.”
“In the first place, it was a kiss, not a blow job. In the second—”
Peanut walked away from her.
Ellie ran after her. “Come back here, damn it. You can’t say something like that to me and just walk away.” She grabbed Peanut’s arm and spun her around. There were reporters clustered around them, but Ellie didn’t care. “I didn’t go for him, Peanut.”
“From what I heard—”
“Did you hear me, damn it? I didn’t go for him. Zero. Zip. Nada. He did kiss me—and I could have turned it into something, but I didn’t. He’s going to take Alice from us, for God’s sake. How can you think I’d sleep with him?”
Peanut frowned. “Really? You didn’t—”
“Kept my jeans zipped, as my dad used to say.”
“Why?”
It was Ellie’s turn to frown. “Alice is more important.”
“Nothing used to be more important to you, El, than a good-looking man.”
“Things change.” Ellie thought about that; it made her smile. Feel free.
“I’m proud of you.” Smiling, Peanut slung an arm around her. Together, they headed back to Peanut’s desk.
“Hey. What did you mean we? You said we both have been waiting for you to see.”
Peanut shrugged. “Someday you should think about the people who love you, El.” She looked down at her watch. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in court?”
Ellie glanced at the clock. “Shit. George is already gone.” She ran for the door.
By the time she reached the courthouse, it had started to rain. Cold, icy drops that fell from a sad gray sky. She parked on the street out front and ran up the steps.
At the closed door of the judge’s chambers, Ellie knocked.
“Come in.”
She opened the door to a large, austerely decorated room. Books lined all the walls. A huge desk dominated the center of the room; behind it sat the judge.
Julia stood near the corner beside a huge potted plant. Both attorneys were seated in front of the judge’s desk. George stood all alone on the left side of the room.
“Everyone is here,” the judge said, putting on her glasses. “The circumstances have changed since the last time you came to me.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said George’s attorney.
The judge looked at Julia. “I know how much you care about Brittany, Dr. Cates. You also know how the system works.”
“Yes.” The word seemed to deplete Julia, leave her smaller. “I know Mr. Azelle is a victim here, as much as Alice is, and I hate to further hurt him, but . . .” She paused, as if gathering her courage, then looked up at the judge. “His needs must be second to hers.”
The judge frowned. “In what way?”
“She needs more time with me. She loves me . . . trusts me. I can . . .” Her voice slipped, caught on desperation. “Save her.”
Ellie went to Julia, stood beside her.
“Will she always be a special needs child?” the judge asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Julia answered. “She’s come so far. She’s extremely bright, though. I believe she can rise above her past, but for many years she’ll need constant care and treatment.”
“There must be special schools for kids like her,” George said.
“There are,” his attorney answered. “And other doctors who could treat her. Your Honor, Mr. Azelle is a victim here. We can’t compound his tragedy by taking his daughter away again.”
“No,” the judge said. “And I’m sure Dr. Cates knows that.”
Julia turned to George. “She has no idea who you are, George. I sympathize with you, honestly I do—I was up all night thinking about what you’ve suffered—but the truth is, your daughter is what matters now. Father is a concept she can’t understand yet, and if she were taken away from me now—abandoned again—she could regress. She’d almost certainly retreat back into silence and howling and self-mutilation. She isn’t ready. I’m sorry.” She stared at him, willing him to believe her. “Maybe you could move here for a few years. I would keep working with her. We could slowly—”
“Years?” George looked shaken by that, as if he’d never considered it. “You want me to stay here for years while my daughter lives with you? While she learns to call you Mommy? And I get to be whom? The man next door? Uncle George?”
It was Julia’s turn to look shaken. “I could move to Seattle. . . .”
“You don’t get it, Dr. Cates.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I love my daughter. All those days behind bars, I dreamed of finding her, of taking her to the park and teaching her to play the guitar.”
“You love the idea of a daughter. I’ve read everything there is to know about you, George. When Alice lived with you, you were always gone. She was in day care five days a week. Zoë said you were never home for dinner or on weekends. You don’t even know your daughter. And she doesn’t know you.”
“T
hat’s not my fault,” he said softly.
“I . . . love her,” Julia said, her eyes filling with tears.
“I know you do. That’s the problem. That’s why she can’t keep living with you or be your patient, here or in Seattle.”
“I don’t understand. If I can help—”
“She’ll never love me,” he said, “not as long as you’re around.”
Julia drew in a sharp breath. Slowly, she closed her eyes, battling for control, then she looked up at George. Everyone in the room knew there was nothing she could say to that.
“I’ll do everything for her,” George promised, “get all the best doctors and psychiatrists. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. And later, when she loves me and knows who I am, I’ll bring her back to see you. I’ll make sure she never forgets you, Julia.”
IN A SMALL TOWN LIKE RAIN VALLEY THE ONLY THING MORE PREVALENT than gossip was opinions. Everyone had one and couldn’t wait to share it. Max figured that the meeting in the courthouse had barely finished when people started talking about it.
He called Julia every ten minutes; there was never an answer. For almost an hour he waited for her to call him, but his own phone remained silent.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. She might think she needed to be alone; she was wrong. He’d made that mistake for too long—thinking that heartache had to be borne alone. He wouldn’t let her make the same error.
He got in his car and drove to her house. With every turn, he pictured her. She’d be sitting on the sofa right now—or lying in bed—trying not to cry, but one memory of Alice laughing . . . or eating the flowers . . . or giving butterfly kisses . . . and the tears would fall.
He knew.
She might try to forget it, to outrun it, as he’d done. If so, years might pass before she’d realize that those memories needed to be held on to. They were all you had left.
He pulled up to her house and parked. From the outside everything looked normal. The rhododendrons that guarded the porch were huge and glossy green in this rainy season. A pale green moss furred the roof. Empty planters hung from the eaves. Behind and around the house, giant evergreens whispered among themselves. He crossed the yard and went to the front door, knocking softly.
Ellie answered, holding two cups of tea. “Hey, Max,” she said.
“How is she?”
“Not good.”
Ellie stepped back, letting him enter the house, and handed him the cups. “She’s up in my room. First door on the left. Alice is asleep so be quiet.”
He took the cups from her. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to the station. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t leave her alone.”
“I won’t.”
She started to leave, then stopped and turned to him. “Thanks. You’ve helped her.”
“She’s helped me,” he said simply.
He watched her leave, heard her car start up. Then he put down the tea—there would be a time for that later; making tea was for a relative who wanted to help but didn’t know how—and went upstairs. At the closed bedroom door he paused, then drew in a deep breath and opened it.
The room was full of shadows. All of the lights were off.
Julia lay on her back in the big king-sized canopy bed, her eyes closed, her hands folded on her stomach.
He went to her, stood beside the bed. “Hey,” he said softly.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her face was red and swollen, as were her eyes. Tears had scrubbed the color from her cheeks.
“You know about Alice,” she said quietly.
He climbed into the big bed and took her in his arms. Saying nothing, he held her and let her cry, let her tell him her memories one by one. It was something he should have done long ago; formed all his memories into solid, durable things that would last.
She paused in her story and looked at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I should stop rattling on about her,” she said.
He kissed her gently, giving her all of himself in that one kiss. “Keep talking,” he said when he drew back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
THE STREETS DOWNTOWN WERE EMPTY. EVERY STOREFRONT ELLIE passed, she got a sad, tired wave from someone inside. Four people had hugged her in the diner while she waited for her mocha. None of them bothered to say anything. What was there to say? Everyone knew that by this time tomorrow their Alice would be gone.
It was late when she finally left the station and headed for the river. As she climbed the porch steps to the front door that had always been hers, she felt as if she were carrying a heavy weight on her back. This was as bad as she’d ever felt in her life, and for a woman who’d been divorced twice and buried both of her folks, well, that was saying something.
Inside, everything was exactly as it always had been. The overstuffed sofa and chairs created an intimate gathering place in front of the fireplace, the knickknacks were few and far between and mostly handmade. The only difference was the collection of ficus plants in the corner.
Alice’s hiding place.
Only a few weeks ago the girl had rushed to that place at the drop of a hat—or the start of a big emotion. But lately she’d hidden less and less in her leafy sanctuary.
The thought of it was almost more than Ellie could bear, and if it hurt her to imagine, what was Julia feeling now? Every tick of the clock must be a blow to her.
She went over to the stereo and popped the Return of the King CD into the player. It was a day for sad, desperate songs and emotional music.
She tossed her purse on the dining room table. It hit with a jangly thump. She’d just made herself tea when she saw her sister.
Julia was out on the porch, in the freezing cold, wrapped in their father’s old woolen hunting coat.
Ellie made a second cup of tea and took it out to the porch.
Julia took the drink with a quiet “Thanks” and “have a seat.”
Ellie grabbed one of the old quilts from the trunk on the porch and wrapped it around her. Sitting on the porch swing, she put her feet on the trunk. “Where’s Max?”
Julia shook her head. “He had an emergency at the hospital. He wanted to stay . . . but I sort of needed to be alone. Alice is asleep.”
Ellie started to rise. “Should I—”
“No. Please. Stay.” At that, Julia smiled sadly. “I sound like Alice. Brittany, I mean.”
“She’ll never really be Brittany to us.”
“No.” Julia sipped her tea.
“What will you do?”
“Without her?” Julia stared out at their backyard. In the darkness, they couldn’t see much past the river. Moonlight brightened the water. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer.” Her voice softened, trembled. “It’s like watching Mom die all over again.”
She started to say more, but fell suddenly silent. “Sorry. Sometimes . . .” She stood up, turned away. “I need to be with her now,” she said in a small, breaking voice, and then she was gone.
Ellie felt the start of tears. She tossed the blanket aside and got up. What good would it do to sit here by herself and cry?
She walked down into the damp grass toward the river. Across the black field she saw the twinkling yellow lights of Cal’s house. Someday you should think about all the people who love you, El, Peanut had said. Cal had always been on that list. Through both her marriages, all her disastrous affairs, and the deaths of her parents, Cal had always been the one constant man in her life.
Even though he was mad at her for something, he was the one man on the planet who saw her as she was and loved her anyway. She needed a friend like that now.
She was at his door in no time. She knocked.
And waited.
No one answered.
Frowning, she glanced behind her. Cal’s GTO was there, hidden beneath a tan canvas cover and a smattering of fallen leaves.
She opened the door, poked her head in, and said, “Hello?”
Again, t
here was no answer, but she saw a light on down the hall. She followed it to the closed door of Lisa’s study.
Suddenly she wondered if Lisa was back. The thought made her frown deepen. Nerves twisted her stomach, made her feel panicky, but that made no sense. She knocked on the door, “Hello?”
“Ellie?”
She pushed the door open and saw that Cal was there alone, sitting behind a drafting-like table with papers spread out all around him.
For no reason she could quite touch, Ellie felt a rush of relief. “Where are the girls?”
“Peanut took them to dinner and a movie so that I could work.”
“Work?”
“I thought you’d be out with George tonight.”
“I need new friends.” She sighed. “He was wrong for me. What do I need to do? Take out a billboard?”
“Wrong for you?” Cal leaned against his desk, studying her. “Usually you don’t figure that out until you’re married.”
“Very funny. Now, really, what are you doing?”
She crossed the room toward him, noticing the smudges on his cheek and hands. When she sidled up behind him, felt the touch of his arm against hers, she immediately felt less alone, less shaky.
There was a pile of papers in front of him. On the top page was a faded, working sketch of a boy and girl holding hands, running. Overhead, a giant pterodactyl-type bird blotted out the sun with its enormous wingspan.
He pushed the sketch aside; beneath it was a full-color drawing—almost a painting—of the same two kids huddled around a pale, glowing ball. The caption beneath them read: How can we hide if they see our every move?
Ellie was stunned by the quality of his artwork, the vibrant colors and strong lines. The characters looked somehow both stylized and real. There was no mistaking the fear in their eyes.
Magic hour: a novel Page 36
