Magic hour: a novel

by Kristin Hannah

  “I will.”

  Overhead, a cold breeze rustled through the leaves. In the distance, a crow cawed, then another. Ellie half expected to hear a wolf howl.

  “Well,” George said. “We need to go.”

  Julia stepped back.

  Ellie went to her sister, put an arm around her. Julia felt frail and too thin suddenly, like someone who has been hospitalized for a long time and had only recently gotten out of bed. Max came up, too; they bookended her. Without their steadying presence, Ellie thought her sister might collapse.

  George got into his car and drove away. Dr. Correll followed.

  For a few moments their tires crunched on the gravel driveway, their engines purred. Then there was no sound left, no trace of them.

  Just the wind.

  “She cried,” Julia whispered, her whole body trembling. “All the love I gave her . . . and in the end all I did was teach her to cry.”

  Max pulled Julia into his arms and held her tightly. There was nothing more they could say.

  Alice was gone.

  SHE IS IN A CAR.

  But it is not the kind of car she knows. This one is low—almost on the ground—and it darts around like a snake. The music is so loud it hurts her ears.

  She opens her eyes slowly. She feels funny, kind of wobbly and sick and tired. Her stomach might throw everything out her mouth if she’s not careful. Wetting her dry lips, she looks around for Jewlee or Lellie.

  They are not here.

  She feels the panic start deep inside her and blossom out. The only thing that stops her from screaming is how tired she is. She can’t seem to make a big noise. (He can probably hear her heartbeat. It is so loud he will probably yell at her. She covers her heart with her hand to quiet the sound.)

  “Jewlee?” she says to the man.

  “She’s back in Rain Valley. We’re long gone. But you’re with me now, Brittany, and everything will be good.”

  She doesn’t understand all his words. But she knows gone. Her eyes start watering. It hurts, this crying. She wipes the tears away, surprised a little that they are clear. They should be red as her blood; that’s how it feels. As if she has been poked with the sharp knife again and is bleeding. She remembers bleeding. “Jewlee Mommy gone. Alice bad girl.”

  The man looks at her. He is frowning. She knows he will hit her now, but she doesn’t care. Jewlee can’t make it all better anymore.

  Just thinking it makes her eyes water more. She starts howling, softly, though she knows there is no one to hear. She is too far from her place. Her howling grows louder, more desperate.

  “Brittany?”

  She says nothing. The only way to protect herself is in the quiet. She has no one to care for her anymore so she needs to be small and still.

  She closes her eyes, lets the sleep come for her again. It is better to dream of Jewlee, to pretend. In her dreams she is a good girl and has a Jewlee Mommy to love her.

  SOMETIME LATER—JULIA HAD NO IDEA WHEN; SHE’D LOST HER GRIP ON time—she sent Max downstairs and Ellie back to work. They’d both been smothering her all day, trying to offer a comfort that didn’t exist. Frankly, it took all her strength, every bit she had, to stay here and not scream until she was hoarse. She couldn’t let herself look at the people she loved—and who loved her. All of it just made her think of Alice.

  She stared out the bedroom window at the empty yard.

  Birds.

  Come spring, those birds would come looking for Alice. . . .

  Behind her the dogs chuffed softly to one another; they’d spent almost an hour looking for their girl. Now they were quiet, lying beside Alice’s bed, waiting for her return. Every now and then howls would fill the air.

  Julia glanced down at her watch and thought about how long they’d been gone. A few hours, and already it felt like a lifetime.

  It was five-thirty. They would be nearing the city now. The majestic green of Alice’s beloved forest would have given way to the gray of concrete. She would feel as alien there as any space traveler. Without her, the little girl would regress, retreat once more into her frightened and silent world. Her fear would be too big to handle.

  “Please, God,” she whispered aloud, praying again for the first time in years, “take care of my girl. Don’t let her hurt herself.”

  She turned away from the window . . . and saw the potted plants. Before Alice, those plants had been separate, placed as they’d been in various places throughout the house. Now they were the forest, the hiding place.

  She knew she should stay where she was, keep her distance, but she couldn’t do it. She walked over to the plants, stroked their glossy green leaves. “You’ll miss her, too,” she said throatily, not caring that she was talking to plants. It didn’t matter now if she went a little crazy. She wasn’t Dr. Cates now. She was just an ordinary woman missing an extraordinary girl.

  It was almost six now. They were probably on the floating bridge, crossing Lake Washington, nearing Mercer Island; Alice would see the snowcapped mountains in the distance and see where she’d come from. The air would smell different, too; of smog and cars and the tamed blue sound.

  She finally left the room. Downstairs, the house was quiet except for the clang and rattle of Max’s cooking.

  She went to the table that was set for two, pretending not to see the blank space where the third place mat belonged. “What’re you making?” she asked Max, who was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables.

  At the sound of her voice, he looked up.

  Their gazes met. “Stir fry.” He set down the knife and moved toward her.

  “The phone keeps ringing.”

  “It’s Ellie,” he said. “She wants to make sure you’re okay.”

  He put an arm around her and led her to the window. Together they stared out at the dark backyard. The first star of evening looked down on them.

  She leaned against him, loving the heat of his body against hers; it reminded her how cold she was. He didn’t ask how she was or tell her it would be okay. He simply put his hand around the back of her neck, anchoring her. Without that touch, she might have drifted away, floated on this sea of emptiness. But with the one simple gesture he’d reminded her that she hadn’t lost everything, that she wasn’t alone.

  “I wonder how she’s doing.”

  “Don’t,” he said softly. “All you can do is wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Someday when you think about her howling or eating the flowers or trying to play with spiders, you’ll laugh instead of cry.”

  Julia wanted to be helped by his words. As a psychiatrist, she knew he was right; the mother in her couldn’t believe it.

  Behind them the doorbell rang.

  To be honest, she was thankful for the distraction. “Did you lock Ellie out?” she asked, wiping her eyes and trying to smile. “I shouldn’t have sent her to work anyway. I thought being with Cal would help.”

  “Does it help?” Max asked. “Being with someone who loves you?”

  “As much as anything can.”

  He nodded.

  Julia let go of him and went to the door, opening it.

  Alice stood there, looking impossibly small and frightened. She was twisting her hands together, the way she did when she was confused, and she had her shoes on the wrong feet. The sound she made was a strangled, confused howling. Seeping, bloody scratches lined her cheeks.

  George stood behind Alice. His handsome face was pale and seamed with worry lines she hadn’t seen before. “She thinks you let her go because she was bad.”

  It hit Julia like a blow to the heart. She dropped to her knees, looked Alice in the eyes. “Oh, honey. You’re a good girl. The best.”

  Alice started to cry in that desperate, quiet way of hers. Her whole body shook, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “Use your words, Alice.”

  The girl shook her head, howled in a keening, desperate wail.

  Julia touched her. “Use your words, baby. Please.
”

  The loss wrenched through Julia again, tore her heart. She couldn’t go through this again. Neither one of them could. She knew that Alice wanted to throw herself at her, wanted a hug but was afraid to move. All the little girl could think was that she was bad, that she would be abandoned again, just like before. And once more she was afraid to talk.

  George climbed the creaking porch steps.

  Alice darted away from him, pressed her body against the side of the house. Her feet hit the metal dog bowls. The clanging sound rang through the chilly night air, then dissipated, leaving it quiet once more.

  George looked at Alice, then at Julia. “I tried to buy her dinner in Olympia. She went . . . crazy. Howling. Growling. She scratched her face. Dr. Correll couldn’t do shit to calm her down.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Julia said softly.

  “All those years in prison . . . I dreamed she was still alive. . . .”

  Julia’s heart went out to him. Slowly, she stood. “I know.”

  “I imagined finding her again . . . I thought she’d run into my arms and kiss me and tell me how much she missed me. I never thought . . . never realized she wouldn’t know me.”

  “She needs time to remember. . . .”

  “No. She’s not my little girl anymore. I guess you were right when you said she never was. When she was a baby, I was never home. . . . She’s Alice now.”

  Julia’s breath caught. Hope flickered inside her. A tiny flame of light in the dark. She heard Max come up beside her. “What do you mean?”

  George stared down at his daughter. He looked older suddenly, a man lined by hard choices and harder living. “I’m not who she needs,” he said in a voice so quiet Julia almost missed it. “She’s too much for me to handle. Loving her . . . and parenting her are two different things. She belongs here. With you.”

  Julia reached for Max’s hand, clinging to it. But she looked at George. “Are you sure?”

  “Tell her . . . someday . . . that I loved her the only way I knew how . . . by letting her go. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her. All she has to do is call.”

  “You’ll always be her father, George.”

  He backed up, went down a step, then another. “They’ll say I abandoned her,” he said softly.

  Julia gazed down at him, wishing she could tell him it wasn’t true, but they both knew better than that. The media would judge him harshly for this. “Your daughter will know the truth, George. I swear to you. She’ll always know you love her.”

  “I can’t even kiss her good-bye.”

  “Someday you’ll be able to kiss her, George. I promise you.”

  “Keep her close,” he said. “I made that mistake.”

  Julia’s throat was so full of emotion she could only nod. If this were a Disney movie instead of real life, Alice would give her father a hug right now and say good-bye. Instead she was huddled alongside the house, trying to disappear. Her cheeks were marred by scratches and streaked with blood and tears.

  George turned and walked away. In the driveway, he waved one last time before he got in his car and drove away.

  Julia knelt in front of Alice.

  Alice stood there, her little arms bolted to her sides, her hands curled into fists. Her mouth was trembling and tears washed her eyes, magnifying her fear.

  Julia’s tears started again. There was no way to stop them, even though she was smiling now, too. Her emotions were almost too big to handle; her whole body was trembling.

  Alice looked terrified. She watched George drive away, then turned to Julia. “Alice home?”

  Julia nodded. “Alice is home.”

  Alice whispered, “Jewlee Mommy!” and threw herself into Julia’s waiting arms.

  They fell backward onto the hardwood floor, still locked together. Julia held Alice tightly, kissing her cheeks, her neck, her hair.

  Alice buried her face in the crook of Julia’s neck. She felt the whispers of her breath as she said, “Love Jewlee Mommy. Alice stay.”

  “Yes,” Julia said, laughing and crying. “Alice stay.”

  EPILOGUE

  AS ALWAYS, SEPTEMBER WAS THE BEST MONTH OF THE YEAR. Long, hot, sunny days melted into cold, crisp nights. All over town the grass was as thick as velvet and impossibly green. Scattered randomly throughout the towering evergreens were maple and alder trees dressed in their red and gold autumn finery. The swans had left Spirit Lake for the year, although the crows were everywhere, squatted on phone lines above every street, cawing and squawking at passersby.

  At the corner of Olympic and Rainview, Julia stopped walking.

  Alice immediately followed suit, tucking in close, putting her hand in Julia’s pocket. It was the first time in weeks she’d done it. “Now, Alice,” Julia said, looking down at her. “We’ve talked all about this. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Alice blinked up at her. Though she’d gained weight in the past nine months, and grown at least an inch, she still had a tiny, heart-shaped face that sometimes seemed too small to hold those wide, expressive eyes. Today, wearing a pink corduroy skirt with matching cotton tights and a white sweater, she looked like any other girl on the first day of school. Only the careful observer would have noticed that she had too many missing teeth for a kindergartener and that sometimes she still called her Mommy Jewlee. “Alice not scared.”

  Julia led Alice to a nearby park bench and sat down beneath the protective umbrella of a huge maple tree. The leaves overhead were the color of ripe lemons; every now and then one fluttered to the ground. Julia sat down, then pulled Alice onto her lap. “I think you are scared.”

  Alice popped a thumb in her mouth for comfort, then slowly withdrew it. She was trying so hard to be a big girl. Her pink backpack—a recent present from George—fell to the ground beside her. “They’ll call Alice wolf girl,” she said quietly.

  Julia touched her puffy, velvet soft cheek. She wanted to say No, they won’t, but she and Alice had come too far together to tell each other pretty lies. “They might. Mostly because they wish they knew a wolf.”

  “Maybe go school next year.”

  “You’re ready now.” Julia eased Alice off her lap. They stood up, holding hands. “Okay?”

  A car pulled up on the street beside them. All four doors opened at once, and girls spilled out of the car, giggling and laughing. The older girls ran off ahead.

  Ellie, in uniform, looking deeply tired and profoundly beautiful, took Sarah’s hand in hers and walked toward Julia.

  “Of course you’re on time,” Ellie said. “You have one kid to get ready. Getting these three organized is like herding ants. And forget about Cal. His deadline’s made him deaf.” But as she said it, she laughed. “Or maybe it’s me, always telling him to listen up.”

  Sarah, dressed in blue jeans and a pink tee shirt, carrying a Shark Tales backpack, looked at Alice. “You ready for school?”

  “Scared,” Alice said. When she looked up at Julia, she added, “I’m scared.”

  “I was scared on the first day of kindergarten, too. But it was fun,” Sarah said. “We had cake.”

  “Really?”

  “You wanna walk with me?” Sarah asked.

  Alice looked up at Julia, who nodded encouragingly. “Okay.”

  Alice mouthed: Stay close. Julia nodded, smiling.

  The two girls came together, began walking toward the school.

  Ellie fell into step beside Julia. “Who’d have thought, huh? You and me walking our daughters to school together.”

  “It’s the start of a new family tradition. So, how’s the new bathroom coming?”

  “Cal ordered a Jacuzzi tub.” Ellie grinned. “It’s big enough for two. He’s going to start on the addition next spring. Three girls in our old bedroom is a nightmare. They fight every second.”

  “Have you met your new neighbors?”

  “Yeah. A couple from California. They have two sons who already follow the girls around like lovesick puppies. I find it hilarious. Ca
l is not so amused. But I think he’s glad Lisa made him sell the house. Too many memories.”

  “He always belonged in our house anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Ellie said, sounding like a woman head over heels in love. After two expensive weddings, complete with all the trimmings, she’d finally gotten lucky in a tiny chapel on the Vegas strip.

  They crossed the street and climbed the steps to Rain Valley Elementary. All around them women were holding onto their children’s hands. Julia noticed the woman beside her, a beautiful redhead with bright, teary eyes. When she saw Julia look at her, the woman smiled. “It’s my first time,” she said. “Walking Bobby to school. I hope I don’t embarrass him by bursting into tears.”

  “I know what you mean,” Julia said. It was hard to let Alice go out in the world, but she had to do it.

  As they moved down the hallway, a bell rang. Kids and parents scattered, disappeared into classrooms.

  Alice looked nervously at Julia. “Mommy?”

  “I’ll sit right out front all day, waiting for you. If you get nervous, all you have to do is look out the window, okay?”

  “’Kay.” She didn’t sound okay.

  “You want me to walk you in?”

  Alice looked at Sarah, who was motioning for her to hurry, then back at Julia. “No.” I’m a big girl, she mouthed.

  “Come on, Alice,” Sarah said. “I’ll show you to Ms. Schmidt’s room.”

  Following Sarah, Alice walked down the last bit of hallway to room 114. She gave Julia one last worried wave, then opened the door and went in. The door shut behind her.

  Julia let out her breath in a sigh. She wanted to smile and cry at the same time.

  “Yours can’t stand to leave and mine can’t wait.”

  “Yours didn’t live through what Alice did. Maybe it is too early—”

  Ellie looped an arm around Julia, drawing her close. “She’s going to be fine.”

  Arm in arm, they walked out of the school and down the stairs and across the street to the park. There, they sat down on the cold wooden bench and stared out at the town that had shaped their lives. The maple tree that had first welcomed Alice was a blaze of bright yellow leaves.