He opened the door.
Julia stood there: he could see how hard she was trying to smile. “Ellie wants to take Alice into the woods. To see if …” Her voice wavered. “… if she can find …”
He pulled her into his arms and held her until she stopped trembling, then he led her into the living room. On the sofa, he once again took her in his arms.
“What do I do?”
He touched her face gently. “You already know the answer to that. It’s why you’ve been crying.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“She could regress. Or worse.”
“And what will she do if Azelle gets custody?”
She started to say something, then paused, drawing in a deep breath.
In the silence that followed, he said, “This is the time to be her mother, not her doctor.”
She looked up at him. “How is it you always know what to say to me?”
He tried to glance away, couldn’t. Very slowly, he pulled away from her and went upstairs. On the bureau he found what he was looking for: a five-by-seven framed photograph of a little boy in a baseball uniform, smiling for the camera. His two front teeth were missing. He took the picture downstairs and resettled himself on the couch.
Julia sat up, alarmed. “Max? What is it, you look—”
He handed her the picture. “That’s Danny.”
Frowning, she studied the small, shining face, then looked at Max again, waiting.
“He was my son.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Was?”
“That’s the last picture we have of him. A week later a drunk driver hit us on the way home from a game.”
Her eyes filled with tears; the sight of it should have broken him, plunged him into his loss, but instead it strengthened him. It was the first time he’d said Danny’s name out loud in years, and it felt good.
“I would do anything …” He stared down at her, not caring that his voice was breaking or that his eyes were watering. “Anything to have one more day with him.”
Julia looked at the picture for a long time, and then slowly she nodded in understanding. “I love you, Max.”
He took her in his arms and held her tightly. “And I love you.” He said it so quietly that he wondered if she’d heard, or if he’d only imagined the words; then he looked in her eyes and he knew: she’d heard him.
“Someday you’ll tell me about him … about Danny,” she said.
He leaned down to kiss her. “Yeah. Someday.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“Alice, honey, are you listening to me?”
“Read Alice.”
“We’re not going to read right now. Remember what we talked about this morning and again at lunchtime?” Julia tried to keep her voice even. “A man is coming to see Alice.”
“No. Play Jewlee.”
Julia stood up. “Well. I’m going downstairs. You can stay up here by yourself if you’d like.”
Alice immediately made a whimpering sound. “No leave.” She got up from her chair and raced to Julia’s side, tucking a hand into her skirt pocket.
Julia’s heart swelled painfully. “Come on,” she said quietly.
Down the stairs they went, side by side, Alice’s hand tucked firmly in Julia’s skirt.
Ellie was standing by the fire, apparently reading the newspaper. Unfortunately, it was upside down. “Hey,” she said, looking up at their entrance. Though she wore full makeup and had curled her hair, she still looked tired somehow, and scared.
“Hi LEllie,” Alice said, pulling Julia toward her sister. “Read Alice?”
Ellie smiled. “The kid’s like a bloodhound on the scent.” She ruffled Alice’s black hair. “Later.”
Julia dropped to her knees and stared at Alice, who was smiling brightly.
“Read now?”
“When the man comes, you don’t need to be scared. I’m right here. So is Ellie. You’re safe.”
Alice frowned.
The doorbell rang.
At the sound, Julia almost jumped out of her skin.
Upstairs, the dogs—who were barricaded in Ellie’s bedroom—went crazy; jumping and barking.
Julia slowly rose.
Ellie walked toward the door. She paused for only a moment, long enough to straighten her shoulders, then opened it.
George Azelle stood there, holding a huge, stuffed teddy bear. “Hi, Chief Barton,” he said, trying to look past her.
Ellie stepped aside.
Julia watched it all as if from far away. She felt like a ghost in the room, recently dead, watching her family gather after her funeral. Everything was quiet and slow. No one knew quite what to do or say.
He stepped past Ellie and came into the living room. His curly black hair had been pulled back into a ponytail again. He wore ordinary Levi’s and an expensive white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.
Looking at them now, in the same room—the man with the dark, curly hair and the chiseled face and the little girl who was his carbon copy—there was no mistaking the link between them.