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.”