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.