A frown pulled at his forehead. She got the distinct feeling that he was toying with her. “Her pleasure is always important to me.”
“I’m sure it is. As long as her pleasure doesn’t require any real emotion on your part, or—God forbid—a commitment. Believe me, Max, I’ve known men like you before. As appealing as the Peter Pan syndrome is to some women, it’s lost its charm for me.”
“Who was he?”
“Who?”
“The man who hurt you so badly.”
Julia was surprised by the perceptiveness of the question. Even more surprising was how it made her feel. Almost as if he knew her.
But he didn’t. He was just fishing, casting the kind of line that only men like him could handle. His gift was the appearance of sincerity, of depth. For some bizarre reason, when she looked at him now, she saw a kind of loneliness in his gaze, an understanding that made her want to answer him.
And then she would be caught.
“May we please keep ourselves on track?”
“Ah. Business. Tell me about the girl.” He went to the fireplace and built a fire, then returned to the sofa and sat down.
“I’m calling her Alice for now. From Alice in Wonderland. She responded to the story.”
“Seems like a good choice.”
He waited for more.
Suddenly she wished she weren’t here. He might be a player and a flirt, but he was also a colleague, and as such, he could ruin her with a word.
“Julia?”
She started slowly. “When you first examined her, did you see any evidence of what her diet had been?”
“You mean beyond the dehydration and malnutrition?”
“Yes.”
“Facts, no. Ideas; I have a few. I’d say some meat and fish and fruit. I would guess she ate no dairy and no grains at all.”
Julia looked at him. “In other words, the kind of diet that would come from living off the land for a long time.”
“Maybe. How long do you think she was out there?”
There it was. The question whose answer could both make and break her.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” she said after too long a silence.
“I thought you shrinks didn’t use that word.”
“Don’t tell.”
“You’re safe with me.”
She laughed at that. “Hardly.”
“Start talking, Julia,” he said, sipping his drink. The ice rattled in his glass.
“Okay.” She started with the easy stuff. “I’m sure she’s not deaf, and I strongly question the idea of autistic. Strangely enough, I think she might be a completely normal child reacting to an impossibly foreign and hostile environment. I believe she understands some language, although I don’t yet know if she knows how to speak and is choosing not to or if she’s never been taught. Either way, she hasn’t hit puberty, so—theoretically, at least—she’s not too old to learn.”
“And?” He took another drink.
She took a drink, too. Hers was more of a gulp. Her sense of vulnerability was so strong now she felt her cheeks warm. There was nothing to do now except dive in or walk away. “Have you ever read any of the accounts of wild children?”
“You mean like that French kid? The one Truffaut made the movie about?”
“Yes.”
“Come on—”
“Hear me out, Max. Please.”
He leaned back into the cushions, crossed his arms and studied her. “Tell me.”
She started pulling stuff out of her briefcase. Papers, books, notes. She laid them all out on the cushion between them. As Max examined each article, she outlined her thoughts. She told him about the clear signs of wildness—the apparent lack of sense of self, the hiding mechanism, the eating habits, the howling. Then she offered the oddities—the humming, birdsong mimicry, the insta–toilet training. When she’d presented all of it, she sat back, waiting for his comment.
“So you’re saying she was out there, in the woods, for most of her life.”
“Yes.”
“And the wolf they found with her … that was what, her brother?”
She reached for her papers. “Forget it. I should have known—”
Laughing, he grabbed her hand. “Slow down. I’m not making fun of you, but you have to admit that your theory is out there.”
“But think about it. Plug our evidence into the known fact patterns.”
“It’s all anecdotal, Julia. Kids raised by wolves and bears …”
“Maybe she was held hostage for a while and then let go to survive on her own. She’s definitely been around people at some point.”
“Then why can’t she speak?”
“I think she’s electively mute. In other words, she can speak. She’s choosing not to.”
“If that’s true, even partially, it’ll take a hell of a doctor to bring her back to this world.”
Julia heard the question in his voice. She wasn’t surprised. The whole world thought she was incompetent now; why should he be any different? What did surprise her was how much it hurt. “I am a good doctor. At least, I used to be.” She reached for her papers, started putting them in her briefcase.