Julia sighed. She felt as if she were melting from the inside out, shrinking. “It’s not a game. It’s her life. If I’m not the best doctor for her …”
“Go back upstairs, Jules. Do what you do best.” Ellie smiled. “You hear that howling? That’s her, telling you she needs you. You.”
“I’m afraid—”
“We’re all afraid.”
To that, Julia had no answer. With another heavy sigh, she left the living room and went upstairs. In the hallway, the dogs were going crazy, whining and howling and running into each other. Alice’s low, keening growl could be heard through the door.
Julia paused, trying to refind her confidence. In its place she found a fake smile and shaking hands. Pushing past the dogs, she went into her old bedroom.
Alice immediately stopped howling.
“Talk to me. Please.” To Julia’s horror, her voice broke on that last, desperate word. All the emotions she’d tamped down and stored away rose again. All she could think about now was her failure with Amber.
She wiped her eyes, although no tears had fallen. “I’m sorry, Alice. It’s just been a bad day.”
She went to the table and sat down, needing the safe harbor of her profession. She studied her notes, trying to concentrate.
At first the touch was so soft that Julia failed to notice.
She looked down.
Alice was staring up at her, stroking Julia’s arm. She wiped her eyes, although she wasn’t crying.
Sympathy. Alice was offering sympathy. The child had recognized her sadness and wanted to alleviate it. She was connecting, answering in the only way she knew how.
Suddenly, none of the rest of it mattered.
Julia felt a wave of gratitude to this poor, strange little girl who had just reached out to her, reminded her that she made a difference. No ugly headlines or ambitious doctors or unfeeling child welfare system could steal that from her. She touched Alice’s soft, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”
Alice flinched at the touch. She started to pull away, probably so that she could go hide among the plants again.
“Stay,” Julia said, grasping her frail, thin wrist. “Please.” Her voice broke on the sharp desperation of that word.
Alice drew in a deep, shaky breath and stared at Julia.
“You know that word, don’t you? Stay. I need something from you, too, Alice. I need to help you.”
They sat that way for a long time, staring at each other.
“You’re not autistic, are you?” Julia said finally. “You’re worried about my feelings. Now how about I return the favor? You tell me something secret and I’ll be here for you.”
FIFTEEN
For the next two weeks the story of the disgraced doctor and the nameless, voiceless girl was headline news. The phones at the police station were jammed with calls from doctors, psychiatrists and counselors, kooks and scientists. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to save Alice from Julia’s incompetence. Drs. Kletch and Goldberg called daily. The Department of Social and Health Services required updates twice a week. They were beginning to suggest residential care at almost every turn.
Julia worked eighteen hours a day. She was with Alice from sunup to sundown; after the child fell asleep, she went to the library and spent more hours in front of a computer screen or online.
Everything she did was for Alice. On Wednesdays and Fridays, like clockwork, she went to the police station, where she conducted a press conference. She stood at that podium, inches from the microphones that amplified her words. She told them every aspect of Alice’s treatment, offered every identity hint that was revealed. None of it interested them.
They asked endless questions about Julia’s past, about her regrets and failures and lost patients. They cared nothing for the milestones of Alice’s recovery. Still, Julia tried. She reached for me today.… She buttoned her blouse.… She pointed at a bird.… She used a fork.
All that mattered to the reporters was that Alice hadn’t spoken. To them, it was more proof that Julia could no longer be trusted to help even one troubled child.
But in time, even the rehashing of Julia’s past began to lose momentum. The stories went from headline news on page one to a paragraph or two in the local interest or Life sections. Local water cooler conversation left the unknown girl behind; now the mini quakes shaking Mount St. Helens were on everyone’s mind.
From her podium, Julia stared out at the few reporters in the police station. CNN, USA Today, the New York Times, and the national television stations weren’t here anymore. Only a few of the local papers were left, and most of them were from small peninsula communities like Rain Valley. Their questions were still pointed and cruel, but they were asked in dull, monotone voices. No one expected any of it to matter anymore.