When the bird was stuffed and in the oven, Ellie looked around the kitchen. “What’s next?”
Julia pushed the hair out of her eyes and sighed. It was only nine o’clock in the morning and already she looked as wiped out as Ellie felt. “I guess we could start on Aunt Vivian’s green bean recipe.”
“I always hated that. Green beans and mushroom soup? Why not just have a salad—we have a bagged one in the fridge.”
“You’re a genius.”
“I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“I’ll get started on the potatoes.” Julia headed for the porch. When she opened the door, cold air swept through, mingling with the hot air from the roaring fireplace to create a perfect mixture of warmth and crispness. On the top step, she sat down. A bag of potatoes was on the floor at her feet, along with a peeler.
Ellie poured two mimosas and followed her sister out to the porch. “Here. I think we’ll need alcohol. Last year a lady in Portland served wild mushrooms at a dinner party and killed all her guests.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”
Laughing, Ellie handed her a glass and sat down.
Together, they stared out at the backyard.
Alice was dressed in a pretty eyelet dress and pink tights, sitting on a wool blanket. There were birds all around her—mostly crows and robins—fighting among themselves to eat from her hand. Beside her, a bag of past-their-prime potato chips provided her with endless crumbs.
“Why don’t you take her a glass of juice or something? She’s really calm when she’s with her birds. It might be a good time to start bonding.”
“She looks like a Hitchcock movie. What if the birds peck my eyes out?”
Julia laughed. “They’ll fly away when you get there.”
“But—”
Julia touched Ellie’s arm. “She’s just a little girl who has been through hell. Don’t saddle her with anything else.”
“She’ll run away from me.”
“Then you’ll try again.” Julia reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a red plastic measuring cup. “Give her this.”
“She still gaga over the color red?”
“Yep.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“No idea yet.” Julia stood up. “I’ll go set the table. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Ellie felt Julia’s eyes on her back as she walked down the steps across the grass.
Behind her the screen door screeched open and banged shut. At the noise, the birds cawed and flew off. There were so many of them that for a second they were a dark blight against the gray sky.
Ellie stepped on a twig, snapped it.
Alice jumped up and spun around. She remained crouched, looking cornered, although the whole yard lay open behind her. Fear rounded the girl’s eyes, making Ellie profoundly uncomfortable.
She wasn’t used to fighting for affection. All her life, people had liked her.
“Hey,” Ellie said, standing motionlessly. “No net. No shot.” She held her hands out, palms up to prove it. The red measuring cup was bright in her open hand.
Alice saw it and frowned. After a minute or so she pointed and grunted.
Ellie felt the magical pull of possibility unwind between them. This was the first time that Alice hadn’t run from her. “Use your words, Alice.” It was what Julia always said.
As the silence went on, Ellie tried another tack. She started to sing, quietly at first, but as Alice’s frown faded and an expression of interest began to take its place, Ellie turned up the volume. Just a bit. She sang one kid-friendly song after another (the kid could stay motionless forever). When she got to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” Alice’s whole demeanor changed. It was as if she’d been hypnotized or something. A curve that was almost a smile touched her lips.
“Star,” Alice whispered at exactly the right time in the song.
Ellie bit back a grin by sheer force of will. When the song was over, she knelt down and handed Alice the measuring cup.
Alice stroked it, touched it to her cheek, then looked expectantly at Ellie.
Now what?
“Star.”
“You want me to keep singing?”
“Star. Peas.”
Ellie did as she was asked. She was on her third go-round when Alice cautiously moved toward her.
Ellie felt as if she’d just bowled a strike in the tenth frame. She wanted to whoop out and high-five someone. Instead she kept singing.
At some point Julia came out and joined them. The three of them sat in the grass, beneath a graying November sky, while the Thanksgiving turkey browned inside the house, and sang the songs of their youth.
Max knew he should have left the house a half hour ago. Instead he’d poured himself a beer and turned on the television.
He was afraid to see Julia again.
All or nothing.
Go to her, Max.