Julia said softly, “Have you been watching the news, El? I’m hardly at the top of anyone’s list. Your state bigwigs might not be too impressed with me.”
Ellie looked at her. As always, there was a directness in Ellie’s eyes that was vaguely disconcerting. Her sister was one of those rare people who made up her mind easily, stuck with her decision, and fought to the end for her beliefs. Actually, it was one of the few things they had in common. “Since when have I cared what other people think? You’re the one we want to save this girl.”
“Thanks, El.” Julia’s voice was quieter than she’d expected, less certain than usual. She wished she could tell Ellie what this meant to her.
Ellie nodded. “I just hope you’re as good as you think you are.”
“I am.”
“Excellent. Now go take a shower and unpack. I told Max we’d meet him at the hospital before four.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER JULIA WAS SHOWERED, MADE UP, AND DRESSED in a well-worn pair of flare-legged jeans and a pale green cashmere sweater. She was trying not to be too excited about seeing the so-called Flying Wolf Girl, but she couldn’t quite manage her usual calm. She’d felt on the outside for so long now that even this glimpse into her old life was enough to rev her engines.
She got a Diet Coke from the fridge and sat down in the living room. Glancing at the dusty piano in the corner, she was blindsided by a memory. She saw her mom, sitting on the black bench, smoking a Virginia Slim menthol and pounding out a raucous version of “That Old Time Rock ’n’ Roll.” There was a crowd of friends clustered around the piano, singing along.
“Come on girls,” Mom said, waving them over. “Sing along.”
Julia turned her back on the piano. She didn’t want to think about Mom, not yet, but here, in this house, time unraveled somehow. If she stayed too long, she’d become the gawky bookworm with the bad haircut and thick glasses again.
Ellie came downstairs, dressed in her blue-and-black uniform. The three gold stars on her collar winked in the light. Even in the bulky outfit, she looked petite and beautiful. “You ready?”
Julia nodded and grabbed her purse. The few miles passed in a surprisingly companionable conversation. Julia remarked on the changes that had taken place—the stoplight, the new bridge, the closure of Hamburger Haven; Ellie pointed out how much had stayed the same.
Finally, they turned a corner and the county hospital came into view. The modest cement building was tucked at the back of a midsized gravel parking lot. A single ambulance was parked to the left of the emergency entrance. The two-story building was dwarfed by the bank of magnificent evergreen trees behind it. Right now, the streetlamps were coming on; every few seconds a beam of light pulsed through the parking lot, illuminating the tiny droplets of mist that couldn’t quite be called rain. The air smelled sweet and green, like freshly cut grass.
As soon as they parked, Julia was out of the car. The closer she got to the door, the more confident she felt.
She and Ellie walked side by side through the double doors and past the receptionist, who waved. The nurses and aides who passed her wore pale, salmon-hued uniforms that appeared to once have been bright orange. Their crepe soles made a squeaking sound on the linoleum-tiled floor.
At a closed door, Ellie paused. She smoothed her clothes and tucked her hair behind her ears, then quickly checked her makeup in a hand mirror.
Julia frowned. “What is this, a photo shoot?”
“You’ll see.” Ellie knocked on the door.
A voice said: “Come in.”
Ellie opened the door. They walked into a small, cramped office with a ground-level window view of a gargantuan rhododendron.
He stood in the corner of the room, still as a blade of grass on a windless day, wearing faded Levi’s and a black cable-knit sweater. His hair was steely gray. Not salt-and-pepper, either, but a perfect Richard Gere, going-gray-all-at-once kind of color. He had the rugged, tanned look of a man who spent a lot of his time in the sun and the wind. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were searingly blue, and intense.
He was the best-looking man Julia had ever seen.
“You must be Dr. Cates,” he said, moving toward her.
“Please, call me Julia.”
The smile he gave her was literally dazzling. “Only if you’ll call me Max.”
She recognized instantly the kind of man he was. A player, like Philip, a man who wore his sexuality like a sport coat. Los Angeles was full of men like him. On several occasions she’d fallen into their trap. When she was younger, of course. She wasn’t surprised at all to see that one of his ears was pierced. She gave him a professional smile. “Why don’t you tell me about your patient? I understand the girl is . . . what, autistic?”
Surprise flickered across his handsome face. He reached down for a folder that lay on his desk. “A diagnosis is your job. Adolescent minds are hardly my specialty.”
“And what is your specialty?”
“Writing prescriptions, if I had to choose. I went to Catholic school.” That smile again. “Thus, my penmanship is excellent.”
She glanced at the framed diplomas that hung on his wall, expecting to see degrees from little known, out-of-the-way schools. Instead he had an undergraduate degree from Stanford and a medical degree from UCLA. She frowned.