Magic Hour

“I have no idea.”

She laughed. “That’s my favorite.”

THE MOVIE, AS IT TURNED OUT, WAS TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT. JULIA sat next to Max in the darkened theater, watching one of the great screen pairings of all time. When it was over, and she and Max were walking through the beautifully restored lobby of the Rose Theater, Julia got the feeling that they were being stared at.

“People are talking about us,” she said, sidling close to him.

“Welcome to Rain Valley.” He took her arm and led her out of the theater and across the street to where his truck was parked. “I’d take you out for some pie, but everything’s closed.”

“You do like your pie.”

He grinned. “And you thought you knew nothing about me.”

She turned, looked up at him, no longer smiling. “I don’t know much.”

He stared down at her; she expected him to come up with some smart-ass comeback. Instead he kissed her. When he drew back, he said quietly, “There. You know that.”

When she didn’t say anything, he opened the door and she got in.

All the way back to her house they talked about things that didn’t matter. The movie. The baby he’d delivered tonight, the waning salmon populations and declining old-growth forests. His plans for Christmas.

At her front door she let him take her in his arms. It was amazing how comfortable she felt there. This time, when he bent down to kiss her, she met him more than halfway, and when it was over and he drew back, she wanted more. “Thanks for the movie, Max.”

He kissed her again, so softly she hardly had time to taste him before it was over. “Good night, Julia.”

BY LATE DECEMBER THE HOLIDAYS WERE FIRST AND FOREMOST ON EVERYONE’S mind. The Rotary Club had hung the streetlamp decorations and the Elks’ had decorated their Giving Tree. On every corner in town there were tree lots set up; local scout troops were going door-to-door, selling wrapping paper.

Today had dawned bright and clear, with an ice blue sky unmarred by even the thinnest cloud. Along the riverbanks, where the ground was warmer than the air, a layer of pink fog rose from the bending shoreline to the lowest branches of the trees, turning everything beyond it to a blurry uncertainty. It was easy to picture magic in that haze; fairies and spirits and animals that lived nowhere else on Earth.

All day, as usual, Julia had been at Alice’s side. They’d spent a lot of time outside in the yard.

Julia was trying to prepare Alice for the next big step. Town.

It wouldn’t be easy. The first hurdle was the car.

“Town,” Julia said quietly, looking down at Alice. “Remember the pictures in the books? I want us to go to town, where the people live.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “Out?” she whispered, her mouth trembling.

“I’ll be with you all the time.”

She shook her head.

Julia carefully extricated herself from Alice’s clinging hold. Very carefully, she held Alice’s hands in hers. She wanted to ask the girl if she trusted her, but trust was too complicated a concept for a child with such limited verbal skills. “I know you’re scared, honey. It’s a big world out there, and you’ve seen the worst of it.” She touched Alice’s soft, warm cheek. “But hiding out here with me and Ellie can’t be your future. You’ve got to come into the world.”

“Stay.”

Julia started to respond, but before she’d formed the first word, she was interrupted by a honking horn.

Alice’s face lit up. “Lellie!” She let go of Julia and ran to the window by the front door. The dogs followed her, barking out a welcome, falling over themselves in a rush. Elwood knocked Alice over. The girl’s giggles rose up from the tangle of bodies on the floor. Jake licked her cheek and nudged her.

The front door opened. Ellie stood there, grinning, then dragged a Christmas tree into the house.

For the next hour Julia and Ellie struggled to get the tree in its stand, upright, and clamped down. When they were finally finished, both of them were sweating.

“No wonder Dad always drank heavily before he put up the tree,” Ellie said, standing back and surveying their work.

“It’s not absolutely straight,” Julia pointed out.