Magic Hour

The doorbell rang.

At the sound, Julia almost jumped out of her skin.

Upstairs, the dogs—who were barricaded in Ellie’s bedroom—went crazy; jumping and barking.

Julia slowly rose.

Ellie walked toward the door. She paused for only a moment, long enough to straighten her shoulders, then opened it.

George Azelle stood there, holding a huge, stuffed teddy bear. “Hi, Chief Barton,” he said, trying to look past her.

Ellie stepped aside.

Julia watched it all as if from far away. She felt like a ghost in the room, recently dead, watching her family gather after her funeral. Everything was quiet and slow. No one knew quite what to do or say.

He stepped past Ellie and came into the living room. His curly black hair had been pulled back into a ponytail again. He wore ordinary Levi’s and an expensive white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows.

Looking at them now, in the same room—the man with the dark, curly hair and the chiseled face and the little girl who was his carbon copy—there was no mistaking the link between them.

He stepped forward, let the teddy bear slide down his hip. He held it negligently by one arm. “Brittany.” He said the name softly. There was no mistaking the wonder in his voice.

Alice slid behind Julia.

“It’s okay, Alice,” Julia said, trying to ease away from her, but Alice wouldn’t let her go. “She’s got a strong will,” Julia said to him. “She doesn’t like to be away from me.”

“She gets her stubbornness from me,” he said.

For the next hour they were like some terrible tableau in a French film. In the beginning, George tried to communicate with his daughter, talking about nothing, making no sudden moves, but none of it worked. Even reading aloud didn’t draw Alice out. At some point she streaked over to the potted plants and crouched there, watching him through the green, waxy leaves.

“She has no idea who I am,” he fin

ally said, closing the book, tossing it aside.

“It’s been a long time.”

He got up, began to pace the room. Then, on a dime, he stopped and turned to Julia. “Does she talk at all?”

“She’s learning.”

“How will she tell people what happened to her?”

“Is that what matters most to you?”

“Fuck you,” he said, but the words held no sting; were, in fact, kind of desperate-sounding. He went around the couch and moved toward the potted plants. He moved cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild and dangerous animal.

A low growling came from the leaves.

“That means she’s scared,” Ellie said from the kitchen.

Upstairs, the dogs began to howl.

George was less than five feet from the plants now. Squatting down, he was almost eye level with his daughter. Long moments passed like this, with him silent and frowning; his daughter growling in fear.

Finally, he reached out to touch Alice.

She threw herself backward so hard she could have been hurt. A plant fell over, crashed to the floor.

He immediately pulled his hand back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”