Magic Hour

“I’ll get it,” Ellie said, going to the truck. Somehow that did it to her, after all she’d just seen; unhooking the booster seat—Alice’s seat—and yanking it out of the truck made her cry. She tried to hide her face from George as she fit the seat into the Ferrari.

Very slowly, Julia bent down and put the sleeping child into the car. She whispered

something into Alice’s tiny ear; none of them heard what it was. Then she kissed her cheek and backed away, shutting the car door gently.

Julia stood face-to-face with George. She handed him a thick manila envelope. “This is everything you need to know. Her naptimes, bedtimes, allergies. She loves Jell-O now—but only if it has pineapple in it—and vanilla pudding. She tries to play with pasta, so unless you want a real mess, I’d keep it away from her. And pictures of bunnies with big ears will make her giggle; so will tickling the bottoms of her feet. Her favorite book—”

“Stop.” George’s voice was harsh, throaty. He took the envelope in shaking hands. “Thank you. For everything. Thank you.”

“If you have problems, you’ll call. I can be there in no time—”

“I promise.”

“I want to throw myself in front of your car.”

“I know.”

“If you—” Her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes, said, “Take care of my—our—girl.”

“I will.”

Overhead, a cold breeze rustled through the leaves. In the distance, a crow cawed, then another. Ellie half expected to hear a wolf howl.

“Well,” George said. “We need to go.”

Julia stepped back.

Ellie went to her sister, put an arm around her. Julia felt frail and too thin suddenly, like someone who has been hospitalized for a long time and had only recently gotten out of bed. Max came up, too; they bookended her. Without their steadying presence, Ellie thought her sister might collapse.

George got into his car and drove away. Dr. Correll followed.

For a few moments their tires crunched on the gravel driveway, their engines purred. Then there was no sound left, no trace of them.

Just the wind.

“She cried,” Julia whispered, her whole body trembling. “All the love I gave her . . . and in the end all I did was teach her to cry.”

Max pulled Julia into his arms and held her tightly. There was nothing more they could say.

Alice was gone.

SHE IS IN A CAR.

But it is not the kind of car she knows. This one is low—almost on the ground—and it darts around like a snake. The music is so loud it hurts her ears.

She opens her eyes slowly. She feels funny, kind of wobbly and sick and tired. Her stomach might throw everything out her mouth if she’s not careful. Wetting her dry lips, she looks around for Jewlee or Lellie.

They are not here.

She feels the panic start deep inside her and blossom out. The only thing that stops her from screaming is how tired she is. She can’t seem to make a big noise. (He can probably hear her heartbeat. It is so loud he will probably yell at her. She covers her heart with her hand to quiet the sound.)

“Jewlee?” she says to the man.

“She’s back in Rain Valley. We’re long gone. But you’re with me now, Brittany, and everything will be good.”

She doesn’t understand all his words. But she knows gone. Her eyes start watering. It hurts, this crying. She wipes the tears away, surprised a little that they are clear. They should be red as her blood; that’s how it feels. As if she has been poked with the sharp knife again and is bleeding. She remembers bleeding. “Jewlee Mommy gone. Alice bad girl.”

The man looks at her. He is frowning. She knows he will hit her now, but she doesn’t care. Jewlee can’t make it all better anymore.