Magic Hour

He eased the door open.

Alice slipped into the pen. She and the wolf rolled around together, playing like littermates in the snow. Every time he licked her cheek, Alice giggled.

Floyd shut the gate again. He stood there, watching them play. “This is the first time he’s stopped howling since I got him.”

“She missed him, too,” Julia said.

“What do you suppose—”

“I don’t know, Floyd.”

They fell silent again, watching the girl and wolf roll around in the snow.

“It’s amazing what you’ve done with her,” Max said to Julia.

She smiled. “Kids are resilient.”

“Not always.” His answer was so quiet she almost missed it.

She was about to ask him what he meant, but before she’d formed the question, she heard sirens. “Do you hear that?”

He nodded.

The sound was far off at first, then it drew closer.

Closer.

When the first flashing lights appeared, cutting through the hazy snowfall, Floyd jumped into action. He grabbed Alice’s coat and pulled her out of the pen, then slammed the gate shut.

Alice dropped to her knees and howled miserably.

The police cruiser drove into the yard and parked. The lights remained on, flashing in staccato bursts of color. Ellie walked toward them in the surreal light. “He’s come for her,” she said without preamble.

“Who?” Julia asked, but when Ellie glanced at Alice, Julia knew.

“Alice’s father.”

MAX CARRIED ALICE INTO THE HOUSE. SHE WEIGHED ALMOST NOTHING.

He tried not to think about how natural this felt, carrying a child, but some memories were imprinted too deeply to ever erase, and some movements felt as natural as breathing.

He tried to set her down on the sofa so he could build a fire.

But she wouldn’t free him, wouldn’t uncoil her arms from around his neck, and all the while, as he carried her around the house and built the fire, she was howling in a quiet way that broke his heart.

Finally, he sat down on the couch and drew her onto his lap. Her eyes were tightly shut; her cheeks were still pink with cold. The sound she made—more whimper now than howl—was the physical embodiment of loss. Too much feeling and too few words.

Look away, he told himself. Put on a movie or turn up the music.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew instantly it was a mistake. In his mind he heard a child crying—great big crocodile tears. My fish isn’t swimming anymore, Daddy. Make him all better.

Max tightened his hold on Alice. “It’s okay, little one. Let it out. That’s a good thing, actually.”

At the sound of his voice, she drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him. It made him realize that it was the first time he’d spoken since they left the game farm. “Julia had to go to the police station with Ellie. They’ll be back soon.”

She blinked up at him through eyes that were surprisingly dry. He found himself wondering if she knew how to cry. The very idea of it—that she couldn’t release her pain that way—wounded him.

“No Jewlee leave Girl?”