Magic Hour
When it was quiet again, the dogs started to whine upstairs. Julia could hear them pacing outside the bedroom door. “Alice is upset. The dogs always respond to her emotions. I should get back.”
Ellie moved forward fast, touched Julia’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I should have expected it. Mort’s picture and the press conference my past. There are all kinds of doctors who would use Alice to advance their careers.” On that, her voice finally broke.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Ellie said. “You’re helping that little girl.”
Julia looked down at her sister. “I . . . missed things with Amber. Important things. Maybe—”
“Don’t,” Ellie said. “They want you to question yourself, to lose confidence. Don’t let them win.”
Julia sighed. She felt as if she were melting from the inside out, shrinking. “It’s not a game. It’s her life. If I’m not the best doctor for her . . .”
“Go back upstairs, Jules. Do what you do best.” Ellie smiled. “You hear that howling? That’s her, telling you she needs you. You.”
“I’m afraid—”
“We’re all afraid.”
To that, Julia had no answer. With another heavy sigh, she left the living room and went upstairs. In the hallway, the dogs were going crazy, whining and howling and running into each other. Alice’s low, keening growl could be heard through the door.
Julia paused, trying to refind her confidence. In its place she found a fake smile and shaking hands. Pushing past the dogs, she went into her old bedroom.
Alice immediately stopped howling.
“Talk to me. Please.” To Julia’s horror, her voice broke on that last, desperate word. All the emotions she’d tamped down and stored away rose again. All she could think about now was her failure with Amber.
She wiped her eyes, although no tears had fallen. “I’m sorry, Alice. It’s just been a bad day.”
She went to the table and sat down, needing the safe harbor of her profession. She studied her notes, trying to concentrate.
At first the touch was so soft that Julia failed to notice.
She looked down.
Alice was staring up at her, stroking Julia’s arm. She wiped her eyes, although she wasn’t crying.
&nbs
p; Sympathy. Alice was offering sympathy. The child had recognized her sadness and wanted to alleviate it. She was connecting, answering in the only way she knew how.
Suddenly, none of the rest of it mattered.
Julia felt a wave of gratitude to this poor, strange little girl who had just reached out to her, reminded her that she made a difference. No ugly headlines or ambitious doctors or unfeeling child welfare system could steal that from her. She touched Alice’s soft, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”
Alice flinched at the touch. She started to pull away, probably so that she could go hide among the plants again.
“Stay,” Julia said, grasping her frail, thin wrist. “Please.” Her voice broke on the sharp desperation of that word.
Alice drew in a deep, shaky breath and stared at Julia.
“You know that word, don’t you? Stay. I need something from you, too, Alice. I need to help you.”
They sat that way for a long time, staring at each other.
“You’re not autistic, are you?” Julia said finally. “You’re worried about my feelings. Now how about I return the favor? You tell me something secret and I’ll be here for you.”
FIFTEEN