Magic hour: a novel (35 page)

Ellie didn’t bother answering her sister. She was facing issues of her own. Somewhere in this turkey (what the hell had Julia been thinking to buy a twenty-pound bird? They’d be eating turkey until Lent) was a bag of body parts she didn’t want to eat, but apparently also didn’t want to cook. “You think the giblet bag dissolves during cooking? If I get my arm any farther up this bird’s ass, I’m gonna see my own fingers.”

Julia looked down at her own task, frowning. “Do you have an at-home defibrillator?”

Ellie laughed at that. “Aha!” she said a minute later, finding the giblet bag and pulling it out. She then basted the bird with butter (to Julia’s horror) and placed it on Grandma Dotty’s roasting pan. “Are you going to put some of the dressing in the bird?”

“I guess so.”

When the bird was stuffed and in the oven, Ellie looked around the kitchen. “What’s next?”

Julia pushed the hair out of her eyes and sighed. It was only nine o’clock in the morning and already she looked as wiped out as Ellie felt. “I guess we could start on Aunt Vivian’s green bean recipe.”

“I always hated that. Green beans and mushroom soup? Why not just have a salad—we have a bagged one in the fridge.”

“You’re a genius.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“I’ll get started on the potatoes.” Julia headed for the porch. When she opened the door, cold air swept through, mingling with the hot air from the roaring fireplace to create a perfect mixture of warmth and crispness. On the top step, she sat down. A bag of potatoes was on the floor at her feet, along with a peeler.

Ellie poured two mimosas and followed her sister out to the porch. “Here. I think we’ll need alcohol. Last year a lady in Portland served wild mushrooms at a dinner party and killed all her guests.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.”

Laughing, Ellie handed her a glass and sat down.

Together, they stared out at the backyard.

Alice was dressed in a pretty eyelet dress and pink tights, sitting on a wool blanket. There were birds all around her—mostly crows and robins—fighting among themselves to eat from her hand. Beside her, a bag of past-their-prime potato chips provided her with endless crumbs.

“Why don’t you take her a glass of juice or something? She’s really calm when she’s with her birds. It might be a good time to start bonding.”

“She looks like a Hitchcock movie. What if the birds peck my eyes out?”

Julia laughed. “They’ll fly away when you get there.”

“But—”

Julia touched Ellie’s arm. “She’s just a little girl who has been through hell. Don’t saddle her with anything else.”

“She’ll run away from me.”

“Then you’ll try again.” Julia reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a red plastic measuring cup. “Give her this.”

“She still gaga over the color red?”

“Yep.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“No idea yet.” Julia stood up. “I’ll go set the table. You’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Ellie felt Julia’s eyes on her back as she walked down the steps across the grass.

Behind her the screen door screeched open and banged shut. At the noise, the birds cawed and flew off. There were so many of them that for a second they were a dark blight against the gray sky.

Ellie stepped on a twig, snapped it.

Alice jumped up and spun around. She remained crouched, looking cornered, although the whole yard lay open behind her. Fear rounded the girl’s eyes, making Ellie profoundly uncomfortable.

She wasn’t used to fighting for affection. All her life, people had liked her.

“Hey,” Ellie said, standing motionlessly. “No net. No shot.” She held her hands out, palms up to prove it. The red measuring cup was bright in her open hand.

Alice saw it and frowned. After a minute or so she pointed and grunted.

Ellie felt the magical pull of possibility unwind between them. This was the first time that Alice hadn’t run from her. “Use your words, Alice.” It was what Julia always said.

As the silence went on, Ellie tried another tack. She started to sing, quietly at first, but as Alice’s frown faded and an expression of interest began to take its place, Ellie turned up the volume. Just a bit. She sang one kid-friendly song after another (the kid could stay motionless
forever
). When she got to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” Alice’s whole demeanor changed. It was as if she’d been hypnotized or something. A curve that was almost a smile touched her lips.

“Star,” Alice whispered at exactly the right time in the song.

Ellie bit back a grin by sheer force of will. When the song was over, she knelt down and handed Alice the measuring cup.

Alice stroked it, touched it to her cheek, then looked expectantly at Ellie.

Now what?

“Star.”

“You want me to keep singing?”

“Star. Peas.”

Ellie did as she was asked. She was on her third go-round when Alice cautiously moved toward her.

Ellie felt as if she’d just bowled a strike in the tenth frame. She wanted to whoop out and high-five someone. Instead she kept singing.

At some point Julia came out and joined them. The three of them sat in the grass, beneath a graying November sky, while the Thanksgiving turkey browned inside the house, and sang the songs of their youth.

M
AX KNEW HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE HOUSE A HALF HOUR AGO.
Instead he’d poured himself a beer and turned on the television.

He was afraid to see Julia again.

All or nothing.

Go to her, Max.

He could hear Susan’s voice in his head, gently admonishing him. If she’d been here, beside him, she would have given him one of her crooked I-know-you smiles. She knew that, for all of his running, there was a time when it all caught up to him. The holidays. He picked up the phone and dialed a California number.

Susan answered on the first ring. He wondered if she’d been waiting for his call.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“To you, too.”

He waited for her to say something more; the quiet that crackled through the lines made him remember how easily they’d once talked.

“Hard day for you, huh?” Her voice was soft, sad. He heard talking in the background. A man’s voice. A child’s.

“I’ve been invited to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“That’s great. Are you going?”

He heard the doubt in her voice. “I am.”

“Good.”

They talked for a few minutes about little things, nothing that mattered, then came to a natural pause. Finally, Susan said, “I need to get back. We’ve got company.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You, too,” he said. “Tell your folks hi from me.”

“I will.” She paused. Her voice lowered. “Let it go, Max. It’s been too long.”

She made it sound easy, but they both knew better than that. “I don’t know how to do that, Suze.”

“So you keep risking your life. Why don’t you try taking a
real
chance, Max?” She sighed and fell silent.

“Maybe I will,” he said softly.

In the end, as always, it was Max who hung up first.

He sat there, staring down at his watch. The minutes ticked past.

It was time. There was no reason for him to be hiding out here, worrying, and the truth was, he
wanted
to go. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a holiday.

As the crow flies, if one followed the river, the distance between their two houses was less than a mile. Crows, however, flew well above the dense thicket of trees. On the old highway and out along the River Road, it was slow going. The week’s rainfall had left huge potholes in the road.

He parked back from the house and killed the lights and engine. Getting the wine from the backseat, he shut the car door with his hip and turned to the house. It was a pretty little farmhouse with a wraparound porch, perched on a patch of grass that rolled gently down to the river. An old, thick-stemmed garden of roses ran the length of the house. There were no blossoms now, just dark thorns and blackening leaves. Giant trees protected the west side of the house, their tips pointed up to a velvety sky.

Susan would have loved this house. She would have run across the yard now, pointing to places only she could see.
The orchard will be there . . . the swing set goes there.
They’d spent two years looking for their dream house. Why hadn’t they seen that
any
house they’d chosen would have become the very thing they sought?

He crossed the yard and slowly climbed the steps. As he neared the front door, he could hear music. It was John Denver’s voice: “
Coming home to a place he’d never been before.”

He could see them through the oval etched glass in the front door.

Julia and Ellie were dancing with each other, bumping hips and falling sideways and laughing. Alice stood by the fireplace, watching them with huge, unblinking eyes, eating a flower. Every now and then a smile seemed to take her by surprise.

He heard a car drive up behind him and then shut off. Doors opened, closed. Footsteps crunched through the gravel driveway, accompanied by the high-pitched chatter of children’s voices.

“Doc!”

It was Cal’s voice, calling out to him.

Before he could turn and answer, the front door opened and Ellie stood there, staring up at him. It was a cop’s look; assessing.

“I’m glad you could make it,” she said, stepping back to let him in. Dressed in emerald velvet pants and a sparkly black sweater, she was every inch the legendary small-town beauty queen.

He handed her the bottles of wine he’d brought. “Thanks for inviting me.”

At the sound of his voice, he saw Julia look up. She was kneeling beside Alice in the living room.

Ellie took his arm and maneuvered him over to Julia. “Look who’s here, little sis.” With that, she left them.

He stared down at Julia, wondering if she felt as out of breath right now as he did.

Slowly, she stood. “Happy Thanksgiving, Max. I’m glad you could make it. I haven’t had a real family holiday in years.”

“Me, either.”

He saw how she reacted to his confession; the words connected them somehow. “So,” he said quickly, “how’s our wild one?”

Julia seized on the subject and launched into a monologue about their therapy. As she spoke, she smiled often and looked down at Alice with a love so obvious it made him smile, too. He felt swept along by her enthusiasm and caring, and then he remembered: All or nothing.

He was looking at
all.

“Max?” She frowned up at him. “I’m putting you into a coma, aren’t I? I’m sorry. Sometimes I just get carried away. I won’t—”

He touched her arm; realizing it was a mistake, he pulled back sharply.

She stared up at him.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know what you mean.”

Max had no idea what to say next, so he said nothing. Finally, when the silence grew uncomfortable, he made some lame excuse and made his way to the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen.

For the next hour he tried not to look at Julia. He laughed with Cal and Ellie and the girls and helped out in the kitchen.

At a few minutes before four o’clock Ellie announced that dinner, “such as it is,” was ready. They all hurried around like ants, moving in and out of the bathroom, clustering in the tiny kitchen, offering to help serve.

All the while, Julia was kneeling beside Alice, who stood hidden behind a potted ficus tree in the living room. The child was obviously frightened, and it was literally like seeing magic when Julia changed all that. Everyone else was seated at the oval oak table when Julia finally shuttled Alice to the table and seated her on a booster seat between herself and Cal.

Max took the only available seat: it was next to Julia.

At the head of the table, Ellie looked at them across a sea of food. “I’m so glad you’re all here. It’s been a long time since this table hosted a Thanksgiving dinner. Now I’d like to follow an old Cates’ family tradition. Will everyone hold hands, please?”

Max reached right and took Amanda’s hand in his. Then he reached left and touched Julia. He didn’t look at her.

When they were all linked, Ellie smiled at Cal. “Why don’t you start for us?”

Cal looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled. “I’m thankful for my beautiful daughters. And to be back in this house for Thanksgiving. I’m sure Lisa is really missing us all right now. There’s nothing worse than a business trip over the holidays.”

His three daughters went next.

“I’m thankful for my daddy—”

“—my puppy—”

“My pretty new boots.”

Next came Ellie. “I’m thankful for my sister coming home.”