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She parked the truck and went inside. The house was full of shapes and shadows, all of which were familiar. Ellie had left the stairwell light on for her; it was the same thing Mom had always done, and the sight of it—that soft, golden light spilling down the worn oak stairs—filled her heart with longing. Her mother had always waited up for her. Never in this house had she gone to bed without a nighttime kiss. No matter how badly Mom and Dad were fighting, she always got her kiss from Mom. Julia was thirteen years old the first time she’d seen through the veil; at least that was how she now thought of it. In one day she’d gone from believing her family was happy to knowing the truth. Her mother had come in that night with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks. Julia had only asked a few questions before Mom started to talk.
It’s your father, she’d whispered. I shouldn’t tell you, but . . .
Those next few words were like well-placed charges. They blew Julia’s family—and her world—apart. The worst part was, Mom never told Ellie the same things.
Julia went up the stairs. In the tiny second-floor bathroom that attached to her girlhood bedroom, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and slipped into the silk pajamas she’d brought with her from Beverly Hills, then went into her old room.
There was a note on her pillow. In Ellie’s bold handwriting, it read: Meeting at Congregational church at six a.m. to discuss girl’s placement. Be ready to leave at 5:45.
Good. Her sister was working on it.
Julia stayed up another hour, filling out all the paperwork required to be appointed temporary foster parent for the child, then she climbed into bed and clicked off the light. She was asleep almost instantly.
At four o’clock she woke with a start.
For a second she didn’t know where she was. Then she saw the ballerina music box on her white desk and it all came back to her. She remembered her dream, too. She’d been a girl again—that girl. The scarecrow-thin, socially awkward daughter of Big Tom Cates.
She threw the covers off her and stumbled out of bed. Within minutes she was in her jogging clothes and outside, running down the old highway, past the entrance to the national park.
By five-fifteen she was back home, breathing hard, feeling like her grown-up self again.
Pale gray predawn light, as watery as everything else in this rain-forest climate, shone in flashlight beams through the stand of hemlock trees that grew along the river.
She didn’t decide to move, didn’t want to, but before she knew it, she was walking across the yard toward her father’s favorite fishing hole.
Move back, Little Bit. Outta my way. I can hardly concentrate on my fishin’ with you skulkin’ beside me.
No wonder she had moved away from here and stayed away. The memories were everywhere; like the trees, they seemed to draw nutrients from the land and the rain.
She turned and went back into the house.
JULIA AND ELLIE WERE THE FIRST TO ARRIVE. THEY PULLED UP INTO A spot near the church’s front door and got out of the car.
Ellie started to say something, but the words were lost in the crunching sound of wheels on gravel. A snake of cars rolled into the parking lot, lining up side by side. Earl and Myra were the first people out of their car. Earl was in full dress uniform, but his wife had on fuzzy pink sweats. Her hair was up in rollers and covered by a bright scarf.
Ellie took Julia by the arm and hurried her into the church. The door clanged shut behind them.
Julia couldn’t help feeling a twinge of nerves. It pissed her off, that weakness. None of this old crap should bother her now. It wouldn’t have if she’d come home in triumph instead of shame. “I don’t care what they think anymore. I really don’t. So why—”
“I never understood why you let it all get to you. Who cares if they don’t like you?”
“Girls like you can’t understand,” Julia said, and it was true. Ellie had been popular. She didn’t know that some hurts were like a once-broken bone. In the right weather, they could ache for a lifetime.
The doors banged open, and people rushed into the church, took their places in the rows of oak pews. Their voices combined, rose, sounded like a Cuisinart on high, crushing ice. Max was one of the last to arrive. He took a seat in the back.
Ellie went to the pulpit. She waited until six-ten, then motioned for Peanut to shut and lock the doors. It took her another five minutes to quiet the crowd.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said finally. “I know how early it is and I appreciate your cooperation.”
“What’s this all about, Ellie?” someone asked from the back of the room. “Our shift starts in forty minutes.”
“Shut up, Doug,” yelled someone else. “Let ’er talk.”
“You shut up, Al. It’s about the Flying Wolf Girl, right, Ellie?”
Ellie held up her hands for silence. They quieted. “It is about the girl who arrived recently.”
The crowd erupted again, hurling questions at the podium.
