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“Who are you, little one?” Ellie whispered, feeling that weight of responsibility again. “I’ll find your family. I swear I will.”
FORTY YEARS AGO, WHEN THE ROSE THEATER WAS BUILT, IT HAD BEEN on the far edge of town. Old-timers still called the neighborhood Back East; it had been given that nickname when Azalea Street seemed miles away. Now, of course, it was practically in town. All around it there were small two-story homes, built in the timber rich years to house mill workers. Across the street was the library, and just down the road a block or two was the new hardware store. Sealth Park, where the girl had first shown up, was kitty-corner to it.
Max came to the movies every Friday night, alone. At first there had been talk about the weirdness of his habit, and women had shown up “accidentally” to sit with him, but in time it had settled into a routine, and there was nothing the people of Rain Valley liked better than routine.
He waved to the theater’s owner, who stood at the tiny concession counter, carefully rearranging the boxes of candy. He didn’t stop to chat, knowing that any conversation would inevitably circle back to the man’s bursitis.
“Hey, Doc, how’d yah like the movie?”
Max turned to his left and found Earl and his wife, Myra, beside him. They, too, were at the movies every Friday night, cuddling in their seats like teenagers. “Hey, Earl. Myra. It’s good to see you.”
“That was some great movie,” Earl said.
“You love every movie,” Myra said to her husband. “Especially the romances.”
They fell into step. “How’s the search going?” Max asked Earl.
“It ain’t no picnic, that’s for sure. The phone is ringin’ off the hook and the leads are pourin’ in like the Hoh River in spring. There are so many lost girls out there. It breaks your danged heart. But we’ll find out who she is. Chief is determined.”
“That Ellen Barton is quite a woman,” Myra said to Max.
He couldn’t help smiling. Myra never missed an opportunity to mention Ellie. It seemed that the whole town had expected them to fall in love. For the short time they’d been an item, the gossip alert had been Defcon 4. A few die-hard romantics like Myra thought for sure there would be a sequel. “Yes, she is, Myra.”
They were outside now, standing on the wide concrete path that connected the entrance of the theater to the sidewalk. On this unexpectedly dry night the other moviegoers drifted toward their cars, talking among themselves.
The crowd dissipated slowly. For a few moments people gathered in small groups along the sidewalk and in the street. Neighbors talking to one another on this beautiful night. The sound of their voices carried on the still, clean air. Earl and Myra were among the first to leave.
One by one the cars drove away, until the street was empty except for an old white Suburban and his pickup truck.
Max was halfway to his truck when a movement across the street caught his eye: a woman was leaving the library, her arms full of books. Light from a streetlamp fell down on her, made her look too alive somehow, an angel against the dark night.
Julia.
Across the street, she opened the passenger door of the Suburban and tossed her books onto the seat. She was almost to the driver’s side when he said her name.
She paused and looked up.
“Hey, Julia,” he said, coming up to her. “You’re working late.”
She laughed. It sounded nervous. “Obsessive is a word that’s often been used about me.”
“How’s your patient?”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to you about her. Later. At the hospital.”
“How about right now? We could go to my house.”
Julia looked confused. “Oh. I don’t think—”
“This is as good a time as any.”
“I do have a babysitter right now.”
“Then it’s settled. Follow me.” Before she could say no, he walked over to his truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. As he started the engine, he watched her in the rearview mirror.
She stared at his truck, biting her lip, then finally got into her own car.
ON EITHER SIDE OF THE ROAD A THICKET OF BLACK TREES STOOD WATCH, their tops pressed into the starry underbelly of the night sky. Moonlight turned the ordinary asphalt into a ribbon of tarnished silver that snaked between the twin curtains of trees. At the turnoff, an old brown and yellow Forest Service wooden sign pointed the way to Spirit Lake.
