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“They’ll crucify her,” Ellie said, looking up at Cal. “‘Wolf girl works with disgraced doctor.’”
“What choice do we have?”
“I don’t know. . . .” Ellie said. “Today, when she heard about Mort’s photo, she looked as fragile as I’ve ever seen her.”
“She’ll do it for Alice,” Cal said.
JULIA WAS STILL TRYING TO FORMULATE A DREAMCATCHER-USE PLAN when Ellie barged into the room. Her keys and handcuffs jangled with every step. Behind her the dogs howled and scratched at the door, barking when she shut them out.
Alice ran for the plants and hid there.
Ellie clasped her keys and handcuffs, stilling them. “I need to talk to you.”
Julia fought the urge to roll her eyes. The interruption had come at a particularly tender time. “Fine.”
Ellie stood there a moment longer, then she said, “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” and left the bedroom.
Julia hid her pens and paper and notebooks. “I’ll be right back, Alice.”
Alice stayed hidden in her sanctuary, but when Julia reached for the knob, the child started to whimper.
“You’re upset,” Julia said softly. “You’re feeling afraid that I won’t come back, but I will.” There was nothing else she could say. She could only teach Alice about trust by returning. One of the fundamental truths of psychiatry was that sometimes you had to leave a patient who needed you.
She slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.
Alice’s low, pitiful howling could be heard through the door. The dogs were in the hallway, sitting up on their haunches, howling with Alice.
She went downstairs and found Ellie out on the porch. It wasn’t surprising. For as long as they’d been a family, important business and celebration had been taken care of outside. Rain or shine.
Ellie was sitting in Dad’s favorite chair. Of course. Ellie had always drawn strength from their father, just as Julia had gotten hope from her mother. The choice of Ellie’s chair meant something Big was on her mind.
Julia sat in the rocker. A soft breeze kicked up in the yard, sent drying leaves cartwheeling across the grass. The gurgling song of the Fall River filled the air. She looked at her sister. “I need to get back to her. What’s up?”
Ellie looked pale, shaken even.
It unnerved Julia to see her powerhouse of a sister look beaten. She leaned forward. “What is it, Ellie?”
“The reporters are leaving town. They think the whole wild child thing is a hoax. By tomorrow the Gazette and maybe the Olympian will be the only papers still writing about the story.”
Julia knew suddenly what this was about, why Ellie looked nervous.
“We need you to talk to the press,” Ellie said softly, as if the timbre of her voice could remove the sting from the words.
“Do you know what you’re asking of me?”
“What choice do we have? If the story dies, we may never know who she is. And you know what happens to abandoned kids. The state will warehouse her, ignore her.”
“I can get her to talk.”
“I know. But what if she doesn’t know her name? We need her family to come forward.”
Julia couldn’t deny it. As painful as this decision was, the stakes were clear. It came down to her best interest versus Alice’s. “I wanted to have something to tell them. A success that could be balanced against the failures. They won’t—”
“What?”
Believe in me. “Nothing.” Julia looked away. The silvery river caught her gaze, reflecting like a strand of sunlight against the green lawn. In that instance of brightness, she recalled the flash of the camera lights and the barrage of ugly questions. When the press went in for the kill, there was nothing that could protect you; the truth least of all. She was damaged goods now; they wouldn’t listen to her opinion on anything. But they’d put her on the front page. “I guess I can’t be any more ruined,” she said at last, shivering slightly. She hoped her sister didn’t notice.
But Ellie saw everything; she always had. Becoming a police officer had only heightened a natural skill for observation. “I’ll be there with you all the time. Right beside you.”
