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“She’s made huge progress, but . . .”
“She still isn’t talking. Are you sure she can?”
The same series of questions ran like an endless monologue through Julia’s thoughts. Day and night, she thought: Can she? Will she? When? “I believe it with my whole heart,” Julia said slowly. Then she smiled ruefully. “My head is beginning to wonder, however.”
“When I was a young mother, the thing I hated most was changi
n’ diapers. So the day my Tara turned two, I set about teachin’ her to use the toilet. I followed all the how-to books down to the letter. And you know what happened? My Tara stopped pooping. Just stopped. After about five days, I took her to Doc Fischer. I was worried sick. He examined my baby girl, then looked at me over his glasses. He said, ‘Penelope Nutter, this girl is trying to tell you something. She doesn’t want to be potty trained.’” Peanut laughed, then hit the turn signal and veered onto the old highway. “There’s no metal on earth stronger than a child’s will. I guess your Alice will talk when she’s ready.” Peanut turned down their driveway and pulled up in front of the house, honking twice.
Ellie came out of the house almost immediately; so quickly, in fact, that Julia suspected she’d been at the door, waiting.
“Thanks for the ride, Peanut.”
“See you Wednesday.”
Julia got out of the car and slammed the door shut. She met Ellie halfway across the yard.
“She’s howling again,” Ellie said miserably.
“When did she wake up?”
“Five minutes ago. She’s early. How’d it go?”
“Bad,” she said, trying to sound strong and failing.
“The DNA results will be back soon. Maybe they will give us an answer. If she’s a kidnap victim, there will be crime scene evidence to compare to.”
They’d tossed this idea back and forth like a life ring in the last few days, though it had lost its buoyancy. “I know. Hopefully she’s in the system.” It was what Julia always said.
“Hopefully.”
They looked at each other. The word was starting to sound frayed.
Julia went into the house and up the stairs. With each step, the howling grew in volume. She knew what she’d find when she entered her room. Alice would be kneeling behind her plants, head down, face in her hands, rocking and howling. It was her only means of expressing sadness or fear. She was afraid now because she’d wakened alone. To an ordinary child, this might be frustrating. To Alice, it was terrifying.
Julia was already talking when she opened the door. “Now, what’s all this racket about, Alice? Everything is fine. You’re just scared. That’s natural.”
Alice streaked across the room in a blur of black hair, yellow dress, and spindly arms and legs. She pressed herself against Julia so closely that there was contact from waist to calf.
Alice put her hand in Julia’s pocket.
This was how it was lately. Alice needed to be next to Julia always, connected.
She was sucking her thumb and looking up at Julia with a vulnerability that was both heartbreaking and terrifying.
“Come on, Alice,” Julia said, pretending it was perfectly natural to have a young human barnacle attached to her hip. She got out her Denver Kit, a collection of toys that were helpful in gauging a child’s development.
At the table, she set out the bell, the block, and the doll. “Sit down, Alice,” she said, knowing Alice would sit down when she did. The chairs were close enough that they could still be together.
Side by side, with Alice’s tiny hand still tucked in Julia’s pocket, they sat down. With the Denver Kit spread out in front of them, Julia waited for Alice to make a move.
“Come on,” Julia said. I need you to talk, little one. I know you can do it.”
Nothing. Just the gentle in and out of the girl’s breathing.
Desperation plucked at Julia’s confidence, broke a tender strand of it.
“Please.” Her voice was a whisper now, not her therapist-voice at all. She thought about the passing of time and the dwindling media interest and the increasingly quiet phone lines in the police station. “Please. Come on . . .”
