Julia knew she was holding Alice too tightly, but she couldn’t seem to let go. Neither could she think of her as Brittany. For the last hour, no matter what she did—or appeared to be doing—Julia was also watching the clock, thinking Not yet. But time kept moving on, slipping past her. Every second that passed brought her closer to the time when George would drive up to the house and knock on the door and demand his daughter.
“Read Alice.” The child thumped her finger on the page. Somehow she knew exactly where they’d left off.
Julia knew she should close the book quietly, say that it was time to talk of other things, of families that had been split up and fathers who came back, but she couldn’t do it. Instead she let herself hold her little Alice and keep reading, as if this were any other rainy January day. “ ‘Weeks passed,’ ” she read, “ ‘and the little rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit anymore except to the boy.’ ” Julia’s voice gave out on her. She sat there, staring at the words, watching them blur and dance on the page.
“Want Alice real.”
She touched Alice’s velvety cheek. Every time they read this story, Alice said the same thing. Somehow the poor little girl thought she wasn’t real. And now there was no time to prove otherwise to her. “You’re real, Alice. And so many people love you.”
“Love.” Alice whispered it softly, as she always did, with a kind of reverence.
Julia closed the book and set it aside, then pulled Alice onto her lap so they were looking at each other.
Alice immediately looped her arms around Julia’s neck and gave her a butterfly kiss. Then she giggled.
Be strong, Julia thought.
“You remember Mary and the secret garden and the man who loved her so much? The man who was her father? He’d been gone, remember?” Julia lost steam. She stared into Alice’s worried face and felt as if she’d fallen into the turquoise pools of her eyes. “There’s a man. George. He’s your father. He wants to love you.”
“Alice loves Jewlee.”
“I’m trying to tell you about your father, Alice. Brittany. You have to be ready for this. He’ll be here soon. You have to understand.”
“Be Mommy?”
Julia almost gave in, but a glance at the clock reminded her how short time was. She had to try again.
Alice had to understand that she wasn’t abandoning her, that she had no choice. She glanced over at the suitcase she’d packed so carefully last night. In it were all of the clothes and toys the town had gathered for “their” girl. Additionally, Julia had packed all of Alice’s favorite books and a few of her own childhood favorites that they hadn’t gotten around to yet. And there were the boxes that had been donated by the local families. Everyone in town had given their Alice something.
How would she button Alice’s—Brittany’s—coat, kiss her on the cheek, and say good-bye? You’ll be fine. Go off with this man you don’t know and who doesn’t know you. Go live in a big house on a street you can’t cross without help in a city where you’ll never quite be understood.
How could she do it?
And how could she not? No matter how she tussled with all of this, she couldn’t escape the fact that George Azelle was a victim in this, too. He’d lost his daughter and found her again, against all odds. Of course he wanted to take her home. And he’d hired all the best medical professionals to care for her. Julia was terrified that it wouldn’t be enough, but she didn’t know how to stop the inevitable.
She drew in a ragged breath and tightened her hold on Alice. Outside, she heard a car drive up.
“Mommy?” Alice said again. This time it was her little girl’s voice that sounded wobbly and afraid.
“Oh, Alice,” she whispered, touching her soft, pink cheek. “I wish I could be that for you.”
Alice has a very bad feeling. It is like the time when Him first left and she was so hungry that she ate the red berries off the bush by the river and threw up.
Jewlee is saying things that Alice can’t make herself understand. She is trying hard; she knows these words are important. Father. Chance. Daughter. Jewlee says them all slowly, as if they weigh down her tongue. Alice knows they mean something important.
But she cannot understand and the trying is hurting now.
Jewlee’s eyes keep watering.