Magic hour: a novel by Kristin Hannah Page A

one of them was an invitation that came back unopened. Finally, she pushed the box aside. On the table there was now an array of kid-friendly food. Macaroni and cheese—from a box, just the way kids liked it; glazed doughnuts, brownies, chicken tenders with ketchup, milk, Jell-O with fruit chunks, cheese pizza, and a hot dog with fries. The tempting aromas filled the small room. “I didn’t know what you liked so I pretty much ordered everything.”
    Julia reached over and plucked a doughnut off the red plastic plate. “I can’t remember the last time I had a glazed doughnut. They’re not good for you, but oh man, are they good.” She took a bite. The flavor exploded in her mouth. Savoring it, she looked directly at the girl. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry? Maybe you’d like a bite.”
    At the word
hungry,
the girl flinched. For just a moment her gaze skittered across the room and came to rest on the table of food.
    “Did you understand that?” Julia said, leaning ever so slightly forward. “Do you know what hungry means?”
    The girl looked at her for a moment. It lasted less than a breath, but Julia felt its impact all the way to her toes.
    Understanding.
    She’d bet her degrees on it.
    Very slowly Julia reached for a second doughnut. She placed it on a red plastic plate and then stood up. She walked closer to the girl than she’d been before—this time there was about six feet between them. Once again the child snorted and whimpered and tried to back up, but the wall pinned her in place.
    Julia set the plate on the floor and gave it a little push. It skidded across the linoleum. Close enough to the child that she could smell its vanilly sweetness; far enough away that she had to move forward to take it.
    Julia returned to her seat. “Go ahead,” she said. “You’re hungry. That’s food.”
    This time the girl looked right at her. Julia felt the desperate intensity of those blue-green eyes. She wrote down:
Food.
    “No one will hurt you,” Julia said.
    The girl blinked. Was that a reaction to the word
hurt
? She wrote it down.
    Minutes passed. Neither one of them looked away. Finally Julia glanced at the window by the door. Dr. Better-looking-than-God was there, watching them.
    The second Julia glanced away, the girl ran for the food, snatched it up and returned to her spot, like a wild animal returning to its lair to feed.
    And the way she ate . . .
    The girl put most of the doughnut into her mouth and started to chew loudly.
    Julia could tell when the taste kicked in. The girl’s eyes widened.
    “Can’t beat a good doughnut. You should taste my mom’s brownies. They were delicious.” Julia stumbled slightly over the past tense of the word. The odd thing was, she would have sworn the child noticed, though she couldn’t have said why she thought so. “You’d better have some protein with that, kiddo. Too much sugar isn’t good.” She got a hot dog and doctored it up with ketchup and mustard then set it down on the floor about two feet closer to the table than before.
    The girl looked at the empty plate where the doughnut had been. It was obvious that she recognized the difference. She seemed to be gauging the additional distance, calculating additional risk.
    “You can trust me,” Julia said softly.
    No response.
    “I won’t hurt you.”
    The girl’s chin slowly came up. Those blue-green eyes fixed on her.
    “You understand me, don’t you? Maybe not everything, but enough. Is English your first language? Are you from around here?”
    The girl glanced down at the hot dog.
    “Neah Bay. Joyce. Sequim. Forks. Sappho. Pysht. La Push. Mystic.” Julia watched closely for a reaction. None of the local towns prompted a response. “A lot of families go hiking in the forest, especially along Fall River.”
    Had the girl blinked at that? She said it again: “Fall River.”
    Nothing.
    “Forest. Trees. Deep woods.”
    The girl looked up sharply.
    Julia got up from her seat and very slowly moved