Follow the Stars Home (31 page)

When the band stopped, Mrs. Theophilus Macomber
stepped up to the microphone. One of Hawthorne's most imposing figures, she was chairman of the library board. Grand in black crepe and a four-strand pearl choker, she made a speech thanking everyone for their generous donations.

“Now, the moment all you readers have been waiting for,” she said. “I'm going to ask Gwen Hunter, our newly appointed librarian, to come up here and introduce our beloved guest of honor.”

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Macomber,” Gwen said in her soft Tennessee accent. She held the microphone, giving it a funny look. “I am none too sure about talking into one of these things, but if there's one person I'd do anything for, it's our guest of honor. I know she needs no introduction at all, Mrs. Lucinda Robbins….”

The entire room broke into applause. Lucinda bowed her head, smiling and blushing. Dianne clapped louder than anyone. As she gazed at her mother, she saw Alan and Amy come through the door, and her heart jumped.

“Mrs. Robbins has been so influential in my life, I don't even know where to begin. When Paul and I moved up here ten years ago, I didn't know a soul. I needed a job, I didn't have a college degree, but I did love books….”

She went on to tell how she had come to the library, at first as a reader and then as a part-time library assistant. Mrs. Robbins had taken her under her wing. Over the years she had encouraged Gwen to apply to schools, to study library science, to apply for library jobs as they became available. She had been a friend and a mentor, showing Gwen how to help readers, especially young people, discover books they would love to read.

“Around here,” Gwen said, “we think Lucinda
Robbins is as special as they come. We love her so much, and we miss her every day. We're happy for her though. She'd come to work, and all she'd talk about was her daughter and granddaughter, how she wished she had more time to spend with them.”

Lucinda looked through the crowd, caught Dianne's eye. She nodded, sending her daughter a kiss. Dianne smiled through proud tears.

“She has that now,” Gwen continued. “Time with her family. We want her to know that her legacy here will continue. We love our young readers, and we try to steer them toward books best suited for their particular tastes. We do, however, often start by suggesting one book Mrs. Robbins was always particularly fond of….”

“Anne of Green Gables
!” the crowd called, Amy's voice above them all.

“She steered three generations of readers toward that wonderful classic,” Gwen went on. “Set one hundred years ago on a verdant island off the coast of Canada.”

“Prince Edward Island!” Amy said, her voice ringing out.

“Yes,” Gwen said, smiling. “Very good, young lady. As an expression of our gratitude and affection, Lucinda, on behalf of every single holder of a Hawthorne Public Library card, I would like to bestow upon you this road map. …”

People parted so Lucinda could make her way to the stage. Standing beside Gwen, she gazed at the young librarian with tears in her eyes.

“We had planned to give you an airline ticket to Prince Edward Island,” Gwen said. “So you could visit the setting of your very favorite book. But when I talked to your daughter, she told me she'd been planning to drive you there herself in a Winnebago.
So here's a gift certificate to cover the rental costs of a big old motor home, for you and your family. Thank you for everything, Lucinda Robbins.”

They embraced, the old librarian six inches shorter than the young one, holding on tight before the cheering crowd.

“Oh, my,” Lucinda said, gazing at the certificate, tears streaming down her face. “You have no idea what this means to me. No idea at all …I thought maybe I'd get a plaque! But a trip to Canada …to see where Anne lived and grew …with my Dianne!”

Looking out into the audience, Lucinda found her daughter again. They smiled at each other over the heads of everyone. Dianne wished her father could be there. Wiping her eyes, she blew a kiss.

“My years as librarian have been so rich,” Lucinda went on, barely able to speak. “You have all given me so much. As a little girl, books were my best, sometimes my only friends. I would lose myself in the pages, and there were many days I wished I never had to come out. Working here,” she said, pausing to gather herself together, “has been like that. With all these wonderful books”-she turned, looking around the room-“and all of you, I've had a life beyond my wildest dreams.”

“We love you, Lucinda,” Gwen whispered, trying to cover the microphone.

“I'd like to thank my daughter, Dianne,” Lucinda said, “whom many of you know made the playhouse in the children's library, for all her love and support. And my beautiful granddaughter, Julia, who makes every day a joy. And I'd like to thank my granddaughter's wonderful pediatrician, Alan McIntosh, for jogging by all those Wednesday afternoons off, reading up on dolphins instead of golfing with the other doctors. But most of all …”

The room was hushed, everyone watching Lucinda stare out the window as she swallowed back tears.

“Most of all, I'd like to thank my darling husband, Emmett. Emmett Robbins. He'd drive by the library twice a day on his way to and from the lumberyard, beeping every time. Oh, I'd scold him for making noise …he always said that's what he got for marrying a librarian. Someone whose favorite word was
shush.
He always said he'd take me to Prince Edward Island, but …” She gulped. “He didn't quite get the chance.” Waving her road map, she looked out the window again. “We're on our way, sweetheart,” she called. “Meet me in Canada!”

The whole crowd broke into mad applause. Lucinda was swarmed by friends, but she held out her arms for Amy to run onto the stage and into her embrace. The mike was still on, and Dianne heard Amy cry to Lucinda, “Will you send me a postcard?”

“No, darling,” Lucinda said, wrapping her in her arms, gazing at Dianne with love and gratitude in her eyes. “You'll be coming with us. I'm sure that's what Dianne was thinking when she thought of a motor home. We'll be on the road, all of us.”

“You'll get to see your kindred spirit soon, Lucinda,” Amy cried. “Oh, he'll be waiting!”

Overcome with emotion, Dianne ducked out of the room. The crowd spilled into the main hall, and she pushed through them on her way down the hall. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she had to get away. Sobbing, she stumbled into the stacks of fiction. It was quiet here, she was all alone. Down the hall the band began to play. They must have asked Lucinda for a request, because the music was “Ev'ry Time We Say Good-bye,” her and Emmett's song.

“Dianne …”

She jumped at the familiar voice.

“I saw you run out,” Alan said, standing at the end of the stacks, silhouetted by the hall light. He had his glasses off, holding them in his hand. For one second she had thought it was Tim. The voice, the shape of his body, everything. It made her sick, the way this kept happening, the way she made herself a victim of her own bad memories.

“You scared me,” Dianne said, hand on her heart.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“I thought you were Tim,” she said. “For one second …”

Alan drew back. He stepped away, and Dianne watched his spine curve over. She could almost hear him groan, and she could see the hurt in his eyes as he leaned against the shelf of books.

“Just for one second …” she repeated, wishing she could take the whole thing back.

“I'm not Tim,” he said sharply, still holding his glasses.

“But you look like him,” she said. “When it's dark, and I see you …with your glasses off …”

He put them on, yanked them off again.

“For God's sake, it's not what I look like,” he said, his voice rising with anger and frustration. “It's what's in my heart. I didn't leave you, Dianne!” His words rang through the stacks; the music played down below, and happy voices carried.

“I know you didn't!” Dianne said, lashing out. “Don't you think I know that?”

“Hey—”

“It's impossible for me
not
to feel this way,” she cried.

“What do you mean, impossible—”

“I know you're not Tim, I know you're a good man, so good to me and Julia and Amy. Jesus, Alan! Do you think I want to feel this way?” They both
stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then Dianne spoke again before she could think to stop herself.

“I made the wrong choice,” she said, holding her head, the words spilling out. “All that time ago. If I had it to do over again, if I could go back in time, I would have—”

“Made the wrong choice?” Alan asked.

Dianne looked at him. Their eyes locked and held for a long while, and Dianne leaned against the closest bookshelf.

“Chose the wrong brother,” she said. She felt switches being thrown, gears shifting as she heard herself tell the truth. She swallowed, because she felt afraid to touch him yet she wanted to. She made herself take a step forward. Very slowly she reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

He raised his head. She was looking at him face-to-face. His glasses had slid down his nose, and she gently pushed them up. Her throat was aching very hard as she realized the depth of feeling she had for this man. He had been looking hurt and perplexed, but now his eyes were starting to clear and she thought she saw the beginning of a smile.

They had been through years of this. Pain, blame, misplaced resentment. Dianne was so tired of it. Alan's eyes looked bruised, as if she had hurt him worse than she knew.

“Please forgive me,” she said.

“For what?”

“All of it,” she said, her throat hoarse. “For thinking you were Tim tonight. And for—”

“What?” he asked.

“This library,” Dianne said, seeming lost in thought, her fingers trailing along the books as she gathered herself together. “Mom would come to work here when I was little, and I used to think it
was
hers.
That all these books belonged to her. I used to think she wrote them all.”

“My patients think she's read them all.”

“She has,” Dianne said.

“Is that why you're crying?”

“No,” she said. Tears were streaming down her face, and she couldn't stop them. “I'm just thinking about what she said.”

“About the gift?”

“About my father,” Dianne said, covering her face.

“I remember him,” Alan said, standing so close, she could see his shoes when she looked down at her own.

“Tell me something you remember,” Dianne said.

“He was such a good guy,” Alan said. “You were married to Tim, but he treated me like part of the family too. He built the cabinets in my office, and we'd take our coffee breaks together and talk. He was funny, and he'd make me laugh. He liked kids, and he loved the fact I had your playhouse in my waiting room. He loved you, Dianne.”

“I know,” Dianne whispered.

“Not many fathers inspire their daughters to become carpenters.”

“It was that or a librarian,” Dianne said. “I had two good role models.”

The music drifted through the books, and Dianne felt Alan's hand on her cheek. It felt so gentle. A strand of her hair had fallen, and he brushed it back, tucked it behind her ear. He moved one of her earrings with his fingertip: his grandmother's earrings. Dianne closed her eyes.

“When do you leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“Here's Amy's birth certificate,” Alan said, suddenly
remembering. “Tess had it all ready when we stopped by. I just came after you to give it to you.”

“Thanks for getting it,” Dianne said, taking it. She had requested permission to take Amy on the family vacation, and Marla Arden had discussed it with Tess Brooks. Tess had said yes, it was a wonderful opportunity for Amy, she wouldn't stand in the way.

“I'll miss you,” he said.

“Dance with me,” she said.

The music played. There were horns and strings, and the melody filled Dianne with yearning so deep, her heart ached.

“Dance?” he asked as if he had never heard the word.

“You can dance,” she said. “I've seen you. At the boat club, and down at fisherman's row—”

He didn't wait for her to finish. He just swept her into his arms and pulled her hard against his body. With one arm tight around her waist, he danced her through the books. The light was dim and mysterious, and she felt her breasts pressed hard against his chest.

“Kiss me,” he said in a voice so low she almost couldn't hear, and didn't give her the chance to reply anyway.

Dianne melted into his arms. His kiss was wild and sweet. She felt hesitant and excited, as if she were doing something totally forbidden. All these years they had been so close and ferocious and their passion had taken the shape of anger, and this kiss had been waiting to happen all that time.

“Alan,” she whispered. The intensity amazed her. The way her skin tingled, the shiver that ran from the top of her head down the backs of her legs. She couldn't quite catch her breath. They were kissing in the darkened library stacks, amid the dusty books,
right in front of Hemingway. Her eyes were closed, and her knees were so weak, she was going to collapse.