Follow the Stars Home (35 page)

“That sound,” Lucinda said, closing her eyes as if she could still hear the fights of her own family. “The crack of a big, bare hand slapping skin …it was worse when he used his fists….”

“And the way she'd scream,” Amy said. “And knowing there was nothing I could do to help.”

“Even though you wanted to,” Lucinda said.

“More than anything,” Amy said.

Pushing Julia, Dianne felt she had no part in this conversation. It was so rare, hearing her mother talk about her troubled childhood. That was the part of herself Lucinda kept private. Dianne had always felt compassion for the idea of her mother as a child, orphaned and alone, but her mother had seemed to feel it too painful to discuss.

And Amy usually said so little about her own difficult home life. Dianne knew that Alan believed she would benefit from therapy, that she had been traumatized by her home life. That violent existence was the equivalent, he said, of the experiences of people who went to war.

The four of them strolled through the fields. Apple trees laden with fruit glowed in the afternoon sunshine, and the cider smell was pungent. Dianne thought of Alan, knew that he would be happy to hear Amy letting some of her story into the light.

“We're so lucky,” Dianne said.

“Honey?”

“Julia and I,” she said. “We're having a good life.”

“But, Dianne,” Amy began, a quizzical look in her eyes. “How can you say that? Julia's been so sick….”

“She has,” Dianne said. “And I've been so angry about it. More than I like to admit. But we're blessed anyway. We've known only love.”

“Her father left,” Amy said quietly, reminding Dianne.

“But she's had so much from other people,” Dianne said, “it almost doesn't matter now. She has me, her grandmother, her uncle …” As she said the words, she realized how much she missed Alan.

“Who wouldn't love Julia?” Lucinda asked, bending down to kiss her granddaughter.

“Buddy,” Amy said solemnly.

“You have a point,” Lucinda said. “My adoptive father. People that sick simply can't love. They don't have it in them.”

“I love it here,” Dianne said, feeling the warm breeze blow through the orchard. She closed her eyes, wanting to remember it forever. Not just the setting, but the conversation: these people she loved so much, trusting one another enough to be open with their hearts. She felt Alan's steady presence, and she knew that somehow everything would be right when she returned home.

“Me too,” Lucinda said.

“Let's take something,” Amy said. “For souvenirs.”

“Oh, honey,” Lucinda said. “It's not right to take things—”

“These,” Amy said, running to gather four withered apples. “No one would mind if we took these, would they?”

Dianne looked at them quizzically. The apples were rotten, shriveled. Their stems stuck out at crooked angles, and they smelled like vinegar or wine. Why had Amy chosen something so ugly? She could have picked flowers, found pretty pebbles, searched for four-leaf clovers, gathered yellow leaves.

But Lucinda understood. She stood there nodding, touching each apple as gently as she could.

“They'll dry nicely,” she said.

“They will?” Amy asked.

“Yes. We'll set them aside in the galley, and by the time we go home, they'll be fine. I love them,” Lucinda said. “I just adore them.”

“But why?” Dianne asked. “I don't get it. Why take rotten old apples?”

“They're us,” Amy said.

“Don't you see?” Lucinda asked, her blue eyes
gleaming. “You of all people should see, honey. Amy's right, they're us. They're hurt and ugly, ruined things. Unlovable things lying on the ground …”

“Till someone picked us up,” Amy whispered. “Till you picked me up, Dianne.”

“Oh!” Dianne said, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Things other people would find unlovable,” Lucinda said, and now Dianne did understand: Her mother was thinking of herself as a child. Dianne looked at Julia, her great eyes roving heavenward, listening to the sea breeze rustle the leaves overhead. Thinking of all the people who would see Julia only as deformed, find her unlovable, Dianne's throat ached.

“We'll cherish them forever,” Amy said solemnly in a tone Dianne believed only a twelve-year-old could use. Until Lucinda used it a moment later …

“Forever and ever,” Lucinda said.

As Dianne held her old apple, she closed her eyes. She thought about dropping from a tree. She thought about being abandoned, picked up, cherished by the brother of a man who had seemed to consider her unlovable. Dianne was falling in love.

“They're us,” Dianne, finally getting it, said out loud as she held the apple. To Julia, her mother, Amy, and someone many miles over the sea.

That night they parked the camper in a trailer park by the sea. Up there, the stars seemed brighter than at home. Stella sat in the window, staring at her constellation. The puppy lay on Amy's bunk, asleep at her feet. With a chill in the air, everyone wore the moose pajamas.

Dianne and Lucinda sat in folding chairs outside,
wrapped in blankets and wearing their new slipper-socks as they listened to the waves. A candle burned on the table between them, driving away bugs. They sipped honey-orange tea, letting the steaming mugs warm their hands.

“Do you feel retired?” Dianne asked.

“I feel young,” Lucinda said. “Happy, excited, energized …”

“Are you enjoying your trip?” Dianne asked.

“It's a dream come true,” Lucinda said. “It's more than I ever expected, a thousand times better because you and Julia are here with me. And Amy adds so much….”

“Only Dad is missing.”

“For me,” Lucinda said. “But who's missing for you?”

“I don't know,” Dianne said.

“You were gone quite a while the night of the dance,” Lucinda said.

“Mmm,” Dianne said, gazing at the sky. This far north, the air was perfectly clear. Against a field of blue-black, the stars blazed. The Milky Way coursed its white path through the night, and a meteor streaked into the ocean. “Did you see that?” Dianne asked.

“Yes,” Lucinda said. “A shooting star-how fitting.”

“Another one!” Dianne said, jumping up. She looked down at her mother. “What do you mean, fitting?”

“To be talking about people we love and to see shooting stars. You were about to tell me about your walk.”

“Mom—”

“Your walk with Alan.”

“We just strolled along the harbor,” Dianne said, her heart kicking over as she remembered, trying to decide how ready she was to talk about it. Shooting stars crisscrossed overhead, long trails of white fire searing the sky. “What
is
that? Does Prince Edward Island attract meteors or something?”

“It's a meteor shower,” Lucinda said. “Happens every August, down in Connecticut too. You and your father used to watch it every summer.”

Dianne nodded, remembering now. Standing by the marsh with her dad, holding his hand, he promised her shooting stars. They had never stopped coming-one meteor after another. She hadn't realized it was a natural phenomenon; she had just thought her father was so wonderful he could command shooting stars.

“I haven't seen it in years,” she said.

“You've been so preoccupied, darling,” Lucinda said. “You've been too wrapped up in Julia to look at the sky.”

“I know,” Dianne said, watching the stars now.

“Or to notice that someone wonderful wants to love you.”

“Mom …” Dianne said.

“He does, honey,” Lucinda said.

“I'm figuring it out,” Dianne said, holding herself.

Dianne stared upward. She hadn't seen a meteor for several seconds, and she found herself holding her breath. Then one shot by, and she relaxed a little. She thought of how she'd shown Alan how to wish on a star. It was so easy to get used to amazement. Just as quickly, to become accustomed to sorrow. So why not love? Life could change in a heartbeat, and you could forget it was ever any other way.

“Dianne?” her mother asked, wanting her to say more.

“I told him something the other night,” Dianne said quietly.

“What?”

“I told him I'd chosen the wrong brother.”

“Well,” Lucinda said, and Dianne could hear the smile in her voice. “Well, well.”

“I want everything to work out,” Dianne said.

“I have every reason to think it will.”

“Why?” Dianne asked. “What reasons?”

“You, Alan …” Lucinda said, still smiling.

“I've screwed things up for a long time,” Dianne said. “Everything's not going to be perfect all at once.”

“Or ever,” her mother said.

“Or ever.”

“What you need,” Lucinda said, “is to move on.”

Dianne didn't speak. Behind her, in the Winnebago window, Stella had spied the constellation Orion standing on the sea, and she began to peep with joy.

Lucinda continued. “In some ways, I've spent my whole life learning how to move on. First, I had to forgive my parents-my real ones for dying, and the others for adopting me.”

“But how?” Dianne asked.

“There's only one way,” Lucinda said, reaching across the space between their folding chairs to take her daughter's hand.

“Love,” Lucinda said.

“How did you do it? When you felt so bad inside?”

“It started with Emmett,” Lucinda said. “And it continued with you.”

“I want to try,” Dianne whispered.

“The biggest mistake any of us can make,” Lucinda said, “is thinking that love is a feeling, an
emotion. It's not that at all. It's an action, a way of life. It's what you do with Julia. It's what you want to do with Alan.”

“I know I want that,” Dianne whispered. “I've known it for a while.”

“Then, let yourself, darling,” Lucinda said. “Let yourself love him.”

Dianne nodded, staring at the shooting stars.

The animals made their sounds, the children slept inside. The waves broke on the shore. The Atlantic Ocean stretched a thousand miles south, and Dianne imagined Alan hearing the same waves in Hawthorne. She knew Alan was waiting for her to get back, and she knew that she was on her way.

On the road to the ferry, Dianne decided to walk Orion and pulled onto a rutted lane, stopping at the back side of a scruffy dune. Everyone felt sad, hating to leave Prince Edward Island on such a brilliant, sunny day. Scrambling up the dune, Amy saw it first: a black sand beach nestled in the hidden cove.

“Come on, everyone!” she yelled. “We have to build a castle here. Black sand!”

“There's not enough time,” Lucinda said, checking her watch. “We have to catch the boat.”

“Dleeee,” Julia said. She had been overheated last night. Dianne had rubbed her with a damp washcloth, opened the vents for a cool breeze. But now she seemed back to normal, and Dianne knew how much she loved playing in the sand.

“I think we have time for a quick one,” Dianne said, “if we build fast.”

“You're the architect,” Lucinda said. “I leave all matters of building to you.”

So they climbed over the dunes and ran down to
the water's edge. The sand squeaked under their bare feet. It felt fine, the texture of talcum powder, and it stuck to them, sparkling like chips of black diamonds. Together they smoothed out a section above the lapping waves. They began to mound the sand, then to shape it with their bare hands.

“Maaa,” Julia said as Dianne helped her scoop some hard sand.

“Sweetheart,” Dianne whispered. “This is so rare. We've never seen black sand before.” The sand held its shape, and they carved out ramparts and balconies. The shells were as unusual as the sand, pink and delicate. Dianne helped Julia ring each window with shells and pebbles, trying not to look at her watch.

“A black castle,” Amy said.

“Our masterpiece,” Lucinda said sadly. “On our last day.”

“Why do we have to leave?” Amy asked, carefully forming ledges along the castle walls. “Why can't we just stay and stay?”

“I agree,” Lucinda said. “I'm retired. I don't have anywhere I have to be.”

“You could teach me,” Amy said. “We could live in the Winnebago, and it could be our schoolhouse. Julia would like it too.”

“Absolutely,” Lucinda said. “Our never-ending pilgrimage. We came, we saw, and we stayed.”

“Gaaaa,” Julia sang into the crook of Dianne's neck. They were sitting together, across the black castle from Amy and Lucinda. Dianne was lying on her side, using a driftwood stick to cut a doorway through the wall, with Julia curled beside her. Mica stuck to their skin, twinkling like black stars. Dianne listened to the others play, planning ways they could stay on the island longer, and she dropped the stick.