Follow the Stars Home (49 page)

“So, Dianne,” Alan said. He took her hand, and she opened her eyes. He looked hesitant, and she reached up to hold him, to let him know he had made her so happy, in some incredible, eternal way, beyond the fears that had gripped her for twelve years, to let him know all those things, but because she couldn't speak, she just held him in her arms.

“Dianne,” he said, and now his voice was strong. “Dianne, will you marry me?”

She smiled. Her hand went straight to her mouth, amazed that this was happening. She stared at him, her grin widening. Her eyes twinkled with joyful tears.

“Yes,” she said when she could take her hand down and clasp her fingers with his. “Yes, Alan!”

“I love you,” Alan said.

“I love you,” Dianne said.

The little chair was between them, and it seemed to Dianne to serve as a stand-in for the child herself. If Julia were there, she would be overjoyed. Dr. McIntosh, her uncle Alan, the man who had loved her since the day she was born.

“Julia should be here,” Dianne said, staring at the chair. Thinking of how loving, how thoughtful, a man would have to be to have such a thing made.

“She will be,” Alan said.

“It's time to go back,” Dianne said. She could have stayed there in the house forever, but she had to be with Julia. She'd be stirring now, not quite waking up, but sensing that her mother wasn't there. They had to go.

“I know,” he said. “Just—”

“I want to tell her,” Dianne said, “that you're going to be her father.”

Alan nodded. He seemed about to speak. He opened his mouth, stopped himself again. Dianne stared at him, afraid he was going to say something about Tim. She didn't know why, it was just a flash of intuition, but she hoped he wouldn't. She prayed Alan wouldn't say one word about Tim, bring his brother into this blessed and amazing house.

He didn't. Holding Dianne's hands, looking into her eyes, he smiled. “Julia knows,” he said. “She knows I was going to ask you—”

“Julia …knows?”

Alan nodded. “I told her that I bought the house, that I want to marry you. I asked her, back in the hospital, when I knew we'd be walking over …I asked her for your hand, Dianne.”

“What did she-” Dianne asked, looking up at him, “what'd she say?”

“Well, she said yes,” Alan said.

Dianne nodded, her eyes bright.

“I told her I want to be her father too,” he said. “But you know, she's heard that before.”

“She has?”

“Many times,” Alan said. “Many, many times. Every time you went out of the room since the day she was born. I've told Julia that I want to be her father.”

“You are,” Dianne said, pressing her head against Alan's chest. “You already are.”

He wanted to show her something before they left to go back to Julia. He led her straight through the downstairs, through a solarium where Julia could sit and watch the boats in the harbor, into the fanciest kitchen Dianne had ever seen, down a short hall, into a bedroom.

“It's a suite,” Alan said. “With rooms for us and Julia.”

“Next to each other …” she said, seeing how they connected.

“On the first floor,” Alan said, holding her. “So you don't have to carry her up and down stairs.”

“Oh, Alan,” Dianne said. Her back had been hurting worse than she'd told anyone. That spasm had been so bad this morning …she remembered with guilt the thought she'd had about Julia, and knew her own pain had contributed.

“I'll be with you from now on, Dianne,” Alan said. “To take care of both of you, you and Julia. I'll make you so happy.”

“I already am,” Dianne said, looking up into the eyes of the most wonderful man in the world. “You have no idea what you've given me.”

“Nothing compared to what you give me,” Alan said, kissing her, leading her across the room to the
spot where she could imagine putting their bed. He spread his jacket on the hard floor, and they lay down on it. They held each other, eyes wide open, for a long time. Dianne felt their hearts beating together through their clothes. Reaching up, she slid her hand into his shirt, through the space between his buttons.

She thought of the first time they had made love. “Let my love guide you,” Alan had told her. He had made it so easy for her. She pressed her hand against his chest, and she found she wanted to do more than that. Very slowly she began undoing his buttons.

“You don't have to-” he said.

“Let my love guide you,” she said softly.

Alan closed his eyes. His face was locked in strong emotion, and she watched him pulling himself together. Very gently she caressed his body. She trailed her hand down his muscular chest, his firm stomach. Lowering her head, she kissed his lips.

Dianne had never taken the lead like this. Usually Alan made love to her: She would lie back, feeling the intense sensations, taking all the pleasure he had to give her. That had been all she'd been capable of. Learning to love didn't happen all at once. It took time, and Alan was patient and generous.

Even now he reached up, trying to ease her onto her back. He wanted to take care of
her
, to give her the loving she wanted. But Dianne wanted to do this for
him.

“There,” she said softly, kissing his ear. “Just let me …”

“Your back,” he said.

“My back's fine,” she said.

Very slowly she undressed him. She unbuttoned every button, stopping to kiss each inch of skin. She unzipped his trousers. He squirmed under her light touch, but she pressed his chest, urging him to lie still.

Dianne undressed herself. Winter light streamed in the wide windows, and there was nowhere to hide. She wouldn't have hidden if she could. She wanted to give herself to Alan, every bit. Dianne had been shy her entire life. She had spent more than a decade forgetting she even had a body. But now, as she took off her shirt, her bra, as she saw the expression in Alan's eyes, she knew that he loved
all
of her, and she wanted to give it to him.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered.

Too thin
, she started to say.
Too bony, too angular, not soft enough.
But she held her tongue. Instead of speaking, she used her mouth to cover his. She kissed him long and slow, their lips parted. She thought of all her insecurities, of how they had no place here and now. Alan had called her beautiful, and the love in his eyes helped her to believe it.

This is our house
, she thought, making love to him.
Our home.

This is our first time making love in our new home.

Alan's arms encircled her as she knelt above him. The light streamed in through the heavy leaded glass, making rainbows on the floor. This man had done so much for her. He had changed her whole life. Dianne saw the world in such a different way because of him, because of how he had touched her.

She touched him now. Guiding him inside her, she felt that by-then-familiar rush of emotion. She wanted this to last forever. She wished she had had these sensations for all the years they had known each other: the tenderness of his gaze, the light brush of his fingers against her cheek, the surge of love within her very being.

“Alan …” she whispered.

“I love you, Dianne,” he said.

Their eyes met and held. She crouched down, covering
his body with her own. Somehow they rolled, so they were lying side by side, still joined together, still moving in a rhythm that reminded her of waves and tides. The harbor was just out their window, the sea just beyond, and she closed her eyes and felt the surge of power. They came in each other's arms, holding each other as the intensity subsided. But lying there, the emotion remained.

Power of love
, she thought, grasping Alan for all she was worth. This was the force that built castles, made the sea rise and fall, raised children, called the stars. She had made a life of love for Julia, and now she had Alan too. They had each other.

“Hold me,” she said even though he gave no indication of letting go.

“There,” he said.

“That's it,” she whispered.

“We're together,” he said.

“This was my playhouse,” she said, cupping his face gently between her two hands.

“I know that,” he said. “That's why we're here.”

“You've made it my home,” she said.

Alan nodded, kissing her.

“We're home,” she said, because she could hardly believe it.

Thanksgiving was two days away. Dianne and Lucinda stood in the kitchen, each taking care of a different part of the dinner. Dianne always made cranberry sauce, and Lucinda always made the pies. They always polished the silver and washed the crystal goblets. The stuffing had been prepared, so the kitchen smelled like onions and sage. Lucinda had established the rituals long ago.

“I'm so happy, Mom,” Dianne said, standing at the sink. She sounded perplexed and amazed, as she had ever since telling Lucinda the news about Alan's proposal several nights earlier.

Lucinda nodded, her hands covered with pie dough. She wasn't surprised at all. Just full of joy for her daughter, bittersweet that it had taken so many years for her to find this happiness.

“I've never done this before,” Dianne said. “Lived this way. I don't know what to do.”

“Which part don't you know?” Lucinda asked.

“All of it,” Dianne said. “I've lived here almost my whole life.”

“There was a time you didn't,” Lucinda said.

Dianne nodded. She stirred the cranberry sauce, lifted the wooden spoon to her mouth. “When Tim and I lived in the oyster shack,” she said. “That seemed so simple. We took some old furniture from your basement, and Alan gave us-” She stopped.

“That was a long time ago,” Lucinda said.

“I still …” Dianne began. She frowned as if she had something inside, a feeling that had been bothering her all along, and she knew she had to tell someone. “I wish I'd never been married to his brother. I wish Alan and I could just start from scratch. I don't want to have a history.”

“I know, honey,” Lucinda said. She'd been rolling out the pie crust, but she stopped. She wished she could say something wise and expansive about leaving the past in the past, but she was wishing the same thing.

She thought back to the beginning, when she and Emmett had gone off on their own. They had driven away from the church after their wedding, cans clanking on the back of his truck. They'd moved into the house he built, furnished it themselves, never had to cope with ex-husbands or rival brothers. Their life had been simple. Marriage was hard enough without clutter from two pasts.

“He bought me a house,” Dianne said.

“The prettiest house in Hawthorne,” Lucinda said.

“It's so big,” Dianne said. “When I told him about it, I never expected him to buy it. Never, but he did!”

“I remember how we'd take rides through town, and you'd always want to stop and look at that house,” Lucinda said. “You'd ask your father to slow down, and he'd pull right over.”

“My playhouse …” Dianne said.

Lucinda nodded. She remembered Emmett surprising her that Christmas with the little house he'd made to scale. He had studied the details, getting everything right. She knew how happy he would be to know what Alan had done for their daughter.

“I've built playhouses for the people who are going to be my neighbors down there,” Dianne said.

“They'll be lucky to have you as their neighbor,” Lucinda said, glancing across the kitchen. She heard the insecurity in Dianne's voice. Lucinda and Emmett were modest people: a librarian and a carpenter. Dianne had spent years supporting herself and Julia by building playhouses for people who lived in mansions. She had rough hands and splinters in her fingers. Delivering her work, she had had to drive up long driveways to houses with pillars, houses that had names.