Follow the Stars Home (21 page)

“Excuse me?”

“Which house inspired your father?” he asked. It seemed odd that after all these years, he didn't know.

“To build your playhouse? The one that got you started?”

“Oh,” Dianne said. “We're not there yet. It's around the corner.”

The harbor glittered through the trees and houses. Boat lights played on the black water. The lighthouse beam shot across the sky, east to west, back again. Cars passed on the street. Dianne didn't seem concerned about being seen walking around Hawthorne holding his hand. He didn't understand the change, but he also didn't care.

“Bettina Gorey couldn't make it?” she asked quietly.

“Make it where?” he asked, confused.

“To the dance tonight.”

“I didn't ask her,” he said.

“I wondered,” Dianne said. “Martha mentioned her the other day …that day I was in your office. Something about meeting her at the theater. Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” Alan said as they rounded the corner, as the houses got bigger and the yards wider. The town lights weren't as bright here, and the streets were darker. “I don't have a girlfriend. It's always been you,” he said, his heart slamming. She had told the truth in the library, and now it was his turn.

Dianne didn't reply. They were passing a meadow, the easternmost edge of one of the waterfront properties. The grass grew tall here, and it was filled with the wildflowers of late summer: asters, goldenrod, Indian paintbrush. Alan saw them glinting in the single streetlight. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the field, which gave way to a manicured lawn. The stately white house was dark.

“There,” Dianne said, pointing. “That's the one.”

“Your playhouse,” Alan said.

Dianne gripped the iron fence posts with both hands, looking inside. The house was white, square, with a mansard roof and ionic columns. It had dark green shutters and window boxes filled with geraniums. The paint looked new, glossy in the light. The house looked well kept but dark and deserted. Alan's house, just two streets away, was the opposite: very lived in but in need of paint and repairs.

“I used to dream of this place,” Dianne said.

“You did?”

“When I was a little girl …I thought that anyone who lived in a house like this would have the most wonderful life.”

“And your father built you a playhouse that looked just like it.”

“He did,” Dianne said. “It was the closest he could get to giving me my dream. I understand that, wanting to wrap up happiness and give it to your child….”

“Do you still believe,” Alan asked, looking down at her, “that the people who live here have a wonderful life?” He wanted so much for her to say that she did.

Dianne didn't reply for a minute. Still holding on to the fence, she stared at the dark house as if trying to see through the walls, past the closed curtains, into the quiet rooms.

“I'm not sure,” she said in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper.

Alan wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, make her believe.

“You could hope they do,” he said quietly. “Even if you're not sure.”

“Hope their life is wonderful?” she asked.

“Yes,” Alan said.

“Do
you
believe it is?” Dianne asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alan closed his hand around hers and held it. “I do,” he said. “And you do too. You wouldn't be packing up your family for the trip of a lifetime if you didn't.”

“The trip of a lifetime in a Winnebago,” Dianne laughed. “Is that even possible?”

“I'd say so,” Alan said, looking into her eyes. “Listen. You have to pass through Nova Scotia on your way to PEI. I'm going to give you Malachy Condon's phone number. Just in case—”

“Malachy,” Dianne said. He had been Alan's mentor and Tim's father figure; he had been at her wedding. “He's Tim's friend.”

“He's mine too,” Alan said, writing on the back of a card. “He's a good man, and he knows his way around up there. I'll feel better knowing you have his number.”

“We'll be fine …” Dianne said.

“Are you coming back?”

“We have to. Amy has to start school in September.”

“I knew there was a reason I sent her to you,” Alan said.

“Alan …” Dianne said.

“You don't have to say anything.”

A wall had broken between them, but he didn't want her to move too fast. She didn't have to feel vulnerable, lay herself on the line. He put his arms around her, held her in silence for a long time.

“I want to,” she said.

“I'll be here,” he said.

Her eyes were shining, and she was smiling up at him. He felt her step closer to him, and as he put his
hands on her back, he felt her slim body through her dress.

“Something's different tonight,” she said.

Everything
, he thought.

“I said it out loud,” she whispered. “It took me a long time, but I did. I've wished …”

“What have you wished?”

“For this,” she whispered. They were holding each other in the warm summer night. Alan felt the breeze in his hair, and he heard it in the trees. Overhead, the stars were as bright as they were going to get this close to town. The sky was wrapped in haze, a sheet of sheer silk, and the stars were orange globes.

“Dianne …” he whispered into her hair.

“For this,” she said, standing barefoot on the toes of his shoes, reaching up to kiss his chin, the side of his face. He brought his mouth to hers and rocked her back and forth in the sultry night.

They kissed for a long time, and then Alan felt Dianne's arms slide from around his neck so that she was holding his face in her hands. Her cheeks shone in the starlight, and he knew they were wet with tears.

“For a chance,” she said, smiling as she cried. “That's what I wished for. For a chance to be with you. To let go of the past.”

“The past brought us together,” he said, his throat tight.

“And it's been tearing us apart,” she said.

“So you wished …”

“To be brought together,” she said, swallowing. “If that's possible.”

He held her again. Was it possible? If Alan had his way, it was. His pulse was throbbing and words raced through his mind, ways to convince her it
would work, as long as they both wanted it. To be together …What more could he want? He'd take her as she was, as she'd always been, without changing a thing.

“I've dreamed of being with you,” he said. “For a long, long time.”

“All this on the night before I leave for Canada,” she said.

His heart sank. She was leaving tomorrow. He held her tighter, as if it could stop her from going away.

“I wish you weren't going,” he said.

“In a way, so do I,” she said.

“How do wishes work?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked, laughing, kissing the underside of his chin as they stood leaning against the wrought-iron fence. She thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. He was a doctor, a scientist, and he wanted to nail this down. He wanted to pin down a guarantee that they were going to be together.

“How?” he asked.

“You look up,” she said. Taking his hand, she raised it overhead. “You point.”

“Yeah?” he asked, scanning the heavens.

“And then you wish.”

Alan nodded. He closed his eyes and wished. When he opened his eyes, she was still there.

“So far, so good,” he said, kissing the knuckles of her right hand, her left hand, and then kissing her mouth.

They left before dawn the next day. Dianne drove. Everyone was so excited at first, but after about thirty miles, Amy and Lucinda fell asleep. Stella found a shelf in the galley, and Orion curled up on one of the bunks. Dianne kept reliving the night before, thinking of Alan. They had kissed and held hands and kissed again until her knees gave out, and Dianne knew it was good that she was going away for a little while. She needed time to sort this out. Wishes and reality needed time to merge.

“Just you and me, Julia,” Dianne said.

“Gaaa,” Julia said, twisting her hands.

“You can be my navigator, okay? Amy and Granny don't know what they're missing.”

“Gleee,” Julia said, and it sounded to Dianne as if she understood.

The motor home was enormous, capacious, and luxurious. Everyone had her own bunk, there was plenty of storage room, and there was a little dinette table that folded down for meals. Dianne had
stocked the cabinets with soup, bread, peanut butter and jelly, raisins, and fruit bars.

When Dianne was young, her father had gotten Bill Putnam down at the lumberyard to let her practice on some of the big trucks. She had driven a forklift, dump truck, and once, an eighteen-wheeler. Driving the motor home, with its power steering and power brakes, its automatic transmission, was easier, the hardest part being getting used to the rearview mirrors.

They headed north on Route 395. The road was quiet. The last stars twinkled, the dark blue sky like velvet draped over the rolling Connecticut hills. She thought of her wish. It was a strange wish, one without shape or edges: Who would ask for such a thing, the readiness to surrender? And surrender from what? From being so hard, she guessed. So unforgiving, so resistant to love.

But life could be so tough. Caring for Julia took every ounce of her strength, and it left her short-tempered and quick to blame. Not much room for love in a life of constant tension: Some days Dianne's spine was a steel rod with no give whatsoever. Now, heading north, Dianne knew she wanted nothing more complicated than the chance to bend. To let another person in. The sun rose over Worcester, Massachusetts, turning the old brick factories orange-red in the early light. They ate breakfast as they drove.

At the Portsmouth, New Hampshire, traffic circle, Dianne pulled into the Howard Johnson's parking lot to walk Orion. From there they took the coastal route. They had ten hours until nine that night, when they'd catch a ferry from Portland, Maine, to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Amy wanted to send her mother postcards from every pretty town.

“They really have a lot of lobsters up here,” Amy
said, noticing how nearly every restaurant had lobster buoys, traps, or claws nailed to the roof.

“We'll eat so much lobster on this trip,” Lucinda said, “we'll turn into crustaceans.”

“Could you spell that?” Amy asked, pulling out her notebook. She had started keeping a list of new words, wanting to improve her vocabulary. Lucinda had given her a reading list, and she had moved beyond Anne to Jo: She was in the middle of
Little Women.

“Crustacean,” Lucinda said. “Try sounding it out.”

“C-r-u-s,” Amy began, “t-a-s-h-u-n.”

“Progress, not perfection,” Lucinda said patiently.

They cruised up and down peninsulas, admiring the scenic lanes and pretty houses. Fishing villages sparkled in the sunlight, and white spires graced distant hills. They drove through the Yorks, passed the sandy strands of Ogunquit, meandered through the village of Kennebunkport.

“I feel like a total tourist,” Dianne said, both hands on the wheel as she tried to squeeze the motor home down a narrow street lined with boutiques and candle shops.

“Well, you are one,” her mother said.

“You have to admit,” Dianne said, “we're doing it up right. Winnebago and all. I feel kind of bad that our windows aren't filled with stickers of all the places we've been, like some of the others.” They were in a line of trailers and motor homes trying to make their way along the water to catch a glimpse of George Bush's house.

“We don't own ours, dear,” Lucinda said.

“Someday, Mom,” Dianne said. “We can dream, can't we?”

Lucinda laughed. They were wearing shorts and polo shirts, and the sea breeze blew through the open windows as they slugged diet Cokes from the can. Amy and Julia sat in back, playing their version of checkers and gazing out the windows. Stella seemed content, and Orion was happy as long as they walked him every couple of hours.

“Since we're in tourist mode,” Dianne said, “and since our ferry doesn't leave till nine tonight, let's make a pit stop at L.L. Bean.”

“What's that?” Amy asked.

“What's
that?”
Dianne and Lucinda asked at once.

“Amy, every New Englander worth her salt has to get at least two things from L.L. Bean,” Dianne said. “Mud boots and moose pajamas.”

When they got to Freeport, they found special parking for oversized vehicles. Other motor homes filled the area, and they couldn't help noticing that none was larger or more elegant than theirs. They sent a postcard to Gwen and everyone at the library, thanking them for making the trip possible. Dianne sent one to Alan that she didn't show the others. Then they shopped.

Entering L.L. Bean, Amy seemed confused by all the canoes, snowshoes, and skis. Lucinda explained how it used to be, a good old-fashioned outfitter that hit the big time. They found the pajamas with grinning moose imprinted all over heavy green flannel. Lucinda bought some for everyone, along with slipper-socks. Dianne treated everyone to long underwear for chilly Canadian nights, pocketknives, and packets of freeze-dried beef.

“Survival gear is very important,” she said, “on a trip like ours.”

“Did you bring the bird book?” Lucinda asked.

“Forgot it,” Dianne said, and they let Amy choose a field guide to buy.

“You guys think of everything,” Amy said, her eyes sparkling, pushing Julia through the store on their way to the checkout.

By six-thirty they were in line to board the
Scotia Prince.
The ferry had limited high space, so they wanted to leave plenty of time. They had to present their tickets and proof of U.S. citizenship before boarding. Only Lucinda had a passport. Dianne, Julia, and Amy had their birth certificates, and as Dianne got the documents together to hand to the official, she felt a pang: so busy with Julia, she had never even traveled abroad. She had never bothered to get a passport. She had kept herself from so many things.

“What's wrong, honey?” Lucinda asked, noticing the stricken look in Dianne's eyes.

“Nothing, Mom,” Dianne said, taking her mother's hand. “I was just thinking how wonderful this is. All of us taking this trip.”

“I'm so grateful,” Lucinda said. “That you wanted to do it for me.”

“I thought I did,” Dianne said, gazing at the sunset over Portland harbor, the brick waterfront rosy and warm. “I thought it was for you and Julia, and maybe Amy. But I'm realizing it's for
me.
It's your retirement, and I've wanted Julia to see a little of the world….”

“But you're seeing it too,” Lucinda said, speaking because she could see that Dianne was too moved. “You're seeing the world right along with her.”

Dianne nodded, smiling at her mother. The girls played in back, trying to get Orion to notice a poodle in the trailer beside them.

“It's one of the best parts about having a daughter,”
Lucinda said, reaching for Dianne's hand. “They take you places you never would have gone on your own.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dianne said, hugging Lucinda with all her might. She kept thinking of what Alan had said, that he would be there when she got back. For eleven years she had kept herself from loving any man, but as she traveled north, she felt that changing. Dianne's heart was opening.

They were taking a night voyage! It was mysterious and divine. Amy was actually on a ship, the
Scotia Prince.
It was a fifteen-hundred-passenger vessel, half ferry and half cruise ship. It had a casino and a floor show, movies and bingo. They had a private stateroom! The animals had their own kennel. If this wasn't living, Amy didn't know what was.

“Is this like the
Queen Elizabeth?”
she asked Dianne.

“Maybe a little smaller,” Dianne replied.

They were standing at the rail, watching the town of Portland recede. The sea felt smooth, the air was cool. Amy waved at people standing on the dock. She wished she had a hanky, to make it look right. The only thing wrong was, her mother and Dr. McIntosh weren't there.

They had dinner in the restaurant, heard a lady sing songs from Broadway plays. Then it was time for bed. Down in the cabin, they had four bunks, two on top of the others. Dianne wanted to be down below with Julia, so Amy and Lucinda got the upper ones. They all wore their moose pajamas.

“Good night,” they said to each other.

“Sweet dreams.”

“Sleep well,” Lucinda said, reaching across the
narrow space to touch Amy's fingers. Down below, Dianne was singing a lullaby to Julia, and Julia was breathing as if she had never been so comfortable in her life. The ship felt like a big cradle, rocking them all to sleep as it took them to Canada.

Amy felt so close to her father. She had never been at sea before, and she imagined that this was the life he had loved. The waves tapped the hull, ringing through the ship like church bells. She felt the boat rise and fall; it moved with her breath and every beat of her heart. Her father lived in the sea now, his bones and his boat, but his spirit lived forever in Amy herself.

“’Night, Dad,” she whispered, holding herself tight.

Driving off the ferry, they entered Canada. The sky in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, was bright blue, filled with fair-weather clouds. The dock bustled, and the town was waking up. They had come through the Bay of Fundy, where the tide differential was the greatest in the world, but the most amazing thing was, they had seen a whale and several dolphins.

“Did you see them?” Amy asked. “I mean, was that a dream come true, or
what?”

“Such graceful creatures,” Lucinda said.

“Your first whale, Julia,” Dianne said, thrilled. Julia had actually turned her head when the whale surfaced, its glossy back appearing like a tabletop in the water, spraying like a fountain as it breathed and sounded.

“Gleee,” Julia said.

“And dolphins, Julia,” Amy said, hugging her with joy. “We'll have to write to Dr. McIntosh right away. Or even call him!”

“Alan would know what kind they were,” Lucinda said.

“Which way to Prince Edward Island?” Dianne asked, coming to a fork in the road. A right turn would take her toward Lunenburg, where Alan's friend Malachy kept his boat. The thought occurred to her that they could stop by, visit the old man. He could certainly tell them plenty about marine mammals. On the other hand, her night with Alan felt pure and precious. Getting away from Hawthorne was good for many reasons, and she didn't want to make a connection, way up here, that would take her back to bad McIntosh territory and remind her of Tim.

“That way, darling,” Lucinda said, pointing as she read the road map. “Go left.”

“It is so beautiful here!” Amy cried. “We're in a foreign land.”

“Left?” Dianne asked with a glance at the road for Lunenburg.

“Leftward ho,” Lucinda said.

“Okay, then,” Dianne said. And she swung the bulky vehicle onto Route One, the Evangeline Trail, which would lead them north toward the ferry from Pictou to Prince Edward Island, leaving Lunenburg and the McIntosh boys' mentor far behind.

Tim McIntosh didn't have a license to lobster in Canada, and he didn't care. He needed to hang up his work gloves for a while. Steaming east with the tide, he had pulled into Lunenburg nearly a week earlier. Malachy's tugboat was nowhere to be seen.

“I thought he lived here,” Tim had said to an old man hanging around the dock.

“That's the thing about living aboard a boat,
young fella,” the old fisherman said. “Wherever your vessel is, that's where you live. And Malachy's vessel ain't here.”

“Got it,” Tim said.

On the morning of the seventh day, when Tim had planned to head back to Maine, he woke up to find Malachy's tugboat berthed across the harbor in its usual place.

“Tim, boy!” Malachy said, slapping him on the back as Tim climbed aboard.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tim asked.

“Gulf of St. Lawrence,” Malachy said. “Wanted to see if the dolphins up there sing prettier'n they do down here.”

“Christ, Malachy,” Tim said. “They don't sing. They jabber. They get caught in tuna nets and make the tree huggers crazy. Everyone thinks dolphins are so goddamned romantic, and what they are is a big nuisance. Every fisherman with a rifle knows exactly where to aim….”

“They do, as a matter of fact,” Malachy said, lighting his pipe.

“They do
what?”

“They do sing prettier up north than they do here.”

“They must be doing something interesting,” Tim grinned, “to keep you gone for so long. I was just fixing to pull out.”

“Well, I'm glad that didn't happen.”

“Yeah.”

“Your brother would've been mighty aggrieved,” Malachy said. “He's been tryin' to get word to you.”