Follow the Stars Home (23 page)

“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.

She held her daughter closer. The voices were music,
along with the gentle waves. If only this feeling could last forever: the warm sun, the soft breeze, the sense of togetherness. The summer was ending; next week, it would be September. As Dianne listened to her mother and Amy laugh, she held Julia tighter.

Would she stay if she could? If she could make a new wish, prolong this moment forever, would she? Black sand felt warmer than any other kind. It pulled in the heat, held the sun in its dark grains. Dianne thought of the shooting stars, of the excitement she had felt about seeing Alan again. But didn't she have it all here, everything she could ever want, on this rare and amazing beach?

Did she need any other kind of love?

She had her daughter, her mother, their friend, this beautiful castle…. If only she could stop the tide from coming in, washing it away. Lucinda stood, brushing sand from her hands. As usual, she got out her camera and took a picture. Time was flying; they would have to rush to the ferry. The puppy ran in mad circles, knowing he had to get back inside the camper.

“Come on, Orion,” Amy laughed. “Want a drink of water? Follow me.”

“Forty minutes,” Lucinda said. “That's how much time we have to make our boat. If we miss it, we're staying on this island for good. You'll never get me off.”

Dianne hesitated. What if she took her time? She could drag her feet, make them late. They could stay in this enchanted place, she wouldn't have to return home and face her feelings, reality would never come again.

“Gaaa,” Julia said.

“Go, honey?” Dianne asked. “Is that what you're telling me?”

“Gleee,” Julia said.

Julia's sounds. Julia's words had no translation, but to Dianne they were filled with meaning. Just like the splashing waves, the whispering sand, the crying gulls. Everything in nature meant something, alive with private poetry for any person willing to listen. Julia was braver than her mother. She was telling her to go, return to Hawthorne, see what the future held.

Lifting Julia, Dianne began to walk toward the dunes. The tide was out, and it wouldn't begin to flood for another few hours. They'd be on the ferry to Nova Scotia by then, on their way home. Holding her daughter, Dianne was grateful they wouldn't have to see their black sand castle wash into the sea.

And soon she would be with Alan.

Malachy kept the telephone turned off most of the time when he was working. He didn't want the music of the dolphins having to compete with bells ringing. But soon after he plugged in the cord, he picked up a call from Alan.

“You missed your brother,” Malachy said. “He's out provisioning his boat for the trip back to Maine. He should be back within the hour.”

“He's leaving?” Alan asked. “When?”

“When?” Malachy said, watching a pair of loons fish the harbor. Attuned to shades of meaning in dolphin talk, he picked up a strange mixture of disappointment and relief in Alan's voice. “Why don't you ask him when he calls you back? I'll give him the message.”

“Tell me, Mal,” Alan said, sounding urgent. “What's his plan?”

“Jaysus,” Malachy said. “You want an affidavit?
He's departing the dock on the dawn tide. What's the matter?”

“I'll tell you, Malachy,” Alan said, sounding short. “Dianne's vacationing up there, and I gave her your number and told her to look you up. I don't want her walking into a big mess with Tim. She doesn't need that.”

“She's a grown girl,” Malachy said. “Maybe that's just what she needs. You let her fight her own battles. Or make her own peace. It's not for you to control.”

“Malachy,” Alan began.

“You listen to me,” Malachy said. “If she's meant to be yours, you'll know it. Manipulating the situation with Tim won't do you any good. Let nature take its course, let God's will be done, however you want to put it. But don't ask me to get in the middle of your blasted love triangle. I care about all of you too much to do that.”

“Okay,” Alan said, staring out the window at Hawthorne harbor. He knew Malachy was right. But that did nothing for the knot in his stomach, the fear that Dianne and Tim might see each other after all this time and remember what they'd once had. Alan was far away, and there was nothing he could do.

Traveling across Nova Scotia to the ferry that would take them back to the mainland, Julia had a seizure. Her body went rigid, she bit her tongue until it bled, and she thrashed for two full minutes. Amy began to scream, and the animals hid under the bunk beds. Pulling off the road, Dianne nearly drove the Winnebago into a ditch.

“Julia,” Dianne said, trying to hold her. Blood and foam gushed from the girl's mouth, and her eyes rolled back into her head.

“What's wrong, what's happening?” Amy cried.

“Dianne, here's a spoon,” Lucinda said, trying to force a spoon into Julia's mouth. “We have to hold down her tongue, keep her from swallowing it.”

“Away!” Dianne screamed. “Get Amy out of here and leave us. I know what I'm doing, Mom. That'll just hurt her. Give me room. Get out!”

Shaken, Lucinda helped Amy out of the camper. Dianne heard their voices, Amy's upset and Lucinda's soothing. Dianne had never been through this before, but Alan had warned her to watch for seizures. He
had told her never to put a hard object into Julia's mouth while she was seizing, that it could break her teeth or damage the soft tissue. Dianne just had to hold her and wait. The seizure was stopping. Her muscles let go. Her body twitched once more. The child sighed.

Dianne wanted to weep. She wanted to apologize to her mother for yelling, make sure Amy was okay. She wanted to set everything straight that Julia had kicked over-a bottle of fruit juice, a pile of guidebooks. But she knew something bad was happening, and she had to get Julia help.

“Mom!” she called.

Lucinda and Amy came back, standing in the doorway.

“Drive, Mom,” Dianne said, rocking Julia. “Get us to a hospital.”

Nodding, Lucinda climbed behind the wheel. Nova Scotia was rural, breathtakingly beautiful. Fields of flowers spread in all directions. Distant blue hills stretched toward the sea. Tall pines cast long shadows on the road, but there were no towns in sight. Amy read the map, directing Lucinda as best she could.

“Honey,” Lucinda said after ten miles. “Tell me what to do.”

“Find a pay phone,” Dianne said. Julia lay in her lap, trembling. Her breathing was shallow and her skin tone was pale. Her eyelids flickered as if she were having a deep dream, but she wasn't waking up. Dianne felt primal fear in the pit of her stomach, as if she and her baby were lost in the wilderness.

The next rest area had four phone booths. Lucinda held Julia with Amy hovering beside while Dianne ran out. Her heart was pounding, and she felt so panicked, she couldn't think straight. Did
Canada have 911 emergency service? Where would she tell them to come if they did? Hands shaking, she remembered Malachy's number.

“Is that you again?” he snapped as soon as he picked up the phone. “I thought I told you, it's between your brother—”

“Malachy!” Dianne cried. “It's Dianne Robbins. I'm on Nova Scotia, and—”

“Slow down, Dianne,” he said, his voice changing. “I know you're here. I heard all about it. Now, what's wrong? What has you sounding so frightened?”

“My daughter's sick, Malachy,” she said. “I need to get her to a hospital, and I don't know where to go—”

“Tell me where you are.”

Dianne did her best. She told him about coming into Pictou, heading west toward Yarmouth, mentioned the last road sign she remembered.

“You want Halifax,” he said. “It's the best, and you're as close to there as anywhere. Can she make it, dear? What's her condition?”

“She's unconscious. She had a seizure. Her pulse is fast, and her …” Dianne burst into tears. Malachy's voice was deep and kind, and he made her think of how her father might sound.

“I know she's had the devil of a time, poor little girl,” he said. “You just get her to Halifax, and we'll meet you at the hospital. Are you okay to drive?”

“I think so,” Dianne said. “For Julia I'll make myself be okay. Thanks, Malachy. I'm glad I called you.”

It was only after she hung up that she stopped to wonder who Malachy would be meeting her with, and how Malachy knew she was in the province in the first place.

“Lunenburg's nice,” Tim said, coming aboard the tugboat with an armload of groceries. “Pretty town. Maybe I should-” One look at Malachy's expression, and he knew something was wrong.

“It's your daughter, Tim,” he said. “She's in a bad way.”

“Julia …” Tim said, stunned.

“Dianne just called.”

“Called
here?”
Tim asked.

It had to be serious. Malachy's ruddy face was mournful, his eyes deep and sad. Of course, he was Irish, and he could look tragic at anything, at thick fog or melting ice cream. Still, Tim swallowed hard and waited to hear. He had been running a long time, but that didn't mean he didn't think about her, that baby he'd left. His heart was pounding.

“She has suffered,” Malachy said.

“I know.”

“Suffered terribly,” Malachy said. “Life should never be so hard for a little girl. It shouldn't be so hard for any mother, or any father. Put those groceries down and come on.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“You're coming to Halifax with me. That's where they are.”

“Halifax, Nova Scotia?” Tim asked, shocked. “Just up the road?”

“That's the place,” Malachy said. “Your brother Alan's been busting a gut trying to contact you. Dianne's vacationing up here, and the child had a seizure. Now, grab your jacket, and—”

“I can't,” Tim said in shock.

“The hell you can't,” Malachy said, shoving his arm. “She's your daughter, Tim. Whatever Dianne's
facing, she'll face it better with Julia's father by her side. Put your stupid pride aside and act like a man. For the girl's sake.”

“I want to,” Tim said. “But I can't.” He was picturing Dianne the last time he'd seen her: nine months pregnant, tears flowing down her face, pulling on his hand as she'd begged him to stay. He had spent eleven years sailing away from that memory, and he could only imagine what she had done. For her sake, he didn't want to enter her life again.

“For God's sake, Tim,” Malachy said. “You're a ghost as it is. Haunting your own life! What kind of life is it, pulling lobster pots for any company'll have you? You've got no family, not even Alan anymore. You've got no home port, you've got no love. This is your chance, Tim.”

Tim stood frozen, eyes closed as if he could block the whole thing out.

“Are you blind, son? It's a miracle, that's what it is. Your daughter needs you right now, and you're right here. You think these things happen by chance?”

“I don't know,” Tim said.

“Well, I do,” Malachy said, glaring at him. “And they don't. This is your chance, maybe your last chance. If I could have one minute, one
second
, with Gabriel and Brigid, I'd give the rest of my life. Grab it, Tim!”

Tim's throat ached. What if Malachy was right? What if he could see Dianne, meet his daughter? Why had he come to Canada right now, this summer, this week? Why had they?

“Halifax?” he heard himself ask. “That's where they are?”

“It's where they're heading,” Malachy said. “Come on.”

Tim shook his head. He knew he wasn't going.

“Come on,” Malachy said, tugging his arm.

Tim yanked himself free.

“Knock it off, Malachy,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?”
Malachy roared. He drew himself up to full height and he bellowed without shame or restraint. “Your daughter's up here and needs you now and you're too spineless to show up for her?”

“I can't-” Tim said.

“You shit,” Malachy said. “You spineless shit.”

“Mal—”

“This is it,” Malachy said. “This is the end. The day you wouldn't give your child blood I blamed it on you being young and far away and panicked. But this. She's right here. Right up the road—”

“Don't blame me, Mal,” Tim said, feeling like a little boy, like the days his mother would abandon him for the bottle. “Don't say—”

“Don't say the truth?” Malachy spit out the words. “I wash my hands of you. I loved you like a son, but no son of mine would ever be so weak. You're a fucking coward, Tim McIntosh, and I never want to hear from you again.”

“Hey, Malachy,” Tim yelled, running after the old man, tears flowing down his red cheeks.

“Leaving you alone,” Malachy said, walking faster. “That's what I'm doing. You asked me to, and I'm obliging. Go to hell.”

Tim stopped where he was, on the dock in Lunenburg harbor, and sobbing with rage watched the man he had considered a father these last twenty-some years leave him behind forever. As if he were just a piece of trash.

By the time they reached the hospital, Julia was stable. Whatever had caused the seizure was not recurring. She was awake and fairly alert. She kept opening her mouth as if to speak. She had resumed her hand wringing, but her movements were weak and listless. Dianne held her for as long as she could, but the doctors wanted to take her down to do an MRI.

“Can I go with her?” Dianne asked.

“It would be better for you to wait here,” the technician said. “But she'll be fine. We'll bring her right back to you.”

Watching them wheel Julia away, Dianne held her hand over her heart. She felt terrified, and she hated to think what Julia was feeling. Dianne wanted to be with her through everything, so when Julia was afraid, at least her mother would be there. Looking around, Dianne wished for her
own
mother, but Lucinda had taken Amy down to the cafeteria.

Dianne felt very nervous. The waiting room had a television playing, but she couldn't concentrate enough to watch. By the nurses' desk she saw a row of pay phones. Almost without thinking, she walked over and dialed Alan's number. Her hands were trembling.

“Dr. McIntosh's office,” Martha said.

“Martha, it's Dianne Robbins. I have to talk to Alan.”

“He's with a patient, Dianne. May I have him—”

“Martha,” Dianne said, gripping the receiver with both hands. “I can't wait. I need him right now. Please, get him. Please—”

Within ten seconds Alan was on the line. He said hello, and Dianne's eyes flooded with tears. Her body shook with repressed sobs, and the relief of hearing his voice made everything flow out.

“Alan, it's me,” she wept. “We're at the hospital. Julia had a seizure, and they took her down for an MRI. Our trip has been so wonderful, she was having such a good time….”

“Is she conscious?” Alan asked gently. “Is she breathing?”

His questions had a calming effect on Dianne. They were specific and practical, and they made her think and focus.

“Yes,” Dianne said, “to both. By the time we got here, she was starting to seem more like herself again.”

“Trying to catch invisible butterflies?” Alan asked, describing Julia's arm waving so perfectly, Dianne could almost smile.

“Wringing her hands,” Dianne said.

“That's our girl,” he said.

They had been through bad episodes before, and they had survived them all. No one knew Julia's case like Alan. Dianne had watched these new doctors take one look at her deformities, shake their heads with pity. To Alan, Julia was his beautiful little niece. He was acting very calm, so Dianne could fall apart.

“Who's the attending there?” Alan asked, writing down his name and number.