Follow the Stars Home (8 page)

“Thank you,” Dianne said, sprinkling it on.

“I love baby powder,” Amy said to Julia. “It's better than perfume. I wear it to school.”

“Laaa,” Julia said.

“I always think she means flower,” Dianne said, “when she says
la
.”

“She does,” Amy said solemnly. As if she knew more about Julia's language, could hear more, translate better, than even Dianne herself. Dianne was silent, wishing Julia would say something else. But she didn't.

“La, Julia,” Amy said. “Marigold, lily, daisy, and rose.”

Julia blinked her eyes, rolling her head.

Dianne listened, watching Julia play with her
friend, glad she had told Amy the story of Stella. Maybe someday she'd tell Amy the other story, the story of Julia.

The story started with the McIntosh brothers.

Dianne had dreamed of love her whole life. Her parents were wonderful people, devoted to each other and to her. She had always wanted that for herself, to find that kind of true love. Dianne's mother had been an orphan, and she claimed Emmett had saved her. Dianne was shy, and she lived at home long after other kids her age had left. It was as if she knew that the real world was harsh, that she had to be ready before she stepped out into it.

Taking after her father, she went into carpentry. He had built her a playhouse when she was a little girl, and Dianne made one for the third birthday of a daughter of a childhood friend. She had modeled it after that white house on the harbor, the place where she fantasized someday living with a family of her own, and every mother who saw it wanted one for her own child.

Alan was then a new pediatrician in town and he commissioned Dianne's father to build shelves in his office. Alan was young, just getting his practice off the ground, and Emmett had liked him a lot. He had suggested he buy one of Dianne's playhouses for his waiting room. Dianne had gone to the medical arts building to get a feel for the space, and Alan had come out to meet her.

“Your father did such a good job,” he said. “I wanted to see what you could do.”

“I learned everything from him,” Dianne said, feeling shy and a little intimidated. “From the best.”

“I'll be the only doctor in town with a Robbins
playhouse. All the kids'll want to come to me. I'll have the edge,” he joked in a way that let her know he was partly serious, a little insecure. He was tall and thin, not much older than Dianne. He had light brown hair that kept falling into his eyes.

“Are you from around here?” she asked.

“Cape Cod.”

“And you decided to be a doctor in Hawthorne?”

He nodded. “I did my residency in New Haven, and I took over this practice when Dr. Morrison decided to retire.”

“Do you miss Cape Cod?”

“It's not that far away,” he said, “but, yes, I do.”

“Do you have family there?” Dianne asked, knowing how much she'd miss her parents if she ever moved.

He shook his head. “Not anymore. My brother's a lobsterman, working off Block Island this year. Half the time he ties up right here in Hawthorne.”

“That's good,” Dianne said, nodding.

“I like the hospital here,” Alan said. “The town's growing, and the area's beautiful. But fitting in …”

“My dad says Hawthorners take forever to accept newcomers,” Dianne said. Even though she was just a carpenter and he was a doctor, something about Alan made her feel she could say these things to him. “Even my business started off slow, and I was born here.”

“People will find me,” Alan said.

“I'm sure they will,” Dianne said, sizing him up. If she had a child, she could imagine wanting this man to take care of her. He seemed gentle, and when he'd said ‘people will find me,’ he'd sounded quietly confident, as if he knew he was a good doctor and he knew parents would bring their kids to him.

“Don't worry,” she said, nodding her head. “I'll make you a beautiful playhouse.” She didn't know
why, but the promise was incredibly important to her. Back at home, she riffled through architecture books and all sorts of magazines in search of quirky details. Little kids loved things like sea horse door knockers, shutters that really closed, a mailbox to hold letters.

One night a few weeks later her mother called her to the phone and told her it was Alan McIntosh. Thinking he wanted to discuss her progress, she picked up the extension. But instead, he wanted to ask her out to dinner. Dianne was silent, holding the receiver. Working for a doctor was one thing, going out with him was another. What would they have to talk about? What would he think when he found out she'd dropped out of Connecticut College?

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “Yes, okay.”

Saturday night he said. He thought she might like to try the Rosecroft Inn.

Dianne loved the place and the evening. They sat in the grill room. Drinking champagne, she had felt the bubbles on her upper lip. It was such a romantic night. There was a pink rose on the table, a fire in the fireplace, candles flickering around the darkened room.

Alan was handsome and attentive. He seemed interested in her background, the fact that she had spent her whole life in Hawthorne. He hadn't acted surprised when she told him about not liking college, about knowing she wanted to work with her father. He talked about his brother Neil, the reason he had become a doctor. He told her about his brother Tim, the wild man who fished the eastern seaboard, coming home only when he had to.

Curious about how two brothers could be so different, Dianne wanted to hear more. She and Alan were talking so much, the waiter had to stop by four times before they were ready to order. When the time
came, she realized she had barely even looked at the menu. She ordered sweetbreads, something she had never tried before.

Alan asked her to tell him her happiest memory. She asked him about his favorite dream. He wanted to know about all her pets, and after she told him, he wanted to know how they got their names. She asked him if he believed in heaven.

She had never had a date like this before. Most of the guys she dated were locals like her. Many of them had gone to grade school together, had known each other their whole lives. But just two hours of talking to Alan gave Dianne the idea she'd been missing something. She had never imagined getting so much pleasure from telling a man about the Scottish terrier she'd gotten for her fourth birthday.

He had shoulders like a football player's, broad and solid, yet he moved with a sexy kind of grace. He ordered oysters and fed Dianne one, tilting the shell against her lips. His brown hair was a little shaggy, in need of a haircut. Listening to him talk about medicine, she could hear the passion. He wasn't in it for the money or prestige: He had a true calling to help people.

That night when he drove her home he held her hand across the seat. When he stopped the car, he kissed her. The blood rushed into her face and her knees went weak when he tangled his long fingers in her hair, kissed her hard and steady as she leaned into his chest. He felt strong and sturdy as any workman, even though his hands didn't have calluses. He was a doctor, what did she expect?

A week went by while she worked on his playhouse. She hoped he would like it enough to take her out again. But he was busy with his practice, and she was busy creating the playhouse. He called once, and
she was out; she returned his call, and he was at the hospital.

Then came delivery day.

The playhouse was ready. She had it in her studio, and she and her father had planned to carry it over in his truck. But then Alan said his brother Tim was back in town. Since his boat was tied up at the lobster dock, Tim would swing by to pick up the finished house.

She had been wrapping the playhouse in batting to protect it on the drive when Tim McIntosh walked into her studio. He was as tall as Alan but blonder. He spent his life in the sun, and it showed in the lines on his face. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing muscular forearms, and his front tooth was slightly chipped. His eyes looked as intelligent as Alan's, but haunted, as if he were pondering the end of the world.

“Hey” was all he said as he walked over to grab the roll of batting from Dianne's hand. “Let me do that.”

“No, I-” she began.

But he didn't listen. He just took the roll of thick padding and began to wrap the house as if he'd been doing that sort of work his whole life. Without speaking, or even really smiling, he stared at her across the small house's gabled roof. Dianne felt a long shiver down her spine and along the backs of her legs. She wondered how he had chipped his tooth, gotten that scar over his right eyebrow.

“What're you thinking?” Tim asked.

“Me?” she replied, embarrassed to have gotten caught staring. “Nothing.”

“That's not true,” he said.

“Then tell me what I'm thinking about.”

“You want a boat ride,” he said.

“No,” she said. “If I'm thinking anything, it's that you did a nice job. Wrapping that playhouse.”

“You always do your work in that outfit?”

Hoping that she and Alan might have dinner after the delivery, Dianne had put on a dress. It was blue and white striped, with a white collar that suddenly seemed too big. Standing in front of Tim, she felt so awkward, felt sweat rolling down her back. She couldn't stop staring at Tim's wide grin. She looked like a schoolgirl in her striped dress, she thought, and she wondered what he would think if he knew she still lived with her parents.

“Strong woman,” he said. “To build this house all by yourself. Tell the truth-did your father help you? Because you honestly don't look like the hammer-swinging type.”

“I am,” she said.

“I'm a laborer myself. That's why I don't expect someone as pretty as you …” He smiled again, showing his broken tooth.

“I love my work,” she said.

“Me too,” he said. “A woman after my own heart.”

With his light hair and ruddy skin, the fine white lines radiating around deep blue eyes, there was no missing the fact that he was a fisherman. He was ruggedly gorgeous, and he had a way of glowering that made Dianne think he was harboring a bad secret. He was full of life, and she could imagine him standing on deck, navigating by the stars. When he took her hand and shook it, she felt the thrill all through her body.

“Tim McIntosh,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Dianne Robbins,” she said, staring at his strong and callused hand. It took a long time for him to let go.

“How about that boat ride?” he asked.

“Your brother's waiting for us.”

“He can come with us,” Tim said.

“Stop.” She laughed. “We have to take the playhouse over to his office.”

“An island,” Tim said. “That's where I'll take you on our boat ride. Somewhere in the Bahamas. We'll go bone fishing and sleep on the beach. You like the sound of palm trees rustling in the wind?”

“I've never heard them.”

“You will,” Tim McIntosh had said, his blue eyes blazing.

“No, I-” Dianne began, unable to take her eyes off Tim. He held her hand lightly, as if he had known her for years, as if he planned to walk her straight off into the sunset. She pulled away, convinced him that Alan was waiting, that they should deliver the playhouse to his waiting room as they had promised.

“Whatever you want,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “You don't love him, do you?”

“We've gone out only once,” Dianne said, her voice cracking.

“Good,” Tim said.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, feeling his hand on the small of her back. Their faces were close, and she knew it was all over. He was a cowboy with a boat, a broken tooth, and a dark secret. Her heart was pounding, and she felt liquid inside. Just looking at him made her smile, made her nervous, made her feel like laughing out loud.

“Because we're going for a boat ride, and if things work out, I'm going to ask you to marry me,” he said. “What would you say to that?”

“I'd say you're crazy,” Dianne said as he touched the side of her face with his rough fingertips. But she knew that her time with Alan was over forever.

The truly crazy thing was, Tim McIntosh proposed
to her for real less than a month later. He asked her to marry him on the deck of his boat, with all the new spring constellations overhead.

“I need you,” he told her.

“We hardly know each other,” she said.

“It doesn't feel that way to me,” he said, clutching her. “It feels as if I've known you my whole life. Marry me, Dianne,” he said.

“Marry you …”

“You'll never be bored.”

“Tim!” she laughed, thinking that was a funny thing to say.

“I'm not like Alan,” he continued. “With him you'd have it easy. Stable as hell.” He made it sound dull. “You'd never have to ask him twice to mow the lawn. Perfect all the time. With me …” He bent her over backward. “You wouldn't have a lawn.”

“No?” she asked, staring into his eyes.

“Just this,” he said, sweeping his arm out to take in the sea, the silver-topped waves spreading to the horizon. “That's all I can give you.”

“Only the sea.” She laughed again.

“Marry me,” he said again.

Dianne had a sudden strange feeling that Tim was in competition with his brother and she was the prize. The thing was, she was shy and humble, and she didn't trust her instinct. Alan was a successful doctor, Tim was a handsome fisherman: They could have any woman they wanted. Why would they fight over her?

Shy girls are sometimes insecure. They don't know how they shine. One date with Alan, and Tim seemed to take it more seriously than she did. If Alan liked her so much, why hadn't he asked her out again? That night at the Rosecroft Inn, she had had such a wonderful time. Alan seemed solid and true, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Tim was something else entirely. He trembled when he held her. He said “I need you” at least as often as “I love you.” He told her he kept time by the tides, and she found that incredibly romantic. The first time he was late, he blamed it on an east-setting current. Then he wrapped her in his arms and told her when he'd been out of sight of land, he'd been afraid he might drown without ever seeing her again.

He told Dianne she was all he had.