Follow the Stars Home (17 page)

“Seventh-grade woman,” Amy said, trying it out.

“Smart and excellent,” Dianne said.

“With my chick friends,” Amy said, and she grinned. “That's us, right, Julia?” “Babes,” Amy said. “Girls.”

“Gurlz,” Amy laughed, spelling it. “Gaaaa,” Julia said. “That's us too!” Amy said.

“Three gaaas, off for a ride by the sea,” Dianne said, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

Amy was free!

School was out, finally and forever. At least till September. Her first week off from school was hot and muggy. A heat wave had fallen on Hawthorne and all they wanted to do was keep cool.

Dianne gave Amy a straw sun hat. It had a wide brim, a blue ribbon, and it looked almost exactly like Dianne's. Amy loved her new hat so much, she wouldn't take it off.

The three “gurlz” went rowing in the marsh. Blue-fish, the first good-sized ones of the season, turned the water silver-blue. A gray heron skulked in the shadows. Amy dipped her fingers in, trickled cool water onto Julia's bare legs. Dianne had made a little bed for Julia in the V of the rowboat, between the seats, shading her with a blue umbrella.

“What's your favorite animal?” Amy asked.

“A particular animal or a species?” Dianne asked.

Amy exhaled. Dianne had such a complicated way of thinking, it sometimes made Amy feel stupid. At home, people didn't talk like this. Their answers were so much easier: “dog” or “shut up, I'm watching TV.” But the weird thing was, Amy wasn't embarrassed about feeling stupid around Dianne. She
knew if she stayed with it, Dianne would help explain her way of thinking, and Amy would get it sooner or later. Amy was starting to feel smarter all the time.

“What do you mean?” Amy asked.

“Well, Stella's my favorite animal in particular, but cats aren't my favorite species. Sea otters are.”

“Oh, yeah!” Amy still didn't know the exact definition of
species
, but she was ready to go with the flow. Drifting through the marsh, she looked for sea otters on the banks.

“What's yours?” Dianne asked.

“Gaaa,” Julia said.

“I guess the puppy at home, or maybe Stella, is my favorite in particular. The best spee-sees”-Amy spoke carefully, getting it right-“in my opinion, are whales and dolphins.”

“You're like your friend Dr. McIntosh,” Dianne said.

“Yeah,” Amy said. With Dianne in her life, she had stopped going to his office so much lately. Besides, his office was downtown, near her school. But the mention of his name still filled her with a warm glow.

“How's he doing anyway?” Dianne asked, gently splashing the oars.

“Dleeee,” Julia said.

“Oh, he's fine. I called him yesterday.”

“Hmm,” Dianne said.

You and he should get married
, Amy nearly blurted out, but she stopped herself. She'd been thinking it for a while. They seemed so comfortable together. They had known each other forever. And they both loved Julia. But life at home had made Amy very sensitive to people's feelings, and she had
the idea Dianne wouldn't want her to say that about her and the doctor.

Dianne was in a tie for third, in the most-important-alive people in Amy's life. Her mother was first, Dr. McIntosh second, and Dianne and Julia tied for third. Amy's father reigned over them all, but he was dead in heaven. This was an earthly competition.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” Amy asked.

“No,” Dianne said.

“Oh, another only child,” Amy said.

“I always wished for sisters,” Dianne said.

How often had Amy wished for sisters? Girls to share the secrets of home life with, concern for their mother, hatred of Buddy. Older sisters would know what to do. They would care gently for Amy, leading her out of the maze. “Who's your best friend?” Amy asked.

“I don't know. My mother, I guess.”

Amy was silent. She wished so much that she could say the same thing, but she knew it was impossible. Her mother and Lucinda were about as far apart as two people could be.

“How about you?” Dianne asked. “Are you close to your mother?”

Amy coughed, pretending not to hear the question.

“How are the plans coming?” she asked. “For the retirement surprise?”

“I don't know,” Dianne said. “I'm stymied.”

“You'll think of something.”

“It's funny,” Dianne said. “Last night I had a dream of Julia graduating from school. In it I wanted to take her someplace, and when I woke up, I was thinking we should all take a trip.”

“To Disney World!” Amy blurted out.

Dianne laughed. As if Julia could understand, she
began to croon. Amy felt so excited. Did Dianne mean Amy too? She had said “We should
all
take a trip….” Did that include Amy?

“Or somewhere,” Dianne said. “The Grand Canyon, or the Rocky Mountains … the Mississippi River, Prince Edward Island. My mother loves
Tom Sawyer
and
Anne of Green Gables.
We could go visit the story settings. That's what I thought when I woke up from my dream.”

“How would you get there?” Amy asked, praying Dianne would correct her and say
we
again. But she didn't.

“I don't know,” Dianne said. “My dream didn't get that far.”

Julia's hands moved as if parting the air in front of her face.

“There's always tonight,” Amy said, feeling solemn inside. “Maybe you'll dream again tonight.”

Dianne rowed them through the marsh. Julia dozed at their feet. Whenever she slept, she curled up into a ball, just like the puppy at home. Amy saw Dianne watching her. Dianne reached down to brush Julia's damp hair off her brow, leaving her hand there for a minute. The expression on Dianne's face was serene. It wasn't always that way. A warm breeze blew through the reeds, and the sun beat down. Amy was glad they had their hats on and Julia's umbrella up, and she wished they could just keep rowing forever.

The sky was white and the air was hot. Waves of heat rose from the road. Dianne and the girls had stopped for ice cream, and they were eating in the shade of a picnic area.

Dianne hadn't slept well the night before. Julia had tossed and turned. She'd torn off her diaper twice. The second time, she had been out of breath, and Dianne had held her until her pulse returned to normal, until the rise and fall of her chest matched the gentle rhythm of distant waves breaking over the Landsdowne Shoal. When she fell asleep, she curled back into the fetal position.

“Mmmm,” Amy said, licking her ice cream cone. “I love orange pineapple.”

“I love black raspberry,” Dianne said. She and Julia were sharing a dish, and she spooned a cold bite into Julia's mouth.

“Why did you name her Julia?” Amy asked, letting the orange ice cream melt down the backs of her hands.

“Because it sounds dignified.”

“Dignified?” Amy asked, frowning the way she did when she wasn't positive exactly what something meant.

By the way she talked, Dianne knew she hadn't been read to as a child, and that filled her with great sadness. “Yes,” Dianne said. “I wanted everyone to know she's important.”

“But she is important,” Amy said as if that was the most obvious fact in the world.

“I know,” Dianne said, thinking of Tim sailing away.

“What's her biggest wish?”

“I don't know,” Dianne said.

They were sitting in a grove of trees, and the wind blew overhead, making the leaves slap like cards in bicycle spokes. Dianne took a spoonful of ice cream.

“Where's the farthest place Julia's ever been?” Amy asked.

“Just here,” Dianne said. “Places around Hawthorne.”

“I wish we could take her somewhere,” Amy said. “On a trip.” A huge motor home had rumbled into the picnic area. An old man was driving. Parking in the shade, he and his wife got out to stretch their legs. They had a collie on a leash, and the woman walked it in the grass.

“In one of those,” Dianne said. She laughed, and so did Amy, staring at the Winnebago.

“Julia,” Amy said, taking her hands. “Pretty girl!”

Julia wrung her hands, gazing at the sky.

“How about you?” Dianne asked, turning to Amy. “What's your greatest wish? Where's the most incredible place you've ever been?”

“Oh,” Amy said. “I don't know.” She sounded offhand, almost as if she didn't matter. “I don't know nothing but Hawthorne.”

Dianne hesitated but only for a moment. She was
the librarian's daughter, after all.
“Anything
but Hawthorne,” she said gently. “Not
nothing.
You're too smart to use bad grammar.”

“Thank you,” Amy said. And Dianne suddenly felt sorry she'd said anything.

“Tell us something about yourself,” Dianne said. “We spend so much time together, and you never talk about yourself.”

“I have a dog at home. He sleeps on my bed and guards my room,” Amy said, looking down. “He loves me.”

“I'll bet he does,” Dianne said. “What's his name?”

Amy didn't reply. She bit at her fingernail, then looked at her wrist.

“He doesn't-” she said. “He sleeps in a cage.”

“Amy …” Dianne began, confused by the lie.

“My father left me his watch.”

“I know,” Dianne said.

“That big motor home-” Amy said, trying to laugh. “Would you really take a trip in one?”

“I was just kidding,” Dianne said.

“It's like that story, where a whole family lived in one big shoe. I feel like you and Julia are going to climb in and walk away.”

“Shoes that walk away can come back,” Dianne said.

Amy shrugged. She clicked the toe of her shoe against the wheel of Julia's wheelchair. Julia had been wringing her hands, but she stopped. Her hands began their ballet, tracing the air between her and Amy's faces.

“They can, Amy,” Dianne said.

Amy nodded, but she didn't speak.

Dianne's heart was bursting. She wanted so many things. To help Amy, to be a good mother, to be a
good daughter, to give Julia the life of a real girl-take her different places, let her feel new air, let her know she mattered. Take her to New York to see
The Nutcracker
at Christmas, something every mother and daughter should do together at least once. Her mother was the person retiring, but Dianne felt like the one growing old.

“I know how it feels to be left,” Dianne said out loud.

Amy turned to look at her.

“It hurts so much. I can't even pretend it doesn't.”

Amy was crying, but she didn't want Dianne to see. She just kept playing with Julia. Dianne had the lonely feeling of being the only parent around, the only adult. She wished her mother were there. Even more, surprising herself, she wished Alan were.

But why should that be surprising? He cared about them all: Amy, Julia, and even Dianne. Dianne felt the tension building up in her chest, and was about to cry. At times like this, she felt such an overwhelming need for him. He was the only one who knew, really knew, what she went through. She wanted to be held by someone gentle, by Alan, but she couldn't. She had married Tim instead. Dianne knew her tragic flaw, had recognized it after all this time: She didn't know how to choose a man who would really love her.

She sat very still and watched her daughter and her friend write silent poetry in the warm air, in the sacred little grove of birch and pine trees, old picnic tables, and melted ice cream, and she imagined how it would feel to share times like these with a friend of her own. With Alan.

The next night, Julia cried out; when Dianne went to her, she found her child panting as if she had run a
race. Dianne did what she always did: checked for obstructions in her throat, the wetness of her diaper, things sticking into her skin. Julia seemed bigger; was it possible she'd grown an inch in the night? Dianne's own heart was beating out of her chest. Grabbing the phone, she called Alan's answering service, told them it was an emergency.