Follow the Stars Home (29 page)

“I worry about Julia,” he said.

Her head snapped up. Her blue eyes were deep and beseeching. Alan wished he could take her pain and fear on himself.

“I always will, when it comes to Julia,” he said. “So will you. It's part of the territory that comes with having her in our lives.”

“But the test-” she started to say.

Alan's hands were on her shoulders. He wanted to draw her close and kiss her. It was at moments like this when he knew he was too involved to be Julia's doctor, that he should give her over to someone not so close. But he couldn't. He would never abandon her or Dianne. He cleared his throat.

“The test is inconclusive,” he said. “We're in limbo. There's no black or white, no clear indications. We're living in the gray area, where we've always been with Julia. Let it be okay. Let's take what we're given and enjoy every bit of our time with her. Every minute—”

“I need her so much,” Dianne said.

“I know,” he said.

“I never even know how much until we come here,” she said. “Until I face the thought of someday losing her.”

“You think that here?” Alan asked. His stomach fell. He had always thought of himself as Julia's protector, Dianne's beacon of hope. He had always tried to help. During Julia's roughest periods, he had stayed available-canceled appointments, passed up conferences, broken dates-just on the chance they would need him.

“Yes,” Dianne said, gulping. “This is where we get the news. Whatever it is, this is where we hear it first.”

“Some of it's been good,” Alan said, stroking her back and trying to stop his own panic, wanting her to see him differently. Was he the voice of doom? She'd look at him and see the worst of everything that could happen to Julia? “So much of it has. So much of Julia's life has been good. Because of you.” Did he sound desperate, as if he were trying to convince her?

“People used to ask me why,” Dianne said. “Why I decided to keep her. Once I knew about her condition, after the prenatal testing, I could have just swept her away…. I had to choose between her and my husband.”

Alan's body tensed. Holding Dianne, he pictured
his brother somewhere out in the ocean, not knowing about any of this.

“They'd ask me that,” Dianne said. “Can you imagine?”

“People don't always think,” Alan said.

“It wasn't that I was that good,” Dianne said. “Or that noble. I wasn't brave, even though people always said I was. I was chicken! I was so afraid. …”

“What do you mean?” Alan asked.

“Having a daughter,” Dianne said. “I'd wanted her my whole life. I was so afraid I'd never get another chance. When I was a little girl, I loved dolls. I'd play with them constantly, and I'd get my mother to buy me real baby diapers and baby clothes. My father made them cradles. I had a playhouse….”

“The one Emmett built for you?” Alan asked. He had heard this before.

“Yes,” Dianne said. “It was so beautiful, I had it in my room. It had window boxes and a real doorbell hooked up to a battery. I played in it all the time. He made it to look like one of the houses here in Hawthorne, my favorite one. And I'd imagine growing up, having a baby of my own. Having a happy life in a house like that.”

“And you did have a baby,” Alan said.

“Julia,” Dianne said, stepping away from Alan. He reached out, wanting to pull her back, but she had turned toward her daughter. She was still talking, but he had to move closer to hear, her voice was so low. “You can't pick and choose your children. If I didn't have Julia, who's to say I could have had another? Julia's mine.”

“Dianne-” Alan said.

But Dianne didn't seem to hear him. She gathered Julia into her arms, holding her tight. “She's mine,
and I'm hers. But don't say limbo, Alan. Just don't say we're in limbo.”

“Okay.”

“Limbo is where children go who can't get to heaven. That's not for Julia.”

“No, heaven was made for people like Julia,” Alan said.

“I love you,” Dianne said, rocking Julia. The child's enormous eyes roved her mother's face. Her hands drifted up, fingers brushing Dianne's lips and chin.

“So do I,” Alan said, stepping forward, putting his hands on the shoulders of his niece. Julia turned her head, giving him a huge smile. Dianne just kept rocking. She thought Alan was speaking to Julia alone. She didn't know his words were meant for them both.

“I want to take her somewhere,” Dianne said.

“Where?” Alan asked.

“On a trip. To see the world a little. Can we do it?”

“Well,” Alan said, unsettled by the idea of Dianne going away. “If you stayed near cities with good hospitals. Just in case. Where are you thinking of?”

“Not Disney World,” Dianne said, holding her daughter's hand. “Somewhere beautiful, that's all I know.”

Out his tall windows, the town of Hawthorne sparkled in the sun. The harbor was busy, filled with sailboats, trawlers, and sportfishermen. The big white houses lined the waterfront, and Alan wondered which one had inspired Dianne's father. Martha buzzed him. Her voice came over the speaker, telling him Bettina Gorey had called to ask him to meet her at the theater later instead of at her house.

“Change of plans,” he said, explaining to Dianne.
He had a date that night, and he watched her carefully for any sign of interest or jealousy.

“Oh,” she said, beginning to get Julia dressed. “Sorry we've taken up so much time. I know you have patients left to see—”

“That's not what I meant,” he said.

But she left the office anyway.

Alan often spoke of the patterns of Julia's condition, but as Dianne drove home, she noticed one of her own. Several days before Julia's appointments, Dianne would start to feel nervous. She'd get a headache, lose sleep, lose her temper. The pressure would build. She'd lie awake, imagining the worst news possible. By the time she got to Alan's office, she'd be a wreck. If he took ten seconds for small talk, she'd feel like biting his head off. And he never deserved that.

Once the visit was over, she felt like singing. Right then, alone in the car with Julia, she had the windows open and the radio playing. She could reach across the seat and touch her daughter's hand. It was summer, they were together; she felt lighter, as if they had been granted a reprieve. That was Dianne's pattern: Her tension would break the minute she left Alan's office. She thought of the white flag, the surrender she had wished for. If only she could stop blaming Alan for her everyday life.

When she got home, she carried Julia into the studio. Amy sat at her desk, and she jumped when they walked in.

“Are you mad?” she asked. “I just wanted to write a letter.”

“You can sit at my desk anytime,” Dianne said. “I don't mind.”

“I'm writing a letter,” Amy said again.

Dianne smiled, knowing what she was supposed to ask. “Who are you writing to?” she asked.

“My father,” Amy said proudly. “He's my kindred spirit.”

“You've been reading
Anne of Green Gables,”
Dianne said.

“And talking to Lucinda. She says she talks to Emmett even though he's dead. So I figured, why not write to my father?”

“Why not?” Dianne asked, putting Julia into her chair.

“There's nothing like communicating with your kindred spirit,” Amy said, taking up her pen again. “The person who loves you most, knows you best. I'll bet my father knows everything there is about me, but I have things to tell him anyway. How's Julia?”

“She's fine,” Dianne said, brushing her hair back from her face.

“I'm going to tell my dad all about her. How's Dr. McIntosh?”

“He's fine too.”

“He's my kindred spirit here on earth,” Amy said. “And so are you and so is Julia. But my father knows me longest, and I have a lot to say. Who's yours?”

“My what?”

“Your kindred spirit,” Amy asked.

“Oh,” Dianne said. “My mother, I guess. You, Julia.” She found herself thinking of Alan, and she felt a flush spread up her neck.

“Huh,” Amy said. She smoothed out her paper and started to write. By the way her pen flew, Dianne could see that she did have a lot to say.

For some reason Dianne felt unsettled by watching Amy. Torrents of words were flowing, as if Amy's heart were full and she'd finally found the right person
to talk to. Dianne hadn't talked like that in so long, she wouldn't even know where to start. She pictured Alan listening, and somehow she knew he would hold her hand the whole time. Tired from her day, she decided to lie down on the daybed. The springs creaked, startling Stella. She was maintaining her post, staring under the bed.

Dianne slept. She dreamed, fragments of her life slipping by. Alan holding her in the waves. Tim leering at her from his wheelhouse. Julia flying like an angel, golden hair streaming behind her. Amy's voice through it all, calling her name.

“Dianne!” Amy whispered. “Wake up. You have to see this!”

Dianne's eyes flew open. Immediately she looked at Julia, but Julia was fine, sitting upright, her hands drifting in the air. Amy seemed frozen at the desk, afraid to move. But she was smiling, pointing at the floor.

“It's Orion!” Amy whispered.

Rolling onto her side, Dianne looked.

The puppy was coming out. Dianne could see his black nose. Wet and quivering, it poked out from under the bedspread. Instead of moving back, Stella inched closer. As if she wanted to assure the puppy that life was safe, she was exhibiting incredible courage. Her whiskers twitched, and her pink nose touched his.

“He's coming!” Amy whispered, clasping her hands.

They knew he had come out at night to eat his food and use Stella's litter box, because they had found evidence. But so far, until then, Orion had been too timid to show himself while humans were around. Dianne's throat caught to think of the terrors that had driven him so deeply under the bed.

Julia sighed. Orion whimpered and Stella peeped. Dianne smiled at Amy, but when she turned back to the puppy and cat, her heart began to hurt. At first she told herself it was because the dog had suffered cruelty, but she knew that wasn't all. The creatures were nose to nose. Stella, Dianne's shy cat, had lured the beaten dog into the light.

“She got him out!” Amy said with delight.

Dianne suddenly knew the source of her hurting heart. She was watching what love could do: make frightened beasts brave, give hopeless creatures faith. Orion edged his way out. Stella backed up, giving him room. He shook as if he had just walked out of the sea. Dianne had always dreamed of love like this: the kind that made kindred spirits of a damaged cat and puppy.

“Good boy,” Amy called, holding out her hand. “Remember me? I'm the one who gave you the cheese.”

“And rescued you,” Dianne said. She was closer, so the dog approached her first. He gave her hand a tentative lick, then backed away.

“Here, Orion,” Amy said, and Dianne wished hard that the puppy would go to her. “Here, boy.”

Orion walked over to Julia. He sniffed her toes, her heels, her ankles. Stella followed right behind him, stopping dead in her tracks each time he turned around. Julia's hands moved over the dog, as if bestowing a blessing. A breeze blew through the screen door, and Orion walked over and raised his nose to smell the world.

“He doesn't want me!” Amy said. “He doesn't remember me!”

“Wait, Amy,” Dianne said. She could feel the child's impatience, her fear of rejection. Dianne had felt that way so often, wishing Tim would turn his
boat around and return home. The memory hurt her stomach, and she thought of how it had felt to lose the man who she had thought was her kindred spirit.

Very slowly Orion turned toward Amy. Four feet planted on the floor, he gave her a long, hard stare. Perhaps she reminded him of the beatings, of his fearsome life with Buddy. Perhaps her scent brought back recollections of terror. Dianne watched Amy's lip quiver. The child reached out her hand.

Orion walked across the floor. He moved cautiously, his eyes alert. Amy's hand stayed steady. He smelled her fingers. Edging closer, he licked the back of her hand. Amy was crying without sound. She let the dog lick her hand, and when he was finished, he let her pet his head.

Love is a miracle, Dianne thought. She lay on the bed, watching love unfold all around her. The puppy lay his head on Amy's lap, and Amy buried her face in his neck. Dianne waved at Julia, and she could almost imagine Julia was waving back. Kindred spirits stayed. They helped each other through it all. They understood that love was nothing less than a miracle, through all the days of all the years.

Thinking of the McIntosh who had stayed, Dianne closed her eyes. She had been hard on Alan today, as she was so often. He was still there though. She reminded herself that he had a date that night. She wondered what it meant that she felt jealous of someone she had never met, a woman named Bettina Gorey.