Follow the Stars Home (42 page)

“I'm alive,” Amy said.

“And wonderful,” her mother said. “I'm so glad you like school this year.”

“I do,” Amy said. “I want to get A's this year. I want to write stories in English. I want to learn every
myth.” She didn't want her life to be like the myths though. She didn't want her mother to be like Artemis.

“I'm glad you're home with me.”

“Me too,” Amy said, feeling guilty because it was both the truth and a lie.

“You are?” her mother asked, the worry line between her eyebrows sharp and deep. “You're glad to be here?”

Amy took a deep breath. She thought of her other home, the one with Dianne and Julia, and her throat ached. She was glad to know she could go there anytime she wanted, but she belonged here. This was where she wanted to be.

“Yes. And I'm glad the curtains are open,” Amy said.

One evening in early October, when the leaves had started to turn yellow and russet, Dianne asked her mother to look after Julia. She put on brown velvet pants and a rust silk shirt and walked out to her truck. A half moon hung in the sky behind mountains of purple clouds. The wind blew, and the cloud mountains were tinged with gold fire.

Driving into Hawthorne, Dianne felt calm. She took her time, noticing everything. Because it was chilly, she was wearing a thick velvet shawl, but she had the truck windows open. She heard the marsh grasses rubbing together, the waves cresting on Landsdowne Shoal. The world seemed sensual and mysterious, and tonight Dianne felt like part of it.

Since returning from Canada, she had been completely absorbed in Julia's care. Recovery from the seizure was slow, but Dianne was patient. She had trusted she would know when Julia was well enough
to leave her with Lucinda for an evening, and tonight was the night.

When she reached the town, her heart began to beat a little faster. At the same time, she drove more slowly. She wanted to take her time. She had the sense of doing the absolutely right thing. She had made a wish during the summer, and she had taken her time, letting it come true. Her life was changing tonight, and she wanted to remember every detail: the maples red and yellow in the streetlights, pumpkins on front porches, the sharp chill in the night air.

Alan's house was dark. For a minute she thought he wasn't home. But his Volvo was parked in the side yard. Lights were on in the kitchen, around back. The oak tree where the birdhouse had hung stood in the yard, its branches spreading overhead, the brown leaves rustling in the wind.

Dianne rang the bell. It took a few seconds, but then she heard his footsteps. They came slowly through the house, getting louder. He opened the door wearing chinos and a loose white shirt. With the light at his back, it was hard to see his expression. Dianne registered surprise at first, but then he took her hand and she forgot to pay attention.

“Hi,” he said.

“I brought this back to you,” she said, handing him the birdhouse. “It fell out of the tree. You probably didn't notice—”

“I noticed,” he said.

Instead of turning on the lights, he led her into the bright kitchen. He had just finished his dinner and had been doing the dishes. Standing by the counter, he looked at the birdhouse. Dianne had rubbed the weathered wood with a cloth, polished it to a soft silver. She had replaced the rusty hinge, attached a new hook and eye. Using a fine birch twig, she had
restored the perch. She had sanded the entry hole, smoothed the wood so the birds wouldn't catch their feathers going in.

“I made it for bluebirds,” she said.

“I'm not sure I ever saw a bluebird use it,” he said.

“There was a nest inside,” she said. “With eggs. I checked the bird book. I think they belonged to English sparrows.”

“Where's it now?” he asked, lifting up the roof. “The nest?”

“In my studio,” she said. “I kept it.”

Now her pulse was racing faster. She felt very calm and incredibly excited. The cool air made her skin tingle. The way Alan looked at her told her he was feeling it too. His hazel eyes were gold-green, expectant. She stepped closer, knowing what she wanted. After all this time she finally knew.

“I wanted to see you tonight,” she began.

“I'm glad,” he said.

“Are you surprised?”

“I should be,” he said after a moment. “But I'm not.”

Dianne nodded. He set the birdhouse on the counter, and he put his arms around her. She felt their toes touching. Gently he pushed her hair back from her face. It had grown long during the summer, and it was light blond from all those days in the sun. Brushing every strand back, as if he wanted to see her face, as if more than anything he wanted to look into her eyes, he held her so tight.

“I've waited for you,” he whispered. “Since the day I met you.”

Dianne tried to breathe. She thought of Tim once again, but this time she pushed him away. Dianne had come to Alan McIntosh after twelve years of fighting him.

“What made you come tonight?” he asked.

“I knew I had to,” she said. “Ever since we got back from Canada. On Prince Edward Island, I thought about you all the time. I thought about the walk we took….”

“Down by the harbor,” he said. “To see your house.”

“My house.” She smiled, thinking that her father would be happy to hear that. “Yes, I thought about that. How I've never shown it to anyone else. How happy I felt to be with you.”

“It was a great night,” Alan said.

“How we danced,” Dianne said. “Surrounded by library books.”

Alan waited. Dianne stared into his eyes, knowing that no man had ever looked at her like this before.

“And how we kissed …” Dianne whispered.

Alan touched her cheek. He watched her for a few seconds as if he were giving her a last chance to pull back. She wasn't about to, and in fact she stood on her toes to meet him halfway. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into an embrace that seemed to surround her body with his, and he kissed her.

Somewhere in Alan's house there was a window open, because a breeze blew through the kitchen and made Dianne shiver and moan. She pressed her body closer to Alan's. He was protective and big, towering over her, but Dianne had the sense, deep inside, of wanting to shelter him.

Kissing him, she saw stars and constellations, but from the ends of her toes she felt the fiery desire of wanting to keep this man in safety: to do for Alan McIntosh what he had done for her and Julia all these years.

For every time when Dianne had raged, when she
had wept over his brother, when she had pushed Alan away. For every hour he had sat by her side, holding her hand while they waited for Julia to come back from tests or surgery or physical therapy. For every minute he had listened to Julia's heart, rubbed her cramped and twisted muscles, never doubted that she needed hugs and affection as much as any other little child. For all those things Alan McIntosh had done, Dianne stopped kissing him and leaned back in his arms.

She stared at him without looking away, feeling so fierce in her heart that she could barely speak or move. When she opened her mouth, she knew exactly what she was going to say; she just couldn't imagine how it had taken her so long to get there.

“I love you, Alan,” she said. She had never said those words to him before, not even as a sister-in-law or a friend.

“I've always loved you, Dianne.”

“I don't know why,” she whispered, holding his hands tightly, pressed between both of their chests.

“Don't even ask, then,” Alan said. “I don't.”

“The way I've acted …”

“You've acted fine,” he said.

“I came over tonight because …” Dianne said, her voice breaking.

Alan seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her to go on.

“I wanted to be with you,” she said.

Alan nodded. He kissed her forehead, her eyebrows, the tip of her nose. His glasses were crooked, and she reached up to straighten them. As she did, she smoothed his brown, wavy hair behind his ears. She could hear the words she had just said hanging in the air, and she couldn't imagine what to do next.

Alan could.

Lifting her into his arms as easily as he had ever
picked up Julia, he carried her down the hallway through his house, through the rooms Dianne remembered from many years ago, and he carried her up the stairs. They went down the dark hallway, into a bedroom at the far end.

His bedroom was spare. A brass bed, an oak writing table, a braided rug, handmade by Dorothea, on the floor. Dianne knew the table had been Malachy's-he had given it to Alan when he'd moved from his house to the tugboat. She already knew Alan's things so well, and she felt moved by their history. When Alan laid her down on the white coverlet, she remembered that it had once covered his grandmother's bed in Nantucket.

Moonlight slanted through the window. It cast lavender shadows around the room. Alan lay beside her, touching her face so tenderly, as if he couldn't believe she was actually there. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and they stared at each other for a long time without smiling or blinking or saying a word.

He brought his mouth to hers, and they kissed. Dianne caught her breath, their lips parting as they held each other tight, grasping as if they could save each other from falling off a cliff. Dianne felt shy at first, feeling him touch the lines of her body. She hadn't been touched in so long.

“It's okay,” he said, sensing her unease. “We'll go as slowly and easily as you like.”

“It's been …” she began. “I've never …” She didn't know what to say. It's so easy to forget your body when you're never touched. She was strong, maybe a little too skinny. Would he think she was ugly, unattractive?

“Just know I love you,” he said, stroking her back, gazing into her eyes. “Let it start from that.”

Dianne nodded. She kissed him gently, her eyes open, willing herself to trust. This was so different from times with Tim-she'd felt crazy, wild, out of control then. Right now she was being guided by love, by her own desires, by the knowledge that Alan would never hurt her.

Alan kissed her neck, the top of her shoulder. Dianne shivered, holding his hand, feeling the sensations all through her body. “Just know I love you …” he had said. She thought of those words, and she
felt
them: They unlocked something inside her, and it all came pouring out.

“Alan,” she said, reaching for his arms. His body was strong and hot. She wanted him so badly now, and she didn't even know where to start. Her hands trembled as she felt his muscles, running her fingers down his chest. Twelve years of passion had been stored inside her, and she kissed him hungrily.

They unbuttoned each other's shirts, reaching inside to hold each other close, skin to skin, feeling their hearts beating hard. As Alan slid his hand between the velvet of her trousers and the silk of her panties, Dianne felt so frantic, she couldn't breathe. She trembled, reaching for his zipper.

He helped her out, guiding her hand, slowing her down. She wanted him inside her that second, with no time to wait or explore or take their time, but he trailed her body with kisses, very slowly, making her be patient. Dianne writhed, feeling his hot lips against her skin.

Alan's body was strong and firm, and with his pants off she felt the muscles of his thighs straining against the fabric of his shorts. She felt so conscious of their differences: Her legs were so smooth and his were so hairy, her breasts were so full and his chest was so hard. He kissed her everywhere with tenderness
and love, making her arch her back and moan out loud.

“I can't wait,” she said.

“Then you don't have to,” he whispered.

He cradled her with his arms, rising above her. She reached up to hug him, feeling the heat of his back with her hands, hungrily opening her mouth as he leaned down to kiss her. She guided him inside her, her legs already shaking. Trembling, she tried to lie still, but she couldn't.

“Dianne,” he said.

“I can't believe …” she said, stars flashing behind her eyes. She grasped his body, feeling their heat as he moved inside her. They belonged together. She had never felt so right in her entire life. She had lived a lifetime for this moment, holding this man, hearing him say her name over and over. She couldn't believe it was finally happening, and neither could Alan.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, please …”

“Always, Dianne,” he said, his mouth hot and wet against the crook of her neck. “We'll always be together.”

“Alan,” she said, clutching him for all she was worth.

They came together, Dianne sobbing with an emotion she had never known existed. It was joy, sorrow, love, and wonder, nameless and incredible, simple and complicated, all at the same time. Tears were flowing down her neck, into the pillow under her head. Alan was rocking her, telling her he loved her, that he'd never leave her, that this was how it was meant to be.