Follow the Stars Home (26 page)

“Gaaa,” Julia said.

“Good bird, good humanoid,” Amber said. “Now say, ‘Take me to your leader….’” She broke into laughter.

Leaping up, Amy shoved her. She slapped Amber's face so hard, it sounded like thunder cracking. “Get out,” Amy said. “Get out and never come back.”

“You stupid bitch,” Amber yelled, rubbing her face. “You're trash, you know that? Worthless shit. You think we don't know about the big scene at the trailer park?”

“I don't live in a trailer park!” Amy screamed.

“You might as well. It's just as much of a dump. Your mother never gets out of bed, she's so lazy. She's like an old lady in a nursing home, lying in her stinky sheets. Ever wonder why I stopped visiting you?”

“No,” Amy screeched, shaking. “I was too busy being glad!”

“Yeah, well, it's because your house smells like shit. Everyone says so. Everyone! Like your mother took a big crap in bed and she's just rolling around in it. No wonder you like it over here. It smells the same way.”

“Get out,” Amy said, crying and breathless.

“The smell and your fathers. Two things you and retard-girl have in common …” Amber said.

“What about my father?” Amy asked. Just the thought of him gave her strength, helped her to swallow a sob.

“Her father walked out,” Amber said, flicking her thumb at Julia. “My parents treat me like an adult, and they tell me shit you're too big a baby to hear. Her father screwed her mother and went for a nice, long boat ride before he even saw the kid's retarded face. Smart man.
Your
father, on the other hand—”

“He drowned,” Amy said.

“I know,” Amber said.

Amber smirked, and Amy felt her heart starting to pound again. “You know
why
he drowned?”

“Don't, Amber,” Amy said.

“He was drunk, just like Buddy. He had a nice big bottle of booze in his boat, and he drank it all down. With you for a daughter, who could blame him? Doesn't that make sense? Lazy mother, drunk father, and you're just piss-poor trash.”

Amy rushed at Amber so fast she knocked her down. She was sobbing too hard to see. Her chest was a lump of burning rage, hard and hot, scorching her blood. Julia was crying. Amy could hear the fear and pain in her friend's voice. She pictured her wonderful father going down with his ship, and she wanted to pound the smugness out of Amber's evil voice.

Suddenly she felt Dianne's arms embrace her from behind.

“Amy, stop,” Dianne was saying. “Stop, honey.”

Amy let herself be pulled up. She threw herself into Dianne's arms, sobbing with despair. Dianne held her tight for a few moments, but Amy couldn't stop thinking about Julia, the things Amber had said. Trying to stop crying, she eased herself out of Dianne's arms. Breathing hard, she bent down to Julia. They both had tears on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Dianne was asking Amber, offering a hand to help her up.

“No!” Amber shrieked. “She knocked me down! She just charged at me like a maniac, and she—”

“Well,” Dianne said, brushing Amber off. “Maybe someday you'll be smart enough to realize that spreading lies about people's fathers isn't very good for your health.”

“You're not …” Amber stammered, backing toward the door. “You're not supposed to defend her. You're the adult! Didn't you see what she did? See this?” Her arm snapped up, and she showed Dianne how she'd skinned her elbow hitting the floor.

“Yes, I see it,” Dianne said evenly with the iciest voice Amy had ever heard her use. “And I feel very sorry for you.”

The marsh was dark gold. Fire-rimmed clouds raced across the setting sun. Ospreys began their twilight hunt, flying westward over the reeds. Martha told Alan that Dianne had called, something about a fight between Amy and one of the neighborhood kids, and he drove over as soon as he saw his last patient. Walking into the studio, he saw Dianne and the girls sitting together at the window.

“She was so mean,” Amy said.

“She was,” Dianne said.

“What happened?” Alan asked, standing still while they told him. He felt hot with anger, hearing the details, but he tried to remain professionally detached. Amber DeGray had been his patient since birth; he had once saved her brother from choking on a cotton ball.

“She said all that?” he asked.

“And she was
smiling”
Amy said. “And
laughing
as if she thought it was one big joke.”

“Amy wiped the smile right off her face,” Dianne said deadpan, her eyes meeting Alan's. Their gazes held for a minute, and he felt the heat of her presence.

“My father wasn't drunk …” Amy whispered, starting to cry again. “He was
nothing
like Buddy.”

They were sitting on the window seat, drinking lemonade. Dianne had her arm around Amy on one side and around Julia on the other. Both were shuddering with the aftermath of sobs, and Alan could see Dianne tighten her grip on Amy.

“I know he wasn't,” Dianne said.

“He just wouldn't do that.”

“Your dad was a good fisherman,” Alan said, sitting on a pile of lumber. “I know that from Tim. And I never heard anything about his boat sinking being his fault. There was a big storm. Several boats up and down the East Coast were lost that day.”

“I didn't know him well,” Dianne said. “Tim knew a lot of fishermen, but I didn't go out with them much. But from what I heard, your father was a good man.”

Hearing Dianne say his brother's name made Alan's chest ache. He breathed hard and low.

“Russell Brooks,” Amy said, drawing in a knifelike breath.

“A good man,” Dianne repeated.

Amy let out another shuddering exhalation. “Amber lied,” Amy said. “She just lied.”

“Some people do,” Dianne said.

“Sad to say,” Alan said.

“And she said,” Amy said, lowering her voice, leaning around Dianne to make sure Julia wouldn't hear, “such mean things about Julia.”

“Some people do that too,” Dianne said.

“About how she moves,” Amy said. “And how her body looks.”

Dianne closed her eyes, and Alan watched her trail her fingers across the top of Julia's head. Her hair was so silky and fine. Her bones were so fragile; she was such a tiny girl. Dianne drew Julia against her body, knowing no mother had ever loved a baby more.

“Why?” Amy asked.

“You mean why did Amber say those things?” Dianne asked.

Amy shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was trembling. “No. I mean why is Julia like she is?”

“She had birth defects,” Alan said. “She was born this way.”

“But why?” Amy asked. “It makes it so easy for people to be mean to her. To say bad things, to leave her alone. I don't want Julia to be hurt ever, by anyone.”

“I know,” Alan said, taking Amy's hand.

“You know,” Dianne said, “I don't think she can. I don't think she
can
be hurt that way.” Her voice sounded soft and low. She had taken her right arm from around Amy's shoulders and she was holding Julia in a tender embrace.

Julia closed her eyes. Her mother drew her closer. Her face was pale, and her lips began to move in a sucking manner.

“I used to think she could,” Dianne went on, gently stroking her daughter's hair. “By the things people say, or the way they'd look at her. But I was wrong. I wasn't thinking straight.”

“How are you thinking now?” Alan asked.

“Clearer,” Dianne said, her eyes flying open. They were bright blue, and her smile was suddenly radiant. “Amy helps me so much. Amy is Julia's good friend. She likes Julia for who she is….”

“I love Julia,” Amy corrected Dianne softly.

“My mother reads the Bible every morning,” Dianne said. “She's told me a million times: ‘Man sees the appearance, but the Lord looks into the heart.' From Samuel. And Amy's helping me get it,” Dianne said, still rocking Julia.

“I am?” Amy asked, her voice stretched and thin.

“Oh, yes,” Dianne said, swallowing. “You are.”

Falling asleep, Julia drew into the fetal position. Alan knew it was a symptom of Rett syndrome, but he imagined her wanting to climb back into her mother's womb, and he felt his throat tighten. He felt overwhelmed with love for them all. Amy leaned against Dianne from the other side. The sun had set, and the smells of Lucinda's cooking had begun to drift across the yard.

The four of them sat quietly, and after a while Dianne's cat climbed out of her basket. The ways of cats held no magic for the pediatrician, but Alan had never seen this animal do that before: She was shy and reclusive. Slinking off the shelf, she cast a long, cautious look in Alan's direction.

“She's making sure you're a safe person,” Amy whispered.

“A friend,” Dianne said.

“I'm a friend,” Alan said, staring into Dianne's eyes.

They watched the cat circle the bed. She settled down finally, making herself as compact as possible, the size of a toaster, on the floor near the head of the bed. Staring at the gap between the bedspread and the floor, she seemed to be waiting, watching for something. Alan's heart beat faster. He didn't know why, but suddenly he knew that he was waiting for the same thing.

In many ways, it was the summer Dianne had dreamed of. The days were long and sweet, full of peace and closeness. One morning she rowed her mother, Amy, and Julia across the marsh. They hauled the dinghy onto the sand, then set the small anchor deep in the coarse beach grass and hiked across the dune to the lighthouse beach.

The surf was higher than on the marsh side, in the lee of the sand hill. A line of breakers rolled in, crested, folded into itself, and rolled in again. Dianne set up the umbrella while Lucinda spread the blanket and opened the beach chairs. Amy worried that she looked heavy in her navy blue tank suit, and Lucinda told her she was svelte and alluring. Amy asked for definitions.

Dianne carried Julia down to the water. The sand was wet and cool, with more pebbles than the fine sand up higher. Smoothing on sunscreen, Dianne felt her daughter's soft skin. Dianne dug out a little seat for her in the wet sand. She propped her up and started building a sand castle.

“Can I help?” Amy asked.

“Sure,” Dianne said.

They worked at opposite ends of the castle, making it fantastic and elaborate. Dianne used her hands to shape the walls and turrets while Amy used a blue plastic pail to build parapets and ramparts. They scooped up handfuls of dripping sand, drizzled lacy zigzags along the ledges. Dianne made flags from bits of dry brown and green seaweed. They pressed crushed mussel shells, dark-blue sides down, into the sand so the castle glistened with iridescence. Seaglass framed the windows.

“It's beautiful,” Amy said, sitting on her heels.

“Julia's castle,” Dianne said, helping Julia to add the finishing touch: a piece of sea-silvered driftwood for the drawbridge.

“Is this how you feel when you build a playhouse?” Amy asked.

“Well,” Dianne said, smiling. “Sort of.” She loved carpentry, the fact her houses would be enjoyed by youngsters, and the arrival of a check. Sand castles were like summer days: sweet, fleeting, washed away by the sea. The only payment was the joy in building them, and that was greater than any check.

“You like working?”

“I love working,” Dianne said.

“Hmm,” Amy said, and she instantly fell silent.

Dianne knew she was thinking of her mother. Amy's stay with the Robbinses had been extended. Dianne had offered through Alan, and after initial protests, Tess Brooks had agreed.

Amber's mother had called to complain about Amy pushing her. A policeman had come to the house. Marla Arden said children learned violence from somewhere, and the CWS was not inclined to send her back to a dangerous environment without a thorough
investigation. Amy's file was growing thicker, and Amy seemed to feel at times that her life was hopeless.