Follow the Stars Home (39 page)

The sun was still bright, and Tim's eyes were still watering. Cap pulled low, he just held his wheel and steered dead ahead. The sea was empty and endless. At least that was how it looked from the
Aphrodite's
bridge. Julia would be okay. She'd made it this far, she'd get through this thing and be fine.

Alan met the plane from Nova Scotia. A steady rain was falling, with low gray clouds blanketing all of southeastern New England. He stood on the tarmac by the ambulance, wind blowing his hair and jacket, staring at the sky.

When the airplane came into view, it teetered like a dragonfly. It looked vulnerable and fragile. The wind rocked it from side to side, and Alan's heart was in his throat as he watched the pilot land the small twin-engine at Providence's T. F. Green Airport.

Dianne and Julia were first off the plane. They stood at the top of the stairs, Dianne holding Julia in her arms, shielding her head against the weather. Two stewardesses were trying to urge them back, keep them inside. The EMT crew was ready, taking the stretcher out of the ambulance, but Alan ran up the steps ahead of them.

“You came,” Dianne said, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You're here,” Alan said, putting his arms around them both.

They formed a small triangle, their heads all touching, and Alan's throat was tight and his chest was constricted and his mind was full of prayers and thanks that they had made it back to him safely, that Julia hadn't died in Nova Scotia, that he was holding them both as close as he could.

“Beeee,” Julia said, her voice the barest squeak.

Taking his niece from Dianne, Alan looked into Julia's eyes. A change had occurred. Usually wide and observant, today her eyes were narrow and listless, sticky with sleep. Alan's heart lurched at the difference. The EMTs clambered up, ready with the stretcher, but Alan waved them back. Head down against the rain, cloaking Julia with his jacket, he followed Dianne down the plane stairs to the waiting ambulance.

Dianne waited while tests were done again. She had sat in Hawthorne Cottage Hospital many times, and she knew many of the nurses. They let her use the nurses' kitchen to make tea and instant soup; they insisted she help herself to chocolate pudding, Jell-O, and saltines. Dianne thought of her mother and Amy on the road, wishing they would get home soon. Reaching into her jeans pocket for a tissue, she pulled out pebbles from the black sand beach.

“How are you doing?” Alan asked, sitting beside her. He wore a white lab coat, his stethoscope around his neck.

“Okay,” Dianne said, clutching his hand. “Have you seen Julia?”

“She's having an MRI.”

“She had one in Halifax,” Dianne said, her voice strained. Julia had been through so many tests: blood tests, urine tests, EEG, EMG, MRI, bone scans, muscle tone tests. MRIs were so confining. She was
strapped to a board, expected not to move, and she didn't understand what the technicians were saying, when it would be all over, when she could see her mother.

“I know,” Alan said. “But we have to do our own. She'll be finished soon. How are you holding up?”

“Oh,
me
,” Dianne said, shaking her head. It hurt her to even think of complaining, with everything her daughter was going through. How could she mention a headache, sore back, pain in her heart, when Julia was fighting so hard? “I'm fine.”

Alan put his arm around her. Months before, she might have pulled away. She nestled against his chest, feeling his breath rise and fall and trying to let it calm her, take some of the fear away. She stared down at her lap, where he was holding her hand.

“What's wrong with her?” she whispered.

“We don't know exactly,” Alan said.

“We had such a wonderful time,” Dianne said, remembering their golden beach days, the magical boat ride, the Ferris wheel, the apple gardens, the sand castles they had all built. “Julia was so happy.”

“I got your postcard yesterday,” Alan said. “It sounds like it was an amazing trip.”

“Was it too much?” Dianne asked, holding his hand tighter. “Did I tire her out? Overstimulate her nervous system? Was the trip too strenuous, all that bumping on long roads?”

“No,” Alan said. “Don't do that to yourself.”

“The seizure happened so suddenly. There was no warning—”

“There never is, Dianne. It's not uncommon with Rett, several of her conditions. We're narrowing down the problem.”

“Just like always,” Dianne said, bowing her head. “Just like we've been doing all her life.”

Dianne knew there was no cure for Julia. She had neurological disorders, progressive in nature, getting worse as time went on. Growth was slowed, muscle tone reduced, eye contact diminished. Dianne had come to see Julia's hand wringing and waving as forms of expression. She knew that as Julia went downhill, the communication could stop entirely. Dianne had always expected that she would be prepared.

“I'm scared,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I know you are,” Alan said.

“What's going to happen?”

“We don't know. You're going to keep loving her,” he said. “I'm going to keep taking care of her. Other than that, we don't know.”

Dianne bit her lip. She nodded. Bells sounded in the hall, and the dinner cart rolled by.

“Thank God you're here,” she said in a voice so quiet she didn't think Alan could possibly hear her. “That we had you to come home to.”

“Thank God you came home,” he whispered back, holding her even more tightly. His body felt solid and strong. Dianne thought of all the times he had comforted her. She had taken it for years, taken his kindness for granted, but now all she felt was overflowing gratitude, and she knew she'd never take him for granted again. She didn't remember ever needing him as much as she did just then.

“How many does that make?” Lucinda asked.

“Let's see,” Amy said, squinting at the list. “Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia-two provinces. Then the actual border between Canada and the United States, that's three. Then Maine, that's four.”

They were counting borders, seeing how many
they would cross before arriving back home in Hawthorne. Lucinda wanted to keep them occupied, to avoid dwelling on what might be happening to Julia. She could barely stand it herself, and Amy was so nervous, she kept asking how many more miles.

“Is Julia okay?” Amy asked.

“I hope so,” Lucinda replied.

“What happened when she started shaking like that?”

“She had a seizure.”

“Is that like a fit?” Amy asked.

“Pretty much,” Lucinda said.

“I was afraid,” Amy said quietly, “when the blood started coming out of her mouth.”

“She was biting her tongue,” Lucinda said. “She couldn't help it.”

“I thought she was dying,” Amy said.

“Mmm,” Lucinda said, staring at the road.

“Will she, Lucinda? Will Julia die?”

“Someday, honey.”

“Someday we all will,” Amy said. “Like my dad and Emmett, like Dr. McIntosh's brother Neil. But especially when it's someone young, like Neil or Julia, it doesn't seem right. How can it happen?”

“God decides it's time,” Lucinda said. “He decides He needs that person in heaven more than we need them on earth.”

“Why does He need Julia?” Amy asked, watching the pine trees go by. “More than He needs me?”

“For one thing,” Lucinda said, “it's a mystery. For another, it hasn't happened yet. All we know is that Julia had a seizure and Alan wanted her to come home for tests. She's been through a lot more than this, honey. Julia is amazing.”

“I miss her,” Amy said, fraying a hole in the knee of her jeans.

“I know. This big old Winnebago seems empty without her and Dianne. But we have to focus on the positive things. We had a great vacation, all together, with wonderful memories to keep our whole lives.”

“We have our souvenirs.” Amy grinned, thinking about the withered apples they'd gathered from the old orchard, drying in the galley.

“Exactly,” Lucinda said. “And we're heading home to people we love. Dianne and Julia …”

“My mother,” Amy said.

“Alan.”

“I call him Dr. McIntosh.”

“Mmm,” Lucinda said.

“I didn't want vacation to end, but now I can't wait to get home,” Amy said.

“Neither can I,” Lucinda said.

The highway was easy to drive. There wasn't much traffic for a late summer day. Lucinda had joined an informal caravan of motor homes heading west on the Maine turnpike, driven mainly by old folks like herself. She spied a couple about her age. The man had white hair like Malachy Condon's, and that reminded her of the tape. She had stuck it somewhere …Feeling the visor overhead, she found it.

Lucinda plugged the cassette into the tape player. Silence stretched out for a long while, and then the music began.

“Dolphins,” Amy said.

Lucinda nodded, driving along.

The beautiful crooning filled the air. The dolphins' songs were ancient and pure, achingly sweet, full of loss and love. Listening, Lucinda thought of her family.

She imagined dolphins swimming together, who had been together since the beginning, who had lost babies and husbands and fathers. Her eyes filled with
tears, and as she brushed them away, she glanced over to see Amy doing the same thing. They were heading for home, where they belonged.

Dolphins were magical. Amy listened to their music and knew they were underwater angels. They swam and frolicked, leaping straight out of the sea with joy They wore cloaks of silver water that sparkled like diamonds when they hit the light. Dolphins lived in the ocean, but they breathed the air. Had they been people once upon a time?

Amy thought of her father. She had lost him so long ago. For many years she had had a hole in her heart, whenever she thought of how her life might have been if he were with her. Her mother would have stayed happy. There would have been no fights, no misery, no Buddy.

But most of all, Amy would have had her father. She could have grown up as his little girl, being guided and protected through life. He could have helped her to walk, taught her how to ride a bicycle, helped her to do her homework. Russell Brooks had been a good man.

Amy's father was with the dolphins now. She listened to them singing, tried to hear his voice. There was love in the sound. Had her father been a man of love? Had he hated to leave the dock every trip, wishing instead to stay home with his wife and baby? Amy had been that baby. She was his only daughter, his flesh and blood!

Lucinda had spoken of mystery. Amy knew what she meant. Why did life have so many questions and not enough answers? She tried with all her might to block out Amber's hateful words about her father. Amy wanted to trust her own heart, what it was
telling her. Could she love her father so much if he was anything less than wonderful?

Amy listened to the dolphins. Love …

What was it about love? She was heading home. It was almost time for school to start. What would it be like to go home? She loved her mother so much, but she felt shy about seeing her. Being with Lucinda and Dianne had spoiled her in some ways, for the kind of love that spoke out loud sought the light. She wanted a family that talked to each other. And deep down she was afraid that Buddy would come back.

Buddy had been her mother's boyfriend for a long time. The universe didn't hold many mysteries more confusing than that one. How could a woman love a man like that? As the road slipped by, Amy closed her eyes and tried to let the dolphins teach her all about it, so it would never happen to her.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Lucinda said.

“I want to be a dolphin,” Amy said.

“Or at least sing like one …”

“No,” Amy said. “Actually be one. Me and Julia. We could swim free, playing the whole time, go looking for our fathers.”

“Oh, honey,” Lucinda said.