True Blue (Hubbard's Point)

by Luanne Rice

  “For you, Mom,” Quinn called, spreading her mother's favorite white flowers on the gray waves. “So you know… so you're with us. Aunt Dana said you'dbe her matron of honor if you were here… that Daddy would walk her down the aisle…”

  Her engine hummed steadily. Seagulls and terns wheeled overhead. In the distance, the Wickland Rock Light spread its beam one last time, then went off for the day. The land along the Connecticut shoreline was coming into view: Firefly Beach to the west, Hubbard's Point to the east. But there were no mermaids to be seen.

  With one last glance at the path of white flowers, borne westward by the current, Quinn turned her boat around and headed back toward shore. She had lobsters to deliver; she was providing the wedding feast. As she approached the breakwater, she happened to glance up the hill, toward her house.

  Two yards away, to the right, was Rumer's house. Movement caught her eye—for a second she was startled, remembering Mrs. Larkin's unicorn. But whatever it was disappeared into the fog. Thunder rumbled down the coast, and lightning flashed. Twisting the throttle, Quinn opened it up and headed into the shelter of home.

  “

  When it rains on a wedding day, the marriage will be happy and long,” Sixtus Larkin said, standing under the tent in his morning coat.

  “Marvelous,” Augusta Renwick said, resplendent in lilac silk. She was Sam's brother's mother-in-law. Sam loved her; she treated him like a son. Her white hair was brushed and flowing, sprigged with actual lilacs. “Then Sam and Dana will be together till the end of time.”

  “This isn't rain—it's a biblical deluge,” Annabelle McCray guffawed, her accent as southern as her picture hat. “I'm expecting a plague of locusts at any moment.”

  “The beauty, the absolute wealth of emotion, reminds me of the wedding scene in The Marriage of Figaro” Winnie Hubbard said, waving her arm as if to conjure the stage set at Milan's La Scala opera house. She wore Egyptian garb—an authentic burnoose, along with the Pharoah's Cat—in honor of the missing Elizabeth Randall, to please her son, Michael. A former opera star, she later helped to found a music school in Hartford. Although she taught only private students now, she retained her diva regality.

  “Is there ever a time you simply live life?” Augusta asked. “And not relate it to some opera you were in once?”

  “Rarely, darling,” Winnie said, sipping champagne.

  “Tell me about it,” Annabelle said. “I'm her ever-loving neighbor….”

  “As am I,” said Hecate Frost, dressed all in black as usual, her black cape lined with iridescent purple silk. “Winnie's singing is the music of our spirits. For better or worse, she sings the songs of our lives. My best visions come when she's singing arias from Puccini.”

  “Oh, gawd,” Annabelle said. “Enough about your visions, Hecate. The children might believe you're a witch, but don't expect us to—”

  “She is a witch,” Winnie said, embracing Hecate, who had gone quite pale. “She and I were children here together, and she's had second sight since childhood. Annabelle, you're a newcomer.”

  “Second sight,” Annabelle snorted.

  “Only at Hubbard's Point would someone who's been here thirty-five years be considered a newcomer,” Sixtus said, patting Annabelle on the back. “But that you are, Annie. A young newcomer, wet behind the years. You didn't grow up with Hecky's visions like Clarissa and Winnie”

  Weddings made Sixtus uncomfortable. He couldn't help thinking of Zee's wedding day, of the cold, empty feeling he'd had in his chest. Walking out the door, on his way to the church, he had thought of Rumer, faraway at vet school, unwilling to come home.

  His two daughters, closer than anything, torn apart by the boy next door. Sixtus had had moments of wanting to rip Zeb Mayhew apart—-just to show him what it was like.

  Sighing, Sixtus tried to focus on today's wedding instead of that old business. What was done was done. Elizabeth and Zeb were divorced now; Elizabeth had a very successful film career. Rumer was a vet—the best in town. There she was, across the crowd, laughing with Edward McCabe. Sixtus watched them for a moment, wondering whether Edward thought he was making her happy.

  Rumer had learned to hide things very well. After all those years of wearing her heart on her sleeve for Zeb, she had figured out how to bury the real stuff quite deep. There it was: her radiant smile. No one could chase the dark clouds like Rumer when she turned it on. She wore a blue sleeveless dress, her mother's lighthouse pin near the collar. Her sun-lightened hair was prettily cut; it slanted against her fine cheekbones. Her brilliant laughter came floating across the crowd. Anyone would think she was having the time of her life.

  The trick, Sixtus thought, was in noticing her eyes. His arthritis was hurting today, so he leaned on his cane, giving his aching bones a rest, watching his daughter. All of Rumer's secrets lived in her eyes. Her laughter, her smile, were just two parts of the story; the secret code, however, was in her gaze. His mysterious child…

  Those blue eyes were quite anxious today, Sixtus thought. Surprisingly so, considering how many old friends were surrounding her. All her childhood buddies, her beach pals, her boyfriend the gentleman farmer, the Grayson kids she loved like nieces: all present. But now, watching Rumer's gaze slide slowly, surreptitiously, over Edward's left shoulder, Sixtus broke the code.

  She was looking at Zeb.

  He stood alone, sipping from a drink. With so many people he hadn't seen in all these years, what was he doing over there, by himself, in the corner?

  Jesus, Sixtus thought: He's looking back at Rumer.

  Rumer scowled and returned her attention to Edward. Zeb's eyes didn't waver. They didn't leave Rumer for one second.

  “Oh, for Christ's sake,” Sixtus said out loud, then limped over to the bar for a refill of his Jameson's. His knotted hands gripped the glass as his gaze slid down the yards to his boat on her cradle behind the garage.

  Seeing the sailboat calmed the pounding of his heart. That was his lifeline, his hope, his guardian angel right now. Sailing on the Clarissa, Sixtus was pain free and moved as easily as a young man. Rumer didn't have to worry about him when he was on the water, sailing away. She could live her own life, pay attention to her own course instead of looking after her arthritic old father.

  And God knew her life and course needed paying attention to.

  “Another, please,” Sixtus said to the young bartender, sliding his glass over.

  “HI, THERE.”

  Surprised, Rumer turned around. Zeb was standing there, tall and alert, almost aggressively smiling down at her and Edward. He wore a blue blazer and tie; even after all these years, it jarred to see him so dressed up here at the beach.

  “Hello,” Rumer said, her spine stiffening. Silence filled the air, stretching out like a tight rubber band.

  “Aren't you going to introduce us?” Zeb asked.

  Edward, always correct, stuck out his hand and shook Zeb's. “I'm Edward McCabe.”

  “Zebulon Mayhew.”

  “Ah…”

  Rumer blushed, glancing up at Edward. Had he actually said that? From the satisfied look in Zeb's eyes, she could see that Edward indeed had, and that Zeb had picked up on it. Now Zeb would know that she'd talked about him.

  “What's Rumer been saying about me?” Zeb asked, smiling ferociously.

  Rumer nearly exploded—what a conceited jerk!

  “What do you think, Mayhew?” she asked. “That I sit around telling everyone about your exploits in space? Or about our childhoods? They seem awfully long ago, don't they?”

  “Not to me,” Zeb said, grinning. “Being here at Hubbard's Point, I feel as if it was yesterday. You and me up on the roof, counting the shooting stars… that's what drove me to the space program. You know, Edward”—he smiled, tilting his head—”it's Edward, right? Not Ed…”

  “It's Edward,” Edward said.

  “I'm sorry, Edward” Zeb said, smiling and sounding genuine. Still, Rumer's antennae were up, and her heart beat faster.


  “All that early inspiration, hanging out with Rumer on the roof, made me realize that no career could keep me on earth. I was going to blast off as soon as I could. Honestly, I have Rumer to thank for that.”

  “Your future sister-in-law,” Edward said, sliding his arm around Rumer's shoulders.

  “Yep,” Zeb said, sounding odd, but Rumer couldn't read his eyes.

  Music had been playing, but suddenly it got louder. The wedding was about to start. Zeb's eyes held Rumer's. She had a crackling sensation in her chest, as if she'd just been struck by lightning. Edward squeezed her hand, holding her still. Very slowly, Zeb's gaze shifted toward Edward.

  Zeb's fix on Edward had a definite tone, purpose— Rumer recognized it from the world of animals. She had last seen such intensity in the eyes of a bull mastiff staring through the bars at an injured ferret. The dog had the look of a hunter on the scent, of a wild animal who had spotted his prey.

  Edward straightened his rep tie, adjusted the lapels of his blue blazer, and slid his arm back around Rumer's shoulders. She felt prickles on the nape of her neck, the way she had one time years ago, when doing research near Takkakaw Falls in British Columbia—turning around, she had spied a grizzly bear watching her from across the Yoho River.

  The wedding music grew louder, but with Zeb standing right behind her, watching, Rumer could hardly hear it over her own heartbeat.

  The wedding itself went off without a hitch. The girls, Quinn and Allie, walked their aunt from the house under a huge blue-and-white-striped umbrella to the tent. All three were barefoot; because the ground was so wet, it had already ruined the girls’ shoes.

  Dana's cream-colored gown glowed in the storm light. Winnie Hubbard whispered loudly that wedding planner May Cartier's work should be ensconced in the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art post haste. Sitting beside her, Zeb nodded gravely, trying to forget how Rumer was leaning her head against Edward's shoulder.

  Look somewhere else, idiot, he told himself. Like, watch the wedding.

  Sam and his best man—his brother, Joe—stood together at the makeshift altar. Sailing had brought Sam and Dana together, so the tent was decorated with bright spinnakers, signal flags, charts, and candles stuck in brass fittings. The flowers Quinn and Allie had picked from the yards on the Point were everywhere.

  Rumer's arms were tan. Her sleevless blue dress showed them off to really good advantage—her shoulders looked strong but slim. Zeb noticed her toned biceps, the thin silver bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Doing it again, he realized, forcing himself to pay attention to the nuptials.

  Reverend Peter Goodspeed took his place at the altar. He was married to Clea Renwick, Augusta's middle daughter and already practically family to Sam. Sam, grinning, greeted his bride and her daughters. He took a vow to love and protect Quinn and Allie until the day he died, and when Peter then asked “Who gives this woman in matrimony?” the two girls, Quinn and Allie, spoke up solemnly, as if it were the question of their lifetime: “We do!”

  Zeb tried to listen. There was a reading from A Gift from the Sea: “When you love someone, you don't love them the same way all the time…” The language was beautiful; it rolled over and past Zeb, who hardly heard it at all.

  He remembered his own wedding, where Zee—onstage, as if the wedding were her biggest role—had recited lines written for her by a young and brilliant playwright. Although she had not cried, Zeb had felt the tears welling up, his heart pounding out of his chest, knowing that the words were supposed to be about love and realizing at that moment that he didn't love the woman he was saying them to.

  Glancing over now, Rumer saw him watching her and scowled. He felt a trembling inside, as if Hubbard's Point had just experienced a small earthquake. In spite of himself, he smiled. In fact, the deeper her scowl became, the more intense the quake felt.

  The scowl increased, and she looked away. Edward seemed to have gotten the picture. He looked at Rumer and saw the tears. Then he glanced over at Zeb, alarm written on his patrician face. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a white square—a linen handkerchief that Zeb had no doubt was monogrammed, hand-stitched, and slightly starched—and dabbed at her eyes.

  Rumer nodded her thanks, took the handkerchief out of his hand, and gave her nose a loud blow. Half the people at the wedding jumped. Edward, looking dismayed, leaned away from her.

  Zeb just watched her, grinning.

  Rumer held Edward's soaking wet handkerchief, wadded up in her right hand. She wished it were a rock; she'd throw it at Zeb's head. What was he thinking, baiting her from across the crowd?

  She had just been having a moment: a sentimental summer wedding, gathered-together moment. Then she'd caught Zeb staring at her—grinning!—ruining the whole thing.

  The music was beautiful: Kate Wolf's “Give Yourself to Love,” and Bonnie Raitt's “Feels Like Home.” Reverend Goodspeed nodded to the girls, who picked up white wicker baskets filled with rose petals and passed them around the congregation.

  “Each of you take a handful,” the minister directed. “Hold them over your heart and imbue them with your blessings and good wishes.

  “Right offshore here,” Reverend Goodspeed continued, “within sight of this very tent—two shipwrecks. Beautiful people who meant very, very much to the celebrants here today. Elisabeth Randall and Nathaniel Thorn, Mark and Lily Grayson…”

  Zeb heard Quinn take a big breath, saw Allie slide her hand into her sister's and squeeze tight. “Those good people hit a storm—it might have been a clear night, there might have been moonlight, but they hit the biggest storm of their lives.” Zeb's stomach dropped, thinking of his last flight, and again his gaze swept over to Rumer.

  “We all reach that point,” Reverend Goodspeed said. “And what I want to say…” He slid a gaze at Quinn, and she gave him a big smile and nodded.

  “What I want to say,” he continued, “is that I encourage you to love as if you're riding through the storm of the century. You surf the waves, ride the crests, sail through moonlit waters with ice in your rigging… but you love each other as you go. You love each other as if every day is the only day….”

  Reverend Goodspeed smiled, nodding to Sam and Dana as they slid the rings onto each other's fingers. “And so… by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  And their friends, neighbors, relatives, and children threw the rose petals they had blessed with their hearts, showering the newly married couple with all the love Hubbard's Point had to offer.

  Edward leaned down, gave Rumer a soft kiss on her lips.

  A cool breeze touched the back of her neck, and she knew someone else was watching her.

  “Good wedding,” Quinn said, standing by the buffet table to make sure everyone got enough lobster.

  “Except for the shipwreck part,” Michael said, eating shrimp from a giant clamshell.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mentioning wrecks at a wedding, when we all know the odds are in favor of divorce.”

  “Not my aunt and Sam,” Quinn said. “Besides, weren't you listening? The reverend was talking about storms, not really shipwrecks. He said storms are good—they hold a lot of love and passion.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Michael said.

  “You patronizing me?”

  “Just this,” Michael said. “What do you think you know about love and passion? No offense, but the Connecticut suburbs aren't known for that kind—”

  “You are so pathetic,” she said. “Hubbard's Point isn't the ‘Connecticut suburbs.’ It's magical here. Think I'm kidding? I'm not. We have ghosts, mermaids, unicorns…” At the sight of his expression, she nodded. “You've seen something, haven't you?”

  “No.”

  “Yep, you have. You're not sure, and you don't want sound stupid, so you won't ask. But you've had avisitation…”

  Staring up at him, Quinn felt her heart beating in a funny way. He had washed and brushed his l
ong hair; it looked handsome and soft. His eyes were dark green— the color of Winnie's cove, lined with rocks and seaweed.

  “What did you see?” she asked, the words jumping out before she could stop them.

  “A shadow, that's all,” he said. “It was in the side yard… something in the fog. Or maybe just the fog itself.”

  “This is Hubbard's Point, Michael. It wasn't just the fog.”

  As he turned away to get some more shrimp, Quinn realized that was the first time she'd said his name. Michael. It felt hard in the middle, gentle at the end. It made her think of a stone wall, flowing over hills and meadows, through woods, keeping things in, keeping things out, moss-covered rocks of granite piled on top of each other, solid in one way, fluid in another… for some reason, his name made her think of a stone wall.

  Rumer and Edward leaned against the tent pole, watching Winnie prepare to sing. Quinn and Allie had hung garlands of flowers overhead, and they'd made wind chimes from shells and driftwood gathered from the tidal pools. Wind and the sound of crashing waves filled the tent with sea music.

  “You seem awfully uncomfortable,” Edward said.

  “No, I'm fine.”

  “It's having Zeb here, isn't it?”

  “Forget Zeb,” she said. “Let's just enjoy the wed-ding.”

  “Your father doesn't seem very friendly today,” he said.

  “Oh, he's just thrilled to be the center of all those women. They love him.”

  Edward nodded, satisfied. “Would you like something from the bar?” he asked. “I think I'll get a refill.”

  “I'm okay,” Rumer said, tapping her glass.

  The minute he walked away, Zeb came over to stand with her. Heat spread from her chest up her neck, into her face, and suddenly the glass felt awkward in her hands.

  “Here we are,” Zeb said.

  “What a brilliant observation,” she said.

  “Do you think so?” he asked. “See, to me, it's no mean feat—being here.”