True Blue (Hubbard's Point)

by Luanne Rice

  “You mean because you're such a renowned inter-galactic traveler?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I mean, instead oihere, per se, we could—for example—be in a black hole. You know about those?”

  “Only from what I read,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I've been in one,” he said, looking up at the sky. “It's not fun, let me tell you.”

  “No?” she asked, watching Edward at the bar.

  “Nah. It's a collapsed star, for one thing. Who'd want to be in a collapsed star? Its gravity is so intense, even light can't escape. We're talking a cosmic tornado, if you want the truth—a ferocious, spinning, churning storm of star particles—swirling at one point two million miles an hour.”

  “And you were in one?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yep.”

  “Then how'd you escape?”

  “Good question,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “I'll tell you next time we talk. It'll be like the next episode—you won't be able to wait to find out, so you'll come over for dinner tomorrow night and I'll tell you.”

  “Think again,” she said.

  “Oh, because you'll be fine-dining, or whatever, with your prep-school Ivy League friend?”

  “What do you call him that for? You went to Columbia.”

  “Yeah, but I don't wear it on my sleeve. That guy is so patrician, his face is about to crack. Where'd he get that lockjaw thing? Come on, Rumer—you never liked pretentious people like that.”

  “He's wonderful,” Rumer said, staring Zeb straight in the eyes. “He cares about me, and I care about him. I keep my horse at his farm. We're dear friends going through life together—” She swallowed, seeing Edward talking to Annabelle.

  “Then why aren't you married to him?”

  “Maybe I don't believe in marriage,” she said. “Look at you and my sister.”

  “We're not the best examples of the institution,” Zeb agreed.

  Rumer breathed out slowly. She watched Edward politely asking Annabelle what she wanted to drink, relaying the request to the bartender. Annabelle, enjoying the attention, touched Edward's arm and laughed. The sight of him brought Rumer peace of mind and heartsease. But when she turned back to Zeb, all her serenity fled.

  He took a step closer. Their bodies were nearly touching. She could see his chest rising and falling, as if he were breathing a little too hard. She felt trapped in her head, unable to put words together.

  The irony was, when they were young, they had never had anything like this between them. Their bodies had moved in unison: swimming, biking, climbing trees. Words had flowed and flowed; they'd told each other everything. Finally Rumer glanced up at him— he was wearing a navy blue suit and a dark tie with white dots on it. On closer inspection, the dots were the phases of the moon.

  “Can't take you out of the sky for long,” she said cautiously.

  He laughed, obviously relieved that she had broken the silence, brushing the tie with his hand. “A birthday present from Michael,” he said.

  “That's interesting,” Rumer said. “It means he came around.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, when he was little, he didn't want to acknowledge that the moon existed. He didn't want you to go up there. I remember sitting with him on the rocks, on the darkest nights, and him crying because the sky was so far away He couldn't bear thinking of you flying away from earth, getting lost in the sky”

  “Now he wishes I'd go up there and stay,” Zeb said.

  “Not that I know anything about kids, but in my father's book, he says something about that being par for the course.”

  “Sixtus wrote a book?”

  Rumer nodded proudly. “He doesn't call it that— he'd say it's a bunch of pages stapled together—but yes, it's a book. Not published or anything… the teachers passed it around. When I started teaching my vet course, I had about twenty copies made. They flew out of the faculty room.”

  “I'll have to see that,” Zeb said, gazing across the tent at Sixtus in his morning coat, tall and hunched, surrounded by Michael, Quinn, Allie, and the McCray kids. “Maybe he's going away to write another one. To a desert island somewhere—or a cabin in Maine. That would explain it.”

  “Explain what?” Rumer asked.

  “The getaway look in his eyes. He's on his way somewhere…”

  Frowning, Rumer looked over at her father. The pain from his arthritis was quite bad this year, and he hardly ever went anywhere.

  “All he seems to want to do is stay home and work on his boat,” she said. “He's been sanding and painting all month. I think maybe he wants to sail in the Classic Boat Parade in July,” she said.

  “Maybe that's it,” Zeb said.

  Rumer tried to let herself relax. She remembered their friendship had been deep and long, and they were standing in the place it had been born: at Hubbard's Point. The memory made her miss it all the more. Her heart was racing so fast, she wondered whether he could feel the air moving two feet away.

  “You're wearing your pin,” he said.

  Rumer glanced down, touching the pin her parents had given her for her middle school graduation. They had had two made of gold, replicas of the Wickland Rock Light, for her and Elizabeth.

  Their mother had told them the pins were slightly different—the girls had never been able to find the distinction. They had examined them under magnifying glasses, in bright light—nothing. They had counted the steps, the bricks, and the panels in the Fresnel lens. It had delighted their mother to see them so entranced; no amount of begging could ever convince her to reveal the difference.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked after a moment.

  “You should know,” he said huskily. They were standing close. The wind was steady, and a section of Rumer's hair blew into her eyes. Very tenderly, Zeb reached over, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and tucked the hair behind her ear. His touch sent shivers down her neck, and she pulled away.

  “What?”

  “To be your friend again.”

  She felt a freight train in her chest, plowing down the tracks. Still trembling from where he had touched her neck, she wanted to punch him, knock him back, and show him how crazy he was.

  “That's impossible now,” she said. “And you should know it.”

  “We grew up together,” he said. “We know all each other's old secrets.”

  “There are new ones, Zeb. The old ones don't matter anymore.”

  Edward had spotted them talking. He froze, holding his drink and Annabelle's in his hands. Rumer's heart fell at his expression. He actually looked stricken, as if he'd caught Rumer betraying him. She smiled, gesturing him over. She couldn't wait to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. Her smile faltered, but she kept beckoning.

  “You're wrong, Rue,” Zeb said quietly. “The old ones matter more than anything.”

  “If that were true,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “you had a funny way of showing it.”

  “I was young and stupid,” he said.

  The words kicked her in the chest. What was the point of him telling her this now? Glancing across the tent, she saw Michael talking to Quinn. He was tall and handsome, with a combination Elizabeth and Zeb in everything about him.

  “I made a huge mistake.”

  “No, you didn't,” Rumer said, staring at his son.

  “Rumer,” Zeb said, sounding insistent, and when Rumer glanced up, she saw Edward coming quickly across the floor.

  “You did what you wanted to,” Rumer said, “and it ripped our families apart. You and I were the least of it; I lost my sister too.”

  “We weren't the least of it,” Zeb said quietly. “Not by a long shot.”

  But then as Edward joined them, Winnie took the stage, and a great round of applause rose from the crowd. She bowed, taking the accolade as her due. The orchestra began to play, and over the growing roar of wind, Winnie started to sing.

  The clear, pure no
tes of “Cara di Amore” poured forth. They mingled with the wind, with the waves crashing on the beach and rocks. The storm was gathering force—the wind battered the tent flaps, and everyone huddled together as if to keep from being blown away. Edward took her hand and held it tight. Rumer wondered whether he could feel her trembling.

  Rumer let the music wash over her—Winnie's voice, the wind, trying to push Zeb's last words out of her mind.

  As soon as the singing was done, she found Dana and hugged her, saying she hoped she, Sam, and the girls would be happy forever.

  Then, her heart pounding, she grabbed Edward's hand.

  “Come on,” she said. “I'd like to go…”

  “Where?”

  “To the farm.”

  He laughed. “You have a sudden, undeniable urge to see Blue and a barnful of wild cats?”

  “No, Edward,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck. “I want to see you…I want to be with you.”

  They didn't even take time to say good-bye. Rumer saw Dana watch her run down the hill through the rain; she gestured with her bouquet. Rumer waved back, one hand on her heart to let Dana know how much she appreciated the thought. Dana wound up, signaling that her aim was good, that if Rumer stayed, she'd be sure to catch the bouquet. As Edward turned his Mercedes around in the cul-de-sac, Rumer blew kisses to Dana and noticed Zeb watching them leave.

  “Such a lovely ceremony,” Edward said. “I saw May's Bridal Barn touch in so many things. The gown, the floral pieces, the candles… did I ever tell you that my mother was one of Emily Dunne's earliest customers? She used to recommend her to many of her old friends from Pittsburgh.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rumer said, reaching across the seat to caress the back of Edward's head.

  “Sam must be a good man to take on raising Dana's two nieces…”

  “He certainly is,” Rumer said, hiking over to kiss his ear.

  “Luckily, they all seem to get along.”

  “Edward,” Rumer said, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his British-made shirt. “Haven't you noticed that I'm seducing you?”

  “I have, my dear,” he said. “It's all I can do to keep my eyes on the road.”

  “Then let's not talk about Dana and Sam anymore, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and letting her slowly and softly unbutton the rest of his shirt.

  When they reached the farm, Edward dropped her at the side door of the house. She let herself into the kitchen, and she watched from the window as he opened the barn door, drove the dark green Mercedes inside, and sponged some mud from the door panels. Then he walked into the cow barn, checked the livestock, and turned the overhead light on to chase the rainy day's darkness.

  Orazio, the old sheepdog, lay in the corner on the stone floor. Rumer crouched down to scratch his ears. He had an eye infection from where he'd gotten clawed by one of the cats. She went to the cupboard, found the ointment she had prescribed, and applied it.

  When Edward came in, standing on the mat to brush the mud off his feet, Rumer felt her heart skip. She focused on Orazio, to buy a little time. Edward seemed to want to do the same; he washed his hands at the sink, hung his jacket in the closet, and turned on the classical music radio station.

  Still kneeling by the dog, Rumer felt his hands on her shoulders.

  Now, turning, she leaned into his arms. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought he must be able to feel the velocity through her dress. He traced her shoulder blades with his fingers, then leaned down to kiss her lips. Their mouths were open slightly, shyly exploring each other with their tongues.

  “Will you tell me something?” he asked, stopping after a moment.

  “Of course…”

  “What's the reason for this?”

  “The reason?” she asked.

  “Yes. We've been… together, I guess you could say… for a long time. We've gone out to dinner, to parties with each other, and you've never wanted to come home with me before.”

  “We were always with other people. Either you were just getting over someone, or I was,” she said, her heart aching, feeling bands around her chest. The tightness was so constricting, squeezing her heart. She wanted to break free, get rid of the pain, stop feeling this way.

  “Are you sure that's not what's happening now?” he asked.

  Her heart lurched, but she shook her head. “No, Edward. It's only you. The storm got me churned up, feeling this way….”

  “And weddings are so romantic,” he said, interlacing his fingers with hers. Now, pulling her close again, he kissed her lips. Together they walked to the stairs.

  Ascending, she noticed that the walls held family pictures. The treads were covered with needlepointed panels—so delicate, she almost didn't want to step on them.

  “Mother did those,” he said, pointing down. “Of the wildflowers on the farm.”

  Rumer nodded. Her mouth was dry. She had the urge to stop in her tracks, turn around, run downstairs and out the door. But Edward was right behind her, his breath in her ear, his hand on the small of her back. She had started this; it's for a reason, she told herself.

  His bedroom was in the front of the house, overlooking the country road and the meadows to the east. Rumer skirted the iron bedstead, looking at the books in the glass-front mahogany bookcase, the watercolors of the red barn hanging on the wall, some sepia-toned portraits in silver frames propped on the dresser, a lace bureau scarf covering its highly polished surface.

  “My sanctuary,” Edward said proudly, looking around.

  “It's lovely,” she said, her heart catching at the word, but even more at his vulnerability—everything here was so pristine and proper, just like Edward himself. She took his hand, walking over to the bed, covered with a white and blue quilt.

  They began to kiss, lying down on the bed, fumbling with each other's clothes. Rumer's eyes were shut so tight, she felt tears squeezing out from behind the lids. She had an engine inside her chest; it had been running full blast for the last twenty-four hours. If Edward hadn't been her date, would she have grabbed a stranger—some scientist from Yale—from the crowd at the wedding? Pushing the horrible thought from her mind, she kissed his neck.

  “You're so dear to me,” he whispered with great propriety, as if they were having tea.

  “Edward…” His name ripped from her throat, and she rolled over.

  Crying, she pulled away. Edward put out a hand to touch her—to soothe her, maybe. But Rumer was in a frenzy, wanting something she couldn't name, wrestling with angels she had known forever. Edward was here, he was safe, and as much as she wanted to be made love to right now, she knew that it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said, backing away, tears blurring her vision.

  “It's okay,” he said, of course being gallant, letting her off the hook. “This isn't the right time….”

  It wasn't, Rumer knew, the realization coming over her: It wasn't now, and it never would be.

  “IT WAS A good wedding,” Sixtus said on Monday morning, leaning on his graceful old boat and accepting the mug of coffee from Rumer. She had been so rattled by those moments with Zeb at the wedding and what had almost happened with Edward that she had spent Sunday alone, walking the beaches.

  Now, on her way to the office—she had two spayings scheduled for that morning—she had a few extra minutes to have coffee and catch up with her father. Later, she would go to the farm with a peace offering: She had filled a bag with lily shoots she wanted to plant along Edward's wall.

  “You disappeared pretty quickly,” her father said, flexing his hands. “I've barely seen you since—”

  “Mmm. How are you feeling this morning, Dad? How's the pain?”

  “Pain's fine,” he grumbled. “You and Edward hightailed it away from the wedding as if you'd a mind to elope yourselves. That's what I said to myself….”

  “That's not what happened,” Rumer said. “
I spent yesterday alone.”

  “Good,” her father said, “because—”

  Rumer shot him a warning look, and he stopped. “Ahh,” he said. “Why don't we stay on safer subjects than my daughter's happiness, now and in the future? Like Dana's wedding…”

  Although early, the day was already hot. Locusts sang in the trees, and haze hung in the rosebushes. Rumer had booked a chimney sweep—for their house and Edward's—and he had arrived first thing to clean their flue after a long winter's use. They could hear him whistling on the roof. It sounded joyful, a harbinger of summer, and Rumer's heart was in sore need of lifting.

  “It was a beautiful wedding,” Rumer said quietly.

  “So beautiful it drove you into solitude,” her father grumbled, switching gears when he saw by her expression that he was going too far. “Winnie hit her famous high note. Eighty-two, and still singing like Maria Callas. Every time she does it, I think she's going to shatter every window at the Point.”

  “That and the high wind.”

  “Winnie beats high winds every time.”

  “The kids were amazed,” Rumer said, glad of the small talk. “Right at the end, I happened to look over at Michael, and his mouth was wide open.”

  Her father chuckled. “Takes a lot to amaze him,” he said.

  “I know, after seeing his mother in the movies,” Rumer said. “And getting calls from his dad on the space station.” Just referring to Zeb made her remember how he'd brushed the hair out of her eyes at the wedding. She shook it from her mind. “Michael's had such an exciting life.”

  “And you haven't?” her father asked gently.

  “Sure I have. College, vet school, interning and treating animals in Appalachia and the Rockies, setting up my practice and doing what I love in my favorite place on earth…”

  “That is an amazing gift, Rumer. To do what you love. Do you know how rare that is? It takes a person of great integrity and strength to discover the right path in life and not to be lured off it. Not to settle for less than they want or deserve.”

  “Do you think I've done that?”

  “Every day of your life. In all ways but one.”