True Blue (Hubbard's Point)

by Luanne Rice

  “I know,” Zeb said kindly. “I lived here when I was your age.”

  The boy didn't acknowledge the comment; he didn't stop to introduce his friends to his father, and Tad seemed conscious of his behavior. Feeling bad, Zeb wished he had held back.

  Franklin turned his back and walked away. Gathering up the lily roots he'd dropped, Zeb felt high and happy. Someone had a worse relationship with his sons than Zeb had with Michael. He and Michael were getting better every day. He had defended Quinn, and he felt good about that. Michael kept saying he was going to marry her, and although Zeb thought it was a terrible, impossible idea at their ages, he was managing to hold his tongue.

  Space, bedding stores… it didn't matter where you worked. A million miles away, or just down the street: Everything depended on what was inside, right there in your own heart. Zeb was learning, and Rumer was teaching him.

  Winnie's flag snapped in the wind, the azure blue blending with the sky, the white banner waving, catching Zeb's eye: Qui Transtulit Sustinet…

  The question was, who was going to transplant where? Rumer to California or him back to Hubbard's Point? One of them was going to have to pull up roots and move, because Zeb knew they wouldn't survive another winter apart. As he sat there, watching the Connecticut flag blow in the sea breeze, he felt a lump in his throat. Because although he loved it here more than anywhere else on earth, he had made his life in the stars, and NASA had built him a lab.

  In California.

  None of the stables Rumer visited were right for Blue.

  They were either too far away—forty minutes along back roads, across the Connecticut River on the little ferry, on the far side of Hawthorne—or they were too run-down, with rickety firetrap barns and sour old straw. As she drove through the towns, she found herself thinking about how much she loved this part of the world: how beautiful she found southern New England.

  The huge maples, the white churches, the red barns, the glimpses of the river flowing by, sailboats rocking on their moorings. She knew the names of all the wild-flowers growing along the sides of the road, and she knew the best farm stands to buy tomatoes and peaches. She saw names of former students stenciled on mailboxes: Many of them had grown up and settled right here.

  This was Rumer's place, wasn't it? When her father completed his journey, he would return here and expect her to be waiting at home. He was old. They didn't talk about it, but Rumer had always known she would be there for him in his declining years, for every year that she could spend with him. There would be no nursing home, no assisted living facility for Sixtus Larkin. He was staying right where he belonged, at Hubbard's Point.

  And Blue loved it here. He was a Connecticut horse: He relished the rocky fields, the salt air, the stone walls, the low-flying owls that hunted the pastures every night.

  But as she drove along, she began to get the feeling she was talking herself into something. Because no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she could never leave this corner of the world, her heart was in total conflict. Hubbard's Point would always be her home, but how could she stay here knowing she had passed up the chance to be with Zeb for the rest of their lives?

  When Rumer parked her truck at the bottom of the hill, she saw Zeb standing in the top yard, and her heart jumped. Walking up the stone steps to him, she went into his arms. He held her tight, kissing her hair, and for the first time all day, she felt calm and right: No matter what was happening, if she had Zeb, she was happy.

  “What did you find?” he asked.

  “Nothing right for Blue. The barns were all too far from the sea.” She smiled, because that summed it up as well as anything else.

  “Do you think he'd mind?” Zeb asked.

  Rumer nodded. “Yes, he's very particular about his sea breezes.”

  “Ahhh,” Zeb said, kissing the side of her neck, sliding his hands down her spine and making her arch her back. “We have an ocean in California. Do you think he'd like Pacific breezes?”

  “I don't know,” she whispered.

  “I think your father would say he would.”

  “What makes you think that?” she asked, and Zeb just smiled.

  “Still haven't heard from Sixtus?” he asked.

  Rumer shook her head. She had expected a call from him forty-eight hours ago, telling her he was leaving Nova Scotia to sail to Ireland. If he called, she thought she'd talk to him about Zeb's idea. She could ask him how he'd feel about her going to California for a little while. Maybe she'd take a sabbatical herself—-one year off from being a vet; she could always return. When she didn't hear from him, she called Malachy Condon's number and got an answering machine: “I'm out now. Leave a message.”

  Simple, to the point, just like her father. Was it possible she wouldn't hear from him for eighteen or twenty days, till he reached Galway? That was so uncharacteristic of Sixtus Larkin.

  Rumer felt off balance, unsettled about her horse and her father, unable to convince Zeb to stay yet unsure she could leave. Rumer had been this way as a child: She liked to know that everyone she loved was safe, cared for, in a place where she could find them. Over the years, life had educated her in the fine but difficult skill of letting go.

  She had had to let Zeb go first: off to Columbia, on his way to the wild blue of sky and space. She had forced herself to let him go even more when he married Elizabeth and became—instead of her best friend— her sister's husband. She had learned to let Zee go—into the stratosphere of Hollywood—taking Zeb and Michael with her.

  As time passed, she had let her mother go to heaven, rehabilitated animals go back to the wild, her father go to sea, the trees next door go to ground. She had learned—by degrees—the ability to accept what life was handing her instead of what she wished for.

  But how could Rumer live with letting Zeb go again? After asking her to come with him—what if this were their last chance to be together? She thought about the uncertainty of where Blue would live, of when her father would reach the Irish coast, but nothing compared with the terror of leaving Hubbard's Point, even to be with the man she loved. To follow one dream, did she really have to give up another? On the other hand, how could she ask Zeb to walk away from his lab, the culmination of his life's work?

  “You've been digging,” she said, coming back to the present, noticing the dirt under Zeb's fingernails.

  “Planting a few more lilies,” he said. “The rabbit hole is nearly covered. I think, when you're ready, we can try releasing them.”

  Rumer glanced next door. She saw Tad Franklin standing in the sun, examining blueprints. The sight— knowing what was coming, the old house about to be demolished and a mansion raised in its place—sent a chill through her. Staring at the bare spot where the azalea bush had so recently stood filled her with sorrow.

  “I wonder whether the poison is still active,” she whispered. “If the rabbits try to go back to their old hole, they could die.”

  “I blocked it with a rock,” Zeb said. “The night we took the rabbits out.”

  She swayed in his arms; she hadn't known. So busy gathering up the pitchers and cups, carrying all the rabbits inside in their gunnysack, she had missed seeing Zeb take that extra precaution. What else had she missed? Sometimes she thought she was the only person taking care of her life, the Point, the creatures she loved—but she wasn't. Not by a long shot.

  “If only Blue could come here,” she said. “And live at Hubbard's Point.”

  “Why couldn't he, at least temporarily?” Zeb asked. “We could turn the garage into a barn.”

  “There's not enough land,” she said. “He's used to endless pastures…”

  “He could have the whole beach,” Zeb said. “And the trails beyond—over to Little Beach, the Indian Grave… at least till winter comes.”

  “And then?” she asked, wondering where he—or they—would be this winter.

  “We'd have to decide,” Zeb whispered.

  “Zeb…”

  “You'd love
Dana Point, Rumer. So would Blue—

  high cliffs over the Pacific, whales and dolphins passing by. My lab is just down the road from the house—I'd be home every night. We could fence in the yard, and you could ride Blue all day long. And we'd always come back to the Point for the summers, for holidays.”

  Rumer smiled at the vision, but she didn't have time to reply.

  Just then they heard voices coming up the path from the beach, angry and belligerent. Rumer heard Zeb chuckle and say out loud, “Back already?”

  “What?” Rumer asked.

  “Listen—” Zeb said.

  Tad Franklin rolled up his blueprints and took a few steps toward the pack of teenagers trudging up the stairs.

  “What's wrong?” he asked.

  “This place sucks!” a short blond boy said. “First some lady told us we weren't allowed to play ball on the beach, and then the security guard came over.”

  “Did you tell them you're a property owner?” Tad asked.

  “Yeah, of course! But they didn't give a shit. We're out of here,” said a different but identical blond boy.

  “What do you mean, you're ‘out of here’?”

  “We're going to Watch Hill,” the boy said. “Where the houses are all decent, not like these shitboxes around here. You should've bought there, Dad. I hate it in this fucking place.”

  “You're going to love it, Bart. Wait till you see the plans…”

  “Come on,” the boy said to his friends. “It's late, but if we hurry, we can get some beach time.”

  “How far is Watch Hill?” a girl asked.

  “Half an hour,” Bart said. “Forty-five minutes at the most.”

  “Go right back down those stairs and fight for your right,” Franklin said sternly. “I've worked my ass off my whole life to buy you a beach house, and you're going to damn well enjoy it.”

  “Forget it, Dad!” the boy said sharply. “Don't you get it? This place sucksl”

  As he and his twin climbed into an amber convertible parked in the road, he gunned the engine and gave the finger out the window. Was it to his father, the Point, or the universe? Rumer wasn't sure. Standing still in the shadow of the big oak tree, leaning into Zeb's body, she found herself actually feeling sorry for Tad Franklin.

  “Don't waste your energy,” Zeb whispered into her ear as he held her tight.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I'm reading your mind, Rue. You're thinking, someday they'll love it here.”

  “How could they not?” she murmured.

  “Not everyone loves what the Point has to offer,” he said. “When someone comes in wanting to change everything that's here, it's not a good start.”

  “We have to live with him,” Rumer said. “In awfully close proximity.”

  “That may be so,” Zeb said. “But it doesn't change the sad fact that he's an asshole.”

  “Maybe he'll realize it's not for them,” she said, “and sell it back to you…”

  “I don't think he will, Rue. Not in time anyway. He's too proud for that. But promise me one thing—no matter how much I want to make my son happy, don't let me buy him a vintage convertible, okay? When you're riding Blue through the hills—of Dana Point or Hubbard's Point—tell yourself you don't want to live with a jerk who'd spoil his kid that way….”

  Rumer wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She turned to kiss him on the lips, and was in the midst of doing so when she heard the throb of a car's big engine. The twins must have forgotten something—or perhaps they were returning to apologize to their father.

  The car door slammed—but at the bottom of her hill, not the Franklins'. Leaning back, she saw a familiar face frowning up from the road.

  “Uh-oh,” she said, blushing as if she'd just gotten caught red-handed.

  “Zee,” Zeb said quietly.

  “Hello, you two,” Elizabeth called, getting her expression in order and smiling as she marched up the steps. “I've come to celebrate my son's eighteenth birthday… is he around somewhere?”

  “LOOKS LIKE THE new neighbors went a little saw crazy,” Elizabeth said, reclining on the faded old sofa in the living room and gazing out the window. “What happened to the trees?”

  “They're all gone. The new owners want water views and a huge septic tank,” Rumer said, sitting in the old rose armchair.

  “The new status symbol—a jumbo-size septic tank,” Elizabeth said wryly, gazing out the window at the new owner, walking his property.

  Rumer didn't reply. Zeb had gone home—fled, Elizabeth thought. Coward. Rumer sat quietly, probably trying to hide her feelings but failing utterly. Elizabeth could see she was flooded with emotions. The sisters had played hide-and-seek behind the furniture they were sitting on. Their mother had told them— more than once—while sitting in this very room, “You'll have many friends in life, but only one sister.” Elizabeth could see all of that history behind her sister's eyes, passing like storm clouds across her bright face.

  “We're really hitting a new low,” Elizabeth said. “I can't quite remember the last time I sat around with my fellow actors, cursing our neighbors and discussing their septic systems.”

  “Guess you had to come home for that,” Rumer said darkly. “We get down to basics pretty fast here at the Point.”

  Elizabeth stretched, then smiled. “You're not getting defensive already, are you?”

  “Defensive?”

  She laughed. “Guess you are…even the way you ask: ‘Defensive?’ As if you're on guard. Relax, Rumer. This isn't a fencing match. Unless… you want it to be?”

  “I don't want it to be,” Rumer said, taking a deep breath as if willing herself to be civil. Elizabeth could practically see the gears turning in her head. “It's just that we haven't talked in so long. Tell me everything, Elizabeth. First of all, how was Dad?”

  “Dutiful daughter, of course that would be your first question. I'm surprised you've held it in this long. He was… Dad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know—scholarly and earnest. Sailing away, as usual.”

  Rumer's face remained passive, obviously hating Elizabeth's characterization of their father. It made her angry, but even more, it caused her pain. But she let it pass. “Was he all right? In good spirits?”

  “Reasonably. He took me on a strange tour down memory lane. A little minidocumentary of his life in Nova Scotia. He seemed to be visiting old ghosts, planning his next step in life.”

  “What next step in life? He's sailing to Ireland, then turning around and coming home—right?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I guess so. He's aged a lot.”

  “It just seems that way because you haven't seen him in so long,” Rumer said, holding Elizabeth's eyes with her gaze. The better to drive in the knife, Elizabeth thought, smiling as she responded.

  “I've had the gift of a busy life. I'm surprised you let him on the boat. He's very stooped over—arthritis, right?”

  “Right, but I didn't want to stop him,” Rumer said. “It seemed to be such a huge dream of his. But why do you think he didn't call me before he left on this leg— for Ireland?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. It felt so bizarre to be here in her family's old house. The whole Larkin dynamic came flooding back; it shouldn't surprise her that Rumer was still, forever, being the family caretaker—wanting to keep minute track of everyone. It so often felt as if their birth order was reversed, with Rumer taking the role of the older, responsible one, leaving Elizabeth to pick up the slack as the selfish, self-absorbed younger child.

  “I think he had things on his mind,” Elizabeth said.

  “Like what things?”

  “Darling, I'm not a mind reader. Dad was never one for confiding in me before taking a powder to the nearest high seas. Okay?”

  She wanted to get off their father and onto the subject of Zeb, but she had to tread lightly. It really did seem strange, the fact that Rumer didn't seem more guilty; in spite of the divorce, because of their son and
their marriage, Elizabeth would always have the primary claim on him and she thought her sister should acknowledge that fact.

  But Rumer just sat there, staring out the window at Long Island Sound, as if their father might miraculously sail into view.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “You seem upset.”

  “No…just concerned. Worried, maybe.”

  “He's a grown man.”

  “I know, but…”

  “He's allowed to keep some things from his daughters. He's not required to check in—maybe he wants his freedom. Just because he lives with you doesn't mean he can't have his own life.”

  “I know that,” Rumer said, a dangerous cloud of anger veiling her eyes.

  Elizabeth bit her lip; she couldn't quite understand why she was pushing her sister this way. Her chest hurt from her own anger simmering inside.

  “I'm sorry,” Elizabeth said tensely, quietly. “It's just that you can come off as so smothering sometimes.”

  Rumer stared, two red dots appearing high on her cheekbones. Elizabeth had to stifle a laugh; she could push buttons that made her little sister react just as she had when she was a child. Now, taking it back, she leaned forward to touch Rumer's hand.

  “It's probably what makes you such a veterinary genius,” Elizabeth said.

  “That I'm smothering?” Rumer asked.

  “Well, bad word. Sorry. Perhaps I should have said ‘vigilant’ instead. You know, watching all the little doggies and kitties to see what ails them. Especially since they can't talk on their own…” Elizabeth smiled. “You've always been so good at drawing the innermost feelings out—in people and animals.”

  “Look,” Rumer said, getting upset. “Never mind any of this. Now I'm really worried. He must have said something—I'm beginning to wonder about why he went in the first place.”

  “I'm sure he'll tell you when he gets back.” Standing up, Elizabeth swept around the big open room and looked at pictures, books, and shells. Every object brought back memories—of her parents, of her and Rumer, of Zeb.

  “When will he get back?” Rumer asked.

  “When he's ready, Rumer,” Elizabeth said with exasperated patience.