Follow the Stars Home

by Luanne Rice

  Anyone paying twenty-five dollars could attend the library dance. They were encouraged to contribute more if they could. The Hawthorne Public Library needed more books, more computers, a new roof. The librarians were all underpaid. Every year Alan McIntosh wrote out a check for a thousand dollars, hauled out a blue blazer, and put on a tie.

  This year he had a mission to perform on the way. Dianne had called, asking him for a favor. It was early when he stopped by to pick Amy up; Dianne was over in her studio with Julia. Lucinda was upstairs getting dressed, but Amy was ready and waiting. She stood just inside the screen door, looking out with anticipation and shy pride.

  “Hi,” she said, beaming.

  “Amy Brooks, is that really you?”

  “Yep,” she said. Twirling around, she let him see her new dress. It was just right for her coloring, for an end-of-the-summer party. Alan felt as if he were picking up his own daughter, taking her to her first dance.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, holding the door open, taking her arm, and walking her to the car. “You look beautiful, Amy. I’m proud to be seen with you.”

  Amy beamed as he held the car door open. Alan looked up, saw Lucinda, a towel wrapped around her head, waving good-bye from upstairs. He glanced at the studio, saw Dianne in her work clothes, watching from the open door. Their eyes widened and locked, and they both smiled. He felt her watching them drive away.

  “Mom knows we’re coming?” Amy asked as he drove toward her house.

  “Yes,” he said. “She’s all ready.”

  “Do I look okay? Will she think I’m too fancy?”

  “You’re wonderful,” Alan said. “That’s what she’ll think you are.”

  Walking up her own front steps, Amy seemed anxious, twisting her hands like Julia. Alan rang the bell. Footsteps sounded inside. Amy let out a big breath. She posed herself as if standing before a mirror: straight back, folded hands, unfolded hands, pleasant smile, no smile. But as soon as the door opened, her nervousness evaporated.

  “Mommy!” Amy yelled, throwing herself into her mother’s arms.

  “Amy,” Tess Brooks cried. “Oh, sweetheart.”

  Alan stood aside, watching the reunion. The mother and daughter just stood there, holding each other, rocking back and forth. After a while, taking Amy’s hand, Tess led them into the living room. It was clean and bright, the curtains wide open.

  “Look at you,” Tess said. “Just look at you!”

  “Too fancy?” Amy asked, plucking her skirt.

  “No, honey. You’re beautiful. Oh, I miss you so much….”

  “Mom, I miss you,” Amy said.

  “You know, there’s something I need to tell you. About being sorry those Saturday mornings,” Tess said. “When I didn’t go see you.”

  “I know there’s something going around. Some flu or some awful thing,” Amy said quickly, as if she couldn’t stand to hear this.

  “It wasn’t the flu,” Tess said, her hands shaking. “I’ve been sick in another way. I’ve been depressed …I have depression. That’s what it’s called. I wanted you to know it’s an actual condition. I’m not just making it up or anything.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Amy said quickly. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  Alan remembered the feeling, wanting to let his mother off the hook. He admired Tess Brooks for what she did next. Taking Amy’s hands in her own, she gazed into her daughter’s eyes.

  “Yes, Amy,” Tess said. “I do.”

  “Shhh, Mom,” Amy said. “You don’t have to—”

  “Since your father died,” Tess continued on, “I haven’t taken care of myself very well. It was so awful, such a nightmare, losing him. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, so I wouldn’t have to think. And that’s what I did.”

  Amy listened, wide-eyed.

  “That was bad enough,” Tess said. “But the worst part was, I didn’t take care of you very well either. I’ve been neglecting you—”

  “No,” Amy said. “You don’t—”

  “I have, honey. It’s okay. I have to start being honest, or we won’t get anywhere. I’ve kicked Buddy out.”

  “Mom!” Amy’s eyes brightened.

  “And I’m seeing a therapist to help me with my depression. Like I said, it’s real. It’s as real as pneumonia.”

  “Then …I can come home?” Amy asked.

  “Soon,” Tess said.

  “Why not now? I don’t have to go to the dance. Dr. McIntosh can take me back to get my things, or we can get them later. I don’t care. I just want to stay home with you.”

  “Amy, we have to wait and see,” her mother said gently. “The state says you should stay with the Robbinses, and I think that’s a good plan. Just to make sure.”

  “Make sure what?” Amy asked, aghast. It was as if someone had shown her paradise, then locked the door on it. Her face was twisted with disappointment and grief. “That you still love me enough?”

  “Oh, Amy,” Tess said, pulling her daughter close. “That could never be in doubt.”

  “Then what?” Amy cried.

  “That she loves herself enough,” Alan said. “To keep taking care of herself.”

  Tess looked up at him with gratitude. She nodded, unable to speak. Helping Tess and Amy, he felt he was being given a second chance with his own past. He was a physician now, a lot wiser than he’d been when his own mother had been so sick.

  “You have to,” Amy said to Tess, holding her mother’s face in her hands, staring sternly through tears into her eyes. “You have to take care of yourself.”

  “I’m getting help,” Tess said. “It doesn’t happen as fast as I want it to.”

  “You have to get better or else!” Amy said, and her mother laughed.

  “My little tyrant,” she said. “Always trying to boss me around.”

  “I want to stay …” Amy said, clinging to her mother.

  “Come on, Amy,” Alan said, pulling her gently from behind. “What would Lucinda think if you weren’t there in the audience to see her get her plaque?”

  “She did invite me,” Amy said solemnly to her mother.

  “Then you’d better go,” Tess said.

  “What made you kick him out?” Amy asked.

  “When I saw the picture,” Tess said, swallowing. “Of your bruises. I was standing right here when he did it, but somehow I didn’t see. I believed his story, that it was an accident. But when I saw that photo, saw his big handprint on your beautiful shoulder …” Bending over, Tess kissed Amy’s neck and shoulder.

  “Thank you,” Amy whispered.

  “Now, it’s a beautiful night,” Tess said, her eyes bright. “I want you to go to the library and dance one for me!”

  “I will,” Amy promised.

  “I’ll make sure,” Alan said, giving Tess Brooks a long look. She handed him the white paper he had come for. He nodded his thanks.

  “Have a wonderful time,” Tess said, “and send me …”

  “Send you what?” Amy asked.

  Tess just shook her head. She seemed young and hopeful, but Alan could see the raw hurt in her eyes, watching Amy leave. She was taking care of herself, trying to be honest, loving her child the best she could, letting go for now. From the doctor’s point of view, that was how the healing began.

  The library was transformed. The band played at the far end of the main reading room. All the tables and chairs had been taken out to create a dance floor. People sipped punch and ate small sandwiches made by volunteers. The only decorations were the books themselves, shelves full of them, their spines garnet, topaz, and verdant in the lamplight.

  Dianne had pinned up her hair, put on a little makeup. She wore a brand-new dress, a sleeveless silk sheath of periwinkle blue she had bought because Amy said it matched her eyes. She also wore Dorothea McIntosh’s diamond and sapphire earrings. As she stood in the corner, listening to the music, she felt excited and happy. She hadn’t had a night out in a long time.

  Wa
tching her mother, she felt so proud. Everyone wanted to talk to Lucinda. They surrounded her, telling stories of how she had helped them do research projects, find favorite authors, learn about poetry. Lucinda took it all in, beaming.

  When the band stopped, Mrs. Theophilus Macomber stepped up to the microphone. One of Hawthorne’s most imposing figures, she was chairman of the library board. Grand in black crepe and a four-strand pearl choker, she made a speech thanking everyone for their generous donations.

  “Now, the moment all you readers have been waiting for,” she said. “I’m going to ask Gwen Hunter, our newly appointed librarian, to come up here and introduce our beloved guest of honor.”

  “Well, thank you, Mrs. Macomber,” Gwen said in her soft Tennessee accent. She held the microphone, giving it a funny look. “I am none too sure about talking into one of these things, but if there’s one person I’d do anything for, it’s our guest of honor. I know she needs no introduction at all, Mrs. Lucinda Robbins….”

  The entire room broke into applause. Lucinda bowed her head, smiling and blushing. Dianne clapped louder than anyone. As she gazed at her mother, she saw Alan and Amy come through the door, and her heart jumped.

  “Mrs. Robbins has been so influential in my life, I don’t even know where to begin. When Paul and I moved up here ten years ago, I didn’t know a soul. I needed a job, I didn’t have a college degree, but I did love books….”

  She went on to tell how she had come to the library, at first as a reader and then as a part-time library assistant. Mrs. Robbins had taken her under her wing. Over the years she had encouraged Gwen to apply to schools, to study library science, to apply for library jobs as they became available. She had been a friend and a mentor, showing Gwen how to help readers, especially young people, discover books they would love to read.

  “Around here,” Gwen said, “we think Lucinda Robbins is as special as they come. We love her so much, and we miss her every day. We’re happy for her though. She’d come to work, and all she’d talk about was her daughter and granddaughter, how she wished she had more time to spend with them.”

  Lucinda looked through the crowd, caught Dianne’s eye. She nodded, sending her daughter a kiss. Dianne smiled through proud tears.

  “She has that now,” Gwen continued. “Time with her family. We want her to know that her legacy here will continue. We love our young readers, and we try to steer them toward books best suited for their particular tastes. We do, however, often start by suggesting one book Mrs. Robbins was always particularly fond of….”

  “Anne of Green Gables!” the crowd called, Amy’s voice above them all.

  “She steered three generations of readers toward that wonderful classic,” Gwen went on. “Set one hundred years ago on a verdant island off the coast of Canada.”

  “Prince Edward Island!” Amy said, her voice ringing out.

  “Yes,” Gwen said, smiling. “Very good, young lady. As an expression of our gratitude and affection, Lucinda, on behalf of every single holder of a Hawthorne Public Library card, I would like to bestow upon you this road map. …”

  People parted so Lucinda could make her way to the stage. Standing beside Gwen, she gazed at the young librarian with tears in her eyes.

  “We had planned to give you an airline ticket to Prince Edward Island,” Gwen said. “So you could visit the setting of your very favorite book. But when I talked to your daughter, she told me she’d been planning to drive you there herself in a Winnebago. So here’s a gift certificate to cover the rental costs of a big old motor home, for you and your family. Thank you for everything, Lucinda Robbins.”

  They embraced, the old librarian six inches shorter than the young one, holding on tight before the cheering crowd.

  “Oh, my,” Lucinda said, gazing at the certificate, tears streaming down her face. “You have no idea what this means to me. No idea at all …I thought maybe I’d get a plaque! But a trip to Canada …to see where Anne lived and grew …with my Dianne!”

  Looking out into the audience, Lucinda found her daughter again. They smiled at each other over the heads of everyone. Dianne wished her father could be there. Wiping her eyes, she blew a kiss.

  “My years as librarian have been so rich,” Lucinda went on, barely able to speak. “You have all given me so much. As a little girl, books were my best, sometimes my only friends. I would lose myself in the pages, and there were many days I wished I never had to come out. Working here,” she said, pausing to gather herself together, “has been like that. With all these wonderful books”-she turned, looking around the room-“and all of you, I’ve had a life beyond my wildest dreams.”

  “We love you, Lucinda,” Gwen whispered, trying to cover the microphone.

  “I’d like to thank my daughter, Dianne,” Lucinda said, “whom many of you know made the playhouse in the children’s library, for all her love and support. And my beautiful granddaughter, Julia, who makes every day a joy. And I’d like to thank my granddaughter’s wonderful pediatrician, Alan McIntosh, for jogging by all those Wednesday afternoons off, reading up on dolphins instead of golfing with the other doctors. But most of all …”

  The room was hushed, everyone watching Lucinda stare out the window as she swallowed back tears.

  “Most of all, I’d like to thank my darling husband, Emmett. Emmett Robbins. He’d drive by the library twice a day on his way to and from the lumberyard, beeping every time. Oh, I’d scold him for making noise …he always said that’s what he got for marrying a librarian. Someone whose favorite word was shush. He always said he’d take me to Prince Edward Island, but …” She gulped. “He didn’t quite get the chance.” Waving her road map, she looked out the window again. “We’re on our way, sweetheart,” she called. “Meet me in Canada!”

  The whole crowd broke into mad applause. Lucinda was swarmed by friends, but she held out her arms for Amy to run onto the stage and into her embrace. The mike was still on, and Dianne heard Amy cry to Lucinda, “Will you send me a postcard?”

  “No, darling,” Lucinda said, wrapping her in her arms, gazing at Dianne with love and gratitude in her eyes. “You’ll be coming with us. I’m sure that’s what Dianne was thinking when she thought of a motor home. We’ll be on the road, all of us.”

  “You’ll get to see your kindred spirit soon, Lucinda,” Amy cried. “Oh, he’ll be waiting!”

  Overcome with emotion, Dianne ducked out of the room. The crowd spilled into the main hall, and she pushed through them on her way down the hall. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she had to get away. Sobbing, she stumbled into the stacks of fiction. It was quiet here, she was all alone. Down the hall the band began to play. They must have asked Lucinda for a request, because the music was “Ev’ry Time We Say Good-bye,” her and Emmett’s song.

  “Dianne …”

  She jumped at the familiar voice.

  “I saw you run out,” Alan said, standing at the end of the stacks, silhouetted by the hall light. He had his glasses off, holding them in his hand. For one second she had thought it was Tim. The voice, the shape of his body, everything. It made her sick, the way this kept happening, the way she made herself a victim of her own bad memories.

  “You scared me,” Dianne said, hand on her heart.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  “I thought you were Tim,” she said. “For one second …”

  Alan drew back. He stepped away, and Dianne watched his spine curve over. She could almost hear him groan, and she could see the hurt in his eyes as he leaned against the shelf of books.

  “Just for one second …” she repeated, wishing she could take the whole thing back.

  “I’m not Tim,” he said sharply, still holding his glasses.

  “But you look like him,” she said. “When it’s dark, and I see you …with your glasses off …”

  He put them on, yanked them off again.

  “For God’s sake, it’s not what I look like,” he said, his voice rising with ange
r and frustration. “It’s what’s in my heart. I didn’t leave you, Dianne!” His words rang through the stacks; the music played down below, and happy voices carried.

  “I know you didn’t!” Dianne said, lashing out. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Hey—”

  “It’s impossible for me not to feel this way,” she cried.

  “What do you mean, impossible—”

  “I know you’re not Tim, I know you’re a good man, so good to me and Julia and Amy. Jesus, Alan! Do you think I want to feel this way?” They both stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then Dianne spoke again before she could think to stop herself.

  “I made the wrong choice,” she said, holding her head, the words spilling out. “All that time ago. If I had it to do over again, if I could go back in time, I would have—”

  “Made the wrong choice?” Alan asked.

  Dianne looked at him. Their eyes locked and held for a long while, and Dianne leaned against the closest bookshelf.

  “Chose the wrong brother,” she said. She felt switches being thrown, gears shifting as she heard herself tell the truth. She swallowed, because she felt afraid to touch him yet she wanted to. She made herself take a step forward. Very slowly she reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

  He raised his head. She was looking at him face-to-face. His glasses had slid down his nose, and she gently pushed them up. Her throat was aching very hard as she realized the depth of feeling she had for this man. He had been looking hurt and perplexed, but now his eyes were starting to clear and she thought she saw the beginning of a smile.

  They had been through years of this. Pain, blame, misplaced resentment. Dianne was so tired of it. Alan’s eyes looked bruised, as if she had hurt him worse than she knew.

  “Please forgive me,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “All of it,” she said, her throat hoarse. “For thinking you were Tim tonight. And for—”

  “What?” he asked.

  “This library,” Dianne said, seeming lost in thought, her fingers trailing along the books as she gathered herself together. “Mom would come to work here when I was little, and I used to think it was hers. That all these books belonged to her. I used to think she wrote them all.”