Follow the Stars Home. Luanne Rice
he’d gotten smacked in the face with the winch handle. It pissed Alan off that Tim wouldn’t go to the dentist and get it capped. It was almost as if he had decided to live a role, play a part.
“She likes the maverick lobsterman,” Alan said. “That it?”
“Yeah, she likes it.”
“The renegade home from the sea.”
“Hey …” Tim said, picking up on the sarcastic tone.
“Hope she likes it as much when you’re not home from the sea,” Alan said. “When you decide to head into Newport instead of back to Hawthorne.”
“Those days are over,” Tim said. He grinned again, and there was something of a brother-to-brother wink in his eye. Alan felt the jealousy surge again, and he wanted to knock his brother flat on his back. Tim was right: Alan had dated Dianne only once. But whether he liked it or not, Alan still felt the connection. Alan knew his brother, and he didn’t want him hurting her. Taking a step forward, he stood toe to toe with Tim.
“They’d better be,” Alan said.
Tim stared him down, his eyes lit up and ready to fight. Neither brother had forgotten their last fight up in Cambridge, and Alan could almost feel the heat pouring off Tim’s skin. They were each waiting for the other to throw the first punch.
“She’s different than we are,” Alan said. “She comes from a family where they look out for each other. You hear what I’m saying?”
“You warning me?” Tim asked, jabbing Alan’s chest with his index finger. “About my own wife-to-be?”
“I’m warning you to be good to her,” Alan said.
“Don’t worry.”
“Her parents stick around,” Alan said. “For each other and for her. Not like Mom and Dad. Not like what happened after Neil died.”
“I was there for Neil,” Tim said, head up, chin out.
Alan stared, harsh challenge in his eyes, unable to contradict something his brother held as gospel truth. But thinking back all those years, Alan remembered Tim sitting outside Neil’s window.
It was summer, and the sky was blue and birds were singing, and Tim had sat in the grass throwing his baseball into his mitt over and over again. Alan had snuck past his parents to be with Neil. They could hear the thunk-thunk of Tim’s baseball going into the mitt. That dark bedroom had smelled of sickness and death, and Neil’s eyes had been wide as an owl’s, staring at Alan with the sheer terror of not knowing what was going to happen to him.
“Don’t hurt Dianne,” Alan said now, with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Go to hell,” Tim said. Stepping back, he turned and started to walk away. “You my best man or not?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Alan said, because Tim was his only living brother. For his sake, and for Dianne’s, he’d finish this right then. Dianne would never know about this fight or about the misery he was feeling inside. “I am.”
“I don’t know why,” Tim said, “but I’m glad.”
Weary and fed up with the fight, Alan had stood by his desk, watching him go. His brother was tall, his posture straight and proud. Why shouldn’t it be? He had won the girl. Alan had the diplomas and degrees, Tim had his boat and Dianne. When he got to the doorway of Alan’s office, he turned around.
Tim’s blue eyes were fierce. Alan’s stomach tensed, knowing that his brother was claiming victory in their latest battle of life. But staring across the office, he saw something else too. Deep in those eyes Alan saw fear. He saw the glimmer of a man who was already lost.
For a moment Alan tried to think of something to say, something to call Tim back and keep him from walking away, make up for the latest breach between them. After all, the brothers were each other’s only living relative. But once Tim McIntosh had decided to walk, nothing anyone could say was going to stop him.
The last Wednesday in May, Alan felt tense, as if he wanted to run twenty miles. Instead, he only ran three, heading over to the library early. Mrs. Robbins wasn’t at the counter, a fact that disappointed him straight off. But there was his yellow and white striped towel, folded like a book, on top of the reshelving cart. Nodding to the young library assistant, Alan reached across the counter to get it.
He picked out his journals, settled down in the reading room, and opened to an article called “Krill: Life Force and Food Source for Blue Whales.” His heart was still pounding from his run. His left knee had started aching lately – for the first time in years-from an ancient injury, the time he’d crashed straight into Tim, sliding home at a baseball game behind Barnstable High School. His throat had been hurting all day, and now he sneezed.
He had taken Rachel Palmer, a nurse he knew from the hospital, to the movies Sunday night. Afterward, she’d wanted to get a drink and have dinner. Instead, Alan had convinced her to walk out on the curving sand spit to the lighthouse. It was dark. There was no moon, and they could hardly see their way.
Her shoes were wrong, the too-high heels sinking into the cold sand. She didn’t complain though. She kept up with Alan, talking about the movie. Alan had strode along, hands jammed into his jacket pockets. Across the bay was Gull Point. The channel was black ink, the tide rushing out. The lights of Dianne’s house blazed beyond the dark marsh.
Alan stood under the lighthouse. The beacon swung across the water, lighting a path to Dianne. Rachel held his hand. She was tall and sexy in her tight beige sweater. Alan eased her onto the damp sand, taking off her clothes so roughly, she’d exclaimed. She pulled her own lacy black bra off herself. Lust, thrills, they’d had it all. Alan had held her tight, trying to catch his breath. Wanting to make up for his thoughts, for the fact he couldn’t stop staring at Dianne’s house across the channel, he’d let her wear his sweater and jacket.
“Call me,” she said when he dropped her off.
“I will,” Alan said, kissing her. She gave him back his clothes. Shivering in his T-shirt, he left them on the seat. She was divorced. She worked in the ER, and she had a six-year-old son. Alan felt like a creep who deserved the cold he’d caught. He knew he’d never call her again. Truth, when it came to romance, had never come easy for Alan. He thought back to how he had pretended to forgive Tim for stealing Dianne, when instead he had wanted to kill his brother.
He sneezed.
“Gesundheit,” the reference librarian whispered loudly.
“God bless you,” Mrs. Robbins said simultaneously, coming around the corner with a stack of new magazines.
“Thank you,” Alan said to both of them.
“Are you coming down with something?” Mrs. Robbins asked.
“I always catch the kids’ colds,” he said.
“Then you shouldn’t be running.”
“I need the exercise,” he said.
“Exercise, my foot. Get yourself home and spend your day off in bed,” she said sternly, but then her face softened into a wonderful smile. “If the doctor won’t mind my saying so.”
Alan sneezed again. His throat hurt, and his chest felt heavy. Mrs. Robbins put her hand on his forehead. It reminded him of his grandmother.
“You have a fever, my boy,” she said.
“Hey, how’re Julia and Dianne?” he asked, trying to sound offhand. “Things seem to be working out okay with Amy?”
“Never mind Julia and Dianne,” Mrs. Robbins said. “Never mind Amy. You go lie down and try taking care of yourself for a change. Okay?”