by Luanne Rice
He raised his arm in a final farewell. His hands hardly ached at all right now; the bones in his back creaked a little, just like the old boat, but the sun beat down on them and kept them from hurting too much.
“Don't forget we love you,” Quinn cried out.
“I won't,” Sixtus called over the widening expanse of blue water. “And don't forget that I love you too. Go to school, children, and learn everything there is to know!”
“We will, Grandpa,” Michael shouted, the words sounding just like a promise he'd never break.
And with that, Sixtus Larkin rounded the headland and the buoy, sailing straight for the open Atlantic and into his destiny.
THAT AFTERNOON, after Sixtus had sailed away, after all the neighbors had dispersed, Rumer let Zeb walk her home. They went up the hill, past the spot behind the garage where her father had worked on the Clarissa. Wood shavings and patches of varnish and bottom paint lay in the grass—remnants of the hard work he'd done to restore the boat.
When they went inside her house, the curtains were blowing wildly in the fresh breeze. The music was still moving her. The unicorn tapestries looked more vibrant and alive than she had ever remembered. Zeb was there, right beside her, and as she stood barefoot in the cottage, all she wanted was to dance with him again, moving together with the music, the wind, and all the spirits of the Point.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked, her pulse racing.
“Sure,” Zeb said, not taking his eyes off her. “That would be nice.”
Holding the kettle under the faucet, Rumer's hands were shaking. Noticing, Zeb stepped in to take it from her. Did he know that he was the reason? He placed the kettle on the burner and turned on the heat. She still had the shimmery feeling of his arms around her shoulders, dancing. Stirred by wild desire, she slowly turned to face him.
Zeb stepped forward, putting his arms around her. So strong and tan, he made her glow as his hands stroked her back, pulling her against his chest. She stood on tiptoe the way she used to when he'd danced with her at block dances down on the tennis courts, and she leaned into his body. She shivered hard, from top to bottom, feeling the full crush of Zeb's hard body against hers.
The teakettle hissed on the flame, and Rumer was afraid it would start to boil before she and Zeb figured out what was supposed to happen next. This was her childhood kitchen; Elizabeth had fried eggs on this stove. Her mother had cooked Thanksgiving turkeys in this oven. The Mayhews had come over for coffee a thousand times.
Images were flying through her mind: herself and her sister, padding barefoot across this floor with Santa mugs in their sticky little hands; herself and Zeb, as teenagers, filling plastic bottles with ice water for long sails across the Sound…
“Rumer,” Zeb whispered, his mouth hot on her neck.
“What are we doing?” she said, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair, trying desperately to push out all the messy memories and scruples as she tilted her head back, felt his lips just barely brush against hers.
The kettle began to boil. It wasn't a subtle sound; it pierced the air like a siren, breaking them apart. Zeb stepped back. Rumer turned off the burner. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as disheveled inside as out— when Zeb touched her shoulder, trying to turn her around, she couldn't move.
“Rumer?” he asked.
“Isn't this strange?” she whispered.
“I think it's…” he began. “It's amazing, it's wonderful.”
“It might be,” she murmured.
“But… ?”
“I don't know. I'm not sure.”
“On the roof the other night,” he said, “when you asked me why I married Elizabeth…”
“Don't, not right now, Zeb—”
“Listen to me, Rumer. I didn't think you'd love me like that. We tried, that last year—I held your hand. We kissed, we went to the movies together… I asked you to meet me for the vernal equinox….”
“The first of spring,” Rumer murmured.
“And you didn't show!”
“I would have. I wanted to—you know that!” Rumer said, the words knocking the breath right out of her, pushing him away.
“Then why didn't you come? I was there, waiting.”
Rumer closed her eyes tight, trying to remember. They had been in their senior years of college. Tests, papers, applying to graduate schools… but she would have done anything—absolutely anything—to be with Zeb. He had told her to come home for the weekend, and she had come. She had checked the drawer, waited for the phone call.
“You went to Elizabeth,” Rumer said, and she felt like keening.
“I'm sorry,” Zeb said. “You have no idea how much—but I went to her after you stood me up, when I thought you didn't want me that way…”
“Stop it, Zeb,” Rumer said. Her heart was hurting too much; her father had just sailed away, and too many memories of her childhood were coming back. This was her family kitchen; she and Elizabeth were sisters. They had stood right here, in this spot, and their mother had said, “You'll have many friends, but you'll only have one sister… each other!”
“Please, listen—”
“Not now!” she screamed. “Stop it—I don't want to hear.”
“You'll listen to me before the summer's over,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “You have to, Rumer. I know how you feel about me, because it's the same way I feel about you. You know what your father said to me today? You can't stop a storm from happening.”
“Stop it, Zeb! Don't try to push me.”
He moved closer.
“Maybe I want to protect myself,” she said, breathless. “Maybe I just don't want to put myself into the same situation I was in twenty years ago. Loving someone who can't even see what's right in front of him.”
“This isn't twenty years ago,” he said.
“No, half our lives have passed.”
“So, you want to ruin the other half?” he asked, grabbing her by the arms.
“I have a great life,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love my work. I take care of animals, save people's pets….”
“Save ospreys,” Zeb reminded her. “With the help of someone who understands—” He had softened his grip, but he held her still, drawing her closer, bringing his face down to hers and brushing her lips with his.
“I don't trust you,” she whispered.
“You're wrong not to,” he whispered back.
“We used to kiss like this,” she murmured as his lips caressed her cheeks, forehead, mouth. “And look what happened.”
“I used to be stupid,” he said.
“And you're not now?”
“No,” he said, kissing her deeply for a long while, then pulling back slightly. “I got smart.”
“What got you smart?”
“Realizing I'd lost you. That you were the only person I've ever wanted. Ever loved, Rumer.”
“You…” she began. Her chest tightened. She wanted to ask him: You've never loved Elizabeth? She wanted to hear him say it; no, she needed to hear him say it.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Ask me whatever you want.”
“I can't,” she said. Her mind was in full gear: the Indian Grave, the notes at Foley's, Elizabeth as Juliet, Zeb as Romeo… they had run away to California together. They had had a child. They had been a married couple—a family. “No matter what you say, Zeb,” she said, “it can't change what happened.”
“See, Larkin,” he said, kissing the top of her head and taking a big step back, giving her the space she said she wanted, heading for the door. “That's where you're wrong.”
“You're saying we can change what happened?”
“Yeah.”
“How?” she asked. She might have sounded skeptical, but the word was a plea—her heart was racing so hard, she thought she might die on the spot.
“We can make it right,” he said. “We have one chance—this summer.”
“And we can make it right?” she asked.
“Yes, we can.”
“How?”
“Love, Larkin. Love makes everything right—with all that compassionate work you do, don't you know that by now?”
But she didn't reply, and he didn't wait. She watched him walk across the kitchen, heard the door close softly behind him. She closed her eyes, saving the sense of his lips on hers, his arms around her shoulders. His presence filled the room long after he was gone. Rumer stood there for a while, letting her heart slow down to a normal rate. She didn't open her eyes until she heard thunder.
The rumble of thunder far away, coming across the calm sea, even though the sky was blue and there wasn't a cloud in sight.
THE KIDS KEPT their word. Both Quinn and Michael enrolled in summer school. They did their homework most of the time. They studied for tests together. They helped each other write essays. They missed Sixtus and wished he were there to cheer them on.
Five days after her father's departure, Rumer picked them up after school to take them to the farm. She drove from her office to the Point, parking in front of Zeb's cottage. An osprey circled overhead, fishing in Winnie's cove. Rumer wished Zeb would come outside—maybe it was the hawk they had saved. She craned her neck, trying to see whether Zeb was home. She hadn't seen him since he'd kissed her in the kitchen.
Parked in the road, she closed her eyes. Last night she had dreamed of him. Sitting on the roof together, they had stared into the bluest sky she'd ever seen. Sunlight streamed down, covering the treetops in gold. She felt pure bliss, holding Zeb's hand. But when she turned to kiss him, he was gone; the only sound was Elizabeth's laughter ringing through the trees.
The kids climbed into her truck, and with one last glance at the osprey, Rumer drove away.
“How's school?” she asked.
“Good,” Quinn answered, while at the same time Michael said, “Okay.”
“That's a half-empty answer if ever I heard one,” Quinn laughed, smiling across the seat.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know the old question… when you look at the glass, is it half empty or half full?”
“What's the difference?” Michael asked.
“Well,” Quinn said. “It's a big difference. It tells you how you see the world. Are you positive or negative?”
Rumer felt her heart pounding. Quinn could so easily be speaking of her—Rumer had spent the whole week avoiding Zeb, thinking about what was wrong between them, trying to ignore the desire she felt inside.
“I'm a half-full person,” Quinn said. “I didn't used to be. When my parents first drowned, I was half empty. Everything sucked. Sunny days were too hot, snowy days were too cold, if I ate ice cream, it was the wrong kind, if we went to the movies, it was never what I wanted to see…”
Listening to Quinn, Rumer thought about herself. Her father had often said the students taught teachers more than the other way around, and once again he was right. Zeb was here, she dreamed of him every night, the summer was flying by—but Rumer kept turning back to the past, looking at the old hurt and betrayal, ignoring the magical threads of gold. Ignoring his very real kiss, his very real words.
She took them to Paradise Ice Cream for sundaes, driving the long way to the farm to stretch out the ride. Their music played on the radio, and Quinn sang along. Michael controlled the air-conditioning and the sunroof. They talked about their classes and homework.
Now, with the kids in her truck, she turned into the farm and felt a shock: Edward was sitting on the porch with a woman.
She had wavy blond hair and a periwinkle-blue summer dress, and Rumer recognized her from the Black Hall Art Museum. Annie Benz, the curator of American Impressionists—strong, smart, proper. Perfect for Edward, Rumer thought, feeling a strange shiver of relief mixed with regret. Edward must have gotten tired of the way she'd been treating him, and Rumer felt ashamed.
“Who's that?” Michael asked.
“A friend of Edward's,” Rumer said.
“He's your boyfriend,” Quinn said, squeezing Rumer's hand in a teasing way. “Aren't you jealous?”
“No,” Rumer said softly. “It's okay with me.”
“I don't blame you,” Quinn said, thinking. Rumer could almost see electricity racing around her head; she brought sparks and energy to whatever she did. “Well, Edward is neither half full nor half empty. He's just ‘half “
Michael laughed, surreptitiously glancing over. “How can a person be just ‘half,’ Quinn? Look at his farm—it's huge. He has horses, cows, barns, a big house, guys working for him…”
“Things and money don't count when you're measuring a person's fullness,” Quinn said. “Right, Rumer?”
“I can't say anything bad about Edward,” Rumer said. They had reached the fence, and Blue came walking through the field to see them. Heat rose from the tall grass, dragonflies buzzing around his knees. “He's always been wonderful to me.”
“How come you never married him?” Michael asked.
“Because she loves someone else,” Quinn said, causing Rumer's jaw to drop.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Hmm, nothing,” Quinn said.
Rumer let it pass. She looked up at the couple rocking and talking softly on the porch. Had she and Edward ever looked so comfortable, so right together? She could think only of Zeb: straining like a horse at the gate, wanting to run, to sprout wings, to fly into the wild blue yonder, leaving a trail of thunder.
“Your father's sailing to Ireland,” Quinn said, squeezing Rumer's hand harder. “You have that inside you! Rocking on the porch isn't enough for you! You have too much passion inside you for that. And I know…”
Rumer watched her eyes, wanting her to say more. But Blue whinnied, ready to be ridden. Quinn tore away, feeding him an apple, while Michael waited patiently to give her a leg up.
When Michael and Quinn had climbed onto Blue's back, riding together through the field, Rumer leaned on the fence and wondered about it all. Rumer had loved—really loved—only one person in her life. Zeb was here in Connecticut now, and what had she done? Pushed him away every time he'd tried to come close.
She watched the children hold each other, moving through the summer field. From here, looking through the haze, she could see Zeb in Michael. They had the same build, the same profile. Michael's hair was longer than Zeb's had been before his father had cut it, but it fell in a similar way, and had blond highlights.
Her heart blazed in her chest; her blood felt like flowing lava. She thought back to her and Zeb standing in the kitchen, feeling how much she'd wanted him to keep holding her, kissing her. She wondered what he had to tell her, and why it was so hard for her to hear.
Alert and intense, she watched the children disappear from sight and thought of Elizabeth keeping Michael from her all this time.
At first, when Rumer had needed a nephew-fix, she would get another vet to cover her practice and fly to California or ask Elizabeth to send Michael to Connecticut. They would have blissful days or weeks—vacations—together, until the day came when Rumer feared that Elizabeth was about to put an end to it.
Looking back, she realized that she'd been building lie upon lie. Inside, she had felt torn in half by Elizabeth and Zeb being together. Outside, she had tried to play the role of the perfect aunt—-just to see Michael.
“Look what your auntie brought you!” Elizabeth had exclaimed the time Rumer had flown out with the stuffed horse.
“It's just like Blue,” Rumer had said, putting the huge soft toy into Michael's arms. “Remember my horse? How I held you on his back, and you rode him around the field? You can name him Blue,” Rumer had whispered, savoring the smell of Michael's hair, the softness of his skin. “Just like the real Blue… Bluuuuuuue.”
“Boooo,” Michael had said, as if remembering their time together at Peacedale Farm just months earlier.
“Yes, Boo,” Elizabeth had said, drinking a vodka and tonic. She hadn't been with them at the farm; she
didn't understand their connection. But Rumer was sure she'd seen Michael's eyes light up, his arms fly around his aunt's neck; she was positive her sister had seen Rumer's own joy—the way her eyes had filled with tears at the sight of the boy “ ‘Boo’ is just how I feel.”
“Why what's wrong?” Rumer had asked.
“I don't know what I was thinking when I married Zeb. You certainly had the right idea, getting rid of him.”
“Elizabeth,” Rumer had said sharply, her stomach in knots, not believing for a moment that she believed that, “please don't. Let's not talk about Zeb”
He was at Caltech analyzing satellite data; the next day he would leave for Houston. Rumer had chosen to visit Elizabeth and Michael now, on her winter vacation, when she was sure Zeb wouldn't be home. But she didn't want to hear Elizabeth talk about him, especially not in front of Michael. And she certainly didn't want to rehash the past
“Rumer, you're my sister. I don't have anyone to talk to… I'm so unhappy….” She'd taken another big sip of her vodka and tonic.
“How could you be,” Rumer asked, her lips against the side of Michael's head, “when you have all this? When you have him?”
“Booooo,” Michael said, bouncing the horse.
“Booooo to your father,” Elizabeth said, downing her drink, going to the sideboard to make another. The room was vast and airy, overlooking the Pacific Coast Highway and the Santa Ana Mountains. The sound of distant highway traffic and Elizabeth throwing ice cubes into a glass filled Rumer's ears. She could feel Elizabeth getting angry, and the energy scared her.
“If you don't want to hear about it,” Elizabeth said, “then why did you come?”
“To see you and Michael.”
“Really?” she'd said. “More to see Michael, seems to me.”
“He's my nephew,” Rumer said, sitting still, holding Michael and the toy horse on her lap. Her heart felt squeezed; she didn't want to hear this—and she didn't want Michael to either.