by Luanne Rice
Rumer followed, staying close, her front wheel drawing even with Elizabeth's back one. With Zeb's constellations blazing overhead, the sisters swerved ahead of and behind each other, crisscrossing and zigzagging in a bike-riding ballet they remembered from long ago. Elizabeth had a lump in her throat, remembering how easy it had been to get Rumer to follow her, to do anything she ever said.
You'll have only one sister.
How true it was, Zee thought, and how badly she had fouled it up. In all these years, how often had she wished she could call Rumer? With the happy news that followed good notices, the time she had worried about a mammogram, all the little things Michael had said and done.
Elizabeth's throat closed tighter, knowing that she had kept Michael away. He could have spent summers here in this magical place, but her guilt had made her keep him from his aunt. As they rode closer to Foley's Store, Elizabeth knew that her moment was here—that no matter how Rumer reacted, Elizabeth would soon be free. She had paid a great price for the relief she would get tonight.
The store was right in the middle of Hubbard's Point. Cottages spread out from it on all sides—to boundaries formed by the beach, the railroad tracks, the marsh, and the cove. The cemetery, where their mother and Zeb's parents were buried, lay just north, around the bend. They parked their bikes—no need to lock them here. Silently asking their mother's forgiveness, Elizabeth took Rumer's hand and walked her up the cement stairs.
“Remember when you were little,” Elizabeth said, “and I'd take you here to buy penny candy?”
“You held my hand then too,” Rumer said.
They walked past the single checkout counter— with a summer girl, probably one of their friends’ daughters, reading a magazine as she waited for customers. A few people wandered the aisles, baskets on their arms. The soda fountain was filled with kids, and Elizabeth remembered sitting there with her friends. The walls were stained from decades of salt air; the wide-board floors were scuffed and splintered from generations of Hubbard's Point feet.
A few people noticed her. She heard them whisper, saw them tug their companions’ sleeves, try to point discreetly. Her heart hurt: She was famous. Her wish had come true, made all those years ago in the shadow of her little sister's award-winning school papers: Elizabeth was a star.
“What do you want to show me?” Rumer asked.
“Oh, I think you know,” Zee said softly.
Still holding her sister's hand, she led her to the table with the drawer in the middle. Pulling out one chair for her sister, Elizabeth sat beside her. Her breathing was hard, as if she'd just run a marathon. The ceiling fan turned overhead, and wisps of fog came through the open window.
What if it wasn't here? Twenty years had passed. What if an employee had swept it away long ago? Or what if the owners had put down tile or linoleum? Somehow Elizabeth had known that none of those things would have occurred. Nothing had changed at Hub-bard's Point in so long, she knew what she would find.
Rumer opened the drawer and absently shuffled through the papers inside as if magically—after all this time—she would find the note Zeb had left for her. It was almost impossible: Layers and layers, years and years of notes had been added, taken away, sifted, rearranged. Many of the oldest notes had found their way into scrapbooks or photo albums; the newest belonged to kids the ages of Michael and Quinn.
“It's not there,” Zee said.
“What's not?” Rumer said, still not getting it.
“You never even knew it existed, did you?”
Rumer stared at her, an expression of shock in her eyes. Elizabeth's heart pounded; her blood scalded her veins. She had never felt this nervous, not on any opening night in her life.
“This…” Elizabeth whispered. Reaching down beneath the scarred oak table, she worked her fingers under the floorboard. It had been loose then, two decades ago, and it was loose now. Mr. Foley still hadn't gotten around to banging in a nail to secure the plank. Her hand shaking, Elizabeth felt around until she felt the wadded-up paper.
Without reading it, she passed it across the table to Rumer.
At first sight, Rumer's eyes filled with tears.
“I found it by mistake,” Elizabeth said, her voice low. “I'd come here by myself to have tea and think about the play… when I opened the drawer, I recognized his handwriting. And I read the note.”
“Zeb's last note to me,” Rumer whispered. “He told me he'd written one…”
“I'm sorry, so sorry,” Elizabeth said.
She watched her sister cry, reading the words he had written so many summers ago; the words had haunted Elizabeth all this time, and she knew them by heart:
Rue,
Will you meet me tonight at eight? I think you know the place—the Indian Grave. I'm bringing my tent and I'll set it up in the little valley. We'll be safe there—together. I can't wait to see you.
Zeb
“You found it, and you hid it,” Rumer said.
“Yes,” Elizabeth murmured. But when she looked up, to her amazement, her sister's eyes were shining. They were filled with pain, but over it all Elizabeth saw sparks of old love. The way they had always been— sharing magic, secrets, and the love of two beach girls who would have many friends but only one sister.
“I'm sorry, Rumer,” she said.
Rumer nodded. Her gaze fell to the note, and she read it again.
“I used to tell myself it shouldn't make a difference. If you two were really meant to be together, you would find a way I didn't think it would honestly matter in the long run.”
“Everything matters,” Rumer said. “Everything adds up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Life, Elizabeth. I've wondered about this forever— not just the note. All of it—why life turned out the way it did. Every single thing that happens in it counts. This counts, Elizabeth.”
“This?”
“The fact that you're showing me now. That you've given me back the note.” Rumer took her hand. “Thank you.”
“Our lives would have been different, you know,” Elizabeth said, wiping her eyes. “You would have married Zeb, not me.”
“We'll never know. Don't think about it anymore,” Rumer said, her voice cracking as she reached across the table. “I love you, Elizabeth. You're my only sister. If you hadn't married Zeb, there would be no Michael… I fell in love with Michael the minute I laid eyes on him… he has your smile and his father's eyes.”
“He's the best thing Zeb and I ever did together,” Elizabeth said.
Rumer lowered her eyes, nodding.
“You're a good aunt to him, Rumer. Take good care of him till summer's over.”
“What do you mean? You're just across the river, in Evesham”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I'm going home. To L.A.”
“Connecticut's your home too.”
“Not anymore. It's too hard… too much water under the bridge.”
“I don't want it to be,” Rumer said, frowning. “I don't want to drive you away.”
“You're not. I just have to go.”
Elizabeth pushed back her chair to leave, and Rumer stood too. Bowing her head, Elizabeth let the sorrow wash over her. Not because she regretted losing Zeb, but because she had never loved him enough in the first place. She thought of the years he and Rumer had lost. The years she had lost with her sister. She had been in so many plays and movies about complicated women— fearful at heart but evil in deed. It hit her like a ton of bricks, standing right there in Foley's, that she was one of those women.
“Elizabeth, I love you,” Rumer whispered.
“I don't deserve it.”
“After today you do,” Rumer said, still holding the yellowed note. She was smiling and crying at the same time. “I feel as if you've just handed me back my life. Thank you.”
“Oh, my little sister,” Elizabeth said, gulping on a sob because Rumer was so willing to forgive and because Elizabeth knew that when she left Hubbard's Point that nig
ht, she was never coming back.
SIXTUS LARKIN MISSED seeing his two daughters together by twelve hours. Just as Elizabeth was driving out of Hubbard's Point on her way to pack up her things and leave Evesham, Sixtus was sailing the Clarissa around Brenton Point in Newport, Rhode Island.
Zeb tracked him the whole way. Via transmitter, he was able to register Sixtus's position on a chart on his laptop, watch as the green speck blipped closer and closer. Michael, Quinn, and Rumer sat with him, quietly reassured by the “beep-beep-beep” that was Sixtus Larkin returning home.
Although Elizabeth had offered no explanation for her sudden departure, Zeb had not expected one. He was used to the impetuous comings and goings of his ex-wife; it was Michael he was worried about.
“Didn't she say anything?” he asked Rumer the next morning when everyone had gathered to wait for Sixtus and to talk about the kids’ plans. He kept his arm around her and held her very close. Once, on a sudden impulse and in spite of the kids standing there, he kissed the back of her head.
“She said to watch out for Michael,” Rumer said, keeping quiet about what had gone on between her and Elizabeth.
“What else?”
“I'll tell you, Zeb, I really will,” Rumer said, reaching for his hand. “She was my sister even before I knew you. We go back so far, so strong, I sometimes forget that.”
“And you want to hold on to it for a while?”
Rumer nodded. Her clear eyes, her slim shoulders, the scent of her hair, all filled Zeb with a sense of longing that rattled his bones and made him feel drunk on the day.
“It was good,” Zeb said, shaking himself out of it, “that your mother came for your birthday.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, sitting beside Quinn.
“I was embarrassed,” Quinn said. “Reading my Juliet lines in front of such a famous actress.”
“You were better,” Michael said.
“No,” Quinn said. “She was.”
“Do you think she left because we want to get married?” Michael asked, and Zeb looked over at Rumer.
Part of him wanted to give his son every ounce of blessing he could muster—reach into the sky and bring down the sun, moon, and stars—to ensure that he and Quinn would have a happy life together from now on, save the long years that Zeb himself and Rumer had wasted. When time interfered, people made separate lives—sometimes on two different coasts. But just because their hearts were finally ready to be together didn't mean that practicalities would allow it.
But another part of him didn't want Michael to sell himself short—what if he decided he wanted to study something that would take him far away from Quinn? Or what if he learned—next week, next year—that he wasn't ready to settle down with one woman, that he wanted to see the world by himself first?
Or what if Quinn did?
Clearing his throat, trying to decide what to say, he watched Rumer cross the small room and sit down between the two kids. She smiled, looking from one to the other, and then across the room at Zeb. The sight of her made his blood boil. He wasn't letting her go ever again. This was it for him and Rumer Larkin. Whether she knew it or not, she was his from this day onward.
“I'm your aunt,” she said to Michael, “and your friend,” she said to Quinn.
“For my whole life,” Quinn said.
“Are you going to try to talk us out of this?” Michael asked. “Because you can't.”
“Have you spoken to Dana and Sam?” Rumer asked them.
“Not yet,” Michael said defiantly. “I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage though.”
“And what do you think they'll say?” Zeb asked.
“Believe it or not,” Quinn said sagely, without wavering, “they will say yes.”
“Do you think so?” Rumer asked, still smiling, taking Quinn's hand.
Quinn nodded. Her brow was wrinkled, and she had started to frown. Tears were just behind her eyes; she blinked to keep them back.
“They want me to be happy,” she whispered huskily.
“I want them to know how much I love her,” Michael said.
Zeb tried to breathe. There were times when he could hardly believe that this was his son. How strongly Michael believed in himself, in his love for this young woman! Where had he gotten this much confidence and courage?
Zeb thought back on the last year, the months, the events in space. He thought of exploding stars releasing energy so destructive that all that was left in the end was a black hole. A vortex, a huge cosmic whirlpool, sucking everything into nothingness. That was how Zeb had lived his life. His marriage to Elizabeth had been so wrong, so apocalyptically wrong, he had lived his life like a black hole. Without Rumer, nothing else had much mattered.
Zeb wasn't going back into space. He wasn't taking off again—not for anything. He was a grown man, and it had taken him until now to know what he wanted from life, that all that really mattered was right here— Rumer and Michael. His dreams of the sky were still there, and always would be. But he needed to stay here, near Rumer, to find them.
“Can I tell you a story?” Rumer asked.
“As long as you don't try to talk us out of it,” Michael challenged.
“When I was very young, younger than you are now,” Rumer said, “I fell in love with a boy here at Hubbard's Point.”
Zeb leaned against the doorjamb leading to the screened porch. The laptop's blue screen beeped intermittently, indicating that Sixtus was getting closer—past Napatree Point at Watch Hill, along Fishers Island, past Ledge Light
“We thought it never could end…” Rumer said, but she had to stop to gather herself together. Her eyes glittered, looking back and forth between the kids. “And I wish I could tell you that it never did…”
“It did?” Quinn asked.
Rumer nodded, careful not to look at Zeb.
“I thought this was going to be a story with a moral,” Michael said, “telling us that if it's meant to be, it will last forever.”
“You know the story,” Rumer said softly, taking her nephew's hand in her free one, “because that's the moral.”
“Which was?” Zeb asked, needing to hear.
“Which was that our love was there the whole time.”
“But you stopped being friends?” Quinn asked.
“We each had things to do. Important things—going to school, finding out that we wanted to go further, to get graduate degrees… we had to get jobs…”
“One of you had to get married,” Quinn said. “And have a wonderful son…” Her eyes flicked to Zeb.
“I don't want you to marry someone else,” Michael said, looking scared.
“Or you…”
“When you close your eyes,” Quinn said, staring at Rumer, “and look into the future… thinking about me and Michael… what do you see?”
“She's not Hecate,” Michael said.
“I know,” Quinn said. “But I trust her…”
Closing her eyes, Rumer sat very still, her hands balanced on her knees.
“Well,” she said. “I see you holding hands.”
“Are we married?” Quinn asked. “Have we been together this whole time?”
Rumer gave a slight shrug. “I don't know, Quinn. I don't have that sort of gift. But I definitely see you together—it's not a big mystery. It's just that anyone can see you love each other.”
“You're not clairvoyant?” Michael asked.
“No.”
“Was your mother?” Quinn asked.
“Not really,” Rumer said. “She was sensitive. She saw the unicorn, and she believed in ghosts… but she couldn't really see the future.”
“Then how did she know, when you were a little girl, that you would be together with Zeb—Mr. Mayhew?” Quinn asked.
“Excuse me?” Rumer asked.
“Your pin,” Quinn said quietly with deep love in her blue eyes. “That's the secret that makes it different from your sister's. Your mother knew that you belonged with Zeb.”
“
How can you tell?” Rumer asked, her voice shaking as if she knew at some deep level that Quinn was right. Hand trembling, she reached up to her lapel and started to undo the clasp.
“Elizabeth's lighthouse was plain,” Quinn said, examining the tiny gold nugget rocks, distinct bricks, deeply scored windows, and light lens. “It was just the lighthouse itself….”
“What makes mine different?” Rumer asked. “I still can't see—”
“Look in the wall,” Quinn said, pointing. “Just below the top window.”
“It's just tiny bricks,” Rumer said. “Laid one on top of each other.”
“With mortar between them,” Zeb said, beginning to see. “All made of gold—the scoring is deeper to show where the cement's supposed to be.”
“Right there,” Quinn said, tracing several bricks whose mortar seemed to be deeper, darker.
“Oh, my God,” Rumer said with a little cry.
“It says something…” Michael said.
“Read it,” Quinn said. “Two letters…”
“Z-R,” Rumer said, her voice cracking. “Zeb and Rumer.”
“Your mother knew,” Quinn said. “From the time you were very young, when she had the pins made, that you would be with Zeb.”
“We weren't fooling anyone except ourselves,” Zeb said, holding Rumer's hand and kissing it. This was the moment—he felt it deep inside, and he read it in her straight posture, the quiet certainty in her blue eyes.
“And this is supposed to convince us we should wait?” Michael asked. “Because it's not doing a very good job.”
“I get their point,” Quinn whispered, holding his hands. “Your aunt just looked into our future, and she can't imagine us not together—like her mother with her and Zeb. And guess what? The most convincing thing of all?”
“What?” Michael asked, frowning as he gazed into her eyes.
“They're together, Michael. We can't deny that—”
Michael couldn't answer. Zeb watched him clamp down, not giving an inch. Fight for it, Zeb half wanted to say. Don't give up. Don't let go of her even for a minute.