Follow the Stars Home. Luanne Rice

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ squirrel stopped nursing her and kicked her out. She probably thought her babies were in danger –”

      “Cats hunt squirrels,” Amy said. “They were her prey.”

      “Eventually, but she was still too young. I had to feed her warm milk with a doll bottle. She was tiny, the size of a teacup. I’d hold her in one hand.”

      “She must have been so cute,” Amy said in a small voice.

      “And wild. At night she’d tear through the house. Once a bat got in, and she chased it till dawn. When people dropped by, she’d hide so completely, I sometimes couldn’t find her all day.”

      “Hide where?”

      “In my sweater drawer, under my quilt – she’d flatten herself out so much, you couldn’t even see a bump in the bed. Up the chimney, on the smoke shelf.”

      “And now she’s up there, hiding in the basket,” Amy said, tilting her head back to see. Stella was there watching them, her eyes an unusual shade of turquoise.

      “See, it’s not you,” Dianne said.

      “I thought she’d know me by now,” Amy said. “I’ve been coming almost a month.”

      “She doesn’t even meow – she chatters like a squirrel. In the morning she peeps. Sometimes I call her Peeper. She’s just a very unusual cat.” Dianne hated the idea of anyone thinking they were rejected, left out, unloved. Including Amy. She came over every day now, sat with Julia, talked to Dianne for hours on end. Gazing up at Stella, Amy seemed thin and unkempt, a lost ragamuffin.

      “You raised a wild cat with a bottle …” Amy said, turning to Dianne. Her eyes were full of pain. “People don’t usually do that.”

      “You would,” Dianne said.

      “How do you know?” Amy asked.

      “I can tell how much you care by the way you are with Julia.”

      Clearing her throat, Dianne began to make Stella’s sound, the chirping of a squirrel. “Eh-eh. Eh-eh.”

      The cat perked up her ears. Julia awoke, her eyes rolling up to Stella’s hiding place. Dianne kept on making the noise. Amy sat very still, and Julia’s hands began to drift, conducting her imaginary orchestra. Tentatively, Stella slid out of her basket. With great stealth, she came down from the shelf.

      This was a game Dianne often played with her cat. Stella could play; Julia could not. Amy watched openmouthed.

      Afternoon sun bathed the room, and Dianne tilted her watch crystal to catch the light. Directing it against the white wall, she sent the bright disk of reflected light careening along the baseboard. Stella began to chase it, making the “eh-eh” noises as she stalked her prey.

      “She thinks it’s alive,” Amy exclaimed. “She wants to catch it!”

      “You try it,” Dianne said. “With your father’s Timex.”

      “Okay,” Amy said, and Julia sighed.

      Dianne watched Amy get the hang of it, sending the tiny moon along the floor, Stella chattering in hot pursuit.

      “Watch, Julia,” Amy laughed. “You have one crazy cat!”

      Julia strained to focus. Her hands moved rapidly. Her eyes seemed to follow the action, and when Amy sent the tiny moon onto Julia’s tray and Stella jumped into Julia’s lap, Amy squealed with surprise and delight.

      “Stella means ‘star,’” Dianne said. “I named her because when I first brought her home, I found her sitting in the window one night, staring at the sky. She always looks toward the same constellation.”

      “Which one?” Amy asked.

      “Orion.”

      “I love the story of Stella,” Amy said.

      Dianne nodded. As she watched Julia and Amy pet the cat, she tried not to let Amy’s comment make her feel too sad. She thought of loving the strange, the unlovable. She knew the value of play, of imagination and symbolism. It was every mother’s dream to see her child grow and develop, and to help the child along that path. Dianne had been able to do that more for a cat than for her own daughter.

      Leaving the girls alone, she went silently over to her workbench, back to the columns. She loved the ionic capitals; their scrollwork reminded her of moon shells. The girls’ voices drifted over. They were soft and harmonious; at their feet, the cat chirped and peeped.

      Listening, Dianne thought: This wasn’t the life she would have chosen. Dianne loved to talk, tell stories, exchange tales about the mysteries of life. Her child, her darling, her beacon of light, was incapable of reflection. Gazing into her eyes, she saw blankness, as if Julia’s eyes saw only inward, deep into her own soul – or nothing at all. Dianne pretended that Julia spoke in words and gestures, and sometimes she was more able than others to admit her own maternal lies.

      Somewhere along the line Dianne had turned into an eccentric who talked to cats. Then, since she couldn’t communicate with her daughter, she captivated another woman’s child. To escape the hurt of her life, she imagined that her daughter was aware. That Julia was more, somehow, than a broken human body.

       Much more, Julia. Much more, my love.

      Dianne glanced over: The girls were talking. Amy was imitating the cat, and Julia was expressing her pleasure with the elaborate hulalike motion of her arms. Dianne bent over her work, positioning columns.

      “Does your mother want you home?” she called to Amy.

      “Nope,” Amy called back.

      Amy rarely spoke of her family, but Alan had given Dianne to understand that all was not well in the Brooks household. Dianne had respect for all mothers, no matter how troubled or imperfect, and she took a long breath to make herself mindful of that fact.

      “What do you think we should do for my mother when she retires?” Dianne asked, changing the subject, knowing that she had touched a raw nerve. Amy was clearly not ready to open up to Dianne about the goings-on at home.

      “A surprise party,” Amy said.

      “She says she’ll kill us if we do that.”

      “My friend Amber’s mom took her parents on a cruise for their golden anniversary.”

      “A cruise …” Dianne said, mulling it over.

      “Dianne,” Amy said. “Julia’s wet.”

      “Okay, be right there,” Dianne said.

      The game was over, and Stella crept back to her basket. Dianne went to the bathroom and returned with a clean diaper. During Amy’s first visits, Dianne had taken Julia behind the rice-paper screen to change her. They were beyond that now. Julia was eleven. If she went to camp, to gym class, to sleep over at a friend’s house, other girls would see her naked. Amy was Julia’s friend, her good friend.

      “Here’s powder,” Amy said, handing Dianne СКАЧАТЬ