True Blue - Softcover
The story of two sisters and the boy next door...
The acclaimed author of Firefly Beach and other New York Times bestsellers, Luanne Rice explores the powerful bonds that connect old friends, and the joy of life’s unexpected second chances. Now, returning once more to the Connecticut beach town at the center of many of her most beloved novels, she touches our hearts with a spellbinding story of a love lost--and saved--by the power of what was always meant to be . . .
True Blue
Schoolteacher Rumer Larkin never felt the need to stray from Hubbard’s Point. Rich with legends of seafaring spirits and lost treasures, the rustic village still echoes with the memories of Rumer’s past--even after those she loved have left. But now, so many summers after Zeb Mayhew broke her heart, he has returned with his teenage son, and Rumer knows her quiet life will never be the same again.
Zeb has come back to hoping to reconnect with his son, with the past and all its mistakes. Suddenly facing Rumer again, Zeb discovers where he belongs. He could never forget the girl who used to climb onto his roof with him to watch the stars. But neither Zeb nor Rumer knows if it’s too late to do more than regret the path not taken--or if every path leads us back to the one true love of our life . . .
The acclaimed author of Firefly Beach and other New York Times bestsellers, Luanne Rice explores the powerful bonds that connect old friends, and the joy of life’s unexpected second chances. Now, returning once more to the Connecticut beach town at the center of many of her most beloved novels, she touches our hearts with a spellbinding story of a love lost--and saved--by the power of what was always meant to be . . .
True Blue
Schoolteacher Rumer Larkin never felt the need to stray from Hubbard’s Point. Rich with legends of seafaring spirits and lost treasures, the rustic village still echoes with the memories of Rumer’s past--even after those she loved have left. But now, so many summers after Zeb Mayhew broke her heart, he has returned with his teenage son, and Rumer knows her quiet life will never be the same again.
Zeb has come back to hoping to reconnect with his son, with the past and all its mistakes. Suddenly facing Rumer again, Zeb discovers where he belongs. He could never forget the girl who used to climb onto his roof with him to watch the stars. But neither Zeb nor Rumer knows if it’s too late to do more than regret the path not taken--or if every path leads us back to the one true love of our life . . .
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Luanne Rice is the author, most recently, of Last Kiss and Light of the Moon, among many other New York Times bestsellers. She lives in New York City and on the Connecticut shore.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Chapter One
The FOR SALE sign had been there, nestled in the ivy for so long, it had begun to seem part of the landscape, and then it was gone. Early June, Hubbard's Point was coming back to life, so everyone noticed. Taking their evening walks down the dead-end road to the Point, looking up at the old Mayhew place, couples would speculate--in voices loud enough for Rumer Larkin to hear--about who the new owners would be.
Rumer wondered herself, but only slightly. That house, no matter how often it changed hands, had had only one owner that mattered--and Zeb had sold it ten years ago, after his and Elizabeth's divorce.
Rumer knew there were two types of people who came to the Point. Those like her family, who stayed forever, and those who thought more about property values than the simple peace of the beautiful land. People like that came and went. The women of the Point--or les Dames de la Roche, as Winnie Hubbard called them--just watched without much comment.
It was dusk. The air was fragrant with honeysuckle and beach roses. Pale blue and white lace hydrangeas bloomed along the garage and stone wall. Pine and scrub oak trees, symbolic of Hubbard's Point, filled all the yards. The sound of her father sanding the bottom of his boat rasped through the air. Peering out the kitchen window, Rumer brushed wheat-colored hair from her eyes and knew this was the perfect time for the release.
She walked out to the mudroom, where the family hung their slickers and slipped off their boots. Wood for the fireplace was stacked against the wall--pine wainscoting darkened with time and salt air. Kindling was saved in a copper kettle, and two animal hutches, brought home from her veterinary office, stood in the corner.
They were covered with pieces of bright fabric--an old slipcover and curtain--to keep the birds and animals from being frightened, and Rumer knelt down to lift the cloth on the lowest hutch. There, huddled in back, was the small brown rabbit. Liquid eyes stared, whiskers quivering.
She had found him six weeks earlier, lying stunned near the angel statue on the border of her yard and the Mayhews'. The talon marks on his back had made her think an owl had caught him, lifted him into the sky. This little guy was fighter enough to squirm hard, wriggle free, and drop to earth. It had been a long fall, but she had set his leg, stitched his cuts, and he had survived.
"Oh, Rumer," her mother had said to her once when she was eleven and had stayed up all night watching over a baby blue jay who had fallen out of its nest, "Nature can be harsh--sometimes baby birds are born sick, and their mothers push them out. We just don't know. . . ."
"I know," Rumer had said stubbornly. "He was just trying to fly a little too soon. He's going to be fine. I'll take care of him, and then I'll put him back."
"He won't be accepted, Rumer," said Mrs. Mayhew--her mother's best friend since childhood. "Not after he's been touched by humans."
"Yes, he will," Rumer had said, undeterred, making him a nest in an old shoe box. "I'm sure of it."
"Well, just don't forget to take care of yourself as well. Okay, honey? Little girls need sleep too."
Rumer had listened, but inside she felt so thrilled and alive, as if she'd never need sleep again. But the next day, when she checked on the small jay, she found him dead in the shoe box. Her insides felt like ice, numbness spreading into her fingers as she gently touched the bird's wings, discovering the broken bones.
Zeb helped her bury him, she remembered now: by the angel statue between their yards. Kneeling there, digging the hole and smelling the fresh dirt, she knew that she wanted to learn everything there was about helping animals, and she whispered to Zeb, "I'm going to be a vet."
"No kidding, Larkin," he'd whispered back. "I've known that since you were five."
Holding the rabbit--now rehabilitated from his broken leg--in her hands, she walked outside. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. Across the water, seabirds cried on their way home to Gull Island. Pines whispered in the wind. The rhythm of her father's sanding continued. Down the street, Winnie sang scales. Stopping by the stone angel, Rumer set the rabbit down in a patch of glossy-green myrtle.
Pausing to sniff the air, he scampered straight into the Mayhews' yard. Rumer hid in the bushes, holding her breath, watching him go. I knew it, she thought. Although there were plenty of other rabbits around, he was part of the old family that lived under the azalea bush, in a warren deep in the rock ledge.
When she, Elizabeth, and Zeb were kids, their mothers had taught them all about the animals who lived on the Point, the trees and flowers that grew there, the fish that swam the waters, the stars that shined down on them every night. The Mayhews and Larkins had the Point's wildest, least-tamed lots, so they had the most nature to love and learn about right in their own backyards--behind the very same houses their mothers had grown up in.
Rumer glanced up at the house next door. No matter how many times it had changed hands, everyone still called it "the Mayhew place." Built on granite ledge, its shingles were still stained dark green, with cutout pine trees in the white shutters, the way it had been when Zeb had lived there. Funny how none of the three subsequent owners had bothered to change much.
Tall pine trees shaded the rocky land. Mrs. Mayhew's gardens were still the same: rich tangles of ivy and woodbine, rare wildflowers such as bloodroot and ladyslippers, hybrid lilies of gold and rust-red growing--with such heart-piercing tenacity--from out of the gray, glacial ledge where the rabbits made their home.
Now, gazing west at the beach and marsh, Rumer saw the crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Just below, to the right, was a planet. Mercury? Venus? She wasn't sure, but seeing it stirred something old and nearly forgotten deep in her soul, so bittersweet, she picked a honeysuckle blossom and licked the nectar to chase the other taste away even as she realized Winnie's singing had stopped.
Watching her charge, she saw two new rabbits venture out of their hiding place among the low azaleas. They sniffed the air, hopped through the yard. Rumer watched the tall grass move, and they encircled their friend, welcoming him back.
Just then the animals froze. They turned to statues, like the stone angel, and Rumer glanced over her shoulder to see someone tall coming up her hill, through the shadows. It was Winnie; Rumer could tell by her stooped grace, by the shush, shush of her long caftan against the grass and stones. Behind her, with hair as tangled as the ivy, was Rumer's neighbor and a student in the veterinary science course she taught at the high school, Quinn Grayson.
"Are we too late?" Winnie asked as the two joined Rumer. Although she didn't lower her voice, the rabbits weren't scared away. The creatures on the Point, humans and animals, knew each other so well, and at eighty-two, Winnie was the oldest of all. Quinn, crouching down, didn't say a word.
"Almost," Rumer said. "I let him go a few minutes ago--there he is, by the azalea. See him?"
"Being welcomed back by his family."
"Always."
"I'm sorry I was late. I was rehearsing, and I lost track of the time."
Quinn looked up. "And I was making a tea ceremony for Aunt Dana and helping with the wedding . . . instead of green tea, I made rose-hip tea from Point roses! She loved it, and it was so--"
"Test on pet first aid tomorrow, Quinn," Rumer said.
"I know, but I wanted to see you release the rabbit . . ." Quinn said. Although she was as wild and native as most of the animals on the Point, she was trying hard to have a normal junior year. At school to teach just one elective class a semester, Rumer looked after her the best she could, but what could she really say to a girl who had missed more school days than she had attended since last September?
"Well, mission accomplished," Winnie said in her straightforward and sensible way. "You've seen the rabbit safely home, and now you must return to your studies. Excellence, Quinn, is what we expect from you: The world has far too much mediocrity already. Go to your books and make us all proud."
"Dr. Larkin," Quinn said, smiling. "It always feels so weird, calling you that at school. You've always been just Rumer to me and Allie."
"You can call me whatever you want," Rumer said. "Now go on home. Forget about the wedding for one night, and study hard. . . ."
"I'd rather be lobstering," Quinn said. "I want to live life, not study it."
Rumer hid a smile. She remembered feeling that way at Quinn's age; she still did. "Well, for now you have to do both."
"Yes, darling," Winnie agreed.
Reluctantly, Quinn shook her head as if both Winnie and Rumer were too old to ever understand, and ran through the yards.
"Not the first complicated girl the Point has seen . . ." Winnie murmured.
Fireflies flickered in the bushes, and ghostly shapes shimmered in the twilight haze. Standing there, Rumer felt the old woman's hand on her shoulder. Winnie's white hair piled on top of her head made her look even taller than her six feet, and Rumer felt flooded with love for her neighbor and friend.
"Who do you think has bought the place?" Rumer asked, gesturing at the green house.
"Someone fascinating, I hope."
"With children," Rumer said. "Who'll climb the trees and love the birds and rabbits that live here."
"And stars and sky overhead," Winnie said, her trained voice rich and melodic.
Why had Winnie said that in th...
The FOR SALE sign had been there, nestled in the ivy for so long, it had begun to seem part of the landscape, and then it was gone. Early June, Hubbard's Point was coming back to life, so everyone noticed. Taking their evening walks down the dead-end road to the Point, looking up at the old Mayhew place, couples would speculate--in voices loud enough for Rumer Larkin to hear--about who the new owners would be.
Rumer wondered herself, but only slightly. That house, no matter how often it changed hands, had had only one owner that mattered--and Zeb had sold it ten years ago, after his and Elizabeth's divorce.
Rumer knew there were two types of people who came to the Point. Those like her family, who stayed forever, and those who thought more about property values than the simple peace of the beautiful land. People like that came and went. The women of the Point--or les Dames de la Roche, as Winnie Hubbard called them--just watched without much comment.
It was dusk. The air was fragrant with honeysuckle and beach roses. Pale blue and white lace hydrangeas bloomed along the garage and stone wall. Pine and scrub oak trees, symbolic of Hubbard's Point, filled all the yards. The sound of her father sanding the bottom of his boat rasped through the air. Peering out the kitchen window, Rumer brushed wheat-colored hair from her eyes and knew this was the perfect time for the release.
She walked out to the mudroom, where the family hung their slickers and slipped off their boots. Wood for the fireplace was stacked against the wall--pine wainscoting darkened with time and salt air. Kindling was saved in a copper kettle, and two animal hutches, brought home from her veterinary office, stood in the corner.
They were covered with pieces of bright fabric--an old slipcover and curtain--to keep the birds and animals from being frightened, and Rumer knelt down to lift the cloth on the lowest hutch. There, huddled in back, was the small brown rabbit. Liquid eyes stared, whiskers quivering.
She had found him six weeks earlier, lying stunned near the angel statue on the border of her yard and the Mayhews'. The talon marks on his back had made her think an owl had caught him, lifted him into the sky. This little guy was fighter enough to squirm hard, wriggle free, and drop to earth. It had been a long fall, but she had set his leg, stitched his cuts, and he had survived.
"Oh, Rumer," her mother had said to her once when she was eleven and had stayed up all night watching over a baby blue jay who had fallen out of its nest, "Nature can be harsh--sometimes baby birds are born sick, and their mothers push them out. We just don't know. . . ."
"I know," Rumer had said stubbornly. "He was just trying to fly a little too soon. He's going to be fine. I'll take care of him, and then I'll put him back."
"He won't be accepted, Rumer," said Mrs. Mayhew--her mother's best friend since childhood. "Not after he's been touched by humans."
"Yes, he will," Rumer had said, undeterred, making him a nest in an old shoe box. "I'm sure of it."
"Well, just don't forget to take care of yourself as well. Okay, honey? Little girls need sleep too."
Rumer had listened, but inside she felt so thrilled and alive, as if she'd never need sleep again. But the next day, when she checked on the small jay, she found him dead in the shoe box. Her insides felt like ice, numbness spreading into her fingers as she gently touched the bird's wings, discovering the broken bones.
Zeb helped her bury him, she remembered now: by the angel statue between their yards. Kneeling there, digging the hole and smelling the fresh dirt, she knew that she wanted to learn everything there was about helping animals, and she whispered to Zeb, "I'm going to be a vet."
"No kidding, Larkin," he'd whispered back. "I've known that since you were five."
Holding the rabbit--now rehabilitated from his broken leg--in her hands, she walked outside. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. Across the water, seabirds cried on their way home to Gull Island. Pines whispered in the wind. The rhythm of her father's sanding continued. Down the street, Winnie sang scales. Stopping by the stone angel, Rumer set the rabbit down in a patch of glossy-green myrtle.
Pausing to sniff the air, he scampered straight into the Mayhews' yard. Rumer hid in the bushes, holding her breath, watching him go. I knew it, she thought. Although there were plenty of other rabbits around, he was part of the old family that lived under the azalea bush, in a warren deep in the rock ledge.
When she, Elizabeth, and Zeb were kids, their mothers had taught them all about the animals who lived on the Point, the trees and flowers that grew there, the fish that swam the waters, the stars that shined down on them every night. The Mayhews and Larkins had the Point's wildest, least-tamed lots, so they had the most nature to love and learn about right in their own backyards--behind the very same houses their mothers had grown up in.
Rumer glanced up at the house next door. No matter how many times it had changed hands, everyone still called it "the Mayhew place." Built on granite ledge, its shingles were still stained dark green, with cutout pine trees in the white shutters, the way it had been when Zeb had lived there. Funny how none of the three subsequent owners had bothered to change much.
Tall pine trees shaded the rocky land. Mrs. Mayhew's gardens were still the same: rich tangles of ivy and woodbine, rare wildflowers such as bloodroot and ladyslippers, hybrid lilies of gold and rust-red growing--with such heart-piercing tenacity--from out of the gray, glacial ledge where the rabbits made their home.
Now, gazing west at the beach and marsh, Rumer saw the crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Just below, to the right, was a planet. Mercury? Venus? She wasn't sure, but seeing it stirred something old and nearly forgotten deep in her soul, so bittersweet, she picked a honeysuckle blossom and licked the nectar to chase the other taste away even as she realized Winnie's singing had stopped.
Watching her charge, she saw two new rabbits venture out of their hiding place among the low azaleas. They sniffed the air, hopped through the yard. Rumer watched the tall grass move, and they encircled their friend, welcoming him back.
Just then the animals froze. They turned to statues, like the stone angel, and Rumer glanced over her shoulder to see someone tall coming up her hill, through the shadows. It was Winnie; Rumer could tell by her stooped grace, by the shush, shush of her long caftan against the grass and stones. Behind her, with hair as tangled as the ivy, was Rumer's neighbor and a student in the veterinary science course she taught at the high school, Quinn Grayson.
"Are we too late?" Winnie asked as the two joined Rumer. Although she didn't lower her voice, the rabbits weren't scared away. The creatures on the Point, humans and animals, knew each other so well, and at eighty-two, Winnie was the oldest of all. Quinn, crouching down, didn't say a word.
"Almost," Rumer said. "I let him go a few minutes ago--there he is, by the azalea. See him?"
"Being welcomed back by his family."
"Always."
"I'm sorry I was late. I was rehearsing, and I lost track of the time."
Quinn looked up. "And I was making a tea ceremony for Aunt Dana and helping with the wedding . . . instead of green tea, I made rose-hip tea from Point roses! She loved it, and it was so--"
"Test on pet first aid tomorrow, Quinn," Rumer said.
"I know, but I wanted to see you release the rabbit . . ." Quinn said. Although she was as wild and native as most of the animals on the Point, she was trying hard to have a normal junior year. At school to teach just one elective class a semester, Rumer looked after her the best she could, but what could she really say to a girl who had missed more school days than she had attended since last September?
"Well, mission accomplished," Winnie said in her straightforward and sensible way. "You've seen the rabbit safely home, and now you must return to your studies. Excellence, Quinn, is what we expect from you: The world has far too much mediocrity already. Go to your books and make us all proud."
"Dr. Larkin," Quinn said, smiling. "It always feels so weird, calling you that at school. You've always been just Rumer to me and Allie."
"You can call me whatever you want," Rumer said. "Now go on home. Forget about the wedding for one night, and study hard. . . ."
"I'd rather be lobstering," Quinn said. "I want to live life, not study it."
Rumer hid a smile. She remembered feeling that way at Quinn's age; she still did. "Well, for now you have to do both."
"Yes, darling," Winnie agreed.
Reluctantly, Quinn shook her head as if both Winnie and Rumer were too old to ever understand, and ran through the yards.
"Not the first complicated girl the Point has seen . . ." Winnie murmured.
Fireflies flickered in the bushes, and ghostly shapes shimmered in the twilight haze. Standing there, Rumer felt the old woman's hand on her shoulder. Winnie's white hair piled on top of her head made her look even taller than her six feet, and Rumer felt flooded with love for her neighbor and friend.
"Who do you think has bought the place?" Rumer asked, gesturing at the green house.
"Someone fascinating, I hope."
"With children," Rumer said. "Who'll climb the trees and love the birds and rabbits that live here."
"And stars and sky overhead," Winnie said, her trained voice rich and melodic.
Why had Winnie said that in th...
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- PublisherBantam
- Publication date2005
- ISBN 10 055358829X
- ISBN 13 9780553588293
- BindingMass Market Paperback
- Number of pages512
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