Cloud Nine, page 7
‘You can’t come, honey,’ he said. ‘It’s my job, not a vacation. And your mother wouldn’t like it. She needs you with her for Thanksgiving. You know that.’
‘She has Julian,’ Snow said.
‘Yes, but she needs you,’ Will said.
‘Dad, I –’
‘No, Snow. You’re staying with your mother. That’s all there is to it.’
Sitting back, Sarah knew that Will needed Snow every bit as much. He was big and strong, and he had a deep, calm voice that hid a lot. But he couldn’t hide his love for his child. Sarah knew. She couldn’t hide hers for Mike either.
That night at home, Sarah opened the package Snow had left on her desk. It was a small cardboard box of bleach. She stood in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. The thought of dyeing her hair felt weird, but Thanksgiving was less than a week away.
She lit the candle Meg had given her before her last surgery. It glowed from within. Staring at the candle, she thought of the red barn and white goose down of Elk Island, candles and quilts, the mysterious connection between the archaic and the modern.
She pictured Mike in the cold barn. She heard the geese honking, saw their feathers drifting like snow in the wind. As a baby he had loved the geese. He had cried one time, afraid his grandfather was hurting them to get their feathers. Holding him tight, Sarah had smelled his sweet neck, whispered in his ear that the geese didn’t mind, that taking their down was no worse than combing a little boy’s hair.
Her words had been a lie, and by now, working in the barn, Mike would have found that out. Ducking her head under the faucet, feeling the hot water on her head, she wondered what he thought about that.
Reaching blindly for the box of bleach, Sarah thought of Snow. She was another woman’s daughter, and Sarah hoped she was as kind to her own mother as she had been to her, encouraging her to take this scary step. Sarah would never have bleached her hair on her own. Wondering what she would look like, she found herself imagining what Will might think of her. Whether he would think she looked foolish, a middle-aged woman trying to look too young.
Or whether Will would think she looked pretty. Like he had said at the fair.
The evil castle was cold and forbidding, with everyone letting Snow know exactly how they felt about her. All the big, ugly, baronial furniture squatted along the walls like toady gnomes, closely watching her every move. Her mother and Julian sat on the love seat by the fire, sharing a bottle of wine. The old portraits leered at her, Julian’s moon-faced ancestors. They didn’t love her, but they were going to make sure she didn’t escape.
‘I want to go,’ Snow said again.
‘Absolutely not,’ her mother said.
‘Poor Dad. You’re going to let him fly all the way to Maine with some stranger and no one who loves him on Thanksgiving?’
‘He’s a grown man, Susan,’ her mother said. ‘Accepting that charter was his choice. If he had wanted to stay in Fort Cromwell, he could have picked you up after dinner on Thursday and spent the whole weekend with you. I’m sure you’ll see him when he gets back.’
‘Dinner’s the important part,’ Snow said. ‘Last Thanksgiving he ate frozen turkey dinners. Six of them!’
‘We want you to be here with us,’ Julian said, swirling his wine and appreciating the color in the firelight.
‘Yeah, right,’ Snow said.
‘We do,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told Pansy to make that sweet potato dish you like, with the marshmallows and pecans …’
‘Hazelnuts,’ Snow said. ‘I like it with hazelnuts.’
‘Ah. Well, we’ll have to tell Pansy.’
Snow wanted to walk right across the room and wipe that dumb grin off his face. He thought he was being such a great stepfather, telling his cook to make sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving while her father was being forced to fly practically to the tundra to rescue someone else’s kid.
‘They need me to go with them,’ Snow said.
‘That’s not what your father said,’ Alice said.
‘That’s only because he’s trying to make things easy for you and not fight for me on the holidays. They need me, to help talk Mike into coming home.’
‘Who’s Mike?’ Julian asked.
‘Sarah Talbot’s son. He went home to Maine to save the family farm, he’s practically a saint looking after his old grandfather and Aunt Bess, but he’s throwing his life away. She wants to get him back before it’s too late, and I know I can help. One kid to another, you know?’
‘Mike Talbot,’ Julian said, smirking.
Snow was stirring the fire with a long poker. Its brass handle was shaped like a lynx’s head. It had an evil little smile on its cat face, just the way Julian looked now. Snow felt like running upstairs before he spoke, not giving him the satisfaction of listening, but her curiosity got the better of her.
‘Oh, do you know him?’ Alice asked, leaning against his chest with his arm around her.
‘Yeah. I do. He’s a druggie.’
‘He is?’
‘Yeah. He worked for me after school last year. He was my clean-up kid.’
‘That doesn’t mean he took drugs,’ Snow said. She had been to Julian’s shop. He owned a big garage with race cars up on lifts and mechanics drilling things underneath and some of the faster boys from high school hanging around, sprinkling Speedy-Dry on the spilled oil and sweeping it up with a wide broom.
‘Mike Talbot did. My foreman caught him smoking pot and fired him on the spot. Zero tolerance for drugs in my operation.’
‘I think that’s wonderful,’ Alice said, gazing at him as if he had just discovered the cure for cancer.
‘Thanks,’ he said, giving her that Elvis grin he thought was so sexy. The thing was, and Snow hated to admit it, his eyes shone with love every time he looked at her mother. ‘I felt terrible doing it, though. Firing Mike. He was a nice kid. A little on the edge, but basically good. His mother runs that great down shop in town.’
‘Cloud Nine? The quilt place?’ Alice asked.
‘Yes. I dated her once before you came along,’ Julian said, nuzzling her neck. ‘She used to be very beautiful before she got sick.’
‘I don’t want to hear about beautiful women you once dated,’ Alice said, pretending to be huffy. She leaned away from Julian, and he pulled her back.
‘She was never in your league. She had this New England thing going, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose and this rich dark hair all swept up on her head. Kind of a Boston de’ Medici, real aristocratic. I bought some pillows and took her out for a drink, that’s all. Gave her kid a job.’
‘Good,’ Alice said.
‘I heard she got very sick. Frankly, ‘I’m glad to hear she’s still well enough to work,’ Julian said.
‘Well, she is,’ Snow said.
‘Sarah Talbot,’ Alice mused. ‘That name sounds familiar. I think maybe I’ve seen her at the hospital.’
Snow watched her trying to picture Sarah. Since marrying Julian, her mother had quit her job to do good deeds at the hospital. She wore a pink smock and spent two days each week with other Fort Cromwell society women delivering flowers and offering to help sick people write letters or walk to the solarium. Snow admired her mother for doing it, and she wondered if she had ever helped Sarah. But just then her mother seemed to be drawing a blank.
‘I wish her nothing but the best,’ Julian said.
‘I’m going to Maine with her and Dad,’ Snow said.
‘Susan,’ Alice said, leaning forward. ‘You are not invited. You are not allowed. You are not going.’
‘I’m going,’ Snow said softly.
‘I hear you’re sick of Gainsborough,’ Julian said, pouring more wine into his and Alice’s glasses. ‘You’re rotating the exhibit in your bedroom.’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Whatever you want, Susan,’ he said. ‘You pick out any painting you want. What’s mine is yours. You want sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving, you get sweet potatoes. This year you pick the pies. And what was that cranberry stuff you made last year? Delicious. I want the same exact thing this year, and you have to make it. It wouldn’t be the same if Pansy did.’
‘I want to be with Dad,’ Snow whispered, gazing at her mother, who wouldn’t meet her eyes.
7
The day before Thanksgiving, Sarah woke up with a slight fever. She felt hot, but when she pushed back the quilt, she felt cold. Her muscles ached. Her mouth felt dry, and when she swallowed, her throat hurt.
‘Please, not today,’ she said. She could not come down with the flu right now, but that was what her symptoms felt like. Today Will Burke was flying her to Elk Island. Before dark tonight, she would see Mike. Slowly, she got out of bed. Pushing back her curtains, she could see the sun rising over the house across the street. The sky was clear and brilliant, already bright blue.
By the time she took a shower and drank some orange juice, she felt all better. Her skin was cool. The flu had merely lighted upon her instead of settling in for a real bout. It had reminded Sarah of being very sick, of all she had to be grateful for. She flexed her shoulders, stretched her spine. She thought of near-misses on the highway, an incredible white rose she had seen lingering in her garden last week. Instead of the flu, were the fatigue and aches cancer-related? She refused to think that way. Sarah had grown to believe in the small miracles of life, and she knew she had just received another.
Meg Ferguson picked her up at nine to drive her to the airport. Sarah was ready, dressed in traveling clothes: jeans, an Irish fisherman’s sweater, a long navy wool jacket. She had two large bags packed, one filled with things Mike had left behind. At first she considered pulling on an old red felt hat, but when she saw Meg turn into the driveway, she took a deep breath and left the hat on the chair.
With her head in the trunk, rearranging things to make room for Sarah’s bags, Meg didn’t see Sarah right away. But when she looked up, her mouth fell open. Sarah was so nervous, her heart was pounding.
‘Oh, my God,’ Meg said.
‘Is it ridiculous?’ Sarah asked, covering her head with her hands. Meg held Sarah by the elbows, easing her arms down. Sarah could hardly look at her.
‘It’s gorgeous. Let me see.’
Meg, who wasn’t exactly the done-hair type, stood back and gazed appraisingly at her friend. Meg had straight brown hair and bangs pushed off to one side. She wore her usual uniform of a skirt and sweater covered by a white lab coat. Her stethoscope dangled from the left pocket. She had a plastic turkey pinned to her lapel. But she was looking at Sarah as if she were a world-famous stylist and Sarah was a rare specimen of beauty.
‘I can’t believe the difference,’ Meg said.
‘Is it too much? Do I look like myself?’
‘I never knew you before,’ Meg said, and Sarah knew she meant before the illness. ‘And you do look different. I mean, it’s like Paris. You’ve got that model’s bone structure anyway, and now with that white-gold hair … Wow. Very chic, Sarah.’
‘“Chic”?’ Sarah asked, smiling.
‘Will Burke had better keep his eyes on the sky,’ Meg said. ‘With you looking like that.’
Sarah shook her head, embarrassed. ‘Will Burke? What would it matter to him? He won’t even notice.’
‘He’ll notice.’
‘Meg, he’s just a nice pilot flying me to Maine.’
‘Bull,’ Meg said, grinning. ‘Mimi took a picture of you two at the fair. The look in his eyes …’
‘He was just being nice,’ Sarah said. ‘Some kids had swiped my hat.’ But she found herself wishing she could see that picture, wondering about the look in Will’s eyes.
‘Well, you don’t need any hat today. You look beautiful. Ready to go?’
‘All set,’ Sarah said, climbing into the car.
‘Dr Goodacre gave you the green light?’ Meg asked, backing out of the driveway.
‘Yes,’ Sarah said, wondering if she should mention the fever. She touched her own forehead; it felt cool.
‘His nurse is a piece of work,’ Meg said. ‘Vicky. I used to call her for questions about your dressing changes, whether he wanted me to keep using Silvadine or not, and first of all she’d never call me back, and second of all, when she finally did, she was so mean!’
‘He runs a tight ship,’ Sarah said, smiling with recognition at the description of Vicky. ‘I keep hoping she’s happier outside of work.’
‘Anyway, you feel fine, and that’s what counts.’
‘Hmm,’ Sarah said. Her fever was gone, the flu had passed her by; she decided to say nothing to Meg. They were halfway to the airport, the day was shining, and she was on her way to see Mike.
‘What?’ Meg asked, glancing over.
‘If it came back,’ Sarah said, so choked up she almost couldn’t talk. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’
‘Oh, Sarah,’ Meg said.
They had talked this over before: Sarah knew that when tumors like hers recurred and metastasized, the survival rates plummeted. The new treatment would be just as aggressive as the last, and the outcome would be uncertain. They would just be maintaining her life, keeping the cancer in check while she slipped away. The thought of living her life in cycles of pain and illness, steadily growing weaker, filled her with dread.
‘I won’t, you know,’ Sarah said.
‘Won’t what?’
‘Have any more radiation or chemo.’ Sarah shivered. ‘This is my chance, and I’m going to grab it.’
‘Grab it, Sarah,’ Meg said, her voice catching. Reaching across the seat, she hugged her friend. ‘That’s exactly what you should do.’
‘I have to,’ Sarah said. Her heart was pounding, but in the warmth of her friend’s arms she suddenly relaxed. Her head cleared, she felt calm. She was healthy, free, on her way to a place that used to be home. Sarah Talbot felt bright as the day.
Will had the big plane all fueled up and ready to go. He had called the National Weather Service, learned that they could expect clear flying and a ten-knot tailwind the whole way. They had a high ceiling, clouds building in the west and weather blowing in for tomorrow. But for today, the line of high pressure would keep them safe.
He had thrown his duffel bag into the baggage compartment, and tossed an extra jacket into the backseat. The Piper Aztec was an older plane, all-weather, and it had significant range. It had six passenger seats and enough instruments to fly around the world in fog, so he felt prepared.
Even excited. It was Thanksgiving, and he had made no plans. With his daughter tied up with her mother and Julian, it wasn’t going to be any fun hanging around Fort Cromwell. He remembered last year. He had decided to boycott the holiday, spent the afternoon watching football and drinking beer, but midway through the first game he got a craving for turkey. Driving down to the A&P, he’d stocked up on frozen turkey dinners, but eating them had made him feel more depressed than he’d felt in years.
Seeing Meg Ferguson’s blue car coming down the airport road, Will locked the office door behind him. He had his chart case. He checked his pockets, making sure he had his keys and wallet. Since Fred’s death, he had become somewhat forgetful. Before she’d left, Alice used to tease him about having early Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes he had wondered how she did it, store all the facts and details of everyday life in with all that sorrow.
His daughter had begged him to let her fly to Maine with him, but he had held firm. It wasn’t fair to Sarah, and it wasn’t fair to Alice. Ultimately, it wouldn’t be fair to his daughter. Selfishly, Will would have loved to have her along. But he had to do what was right. The thought of another holiday without either of his children struck him straight in the heart; he felt an actual pain, and he touched his chest.
This is my Thanksgiving, he thought, watching the car come. Flying a stranger to an island to see her family. He recognized the self-pity, hated himself for it. But then Sarah Talbot stepped out of the car and everything changed. The woman glowed. She looked around, gazing from the sky to the plane to Will. Waving, she opened both her arms and looked straight at him, as if to ask whether he had made this day for her.
Will looked up. For the first time that day, he saw the weather as something other than a system to fly through: a clear blue sky, shimmering sunshine. The sun sparkled on mica in the tarmac and some traces of snow left in the field. The sunlight was going to look like diamonds spread upon the ocean. In a few hours Will would see the Atlantic, the sea he loved so much.
It was nearly Thanksgiving, and he didn’t have his daughter with him, but she was alive and well. Will walked toward Sarah and knew he was going to be fine. He had a feeling about her, and he had since the first time he’d seen her. Sarah Talbot was taking him home.
The twin engines hummed loudly. The sky surrounded them in endless blue. Sunlight turned the wings silver, and even though she wore dark glasses, Sarah couldn’t stop squinting. The land below was vast and forested, filled with snowcapped pines standing on rocky hillsides. The mountains rose ahead.
Neither she nor Will spoke. They flew along in silence, watching the land unfold. A radio crackled, and voices spoke to them from down below. Occasionally Will would answer, using their call letters. Sarah had the sense of being passed from tower to tower, as if the air traffic controllers were a benevolent order, overseeing their progress from New York to Maine. At one point Will reached over to take her hand. He held it for a few minutes, until he had to use the radio again to call into Boston Center.
‘Look,’ Will said, leaning toward Sarah to point out a bald eagle circling below. Its wings were long and broad, and it crossed its territory with very few beats. Seeing it filled Sarah with strong emotion.
‘It’s a big one,’ Sarah said, watching it fly over its nest. ‘We have eagles on the island.’ She was a patriot, and seeing eagles always made her proud. Her father had flown in World War II, and she had grown up singing anthems. That reminded her of something Snow had said, and she turned to Will. ‘You were in the navy, weren’t you?’
