Читать книгу Cloud Nine - Luanne Rice - Страница 12

Sarah had just opened her shop on Saturday morning when she heard the bells above her door tingle. That fresh white-yellow early light was in her eyes, so she leaned down to see around the sunlight. Will Burke and his daughter stood there, holding two white bakery bags.

‘We came last night, but you had already closed,’ the young girl said.

‘You caught me,’ Sarah said. ‘I wanted to go to the movies in Wilsonia, so I closed a little early. What do you have there?’

‘We brought you breakfast,’ Will said. He looked tan and sexy, bundled up in a hunter-green ski jacket. His ears were red from the cold, and the corners of his gray-blue eyes crinkled in the sunlight.

‘You must have read my mind,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’m starved!’

‘Are you really?’ the girl asked.

‘Yes, Snow,’ Sarah said. ‘My stomach is growling.’

Snow’s intake of breath was loud and dramatic. The teenager stood there, one mittened hand over her mouth; she looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes. ‘How did you know I’d changed my name?’

‘You told me you wanted to be “Snow” for winter, didn’t you? Just look outside,’ Sarah said, pointing at the snow-covered street, the new powder lying on all the rooftops and evergreens, on the statue of General Jameson Cromwell standing on the town green.

Snow and her father looked at each other. Some violent feeling was clouding the girl’s eyes. She had been practically wringing her hands, but she began to calm down. She took a deep breath. Removing the plaid muffler from around her neck, she trailed it across the damask-covered bed.

‘Let’s sit back here,’ Sarah said, clearing a place on her desk for the doughnuts, coffee, and juice. Doughnuts weren’t on her list of healthful foods, they were too sugary and fried for her, but there was no way in the world she wasn’t going to have one just then.

With Snow and Will watching her, she selected a French cruller and tasted it, letting herself enjoy every bite. That was her motto: Once you decide to do something, you might as well love it. Such ease of mind didn’t always come freely, but it was always worth the effort.

‘You’re going to Maine, I hear,’ Snow said, placing a small white bag on the desk. Sarah moved to open it, but Snow gestured for her to wait till later. Curious, Sarah slid it aside.

‘Maine? Yes, I am,’ she said.

‘The five-day forecast looks cold but clear,’ Will said. ‘No storms in sight.’

‘Why all the way to Maine?’ Snow asked.

‘To see my son.’

‘You have a son?’ Snow asked, nearly dropping the doughnut she had just chosen.

‘Yes. Mike. He’s not much older than you.’

‘He doesn’t live with you? How come? Does he live in Maine with his father?’

‘Snow …’ Will began.

‘That’s okay. I love talking about him. He’s a man of strong beliefs and opinions, a total individual, and about a year ago he dropped out of high school to go home to Elk Island and save my father’s farm.’

‘You grew up on a farm?’ Snow asked.

‘Yes,’ Sarah said. She gestured at a pile of quilts stacked in the corner. ‘See those? They were made on our farm. About nineteen years ago I started a store like this in Boston because the farm was about to go under. My mother had been sick when I was young, and when I was fourteen she died. My father was just so distracted … especially after she was gone. He found someone from Thomaston who wanted to buy all the geese, and he had a man from Camden who wanted to buy the land. None of that sat very well with me, so I dropped out of college to start my business and support the farm.’

‘Like mother, like son,’ Will said.

‘Exactly. I have no one to blame but myself. Was that what you were going to say?’

‘No, I was going to say your father is a lucky man,’ Will said, handing her a cardboard cup of coffee.

Sarah thanked him, taking a sip.

‘Did you save the farm?’ Snow asked, sitting on the edge of her seat.

‘I can’t actually say we saved it,’ Sarah said, picturing the ramshackle buildings, the tired old geese, the falling-down fences, her Aunt Bess with her ancient treadle sewing machine. ‘But so far he’s been able to keep it.’

‘It’s still running?’ Will asked.

‘Yes. They put out ten quilts a year, and I pay them. They sell geese. Together we just about cover the taxes.’

‘Your father must love you so much! He must be so ecstatic to have Mike living with him now,’ Snow said. The thought made her so happy, she popped two doughnut holes into her mouth, one in each cheek, and left them there as she closed her eyes, basking in the notion of a grateful old father.

‘I’m not really sure how he feels,’ Sarah said.

‘Ask him!’ Snow said, stating what was so obvious to her.

It did sound simple. But Sarah and her father had years and layers of bitterness between them: disagreements over her mother’s treatment, the aftermath of her death, the fact that Sarah had left the island. Sarah tried to smile.

‘Why don’t you?’ Snow asked, looking troubled.

‘You know how I said Mike’s a man of strong opinions? Well, he got that from his grandfather. And most of his opinions collide with mine.’

‘Difficult,’ Will said, looking as if he understood.

‘It is.’

‘That’s no reason not to try,’ Snow said. ‘He’s a person too. If I’d given up on you, Dad, I’d hate to think of where we’d be. Talk about difficult.’

‘Hey,’ Will said. Was he kidding or hurt? Sarah couldn’t tell by his eyes.

‘Worse than difficult,’ Snow said, glancing at Sarah.

‘Fathers don’t have it easy,’ Sarah said. Although for some reason her thoughts slid to Zeke, who had had it about as easy as it got: From the minute Sarah had told him about her pregnancy, he had never wanted to see her again. Her father had gone crazy. His fury at Zeke had distracted him, at least a little, from the long-standing grief he felt for Sarah’s mother.

‘They don’t make it easy,’ Snow said.

‘What did I do?’ Will asked, taking another cruller. ‘To get me in such trouble?’

‘I happen to be referring to the fact that you quit the navy and dragged me and Mom way the hell into these ridiculous boondocks,’ Snow said, glaring at him. Then, afraid she was offending Sarah, she touched the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. They’re nice for some people, but we need the ocean.’

‘I understand completely. My son used to say the same thing to me, and he was right. I moved us away from Boston to these – what did you call them – ridiculous boondocks? Mike used to call it the middle of nowhere.’

‘If I had a family farm to run away to, I just might go there,’ Snow said.

‘Don’t run away,’ Will said.

‘He’s right, Snow. Listen to your father. It’s not worth it,’ Sarah said, feeling suddenly cold. She had worn a flowing silk jacket, rich with embroidery and brocade, and she pulled it tightly around herself. She looked at Will, saw that abstract fear in his face, and knew what he was feeling: the idea that his child could just disappear from him.

‘I don’t see why not,’ Snow said. ‘Mike took off and you’re following him out there for Thanksgiving, so your family can be together. The way it’s supposed to be.’

‘That’s a nice thought, but the reality’s going to be a little different,’ Sarah said. ‘My father doesn’t believe in much anymore except high and low tide and the phases of the moon. He hasn’t really celebrated a holiday for years – not since my mother died.’

‘Then why did they ask you?’

‘Her son asked her,’ Will said, although she hadn’t told him.

‘He did,’ Sarah said. ‘He knows I love Thanksgiving more than any other holiday, and he knows I’ll close the shop and give myself a few days off.’

‘More than any other holiday? More than Christmas?’ Snow asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Always? It’s always been your favorite?’

‘No, not when I was your age.’

‘Then when?’

‘Why do you love it so much?’ Will asked.

‘It started the year my son was born,’ Sarah said, looking into Will’s eyes. Seeing him with his daughter made her like him even more than before; she recognized his passion as a parent, and she knew he would understand.

Will nodded, riveted.

‘I just never knew how –’ Sarah paused, getting herself under control. ‘Incredible it would be. How it would change me from the inside out.’

‘Having children.’

‘Having Mike made me a different person. I fell madly in love with him, and when you’re in love, everything looks so beautiful. You stare at a sunset, and you can’t bear to think it won’t last forever. You think your heart will break. You know?’

As if she knew this was between the adults, Snow was silent. She sat very still, perched on the chair, her knees drawn up to her chin, watching Sarah and her father. But Will nodded.

‘I was so happy,’ Sarah said, her eyes shining. ‘The world made sense. I’d watch red finches at the bird feeder and imagine God made them for me and Mike. I felt so grateful. All I wanted to do was give thanks, and when Thanksgiving rolled around that year, it became my favorite holiday.’

‘And you told Mike?’ Will asked.

‘Every year. All the time.’

‘You can’t tell them enough,’ Will said. ‘You have to tell them you love them all the time.’

‘That’s why I’m going to Maine,’ Sarah said, bowing her head.

‘It’s been too long,’ Will said.

She nodded. Composing herself, she looked up.

‘I’m afraid the farm is wrong for him. It’s very isolated, there aren’t any other kids around. His father was from the island, but he’s dead. And my father …’ She glanced at Snow. ‘Well, my father is difficult. Losing my mother made him unhappy. He never got over it. Never. The years did nothing to soften his pain.’

‘Death does that,’ Snow said.

Sarah nodded. ‘I’m afraid his misery will rub off on Mike. My Aunt Bess used to be the smilingest person you knew when she lived in Providence. But when her husband died, she moved back to the island, and you should see her now. Living alone with my father all this time has turned her into an old prune.’

‘It sounds interesting,’ Snow said.

Sarah stared at her. What kind of wonderful girl would think such a bleak scenario sounded ‘interesting’?

‘I felt guilty for leaving,’ Sarah said. ‘But I had to.’

‘Did you take care of your mother?’ Will asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘You just seem like someone who would,’ Snow volunteered.

‘I did,’ Sarah said quietly, remembering her mother’s loving presence, her steady gaze. ‘But I had to escape.’

‘And now you’re going back,’ Will said, ‘for Mike.’

‘Exactly,’ Sarah said. Unconsciously, her hand strayed up to her head, where the cancer had been. ‘I want to set him straight before it’s too late.’

‘Before he turns into a young prune,’ Snow said.

‘Before he forgets why you love Thanksgiving so much,’ Will said.

‘Fuel up the big plane, Dad,’ Snow said. ‘Because I’m coming with you.’

‘No!’ Sarah said quickly. ‘The island’s a mess. There’s not enough heat in the house, the geese smell terrible.’ She felt worried, not wanting this to become a big excursion, a way for the Burkes to pass Snow’s school break, to get through whatever trouble they were obviously having.

Sarah had a mission. She saw her son as lost, a piece of driftwood far at sea, and she needed to bring him back. Wanting to say more, to stop this before it went too far, her thoughts raced. She didn’t want Snow, another person in need of attention, to distract her from Mike. But Will saved the day.

‘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.