Cloud Nine

‘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 (#ulink_bf85905b-d7c8-5e96-8eb9-7ae45c286514)

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.