Cloud nine, p.20
Cloud Nine, page 20
‘I’d better keep my shop open,’ she said. ‘To sell Aunt Bess’s quilts.’
‘If you think I want the money,’ George said hotly, ‘I don’t. All I want is you well. You understand, Sarah?’
She just stared, those big eyes filling.
‘I want an answer.’
She nodded, and then she let go. Bowing over, she started to weep. George exhaled. He was always making some woman cry at this kitchen table. Sarah, her mother … he put his arm around her, held her tight. She covered her eyes with one hand, sobbing quietly.
‘There, dear,’ he said. ‘There, now.’
‘Dad –’ she breathed.
‘Shhh, Sarah. Let’s not be mad anymore. Just stay well.’
She nodded, her tears soaking through his wool shirt.
‘If you ever need me,’ he began, trying to get the words out. ‘In any way. I know about cases where the daughter’s sick and they need a kidney or some bone marrow. Anything. Anything I have, I want to give.’
Luckily she didn’t look up. She just held on tight, just like when she was a little girl sailing and George took her too far out in the bay. The sloop had heeled over, George trimming in the sheet and yanking on the tiller, with Sarah clinging to his chest like a scared little monkey. She felt like that now. A grown-up woman holding on to her father for dear life.
‘Shhh, Sarah,’ he kept saying. ‘Shhh.’
When she was good and ready, she stopped crying. She dried her eyes without raising her head. Her breathing was under control, and by the time she lifted her head, she had some color back in her cheeks. George checked her over. She was delicate, his Sarah, for a woman who acted so strong, who went through life all alone. She was her own captain. In some ways, he was proud of her for doing without a man all these years. But in another way, George wished she would find what he had had with Rose.
George pushed himself up from his seat. They hadn’t solved the problem of Mike, but time would tell. It always did. If she thought she was taking Mike home with her, she was in for a letdown. The boy wasn’t going anywhere, but George didn’t want to be the one to break it to her.
The sun began to set. It was Saturday, their last full day on Elk Island, and Sarah stood at the kitchen window, watching the violet shadows lengthen on the snowy field sloping to the bay. Her father had just walked out the door. She saw him limping through the yard with Gelsey, waving his arms to herd the geese into the barn.
Gelsey barked, hobbling just like her master. The geese waddled ahead, honking loudly. Sarah had watched the same scene a hundred times, but she couldn’t ever remember it making her cry before. She touched the cold window, tears running down her cheeks. Her father had just offered her a kidney, his bone marrow. Her father, who couldn’t stand the physical reality of someone else’s headache, had been thinking that Sarah might need a transplant.
Her cancer wasn’t the kind that could be helped by a blood transfusion, by new organs. It had originated in her lymph nodes, spread into her brain. Dr Goodacre had done his best. She had gone through all the treatment her doctors had deemed necessary, and now she was in the hands of fate. Of God.
Standing in the chapel with Will that morning, she had prayed for health. She wasn’t supposed to ask Him for specific things, she knew. She was supposed to take action, do what her doctors told her to do, and trust that He would take care of her. But life was so sweet! Sarah’s heart was so full of love for the people here on earth, her father and son and Snow and Will. Seeing her mother’s grave had reminded her of heaven, that they would all be together someday, but for now she wanted to be here.
Right here. Sarah had so much to do. She had to run her shop, take advantage of the winter cold and Christmas spirit to sell a lot of quilts. Sarah wanted to help Snow, urge her to mend whatever rift with her mother had caused her to sneak aboard the plane and fly away for Thanksgiving. Sarah’s father and Aunt Bess needed her help, the financial assistance she would continue to give them. She pictured Mike. Just the thought of him had her breathing harder. She had to set her boy on the right road.
And Will. Sarah needed him right now. Her heart was racing, and her hands felt cold. The icy air knifed through the old kitchen windows. Outside, her father shuffled into the red barn after the geese. Sarah watched, her forehead against the frosty pane, until he disappeared from sight. The first star hung in the twilight sky.
Slowly, Sarah turned away from the window and walked up the kitchen stairs. The house was quiet. Aunt Bess was taking her afternoon nap, and the kids were up in the attic. Sarah could hear music playing, the sounds of Mike and Snow laughing. Feeling clandestine, she knocked on Will’s door.
‘Come in,’ he called.
Sarah slipped inside, letting the door close softly behind her. The room was dark, the only light coming from windows overlooking the sea. Will lay on the bed, on top of the covers. Perhaps he had been reading, fallen asleep; a book lay open beside him, but the click of the door wakened him. Seeing Sarah, he hiked up on one elbow.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
Nodding, Sarah walked closer. She couldn’t have explained why, but she had a lump in her throat that made her feel like crying. Without speaking, she stood by the side of the bed.
Will moved over. He held his arms out, and Sarah lay down beside him. He wrapped her in his arms, and she felt his warm body along the length of hers. She couldn’t believe how solid he felt. It almost made her laugh.
‘You know what’s amazing?’ he asked, stroking her back.
‘What?’ she whispered.
‘I was hoping you’d come up.’
‘You were?’
‘Yeah. Just before I dozed off, I thought, Maybe Sarah will wake me up. I really did.’
‘I feel funny, sneaking into your room.’
‘I know,’ he said, squeezing her. ‘We’re acting more like kids than the kids.’
Upstairs, their teenagers were having a raucous old time. Sarah heard Snow squealing and Mike laughing, running through the attic, their heavy boots pounding the old floorboards.
‘How much time do we have before dinner?’ Will asked, kissing her forehead, her cheeks.
‘Hours,’ she said, running her hands down his chest. ‘At least two.’
He pulled her sweater over her head, and she unbuttoned his chamois shirt. They fumbled with each other’s belts, and Will unzipped Sarah’s jeans while she pulled open his five-button front.
Down to their underwear, they slid under the quilt. The bed was warm from Will’s nap, heated through by his body. Snuggling together, Sarah felt his fingers tracing her back, the length of her spine, sliding under the elastic of her panties. They kissed, their mouths seeking each other, every part of them touching.
Will’s hands moved up toward Sarah’s shoulders, and they found the scar. Sarah froze the minute he touched it. Her eyes flew open, and she saw him stop the kiss, open his eyes, wonder what he was feeling. Sarah felt ashamed. She was glad the lights were off.
‘I had an operation,’ she said. ‘For my brain tumor.’
‘That’s your scar.’
‘Yes, I hate it. Just pretend it’s not there.’
‘If it’s part of you, it’s beautiful.’
‘If you saw it, you’d know that’s not true.’
‘Then let me see and prove it to you.’
She shook her head. No one but doctors and nurses had seen Sarah’s scars. During radiation treatments, she had developed an infection in her scalp. It had spread to her skull, turned into osteomyelitis. Dr Goodacre had had to debride the bone, remove a portion of her skull. He had had to make a large incision to get to the skull and to supply a blood source, and although Sarah had had plastic surgery, the scars still remained.
It was so ugly. Sarah knew she would never wear a bathing suit again. She loved air-conditioning in hot summer because it permitted her to dress completely, cover every portion of her back and shoulders.
‘Show me,’ he said. ‘You can, Sarah.’
‘I want to, but I’m afraid,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to be.’
‘It’s hideous,’ she said.
‘I don’t believe that,’ he whispered, holding her tight.
But even before he finished his words, Sarah reached past him. She pulled the cord, turning on the bedside lamp. Sitting straight and tall, she bowed her head so he could see the entire thing. Holding her with one arm, Will leaned back to look. She could feel him draw a breath, trying to keep from reacting. The first time Meg Ferguson had removed the bandages, she had burst into tears.
‘Oh, Sarah,’ Will said.
He couldn’t even pretend. It was so horrible, her mangled back, a shunt still in place, ugly and thick, to divert blood from her back to her head. Bowing his face to her back, he kissed her skin. She felt him shaking, weeping as he kissed her back, her shoulders, the side of her neck. His face was wet with tears, and she tasted them as she met his lips, their mouths open as they clung to each other in the old bed.
‘It’s awful, I know,’ she said.
‘It saved your life, didn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Then it’s beautiful. Just as I said.’ He caressed her body, letting her know that he loved her. She felt it in his hands. They touched her as if she were fragile and precious, as if it were his responsibility to see that she was never hurt again.
Sarah felt herself letting go bit by bit, believing him in inches. She had been so betrayed by Zeke, she had never really trusted anyone since. Sarah lay against Will’s chest, feeling a great shudder pass through her body. All the tension and anxiety went out of her. She gave herself to him then. She really did, from deep in her heart, in a way she had never done before.
Sarah’s scar was her secret. It marked her, like a map of her illness. Reminding her of life and death, she had always felt afraid of it. But suddenly it seemed like a gift, a different way to reveal herself to Will. She kissed him so tenderly. She felt more alive than she ever had, aware of every sensation, every whisper of breath on her skin.
Their bodies weren’t young, but they were strong and full of passion. Sarah had narrow hips with a long waist and high, small breasts. Her legs were long and powerful, and as she felt Will caressing them, touching the insides of her thighs, Sarah had the incongruous thought of running a marathon, of Will being there when she crossed the finish line.
She kissed him all over, exploring his strong body. He had scars here and there, none as bad as her own, but they all told a story and she looked forward to hearing them. For now she lay beside him in bed, watching his eyes as he hovered over her.
They were in complete synch. Sarah had never felt a connection like this before. Will didn’t have to ask her what she liked, he just knew. He took control so gently, letting her know she was safe, driving her to the crazy edge of passion. She was losing herself, letting go of control, leaving herself in the hands of someone else.
The sheets tangled around them, and the old bedsprings creaked. Sarah half wanted to laugh, but she was too far gone. Clutching Will, she stared into his eyes while he moved inside her, her legs wrapped around his back and her fingernails digging into his muscles.
You obsess over men like this, she thought. You fantasize that you will feel this way, so deep into another person that you don’t know where the skin stops. The look in his eyes, so intense and full of love and it’s all for you. Sarah moaned, trying to turn her head, to avert her gaze, it was all too much. But she couldn’t. Will’s eyes kept drawing her back.
‘Hold on,’ he said. He smiled, getting her attention. Pulling her in, making love to her in her old house, trying to be quiet so everyone didn’t hear. Everyone: Her mind conjured them up, all the people under this roof, listening to the bedsprings squeak, but Will stopped her. Lowering his head to hers, kissing her, their hot mouths open, he moved faster. Placing his lips against her ear, he whispered, ‘Stay with me, Sarah.’
That was all she needed to hear. The house flew away. They were alone in the desert, a million miles from the sea, stars rushing overhead, the heat of the sands rising around them. Sarah and Will locked in an embrace so tight they would never let go, loving each other from the inside out, hard as ivory and soft as cream.
She was mad. She tore at his back, begged for his kiss, thrust in a frenzy and felt him thrust back. She had lugged her body around all these months, a battered old valise to contain her spirit, but now it was serving her well. Her body was quivering and vibrating. It felt every sensation known to woman, all at once, from an amazing place in her groin she had never known existed.
‘Will,’ she said just to hear his name, to make sure he was still there. Her body was covered with sweat, her heart was beating so fast and her breaths came in gasps as her head moved from side to side.
‘Sarah,’ he said, seemingly for the same reason. His hair fell into his eyes. He had a demented sex-look in his eyes, tempered with pure love, that made Sarah wonder if he knew where he was.
She felt it like a freight train. An orgasm rumbling deep inside, down in that dark place behind her belly button, making itself known. It began, went away. Sarah emptied her mind, but the more she thought of nothing the more she was aware of trying to think of nothing. She was conscious of trying not to think of children and parents and this house and that plane and the doctor and a tiny pain and whoa.
‘Sarah,’ Will said, and he had her in his sights again. They locked eyes, she felt his lips on hers, the thoughts went away. All thoughts, and she didn’t have to try this time. Her body told her what to do. She and Will were together, really together, their bodies doing all the work. Sarah’s mind drifted.
It got stronger, the rumbling, and it made her legs shake. She felt such pleasure spreading through her lower body, starting far inside and warming its way out, elusive at first, as if it might just suddenly stop, but then stronger. The feeling had her in its grip, and it wouldn’t let go as long as she kept gazing into Will’s eyes.
He was so hard, and he filled her so deeply, and her breasts rubbed against his broad chest with every thrust, the sensations in her nipples making her moan softly, adding to the heat down below. The feeling had been general, but now it became specific. It centered itself lower, right in the depths of her body, and it gave her such incredible pleasure, she didn’t think she could stand it.
Now she and Will were in it together, holding on, loving each other with their hearts and souls and bodies; it was all the same thing, Sarah understood now, the great link of two spirits in love, finding each other after an eternity of searching. She wanted, wanted, wanted everything: love, health, life, this chance to make love. But it wasn’t until she let go, stopped wanting, stopped even caring, that it happened. That, her legs locked around the body of this man she loved, she crashed into oblivion, the wicked wilderness of losing total control, of throwing caution to the winds, coming so hard and fast she hardly even noticed the words coming out of her mouth, out of Will’s: ‘I love you, I love you.’
17
On Elk Island there was only one way to cook lobsters: steamed in rockweed. The tide was out, so Mike and Snow offered to go down to the bay to gather seaweed and mussels. Everyone teased Mike, telling him to make sure he wore a life preserver, to kick off his snowshoes before deciding to take his next swim. Sarah was happy, and surprised, to see him taking the banter so well. Her son might act as if he had timber, but inside he was very sensitive.
‘It’s a new sport,’ he said. ‘I’m going to enter the next Olympics.’
‘Pond walking!’ Snow said.
‘Yeah, snowshoes are optional, but you have to fall through the ice and land on your feet. Making it out alive wins you a medal.’
‘Mike Talbot takes the gold for pond walking,’ Snow said, speaking into a saltshaker as if she were a TV sportscaster.
‘Maybe,’ Mike said, looking nowhere in particular, ‘the gold should go to your dad.’
Sarah said nothing, flabbergasted.
‘That’s a nice thing to say,’ George said. ‘But the tide’s flooding in, and if you don’t move fast, you’ll never get that rockweed.’
‘Come with us, George,’ Snow said, pulling his hand. ‘Show us the best spot for mussels.’
‘Ah, Mike knows. He’ll show you.’
‘Come on, George,’ Snow said. ‘Let’s take a walk down.’
Her father and the kids pulled on boots and parka and went down to the bay. Aunt Bess walked out of the room. Coming over to the stove, Will put his arms around Sarah. He kissed her throat, the side of her neck. Sarah’s skin tingled, and she wanted to take Will by the hand and go upstairs with him.
He wore old jeans and an untucked chamois shirt. The fabric was soft under her hands, and his arms were strong and hard. Kissing his mouth, Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes. But something clattered, Aunt Bess cleared her throat, and they were interrupted.
‘Let me help you,’ Will said, crossing the kitchen to take the battered old box from her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I took these out to get a head start on Christmas, but I think I’ll leave them to you two. Sarah knows where they go.’
‘Stay, Aunt Bess,’ Sarah said.
Bess shook her head. She smiled enigmatically, looking from Sarah to Will. Sarah knew she wanted to leave them alone. She had seen them kissing.
‘Discreet,’ Will said, his arm around Sarah as Bess disappeared into her sewing room.
‘I know,’ Sarah said.
‘Let’s open the box,’ Will said.
Every ornament meant something. There were glass balls from her mother’s aunt in England, angels from her grandmother, tiny clam shells strung with red ribbon by Sarah when she was ten.
‘I haven’t seen this in so long,’ she said, holding a glass angel. Her mother’s mother had given it to them the year Sarah was born, just before she died; her mother had reminded her every year.
