Cloud nine, p.22
Cloud Nine, page 22
‘Dad, stop. Mike has to finish his education. You want that for him, don’t you? You know how important it is?’ Sarah asked. Her back had been feeling better, but suddenly the tension had returned. She felt the knot in her lower back, throbbing hard.
‘You got a college degree, Will?’ George asked.
‘Yes, from Trinity College!’ Snow blurted out, frowning at George as if he were her enemy.
‘It’s true, sir,’ Will said.
‘That what you want, Mike?’ George asked, his eyes steely. ‘You want more school?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said.
‘You do, honey?’ Sarah asked, her heart flooding with surprise and almost relief.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking maybe I do.’
The half-eaten lobsters lay on everyone’s plates. No one but the cats was interested in food. George stared at the fire. Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off her son.
‘That’s marvelous,’ Aunt Bess said. No one could have told from her tone how disappointed she might be feeling at the thought of Mike leaving the island. ‘Finishing high school is admirable, and a college education is priceless. Not only for the career opportunities, but for the enrichment. To go through life with a working knowledge of, oh, art and music … literature. Arthur always said he never would have advanced the way he did if he hadn’t gone to Brown University. I only finished eighth grade, but traveling with Arthur was such an experience. As if I’d graduated from Pembroke!’
George looked over at her, then turned to Mike.
‘How did this happen?’ George asked. ‘I thought you were happy on the farm.’
‘I am,’ Mike said.
‘I don’t get it,’ George said.
‘All I wanted was to come to Maine,’ Mike said. ‘See where my parents were from. I was sick of school and sick of –’
‘What?’ George asked.
‘Life,’ Mike said, looking apologetically at Sarah. His gaze broke her heart, because how could she bear knowing her boy had been sick of life? When she, of all people, knew how precious and fleeting it was?
‘Who wouldn’t be without any ocean around?’ George asked.
‘Amen,’ Snow said, looking at him as if she wanted to mend their friendship. But George wouldn’t even blink.
‘When I came here, I got interested,’ Mike said, speaking straight to his grandfather. ‘That’s all I know. We’re just this little island in the middle of nowhere, and it’s so incredible. There’s so much to learn about. You know, the way the whales move through the passage between Elk Island and Little Gull? And why the mussels grow so thick here in the south, but you can’t find any in Otter Cove or Kings Bight? You have to practically be a scientist to lobster right –’
‘What else?’ Sarah asked.
‘The northern lights,’ Mike said. ‘Everyone thinks they happen when the air is cold, but that’s not true. When Grandpa and I saw them last May, the air was warm. That day had been eighty degrees …’
‘They occur at high latitudes,’ George said sullenly. ‘The aurora’s got nothing to do with air temperature. The closer to the poles you get, the better you see them.’
‘That’s the kind of stuff I mean,’ Mike said, ignoring everyone but his grandfather. ‘You tell me all these things, and I want to go off and learn more. I never had anyone talking to me like you.’
Sarah blinked, unable to move. She had done her best, instilling in Mike all the curiosity, thirst for knowledge, desire to learn that she could. Loving him with all she had, she had tried to be both parents to him, but all along she had known she wasn’t enough. Mike was all boy, and he had squirmed out of his mother’s reach early. Hearing him talk like this brought tears flooding to her eyes.
‘Like your National Geographics, Grandpa … they’re so interesting.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ George said. ‘Go on up in the attic and read them all you want.’
‘I’m coming back,’ Mike said. ‘That’s my plan. I want to go to college, and then I want to come back and run the farm.’
‘Round about the time we’re dead?’ George asked.
‘George, you look pretty healthy to me,’ Will said.
‘So did the American elm,’ George said. ‘And then the Dutch elm disease came along.’ His eyes shifted to Sarah, then away. She felt his stare, a reminder of how sick she had been, of how fast her mother had died. Tears were running down her cheeks. She was overwhelmed. Mike was coming home. That was all she wanted, but she couldn’t stand to see how hurt her father was. She leaned toward him.
‘Thank you, Dad,’ she said.
‘For what?’ he asked.
‘For helping Mike the way you have. Just listen to him! He wants to keep on with school, and it’s because of you. Thank you.’ She meant it with all she had, but her father wouldn’t even look at her.
‘Goddamn animals,’ he said as the cats, emboldened by their hunger, began climbing onto the table to sniff the plates. The lobsters had grown cold. The melted butter had hardened, and pools of brine had formed on the platter.
The pain in Sarah’s back numbed her right leg slightly. Shaking her foot, she accidentally kicked Snow under the table. Looking up to apologize, she caught Snow gazing at Mike.
‘I hate seeing these lobsters go to waste,’ Aunt Bess said, shaking her head. ‘We all left very sassy plates.’
‘That’s the good thing about being a vegetarian,’ Snow said. ‘You don’t feel so bad about leaving a potato.’
‘Don’t cry for the lobsters,’ George said bitterly, sticking his pipe into his mouth, biting down hard. ‘Here in Maine we’ve got plenty.’
18
The day had come. It was time to leave the island. That was Sarah’s first thought, waking up as the sun rose over the land. Her second thought was, I have a fever. Even before she opened her eyes she felt the chills under her skin, the aches in her joints and bones. Sleep had not eased the pain in her back. The pain had settled into her lower spine, radiating down into her legs and up into her ribs. Dinner had been upsetting, and that only made the ache worse. Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath.
This fever was the real thing. She had fought this for over a week. It had lurked in her system while she took vitamins and drank juice, breathed fresh air and fell in love. A dark corner of her mind harbored fears of cancer, but this felt like the flu. The imminence of departure had lowered her resistance; Sarah had never liked saying goodbye. Sundays on Elk Island always seemed to be the day she left, and she dreaded the sadness of farewell, the prospect of leaving her father and Aunt Bess one more time.
At least Mike was coming with her. Rising from her warm bed, she found her slippers on the cold floor. Her stomach felt upset, and she shivered from the chills. She had a bottle of Tylenol in her toiletries kit. She’d take an extra, just to take the edge off her back pain. They would be taking off in just two hours.
George stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to perk. The fire had died down during the night, leaving the place as cold as a tomb. If it were Monday, he’d already be about his chores, killing geese for restaurants all over New England, going about his business. Forgetting all about the crap with Sarah and Mike.
Sarah and Mike. Just thinking their names took all his effort, the way it used to feel to think ‘Rose.’ George had to sit down. It wasn’t six A.M. yet, and he was already tired. He had a whole day to face, with a lot of pointless crap. A cat meowed at his feet. George tried to ignore it, but it jumped onto his lap.
‘What do you want?’ he asked. It was one of the mangy ones, yellow fur with bald patches, eyes all blinky and stuck together with goop.
It meowed, purring like a motor. For such a sickly-looking cat, it sounded mighty healthy. George stuck it under his arm and walked to the sink. He turned on the water, letting it run till it turned warm. Then, taking a corner of one of Bess’s clean washcloths, he wet it and cleaned out the cat’s eyes.
Suddenly the cat’s eyes were wide open. It looked straight at George, its scrawny face full of surprise. The purring stopped, and the cat sprang away. George didn’t see where it went, it moved so fast. And it scratched his hand in the process.
The scratch wasn’t bad, but it bled a little. George held his hand under the running water. Perking hard, the coffee started spitting all over the stove. George got to it just before it boiled over. He spied the yellow cat crouched on top of the refrigerator. The cat was watching him, but George turned away.
‘Goddamn cat,’ he said. A year ago he was perfectly happy, running his farm and sharing meals with Bess, thinking Sarah and her son were lost to him. While not exactly estranged, no one ever found much reason to call or write. They certainly didn’t visit. But then Mike came to stay and life got different. It got better, George would have said. He had the boy’s company, the notion of reuniting with Sarah, the reality of his own flesh and blood. Frozen up since Rose’s death, George had let down his guard. He had started caring.
He had to check the geese. Not even bothering to put on his jacket, he opened the kitchen door and headed outside. The thermometer registered twenty-five degrees. George moved stiffly over the frozen ground. Maybe he’d get new boots this year, with more tread. Just thinking about a long winter without Mike to help made him walk slower. Reaching the barn door, he grabbed the handle.
The latch was frozen.
‘Goddammit,’ George said, yanking hard. He wedged his foot against the boards, trying for a better grip. His body felt so old and feeble, it made him swear harder. Frustrated, he threw all his weight behind one last tug and landed flat on his back.
‘Shit,’ he said, looking up at the sky.
‘You okay, Grandpa?’ Mike asked, looking down at him.
‘I’m fine,’ George said.
Mike reached down a hand. Taking hold, George pulled himself up. Mike stared off at the sun rising, pretending nothing had happened. George felt furious at himself, embarrassed and old. His bones hurt; even the cat scratch stung like the devil. While George brushed himself off, Mike opened the barn door. Inside, the geese began cackling loudly.
‘What are you doing out here?’ George asked.
‘Feeding the geese, Grandpa,’ Mike said, walking into the barn without another word.
One by one, they all helped themselves to breakfast. There was a big pot of oatmeal on a back burner, a pitcher of orange juice, and the battered old pot of coffee. Will ate by himself, at one end of the kitchen table. He had been up for hours; borrowing the Jeep, he had driven over to the airstrip, cleared the snow away from the plane, and readied the field. Eating slowly, he gazed across the snow at the sea. It was dark blue, rolling with big, unbroken waves. In about an hour they’d fly away, leaving it behind. He had left the Atlantic before, but this time it was different.
Alone at the table, Will thought of Fred. Staring at the sea, he felt his son was right beside him. Will could hear his voice, see his eyes. As if Fred were growing older, becoming the age he would have been, Will could imagine how he would look now. After all these years of trying to block the image, he now welcomed it.
Coming to Maine, he had fallen in love with Sarah Talbot. He had spent Thanksgiving with her, gotten to know her family. He had spent time with Snow, the first four full days without having to return her to her mother since the divorce. He had done all those things, but in some ways this trip to Maine had been as much about Fred as anyone else. Will had found a way back to his son.
Pushing back his chair, he washed his bowl and coffee cup, left them to dry beside the porcelain sink. Everyone was busy, preparing in their own ways to leave or stay, to say good-bye. He could hear footsteps upstairs, Snow’s voice down the hall. He hadn’t seen Sarah yet that morning; he supposed she had arrangements to make, things she needed to say to her father. And her mother.
Will checked his watch: seven-thirty. They’d be leaving the house in half an hour, taking off from the airstrip as soon as possible to take advantage of the prevailing winds. Aunt Bess had set a pile of finished quilts by the door. Will tucked his green chamois shirt into faded jeans, then pulled on his leather jacket. He lifted a few quilts under each arm, carried them out to the Jeep. The plane would be fuller this trip, with Mike and the quilts, but there would still be plenty of room. Nothing to worry about.
Snow sat on the edge of her bed, wondering when she would be back again. She had loved her time on Elk Island for so many reasons, Spending time in a family with just as many problems as hers had been great. Back home, her friends from school and all the kids she baby-sat for seemed to have such perfect lives, with parents who stayed together and brothers who never died. Snow’s friends never changed their names; their parents never sent them to shrinks.
Thanksgiving with the Talbots had proved something to her. You could love someone imperfectly but still love them. Just look at Sarah, the way she felt about Mike. Snow could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. At the same time, you could look at George and read how much he loved Sarah. And they were a mess! They got so upset with each other, had so many resentments, it was almost comical. A bunch of people bumbling along, trying to just get along, hurting each other more the harder they tried not to.
Poor George. Snow knew how upset he’d be when Mike left. She believed that Mike wanted to come back, but it wouldn’t be easy. Keeping on the course you set for yourself didn’t always work out the way you planned. Like, Snow hoped Mike would hang out with her back in Fort Cromwell, maybe even be her boyfriend. She’d been so excited about the idea of flying home with him, she’d been unable to sleep. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up; people seemed to veer away from each other all the time. They just did.
Someone knocked on her door. Hoping it was Mike, she checked herself in the mirror. But when she opened the door, it was her father standing there.
‘Are you almost ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Dad,’ she said. She must have sounded uncertain, because he just stood there. Looking past her, he seemed to be gazing out the window.
‘Will you miss Elk Island?’ he asked.
‘So much!’ she said.
‘I have a feeling we’ll be back sometime.’
Snow nodded. She knew her father’s reply had to do with him and Sarah, and she wanted to ask him about it. At the same time, she didn’t want to know. The conflict gave her a slight stomach-ache. She liked Sarah, she wanted her father to be happy, so why wasn’t she overjoyed about the idea of them together?
‘Mom’s going to kill me when I get home,’ she said instead.
‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said.
‘Aren’t you mad? That I stowed away?’
‘I should say yes,’ he said, hugging her. ‘But I can’t. This has been a wonderful time, and I’m glad you were here.’
‘Me too,’ Snow said. ‘Dad, will George and Bess be okay without Mike?’
Her father wouldn’t lie to her. He tried to smile, but he couldn’t even really do that. ‘It’ll be hard,’ he said. ‘You know how long it takes to get over missing someone.’
‘Freddie,’ Snow said. ‘And you when you moved out.’
‘Yep,’ her father said.
‘It wasn’t so bad seeing the ocean again, was it, Dad?’ Snow asked. She had never told him how worried – scared – she had been when he had turned away from the sea, never wanted to sail again, moved the whole family inland to Fort Cromwell.
‘It was great.’
‘I thought so too.’ Snow paused. She suddenly wished, as she had wished off and on since arriving on the island, that they didn’t have to leave. Returning to Fort Cromwell would mean leaving her father again, going back to Julian’s. She’d get to see him whenever she wanted, but it wasn’t the same as always having him around, waking up and knowing he was just down the hall. The thought made her heart ache. It was the kind of thing she always thought she should talk to Dr Darrow about but never quite could.
‘What are you thinking?’ her father asked.
‘Oh, just that Julian’s house is so drafty. It’s never warm enough,’ she said, because it was too hard to put her real thoughts into words.
‘Wear extra socks,’ her father said. ‘Are you running out?’
Snow grinned. Everyone but her father thought she was cracked for wearing Freddie’s socks. That was one of the main reasons she had been sent to Dr Darrow, and one of the best parts about Mike flying home with them: He understood too.
‘Have no fear,’ Snow said. ‘Fred’s socks will never run out.’
‘You’re pretty good with a darning needle for a kid your age,’ her father said.
‘Mom thinks wearing them is strange. She thinks I should go back to Dr Darrow.’
‘I know,’ her father said. She could tell by the way he sounded that he disagreed with her mother, but Snow had known that all along.
‘Mike went to him too, Dad. Do you think Mike’s crazy?’
‘No, Snow. And I don’t think you are either.’
‘Dad,’ Snow said, swallowing hard. ‘What if we start forgetting him? Sometimes I wake up and I don’t even think of him till I’m eating breakfast. Or waiting for the bus. I used to think of him all the time.’
‘We’ll never forget Fred,’ her father said. ‘I promise, Snow.’
Snow nodded.
‘Come on,’ her father said, reaching toward her.
Snow Burke, even though she was a little too old to be holding her father’s hand – especially in the house of a boy she hoped would become her boyfriend – laced fingers with her father and walked downstairs.
Sarah walked into the room where Will had been sleeping. He was downstairs, loading the car, so she was alone. She walked straight to the dresser, looked at her mother’s picture. She felt chilly. The fever ran through her, making her shiver, but her hands were trembling with something else.
She picked up her mother’s picture. Although she had photographs of her mother in Fort Cromwell, there was something about this wedding portrait that made Sarah feel so close to her. Perhaps it was the fact that her mother had died in this room, with this very same picture on the dresser beside her.
