Читать книгу: «Cloud Nine», страница 2

Alice had been a sport. Her mother had given them a nice cherry table, and he remembered how they had just pushed it off to one side. Susan’s playhouse and Fred’s railroad had been the main deals back then, and that was just fine. With Will out at sea so much, he didn’t suppose Alice had much use for a fine dining table anyway.

But she used that table now. Will saw Julian’s estate nestled in the trees on the top of Windemere Hill. Stone mansion, clay tennis court, circular drive, security gates worthy of a movie star or a corporate mogul. That’s where they live, Will thought. While the mapmaker updated his notes, Will banked left. His port wing pointed straight down at the stone house, like a finger of God. Blessing his daughter, Will thought, but also cursing Julian. For being in the right place at the right time, for stealing Will’s family when they were all weakened – broken really – after losing Fred.

Catching sight of his daughter parking her bike against the fieldstone garage was too much for him. Feeling like he’d swallowed a fishhook, he gunned the engine and wheeled through the sky. The mapmaker gave him a terrified look.

‘Sorry,’ Will said.

‘Is the plane okay?’

Tine, sir. Just a little turbulence.’

‘Ah,’ the mapmaker said, a deep line across his brow.

Flying home, Will wondered why his heart was pumping so hard. He could feel it pounding in his chest, as if he had just swum a hundred yards in a Force 10 sea. That had been his first job in the navy: rescue swimmer aboard the L. P. James. He could slice through twenty-foot waves, weighed down with a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man, and barely notice his breathing change.

Maybe it’s all this freshwater, he thought, surveying the lakes, the river. Made him feel nervous, like something was missing. No ocean, no coastline in sight. Just like Sarah Talbot had said yesterday: It’s not the Atlantic.

Then something strange happened. Thinking of Sarah Talbot, the whole thing went away. The speeding heart, the saltwater anxiety. Memories of life as a rescue swimmer, all the good and terrible reasons for leaving the ocean he loved so much. Will started to breathe easier. He pictured Sarah, kind and wise as a beautiful owl with her wide-open eyes and feathery hair, her way of staring at the sky with unblinking gratitude, and Will Burke felt calm. Like he could breathe again without cracking his chest wide open.

3

Secret rode her bike through town. The air was freezing cold and her fingers felt stiff in her new blue gloves. Sticking out her tongue, she caught the first snowflakes of the year. Her nose and cheeks stung. Halloween had barely passed, and clear ice had already started to form on the lake. Nowhere on earth was colder than Fort Cromwell. Newport had been tropical by comparison.

All the shops looked cozy. It got dark around five these days, practically before she got out of school, so everywhere glowed with that orange warmth she associated with England. She didn’t know why; she had never been to England, but she had an extremely good imagination. When she was very small, her mother had read her books by Rumer Godden. Secret had loved the sound of scones and tea, and she wished she had some that very minute.

She had baby-sat for the Neumanns after school. On her way home now, she was in no particular hurry; her mother and Julian were having cocktails at Dean Sherry’s house. Pedaling slower, she looked into the shops. A few still had jack-o’-lanterns in the window. Others had jumped the gun, entwined white lights with evergreen roping, getting ready for Christmas. The down shop looked especially inviting, with no holiday decorations whatsoever. The sign was enough: a magical cloud and a golden ‘9.’ Brass lamps glowed, the quilts appeared thick and enveloping. Wanting to warm up, Secret parked her bike and walked in.

‘Hi,’ the lady called from the back.

‘Hi,’ Secret said. Trying to look real, like a genuine shopper who might actually be in the market for pillows, Secret frowned and began looking at price tags.

‘Just let me know if you need any help.’

‘I will,’ Secret said, flattening her voice and earnestly rifling through a bin of small silk-velvet pillows. She had accompanied her mother and Julian to the Antiques Corner, so she knew how people who spent money looked. Spiced cider was brewing somewhere in back. What she wanted was to sink into this soft pile of velvet-covered down. She found herself relaxing, forgetting to concentrate, leisurely browsing through the beautiful things.

‘Would you like some hot cider?’ the voice asked.

‘Well, I shouldn’t,’ Secret said, feeling guilty for defrauding the lady. She had absolutely no intention of buying a single thing.

‘Are you sure? It’s pretty cold out there.’

‘You can say that again,’ Secret said.

‘Are you sure? It’s pretty cold out there.’

Secret chuckled. She glanced up, and for the first time she actually saw the shop owner. It was Sarah Talbot, the sick lady, Mimi Ferguson’s friend.

‘Oh, hi,’ Secret said.

‘Hi,’ Sarah said. ‘I know you. You were in the airport office the day I took my birthday flight.’

‘Yes. My father’s the pilot.’

‘An excellent pilot,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve had some terrible ones, believe me.’

‘You have?’

‘Absolutely. Small-plane pilots are the worst. I’ve had guys who taxi down the runway like bucking broncos. I know one pilot who flies under bridges, just for fun. When I was younger, I lived on an island, and some of them would fly when the fog was thicker than these quilts. Those pilots were the cowboys of the air.’

‘Half of them probably can’t get jobs at major airlines,’ Secret said confidentially. She leaned against the bed in the middle of the store.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Sarah said. ‘Sure you wouldn’t like a little cider?’

‘Maybe a little,’ Secret said. She waited while Sarah filled two brown mugs. ‘The airlines would hire my dad though. He had offers from TWA, Delta. He could fly anywhere, but he likes being his own boss.’

‘He certainly seems capable to me,’ Sarah said, handing her a mug. Secret accepted it, smelling the spicy steam.

‘The navy trained him,’ Secret said. ‘But he was a pilot even before that. He learned to fly when he was just a little older than me. He was so valuable to the navy, he could do everything. Fly, swim in times of disaster. Lead his men. He always kept his head in times of maneuvers.’

‘Maneuvers?’

‘Yes, such as the Persian Gulf. He was there.’

‘You sound like a proud daughter.’

‘I am.’

‘Upstate New York is pretty far inland for a navy family,’ Sarah said.

‘Yes,’ Secret said, sipping her cider. She felt her asthma just waiting for the next questions: Why are you here? Do you have any brothers or sisters? But the questions never came. Instead, Sarah stuck out her hand.

‘We haven’t officially met. I’m Sarah Talbot.’

‘I’m Secret Burke.’

‘What a beautiful name!’ Sarah said.

Secret glanced over to see if she was being fake. Certain older people tended to patronize her when they heard her name, but she could see that Sarah was being sincere. Sarah’s eyes were full of admiration. She had a wonderful smile, with a slightly crooked front tooth.

‘Thank you,’ Secret said. ‘I’m actually getting ready to change it.’

‘Really? To what?’

‘I was thinking of Snow.’

Sarah nodded, blowing on her cider. ‘Perfect for winter,’ she said.

‘Is Sarah your real name?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve lugged it around my whole life. For a while in seventh grade I tried out Sadie, but it wasn’t me.’

‘No,’ Secret agreed. ‘You are definitely a Sarah.’

For the first time since coming in, Secret focused on Sarah’s hair. It had grown out about half an inch, and the color was somewhere between yellow and gray. She knew people having cancer treatments lost their hair. Beauty tips were one of Secret’s best talents, and she eyed Sarah appraisingly.

‘What?’ Sarah said. The way she blushed, touching her hair with a stricken look in her eyes, made Secret feel so bad, she almost spilled her cider. Sarah was self-conscious! Secret had seen that same expression in the eyes of her friend Margie Drake when two of the cool girls, whispering and pointing, had made fun of her new perm.

‘Well …’ Secret said, trying to decide. She could lie, say nothing, pretend she had just been about to burp. Or she could tell the truth, offer to help. ‘I was just noticing your hair,’ she said bravely.

‘My poor hair,’ Sarah said, still pink. ‘Yep, I lost it. It used to be dark brown, and now look. It came in such a funny color. Somewhere between old socks and dirty dishwater.’

‘You could bleach it,’ Secret suggested. ‘The way it’s growing in, it’s so cute and punky. You could get it pure white and look so great!’

‘Like Annie Lennox,’ Sarah said, smiling.

‘Who?’ Secret asked.

Just then the bells above the door sounded. A cluster of tiny silver bells, just like you might find in England. A group of college girls walked in, hugging themselves to get warm. Sarah called hello to them, and they called back. She offered them cider.

Secret nestled into her spot on the edge of the bed. The bed took up most of the store. But it was a bed no one would ever sleep in. Like a toy bed in the bedroom of a beautiful dollhouse. Like her playhouse in the middle of their apartment in Newport. All they needed was Fred’s toy train chugging around the room, sounding its happy whistle.

Sarah served the college girls cider, but when she was done she came back to sit beside Secret. Their mugs were cool enough to really drink now. Side by side they sipped their drinks, while outside the air grew colder. The girls’ voices were cheerful and excited. Their parents had sent them money, and they were all buying new quilts for the winter. They were the paying customers, but Sarah was sitting with Secret. As if she were her friend. As if she were hers alone.

Later that night, Sarah stood in front of her bathroom mirror. The lights were bright, and she thought she looked like a startled cat. Her ugly yellow-gray hair stuck straight up, like the soft bristles of a baby brush. Ever since closing the shop, she had found herself thinking about what Secret had said: She could bleach her hair.

Thinking about it felt radical. Sarah had never dyed her hair before, never even considered it. Growing up, she hadn’t fooled around with her appearance much. She had never been much for makeup, especially lipstick. It always felt so heavy on her mouth, and she was always licking her lips to see if it was still on. It made her feel too obvious, as if she was drawing too much attention to herself. Beauty products were for other, more glamorous girls.

But now, ruffling her hair, she wanted to do something. She hated the way she looked. Ever since the chemo, she could hardly recognize herself. She looked either very old or very young, anything but her real age. Her hair had come in colorless, and she had lots of new lines around her eyes and mouth that put her close to forty, but she had an alarmed, perpetually surprised look at all times that made her look like an overgrown infant.

No one ever mentioned it, how weird she looked. Not even her friends – not even her wonderful nurse, Meg Ferguson. At the hospital, someone had come around with wigs to try on, but Sarah had said no to those. Wearing a wig would feel like having pantyhose on her head, sweaty and claustrophobic. The scalp equivalent to lipstick. Sarah had gone the distance for her brain tumor, trying every revolutionary treatment known to doctors anywhere, but when it came to her appearance she wouldn’t try the simplest things.

Sighing, she walked into her bedroom. Annie Lennox played on the CD player; Sarah had put her on for moral support. Annie and Sarah. And Secret. She wondered if Secret Burke knew what a big favor she had done her, breaking the ice about something that had been driving her crazy with stupid worry.

Thanksgiving. What if she went? Aside from all the old sorrow with her father, their history of letdown and resentment, Sarah had an even bigger fear about the possibility of going home to Elk Island in less than three weeks. She was afraid to have Mike see her this way. She didn’t want him to feel scared, or disgusted, by his own mother. She would have to hire extra help or close her shop for the long weekend.

She remembered naming her first shop. She was nineteen years old, a college student in Boston. Nineteen! Hardly older than Mike! Where had she gotten the confidence, the ambition? The shop was tiny, one single room with a brick wall and parquet floors. Sarah had walked through the door and filled the place with all her dreams. She would stock the shelves with Aunt Bess’s quilts, become a successful businesswoman. Envisioning additional stores, catalogue sales, a chance to save the farm, a way to make her father happy on earth and her mother proud in heaven, Sarah had named her store Cloud Nine.

Cloud Nine. Leaning against her bureau, Sarah remembered designing her logo: a golden ‘9’ on a white cloud superimposed on a blue oval, tiny white down feathers drifting down like snowflakes. She had commissioned David Walker, a woodcarver on Elk Island, to make the sign. Naming the store had given her so much pleasure, such a sense of dreams coming true, of knowing exactly who she was. She hadn’t felt anything like it before and never would again until Mike was born.

Michael Ezekiel Loring Talbot.

Thinking her son’s name filled Sarah with so much emotion she had to grip the bureau top. She had always loved the name Michael. It was strong, and it had belonged to an archangel, and it sounded poetic. She had given her son the name of a leader and an athlete, someone who had fun and took risks.

Sarah had wanted to name Michael for his father, but she had been free to give him ‘Loring’ only as a middle name. Michael, like Sarah, was a Talbot. Perhaps that was why he was clinging so tenaciously to the island and his grandfather, to the old farm and the refuge it provided.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she blinked them away. No use crying about things she couldn’t change. Mike had made his decision. She couldn’t even say he had run away from home, because he hadn’t even hidden his plans. And his destination wasn’t New York or Los Angeles or even Albany: It was the family farm. Still, he was only seventeen, now living on Elk Island with the original recluse. In search of the truth about his own dead father. Mike would kill her if he knew she still thought of him as her baby, but she did.

Sitting on her window seat, Sarah took a sip of herbal tea. She ate only healthful things now. She walked a little every day, as much as she felt able to. Some days she felt strong enough to run on the college track, like she had before getting sick, but she wasn’t ready to push it. Her doctor had told her to take it slow, and Sarah listened to what he said. She wanted to live. She had brought a boy into this world, and she wanted to live to see him safely moving on a shining path.

Alice Von Froelich walked into her daughter’s bedroom and tried to determine by her breathing whether she was actually asleep or just faking it. Several blankets and a quilt were piled high, pulled right over her head. The radio was playing, but Susan had been falling asleep to music for as long as Alice could remember.

Standing stock-still, hoping to catch her moving, Alice hardly breathed herself. She glanced around the room. The lamps were turned off, but the hall light illuminated certain things. Undeniably elegant, like the rest of Julian’s house, Susan’s room showed very few signs of being occupied by a teenage girl. Noticing this, as she did every time she entered, Alice crinkled her brow and exhaled worriedly.

Susan loved the idea of England, so Julian had let her choose two Gainsboroughs from his collection: a little girl in a blue dress, and two spaniels on a satin pillow. Her furniture and accoutrements were English too: the Queen Anne bed and dresser, the antique rocker covered in Susan’s favorite shade of rose, the monogrammed sterling silver brush and mirror on the vanity. Julian had given them to her last Christmas, along with several sterling picture frames for her great collection of photos.

Stooping down, Alice took a closer look at the photos. Susan certainly did love her father: Will was in every one. There they were, in the cockpit of his Piper Cub, when Susan was four years old. Sitting on his lap under an umbrella at the Black Pearl, the family’s favorite restaurant in Newport. Standing on the dock just before he’d shipped out for the Middle East. Alice remembered taking all three pictures. And then her eyes fell upon the fourth.

‘Freddie,’ she whispered.

There he was, his last Christmas, standing in front of a tree with Will. Her lanky, sleepy boy, braces on his smile, so beautiful and tall. In this shot, Fred was nearly the same height as Will. How had Alice never noticed that before? Was it just the perspective? She couldn’t see their feet; had Fred been standing on a box, a stack of books?

‘Mom?’ Susan asked, shielding her eyes against the hall light.

‘Honey, you’re awake,’ Alice said, sitting on the edge of her bed.

‘You weren’t home.’

‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Alice asked, feeling that panicky guilt. ‘I called the machine.’

‘I got it.’

‘We had cocktails with Dean Sherry, and then a bunch of Julian’s friends decided we should all cook dinner together. So we went to Martine’s house and made Indonesian food and listened to Armando play some new pieces on his keyboard.’

‘God, how boring,’ Susan said, scowling.

‘Did you eat?’

‘Yes.’

Alice worried. She stared at Susan, wondering what was going on in her head. She sounded so tense and sullen, almost as if she were trying to make her feel guilty. As if it weren’t already a fait accompli.

‘What did you have?’

‘Dad took me to Chedder’s. I had a salad.’

‘You called your father? Susan, you know there’s a whole pantry full of food downstairs. Pansy bought every single thing you put on your list. The refrigerator is loaded with lettuce, all those strange kinds you love. Susan …’

‘“Susan”?’ she asked, frowning. ‘If you expect me to answer you, you’d better call me by the right name.’

Alice refused to play into Susan’s trap. She had been acting out ever since Alice and Julian had gotten married, and one thing she knew worked best was the name game. Alice felt her blood pressure mounting through the roof. She had a sneaking suspicion that Will was enabling this. He was so easygoing, he’d let Susan get away with anything. He had gone to pieces when Fred died, and he wasn’t even halfway put back together again.

‘Honey?’ Alice heard herself asking with an admirably even tone. She never spoke about Fred to Susan, not wanting to upset her. He had been her big brother, her hero. But she had to ask. The question just came out: Alice couldn’t have held it back if she’d wanted to. ‘Was Freddie as tall as your dad? Almost as tall?’

Silence. Downstairs, she heard Julian and Armando laughing. Drinks were being poured. The clack of pool cues. The chime of the break.

‘Susan, answer me.’

‘There’s no Susan here,’ her daughter said dangerously from beneath her pile of quilts.

4

The Fort Cromwell Fair was always held the Saturday midway between Halloween and Thanksgiving, to celebrate the harvest and the season of gratitude. Everyone went. The Old Fairgrounds were miles from town, in the middle of nowhere. Driving past at any other time of year, you might see a tractor chuffing down the road. You’d be lucky to see another car. But around fair time, traffic was backed up for miles. The now-bare fields surrounding the grounds swarmed with the expensive import cars of urban daytrippers in search of local color.

Sarah had come with Meg and Mimi. They wandered around, gazing at prize pigs and champion steers. Clydesdales clopped by on their way to the horse pull. Since the fair was held so late, someone had gotten the idea to put Santa in the hayride, and a wagon full of little kids singing ‘Jingle Bells’ rattled past.

Mimi had gotten a camera for her birthday. She was taking pictures of everything, but she wanted to do everything too: eat cotton candy, take the hayride, run through the haunted house, ride the Ferris wheel. It was the conflict between being a total kid and starting to grow up a little. Sarah remembered Mike at that age and wished he were there.

‘Want to ride the Ferris wheel?’ Meg asked. ‘I think I’ll take Mimi.’

‘You two go ahead,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m going to find some hot chocolate.’

They agreed to meet by the paint-on-tattoo booth in an hour. Heading toward the refreshment area, Sarah felt exhilarated. Fairs always did this to her: the crowds, the animals, bells ringing everywhere. She said hello to a few people she knew, mainly college kids who came into her store.

She wore a black bowler hat, black jeans, and Zeke’s old leather bomber jacket. For some reason, she had felt like wearing it. Since it had belonged to Mike’s father, she hardly ever wore it when Mike was around. Seeing it brought forth too many questions. Sarah had so few of Zeke’s things, and they all seemed to stir Mike into asking things Sarah couldn’t answer. Once Mike had asked her why his father had given her his jacket, and Sarah couldn’t even bring herself to tell him the truth: that Zeke hadn’t given it to her at all. That she had borrowed it on her own and never given it back, that she had wanted so much more.

‘One hot chocolate,’ she said to the elderly man behind the counter.

‘Marshmallows in that?’ he asked.

‘No thanks,’ Sarah said, imagining the evil health risks of even one. She felt healthier all the time. She wasn’t going to throw it all away on a marshmallow, even though she really wanted it.

The cardboard cup was scalding hot. Glancing around for napkins, she saw a separate counter with squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard and napkins and straws. A man was blocking her way. He was tall and big-shouldered, and he was wearing a leather jacket almost exactly like hers.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, leaning around him to get a napkin.

‘Hi, Sarah,’ he said, sounding surprised and happy.

‘Hi!’ Sarah said. It was the pilot, Will Burke. She had worked herself practically under his arm to reach the napkins, and he was holding his hot dog aloft to keep the relish from spilling on her. They untwisted themselves and stood back, smiling.

‘Good to see you,’ he said.

‘You too. How have you been?’

‘I’ve been fine,’ he said, tilting his head as if he were thinking that one over. ‘How about you?’

‘Great,’ Sarah said. ‘Really great. What brings you to the fair? Are you here with Secret?’

‘Secret?’ he frowned. ‘Oh, Susan. You’ve met her?’

‘She stopped by my store.’

He laughed, shaking his head. ‘“Secret.” It gets me every time. We gave her a perfectly nice name: Susan. Not that we didn’t think of something more exotic. Delphine comes to mind for some reason, but we didn’t want her to be embarrassed. You know?’

Sarah nodded. Will was laughing, but his eyes were barely smiling. He looked like a man with something weighing heavily on his mind, but she didn’t know him well enough to ask. Maybe he and his wife weren’t getting along. Never having been married herself, Sarah was no expert.

‘She’s a nice girl,’ Sarah said. ‘No matter what she calls herself. That’s the important part.’

‘So you wouldn’t worry about it?’

‘Personally, no. I wouldn’t.’

‘Hmm.’ He frowned again. He seemed to have lost all interest in his hot dog, which was piled high with relish, chili, and onions. ‘Because her mother thinks it’s a danger sign. Some kind of call for help. I don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t want to second-guess your wife,’ Sarah began.

‘Ex-wife,’ Will said.

‘But it doesn’t seem all that dangerous to me. She’s fifteen, just trying out new things. It could be worse –’ Sarah said.

‘Drugs,’ Will said solemnly.

‘Exactly. She’s just figuring out who she is. You know?’

Will nodded. He obviously felt better, because he started eating his hot dog again. His face and hands were weathered, the constant tan of a man who loved to be outside. He had curly graying brown hair with all-gray streaks at the temples. For a man who had been in the navy, it looked a little long. His eyes were startling, as dark blue as a Maine bay.

‘Is she here?’ Sarah asked, looking around.

‘Secret?’ he asked, grinning. ‘No, she’s home. I’m here for work. I take people up for rides – like the one I gave you – to see Fort Cromwell from the air.’

‘That was a great ride. I’ve thought of it often.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes. It was the first time I knew –’ She took a sip of hot chocolate to buy a little time, get past the emotion.

‘Knew what?’

‘That I’m okay again,’ she said. Smiling, she felt radiant, as if she were shining with health and happiness from the inside out. She shivered, but it was from the thrill of existing, of standing outside on a crisp fall day, not from the cold.

‘I’m glad about that,’ Will said. He touched her arm.

An idea came upon her. It must have been brewing, because for the last few nights she had lain awake, wondering whether she should go home to Elk Island for Thanksgiving, how she would get there if she did. Because when she asked the question, it seemed as if she had it all planned.

‘Do you ever take long-distance charters? To Maine, for example?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Lots of times. Where in Maine?’

‘Elk Island.’

He closed his eyes as if he were trying to picture it on a chart. Sarah helped him out.

‘It’s far up there,’ she said. ‘Past Penobscot Bay, almost to Mount Desert. Just a tiny little island way out at sea.’

‘Does it have an airport?’

‘Not much of one. Just a grass strip.’

‘My planes like grass strips,’ he said, grinning. ‘When do you want to go?’

‘That’s the thing,’ she said. ‘Thanksgiving. I know you probably have plans, so … If you’re even working that weekend.’

‘I am,’ he said.

‘Well … do you want to think about it? You can work up a price and let me know?’

‘Sounds good,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to watch the weather. My big plane has the most instruments, and at this time of year you never know what to expect in the way of storms. But it’s more expensive.’

She nodded, swallowed hard. Making transportation arrangements brought her one step closer to actually going. Seeing Mike! Her throat vibrated with a laugh, and she started to let it out until she realized that by returning to Elk Island, she would be facing her father for the first time in many years. He had never gotten over her growing up, leaving the island for college, coming back just long enough to get pregnant and cause a scandal. Trapped by his grief for Sarah’s mother, her father just grew more bitter as the years went by. Sarah had tried taking Mike there for summers long ago, but after a while her father’s darkness had stopped her.

‘I’ll call you,’ she said, shaking Will’s hand.

‘Right,’ he said, glancing at his watch. It looked huge and heavy, about ten pounds’ worth of chrome, a very high-tech chronometer. But it looked exactly right on his strong wrist. ‘Guess I’d better get back to work.’

‘Fly safe,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ Will said, starting to walk away. Sarah stood still, both hands holding her cup of hot chocolate. He started to disappear into the crowd. Then, turning, he called her name. ‘Hey, Sarah!’

Walking toward each other, they came together in a throng of teenagers. Bumped and jostled, Sarah brought her elbows into her body, making herself small. She and Will were standing in front of a booth festooned with burgundy paisley scarves, curved swords, and magic lamps. Mysterious sitar music wafted out. The sign read: GYPSY SECRETS OF THE ORIENT, FORTUNES READ BY THE LIGHT OF THE ETERNAL FLAME. A turbaned man flew out the door in pursuit of a young man.

‘Stop him!’ the turbaned Gypsy yelled. ‘He blew out the eternal flame!’

‘The eternal flame!’ the fortune-teller wailed, agonized. ‘Ahhh!’

‘Wow,’ Will said. ‘That sounds serious.’

Sarah smiled at him, shrugging her shoulders. ‘My son blew it out last year. Keeping up a tradition, I guess.’

‘Teenagers,’ he said. They stood there like two tourists being stampeded at Pamplona. Sarah stared into his eyes, which were bluer than the sky. He seemed to have forgotten why he’d called her back. Facing each other, their toes were touching.

‘What was it?’ she asked.

‘Secret lives with her mother and stepfather,’ he said. ‘I mean, Secret is my family, but she doesn’t live with me, and she’s having Thanksgiving with Alice. So it’s no problem to fly you to Maine.’

‘Oh,’ Sarah said. She was trying to think of what to say next, when another pack of boys charged by. Looking through their faces to see if she recognized any of Mike’s old friends, she noticed they were wearing team jackets from a nearby town. One of them grabbed her bowler hat.

Sarah felt him drag the hat off her head. The brim scraped her scar, and she felt a flash of pain. The kids dropped it with embarrassment. ‘Sorry!’ one of them yelled. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her mouth had dropped open, and for one terrible instant she looked at Will and registered her own shame in his eyes.

Ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her cry, she felt his arms come around her. He held her against his chest. She felt his breath on her scalp, his hands covering the back of her head. She had moved freely without a hat all these weeks, but somehow the kids’ cruelty and the idea of facing Mike had made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, self-conscious about her awful hair.