Mike lay on the floor on his back. Everyone was gathered around, waiting for the storm to pass. His mother and Will were doing a jigsaw puzzle. Eyes almost closed, Mike pretended to be asleep and watched them. He was trying to get over being called a jerk last night.
He’d been shocked at first, then outraged. He had expected his mother to yell at Will, at least apologize to Mike for him, but she had just sat there. That was new. His mother’s attitude toward Will had Mike thinking. Will had a stealth thing going, he wasn’t always coming on with a smile.
Mike respected guys who didn’t grin too much. His mother was always going out with men who went around shaking hands and nodding their heads. Pretending to agree with every stupid thing he said, taking all the abuse Mike felt like handing out. Most of them had been super-respectable types, the pharmacist and the accountant, the lawyer and the paving specialist. Nine-to-five guys Mike figured his mother had chosen so he could look up to them.
She had always had someone around. Mike remembered asking her how bridges were built, and the next thing he knew she was bringing home a civil engineer. He had inquired about constellations one time, and within a month his mother was dating an astronomy professor at Harvard. He guessed she didn’t want to be alone, and she wanted him to have a father figure, so she tried killing two birds with one stone.
It had always pissed Mike off. By now it was habit to act hostile to the men she brought home. How could he respect bureaucrats when his father had been a maverick lobsterman? As a kid, he had told his friends his father was like Jacques Cousteau, exploring the world on an oceanographic lobster boat.
Peering across the room, he tried to tell whether Will and his mother were more than just friends. They weren’t giving anything away. He got the feeling Snow was doing the same thing, scoping out the romance angle between their parents. Wondering also what she thought about him, Mike tried to see her now. She was sitting right there, just across the room. But to actually check her out, he would have had to move his head. They’d all know he was awake, and he would lose his advantage.
Will was the kind of guy someone could respect. A navy pilot wasn’t too bad. Coming to Maine, Mike had learned his father wasn’t exactly the lobsterman hero he had once dreamed of. But he didn’t have to let anyone else know that.
Snow quilted Elk Island from the north cliffs to the bay, and it kept falling. All the barn cats had come into the house, seeking the warmth of the fireplace, and they lay curled in all their secret places: on top of the bookcases, inside the piano, in the sweater drawers, in the springs of the old sofa, in the baskets of down. Gelsey, the ancient collie, lay at Aunt Bess’s feet, right on the braided rug she was working on.
All these animals and so many feathers, and Snow hadn’t had one asthma attack! Her airways were free and clear. She felt the peace and love of Elk Island taking over her body, and she imagined never leaving. She could live here forever. Lying on the sofa, reading by the fire, she watched the snow coming down and considered the logistics.
Her dad would stay with her. He and Sarah got along very well, so he’d have a friend his own age. Plus, he and George had their military days in common. Aunt Bess liked everyone. Sarah would be like a mother to Snow, a kind of maternal best friend and eventual mother-in-law. Snow was going to marry Mike.
He lay across the room, stretched out with a pillow over his eyes. Snow watched him carefully, the way he flexed every muscle in his wonderful arms. They looked so strong. She imagined them wrapping her in a sweet embrace, lifting her against his chest, carrying her over the threshold. The whole family would be so happy.
Sarah and her dad were working on a jigsaw puzzle. They sat at a card table by the window, their heads bent together over the emerging picture of a mountain scene. One of the cats kept rubbing against Sarah’s cheek, wanting to be petted, messing up the puzzle pieces. Her father whispered something, making Sarah laugh.
Had she ever seen her parents having so much fun? Snow racked her brain, trying to remember. Silence, anger, unspoken accusations and then spoken accusations: Those were the elements she recalled from her parents’ marriage. Way back, when Fred was still with them, they had loved each other and had a ball. But the details of that time were hazy, receding like the land from a sailboat at sea.
Snow sighed, thinking of her mother.
Sarah glanced over, alert and smiling quizzically. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Mmm,’ Snow said, smiling back.
‘Bored?’ Sarah asked.
‘Not at all,’ Snow replied. Did Sarah know how wonderful this was, being snowbound on an island with people who cared about her? Snuggled under a scratchy plaid blanket, surrounded by mangy cats, Snow wondered if Sarah knew that she was the center of everything, the person who had brought everyone together. She was Mike’s mom, George’s daughter, Bess’s niece, Snow and her father’s friend. It seemed like such a generous existence, regardless of the goose killing.
Thinking of her mother, all wrapped up in Julian and their selfish life, made Snow feel sad. She shrunk inward, and for the first time since coming to the island she started wheezing.
‘Have you called your mother?’ Sarah asked quietly, as if she could read Snow’s mind. How had she done that? How was such clairvoyance humanly possible?
Her mind boggled, Snow shook her head. She attempted to channel, to see what her mother was doing right now. Maybe it was snowing in Fort Cromwell, and she was up in her bedroom giving herself a manicure. Or possibly she was snowmobiling with Julian. Or, perhaps, and this was the image that came through the clearest, she was crying on her bed, missing Snow and Fred.
‘Why don’t you call?’ Sarah asked.
‘It’s a good idea, honey,’ her father said.
‘The phone’s in the hall,’ Sarah said.
‘I’ll show you,’ Mike said, easing himself onto his elbows, off the floor. He stood over Snow, looking down at her with that soft mouth of his half open, and Snow’s wheezing stopped dead. She smiled up at him, her brown hair falling across her eyes, hoping she looked alluring and mysterious.
‘You will?’ she asked, her voice low and miraculously wheeze free.
‘Sure.’
‘Thank you,’ said the future Mrs Michael Talbot, and she followed him out of the room, down the hall, into the great unknown.
When the main snow stopped, the sky stayed white and flurries continued to fall. Housebound for too long, everyone but George and Bess put on warm clothes and went out for a walk. Snow lay heavy on the dark pines, the witch-bone oaks. The barn roof sagged under the snow’s weight. Juncos and sparrows roosted in low bushes beside the house, and smoke wisped from the chimney. The sea was dark and silky.
The mudroom contained snowshoes and cross-country skis, but not enough pairs of either to go around. The men strapped on snowshoes, while Sarah and Snow took the skis. They all pushed off, aiming for the trail that would lead them to Great South Head. Overjoyed to be outside and moving, Sarah felt her heart pounding. Skiing in heavy powder gave her a workout comparable to many miles at the track, but she knew she was up to it. She gave Dr Goodacre a passing thought, telling herself she would stop if she got tired.
Mike led the way. He and Will made snowshoeing look effortless, which it was not. Will walked beside her, never letting her get too far ahead. Sarah felt something happening between them. She glanced over, smiling at him over the muffler that was wrapped around her chin.
‘I’ll race you,’ she said.
‘How much time do I have to give you?’ Will asked.
‘None. I’ll beat you fair and square.’
He laughed. They kept up a fast pace, just behind their children, forging along through unmarked snow. They crossed a wide field, mounted a headland with the pine forest on their left and a rickety rail fence on their right, and the trail became narrow. The land rose gradually. Everyone unzipped their parkas, sweating and breathing hard. They proceeded in single file.
As the trail grew steeper, they tried different tactics. Sarah and Snow sidestepped, their skis perpendicular to the trail. Will and Mike ran ahead, toes out, herringboning uphill. The old fence needed mending, and at certain spots it had broken down. The cliff dropped one hundred feet to the sea. Sarah shielded Snow, shouldering her closer to the trees. She was almost afraid to look at her fearless son. He was bombing along, racing Will. Suddenly he stopped.
‘Hey, Mom,’ Mike said. Waiting for her to catch up, he pointed at the sky. ‘There he is.’
‘Who?’ Snow asked.
Circling overhead was a bald eagle. He lived in the northern cliffs, at the far end of the island, but he had come down to fish the bay. Sarah stood beside Mike, catching her breath. Their heads back, they stared upward, watching the eagle soar in great circles, his wings spread straight and wide.
‘Oh, Mike! Do you remember … when?’ Sarah asked when she had paused long enough to talk. Her body ached from exertion, and her chest hurt with each deep breath. She leaned over, her hands gripping her thighs.
Mike knew what she meant, and he interrupted so she wouldn’t have to keep talking. ‘When we first saw him? Yeah.’
Mike had been eleven. They had come out to the island for summer vacation, and they’d spent a whole amazing week lobstering and eagle watching.
‘It can’t be the same guy,’ she said.
‘Eagles live a long time,’ Mike said. ‘He’s still around.’
‘But is that him?’ It surprised Sarah how much she wanted it to be.
‘It is,’ Mike said. ‘He’s always been missing a few pinions. See?’
The last, long, fingerlike feathers at the ends of his wings. Mike was right; Sarah could see a wide space where several pinions should have been. She nodded, gulping for air. She held her right fist just under her breasts, trying to stop the painful stabs of every breath.
‘I am out of … shape,’ she said.
‘You’re doing great, Mom,’ he said.
‘I am?’ she asked, loving his praise.
‘Yeah,’ he said. He had been staring up at the eagle, but now he looked directly into her eyes. His face was red from the cold, but it was so handsome and grown-up, it took her breath away even more. She could hardly see the baby he used to be. His cheeks were lean, his jaw strong, his eyes steady as a man’s, no longer questioning like a boy’s.
‘You are,’ he said. ‘A mile in the snow? That’s better than great.’
‘I feel so much better,’ Sarah said, thinking of how sick she had been.
‘Did you and Dad ever ski? Or snowshoe?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No. He was always lobstering.’
‘Everyone here remembers him,’ Mike said.
‘It’s a small island,’ Sarah said carefully, wondering what people were telling Mike they remembered him for.
‘Why do you always put him down?’ Mike asked hotly.
‘Mike, I’m sorry,’ she said quickly.
Suddenly Snow squealed. Pointing her ski pole seaward, she began to jump up and down. She went down in a heap, but she kept pointing. Gazing out, Sarah saw the wide, dark bay. It was deep blue-gray, like unpolished steel, unmarred by waves or whitecaps. It was the calm after the storm, and there was barely a whisper of wind on the water’s surface. The only movement was a series of large, concentric rings rumbling outward from an earthquake-like epicenter.
Sarah and Mike glanced at each other, old Maine hands, knowing exactly what they were seeing. The whale breached a second time, coming clear out of the sea. Its sleek, gigantic body launched skyward, water streaming off, and landed with a violent splash.
‘Oh, my God!’ Snow yelled.
Mike bumbled over to help her up. Grabbing for his hands, she accidentally pulled him down with her. Amazed, Mike didn’t even move.
‘What is it?’ Snow asked.
‘A whale,’ Mike replied.
‘It’s a humpback,’ Will said, scanning the sea for the same whale or its mate, a big smile on his face. ‘We’d see them all the time, crossing the North Atlantic.’
‘How can you tell?’ Snow asked. ‘Dad, how do you know it’s a humpback?’
‘The white flukes,’ Mike said. ‘Those long white fins.’
‘That’s right,’ Will said.
‘Angel wings,’ Snow said. ‘That’s what those white things looked like to me.’
‘Angel wings,’ Sarah said, trying to breathe right again. Angel wings. She stood back, surprising herself by realizing that she loved all three of these people staring at the sea for a whale who had disappeared.
‘My father set his pots in there,’ Mike said to everyone, pointing at the bay.
‘Lobster pots?’ Will asked.
Mike nodded, saying nothing. He stared at the section where his father’s buoys once had been. Mike had never seen them, so someone must have told him.
‘Elk Island lobsternien only go out in winter,’ Mike said.
‘They must be tough,’ Will said.
Mike turned, his eyes narrowed as if he suspected the navy man of being sarcastic. But Will’s face was open, his expression kind. Watching him be kind to her son, Sarah felt her throat ache and wondered why.
‘The toughest lobstermen in Maine,’ Mike said.
At the top of Great South Head, they turned inland. Will and Sarah hung back, letting the kids lead them wherever they wanted to go. The trees closed in. The snowfall was thinner here, but even so, four inches covered the ground. Following the twin tracks, fat snowshoe prints and unbroken ski marks, Will made himself move slower than he had to. Sarah seemed tired.
‘Do you want to rest?’ he asked.
She shook her head. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. She looked amazing in her black stretch pants, a bulky red sweater patterned with snowflakes, a black cashmere scarf around her throat, and a black headband around her short white hair. Her eyes were big and dark.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘So am I,’ he said, smiling. By standing there, holding them up, he hoped to be giving her the chance to catch her breath.
She nodded. ‘You and my son have called a truce,’ she said. ‘Thanks for what you said about Elk Island lobstermen.’
‘I meant it.’
‘He was really off base last night.’
‘He’s protecting you, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Will said, not wanting her to worry. The bad manners of a seventeen-year-old meant nothing to him, and he trusted they would get better on their own. All he could think of was Sarah, the way she looked just then. He was glad the kids had gone on ahead. Something was building between him and Sarah, and he wanted to be alone with her.
They kept on. At first, they could hear the kids’ voices. But after several minutes, as Will and Sarah slowed even more, the voices faded. The smell of pine was thick, intoxicating. They came to a fallen tree, and Will stopped. Without asking, he dusted off a patch of snow. They sat down.
Sarah undid her scarf. She closed her eyes and let out one long cloud of breath. Her eyelashes were blue-black on her pale skin. The forest was so still. He gazed at Sarah.
‘Do you always arrange to have eagles and whales show up?’ he asked.
‘Only for you,’ she said.
Will took her ski poles. He lay them beside the log. She seemed to smile, as if she knew what he was going to do. Which was odd, because Will hadn’t known himself.
He slid his arms around her. He kissed her. She felt so small, as delicate as a child, but her embrace was so strong, he felt her heart beating through her thick sweater. Her lips were cold, but her kiss was so hot. It turned Will’s heart to fire, set it blazing with a passion he had never felt in his life. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cold cheek, and his eyes flew open.
They smiled at each other, leaning back a little, still holding tight.
‘Eagles and whales are nothing,’ he said, ‘compared to you.’
‘That whale was an angel,’ she said. ‘Like your daughter said.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so.’
He kissed her again, reaching up to hold her head. His fingers found a long, hard scar under her hair. His heart jolted, but she calmed him with the way she didn’t flinch, the way she didn’t duck. Sarah Talbot didn’t hide from anything. She was kissing him with all her heart, letting him know it all. Will just kept caressing her, drawing her against his body.
‘This is very interesting,’ she said after a minute.
‘It is?’
She had her hands pressed against his cheeks, looking directly into his eyes. She spoke with humor, and there was amusement in her eyes, but there was great seriousness as well. Will waited for her to speak.
‘They asked me who you were, what you were doing here with me – my father and my son – and I told them with total honesty and truthfulness that you were my pilot. And also my friend.’
‘Definitely your friend,’ Will said, tucking a fringe of silver-gold hair under her woolen headband.
‘But, oh,’ Sarah said. ‘Will.’
‘More than friends?’ he asked.
‘Don’t you think so?’
When something was this right, everything made sense. Holding Sarah, Will knew he could never go back to the old ways. The shock of having Fred ripped from his life had torn him in half. He had been walking around, ruined, all these years, waiting for some kind of explanation. A translation that would reveal to him the workings of God and the universe, the key to being human and feeling this kind of pain.
The key was Sarah. Will understood now. Sitting up, he let go of her just to see if he could. They faced each other, their noses six inches apart. Ten inches. A clump of snow fell from a tree limb, and they looked away entirely. A snowy owl pounded through the trees, hard on the trail of a field mouse. The mouse escaped. Will watched Sarah watching the owl fly away and knew they would remember this day for the rest of their lives.
A scream shattered the peace.
It was Snow, far off, crying for help.
On their feet, Will and Sarah ran and skied as fast as they could.