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.
‘Mom,’ she said out loud. Was she expecting her mother to answer? She knew it was crazy, but there was something in the air. It felt charged, different than it had ever felt before. No one was standing there, but Sarah felt that she was not alone.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked around. This was where her mother had lain, the things Sarah was seeing were the things she had seen. The same faded wallpaper, the mahogany dresser, the paintings on the wall, the white curtains at the window. Lying here, she would have had to lift her head to see outside, to look at the sea.
She had been so weak. Sarah remembered coming in to sit with her, scared of what she might find each time. The smells of sickness were so strong that people who had never smelled them before knew exactly what they meant. Her mother had always been such a clean person, and Sarah remembered how happy it made her, the times Sarah would offer to wash her face.
How often had she actually done it? Once a day? Such a small thing, and she had done it so few times. She would fill the basin with warm water, use a white washcloth and a bar of her mother’s favorite soap. The whole time, she had felt a pit in her stomach. Her mother would be smiling, so grateful for such a little thing, and Sarah would just want to get it over with. Looking back all those years, she understood that her mother’s smile had less to do with getting her face washed than having her daughter sit beside her. The realization made her feel ashamed that she couldn’t have done more.
‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ she whispered.
Rising, she walked to the window. She leaned against the narrow sill, watching the early sun peeking through the pines, throwing orange light on the snow and rocks. The seals covered their rocks, curved upward. Thanksgiving was over. In just a few weeks Christmas would be here, her mother’s favorite holiday, and Sarah remembered something else.
For her mother’s last Christmas, too sick to get out of bed much, let alone leave this room, Sarah had spoken to her father about a tree. Bitter and full of fear, he had said it wouldn’t be proper, that her mother couldn’t get down to the parlor to see it anyway. There would be no tree that year. In some ways, Sarah had known he was right. Her mother was dying. They had no business celebrating.
But she wanted her mother to have a tree. She remembered the planning, the preparations. For one whole day she had worked in the shed, fixing everything she needed. She had made candlehÓlders out of muffin tins, tinfoil, and electrical clips. She had gone outside, hollowed out spots in the snow, made a path across the yard to a small white spruce, a perfect Christmas tree growing on the edge of the woods.
That night, just as it was growing dark, Sarah had come into this room. Her mother had been lying there, almost too ill to move but so happy to see her. Sarah had helped her up, hurrying her along because time was short. She had brought her mother her robe, helped her into her slippers. Placing the chair beside the window, she had supported her mother for the achingly hard walk over. It was only ten steps, but it had seemed like a hundred.
Sarah remembered her mother’s gasp. She had stood there, fingers pressed to her lips. Sarah had placed candles in the snow, on the branches of the tree. She had used up the entire emergency supply. The pathway blazed, from the back door to the Christmas tree, and the tree itself was lit with fifty flickering lights. Sarah had tied red bows to the boughs, but it had gotten too dark to see. She and her mother had stood by the window, just holding each other without speaking, until one by one each white candle went out.
‘Our Christmas, Mom,’ she said, standing at the window, remembering. Her mother had taught her so much. Holidays were important, you couldn’t let them pass by. No matter how sad, no matter how afraid you felt, you had to celebrate with the people you loved. Because you never knew when memories would be all you had left.
Turning away from the window, kissing her mother’s picture for the last time, Sarah paused by the door. Her back hurt, and she knew she would never be able to lift her mother today as she had done then. She took a deep breath, saying good-bye. Then she went downstairs to find Will, to find her son and take him home.
Aunt Bess decided to stay home, so everyone said goodbye to her in the front hall. She kept her dignity and good humor, hugging Mike only a minute longer than the others, telling him to be sure to write. When she hugged Sarah, she pulled back slightly, a worried look on her face.
‘Is that a fever?’ she asked, touching Sarah’s forehead.
‘Just a slight one,’ Sarah said. She kept her voice low, not wanting anyone else to know she was sick.
‘Go to bed the minute you get home,’ Aunt Bess said, and Sarah felt relieved that she didn’t act more concerned, didn’t try to convince her to stay an extra day to recuperate. Now that the moment had come to leave, Sarah felt a sense of urgency. She wanted the good-byes to be over, to be up in the air on their way, to get Mike back home as soon as possible.
Her father was quiet this morning. He carried the luggage out to the Jeep, cramming it in back as if he were taking a load of trash to the dump. Gelsey needed a little help getting into the front seat, and George gave her a shove under the rump. Climbing behind the wheel, he sat there silently, like a reluctant chauffeur with a job he wished were already over. Sarah tried to let Will sit in front, but he refused. He kissed her on the cheek as he got into the backseat with Mike and Snow. She got in, and Gelsey climbed onto her lap.
They drove across the island. Sarah watched the landscape go by. Nothing changed on Elk Island. The island was too far away, too hard to get to, to attract builders and developers. Storms might topple trees, the sea might change the shore, but Sarah took comfort in knowing that when she returned again, the island would look about the same as it did now.
She had such mixed feelings. Leaving her father made her sad. But she was flying home with Mike, and that was the main thing. Was it greedy to hope for more, for her father to see it her way and feel happy? Driving the Jeep, he looked so hunched over and miserably turned inward. What would he and Aunt Bess talk about? Sarah could imagine him returning to the house, not saying another word until the spring thaw. Mike must have brought such light to his bitter life.
‘Dad,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Hmmmm,’ he growled.
‘He’ll be back.’
No comment. He just gripped the steering wheel tighter, pressed on the gas pedal a little harder. Sarah tried not to think about how rusty the Jeep was, how dilapidated the farm. Mike had done his best to stem the tide of disrepair, but he’d been powerless against the brutal weather, the dwindling income. Sarah would slip some extra money into the next check she sent, hoping her father wouldn’t be so proud that he’d send it back.
‘We’re here!’ Snow exclaimed as they turned the corner and the plane came into sight.
George parked the Jeep, and Will and Mike unloaded it. Sarah sat in the front seat, watching Snow run to the plane, her arms open wide as if she wanted to embrace it. Sarah’s fever seemed to be getting a little worse. She had felt hot during the drive over, but when everyone got out of the Jeep, the cold air had knifed through her and left her shivering. Her back ached. Tylenol, chicken soup, and bed, she was thinking, watching everyone bustling around the plane. But overriding her discomfort, this onslaught of flu, was the knowledge that Mike was. coming home. My son, Sarah thought.
Mike stowed everything carefully in the cargo area. He had heard about bags coming loose, flying through the air when small planes hit turbulence. With all these people he cared so much about, he wanted to make sure he did things right. That he loaded the bags as safely as possible.
In small planes you really got the sensation of flight. You were a bird, soaring into the clouds. Thinking of birds, Mike looked up and saw the eagle.
‘Mom,’ he called.
She was still in the Jeep. Sitting in the front seat, petting Gelsey, watching everyone load the plane. Was something wrong? Mike felt worried, but then she smiled and waved and he felt okay again. He pointed at the sky.
‘There he is,’ he yelled.
His mother looked up. She had that expression on her face, that what-have-I-done-to-deserve-something-so-wonderful look that only she got. Smiling at the sky, at the bald eagle circling overhead, she tilted her head back for a moment. Mike got a lump in his throat. She looked pale and a little tired, and he worried because he knew how sick she had been. She had come to see him, and that meant more to him than Mike could understand.
They had spent Thanksgiving together. Hadn’t they spent about a million before? Sitting at a table, eating some bird, waiting for pie? They had spent Thanksgivings alone, Thanksgivings with friends. They had had years of traditional cooking and years of experimentation, like the Thanksgiving his mother had decided to mix the turnips and mashed potatoes together, the time she had made apple crumble instead of apple pie. But no Thanksgiving had ever been as great as the one they’d just had.
‘Mike, shouldn’t he be going south?’ his mother called. ‘Don’t eagles migrate?’
‘I think they do,’ Mike called back. ‘Maybe he’s on his way now.’
‘My son the scientist!’ she called.
Mike shook his head. He felt the smile drain from his face. She sounded so happy. He had seen her last night when he had talked about wanting to finish school, study oceanography, go on to college. All she wanted was to make things right, make sure Mike wasn’t going to turn out a loser. Mike could understand that.
Parents loved their kids, wanted the best. He could see it with Will and Snow; he had experienced it all last winter, with his grandfather worrying about his mother. Every letter they didn’t get from Fort Cromwell during the weeks when his mother had been too sick to write had affected his grandfather like a sliver under his skin. Mike had watched his body slouch, his scowl deepen. Scared of losing Sarah, his grandfather had clung tighter to Mike.
How did people do it? Mike wondered, wedging the last of the bags into the cargo door. How did they manage loving their kids, keep it from breaking them in half? Looking at Will, he tried to imagine what it had been like to see his son disappear under the waves. How did people let each other out of their sight?
‘Hey, where’s yours?’ Will asked, counting the bags.
Mike didn’t reply.
Will stood there, counting. He was the pilot, and he kept track of weight, of the number of bags that went into his plane. He and Mike were still wary of each other; Mike felt it. Frowning, Will turned to Mike.
‘That’s the same number we had coming out,’ Will said.
‘I know,’ Mike said.
His mother had finally gotten out of the car. She was moving slowly, limping a little. Snow bounded over, put her arm around her, practically danced her over to the plane. The look on his mother’s face was strange, kind of pained, but Mike figured that was because she hated leaving. She always had.
‘You’d better get going,’ Grandpa said, the first thing he’d said all morning. He was speaking to everyone, but he directed his words to Mike.
It was a perfect day. The sky was bright blue, the sun brilliant. Mike knew it would be a beautiful flight back to Fort Cromwell. Looking at his grandfather, he kept his gaze steady. His grandfather couldn’t do it alone. Mike knew; he had watched him all the last year, seen how hard the easiest chores were. He couldn’t always catch the geese. His eyes were failing, and Mike was afraid he’d cut off his own hand someday. That morning, when Mike had found him lying on the ice, he had realized how bad it was.
‘What’s the story?’ Will asked, lowering his voice. His eyes were blazing.
Mike half turned to keep the others from hearing.
‘I’m not leaving,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I can’t. My grandfather needs –’
‘Look,’ Will said sharply, ‘don’t do this to your mother. She thinks you’re coming home with us, and that’s what you’re going to do.’
‘I can’t,’ Mike said. For him, that was all there was to it. He couldn’t live with himself if he got on that plane, left his grandfather and Aunt Bess alone. They’d die this winter without him. Mike was sure of it. His mother would feel bad, but she’d be okay. She had good friends to help her. And it wouldn’t be forever. Mike knew that. This might be the last winter they could keep the farm going.
Will looked like he wanted to kill him. His eyes were flashing, his jaw set tight. He gave his head a quick shake, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Mike tried to breathe, knowing he was doing the right thing.
‘Then tell her,’ Will said harshly. ‘Don’t leave her hoping. Tell her right now.’
Mike nodded. Turning around, the first person he saw was Snow. His mother was right there, but he couldn’t look at her yet. Snow’s eyes were so huge, her smile so pretty. She was looking up at him, and Mike remembered kissing her last night. He blushed, and Snow noticed. She smiled wider.
Will stepped between Mike and his mother as if he could somehow shield her from what was about to happen. He put his arm around her, slowly turning to face Mike. Mike saw his expression, somber and watchful, and Mike felt glad his mother wasn’t alone.
‘I’m not going,’ Mike said.
His mother didn’t reply. She cocked her head slightly, as if she hadn’t heard him right. But Snow got it right away. Her smile disappeared all at once.
‘You have to!’ Snow said. ‘I’m going to get my dad to fly us over Boston, so we can see where you used to live!’
‘Mike?’ his mother asked.
‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ he said. He stepped forward, wanting to make her feel better. He wanted to hug her, or hold her hands, or something, but all he could do was stand there.
‘What about school?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
‘You said you wanted to finish, didn’t you? What about your future, honey?’
‘I’ll finish, Mom.’
‘When?’ Sarah asked, growing agitated.
‘Soon,’ Mike said.
‘You’re already older than a senior,’ Snow said, hands on her hips.
‘It’s your life you’re throwing away,’ his mother said. ‘Don’t you see that, Mike? Life is so short! You think you have all the time in the world, but a year will pass and you’ll never go back. It will seem like too much trouble, honey. Or you’ll feel too old.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Mike said.
‘But you will!’ his mother said, her voice catching. She must have pulled a muscle or something, because she winced with pain. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Sarah,’ Will said, holding her close. ‘He’ll be fine.’
‘He won’t,’ she said, pushing Will away. She walked straight to Mike and held his hands. She stared him in the eye, and he couldn’t stand to see the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Come home,’ she said.
‘Mom,’ he said, wanting to look away but forcing himself to hold her gaze.
‘Come home,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Please.’
‘You should listen to your mother,’ his grandfather said half-heartedly. ‘Finish your schooling.’
‘Come with us,’ Snow begged. ‘We’ll have fun.’
‘I can’t,’ Mike said, speaking to all of them but focusing on his mother. ‘I never knew where I belonged before, but I do now. I’m staying on the island.’
His mother was sobbing. She wasn’t being strong at all. She had pulled her hands back, bowed her head, and started weeping into her palms. Will was holding her again, and even Grandpa looked concerned. Snow just stood there, staring at her feet. Mike reached into the cargo hold for a small pouch he’d stuck in with Snow’s bag.
‘Here,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ she asked sullenly.
‘One of the extra cats,’ he said.
Seemingly against her will, but unable to stop herself, Snow reached into the sack and pulled out one of the black kittens. It was the smallest one Mike could find, with a white throat and bright blue eyes.
‘Wow,’ Snow said. She kissed the cat’s nose. ‘What’s its name?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mike said. ‘You’re good with names. It’s a boy.’
‘Dr Darrow,’ Snow said immediately, her smile flooding back.
‘Yeah,’ Mike said, smiling at her. ‘Dr Darrow.’ He looked at his mother, and his smile died. The light had gone out of her. She looked gray. Her face was pale, her eyes dull. She wasn’t sobbing as hard, but her body seemed to be trembling.
‘Sarah, are you okay?’ Will was asking, supporting her with his arm.
‘My back,’ she said, gulping past those last knifelike gasps, ‘hurts a little.’
‘You got a touch of the family rheumatism,’ Grandpa said. Now that Mike was staying, he could afford to be magnanimous. Will took one arm and Grandpa took the other, and they helped Sarah sit down in the front seat of the plane.
Mike walked over. The older men stepped away, and he was left face-to-face with his mother. She looked full of sorrow, as if she had lost the thing she loved most in the world. Mike couldn’t quite understand how upset she was seeming. Mothers wanted their kids to get educated, but Mike had never been an A student. She couldn’t be all that surprised.
‘Mom,’ he said, crouching by the plane door. ‘I’m going to finish school. I promise. Even if it’s just a GED. I’ll write the high school.’
‘What about being an oceanographer?’ she asked, her voice weak.
‘What oceanographer ever had it better than me?’ Mike asked. ‘I get to live it, not just study it.’
She nodded as if that made sense to her. But her eyes were bereft.
‘Maybe I’ll go someday. Just not right now.’
‘Oh, Mike,’ she said.
‘I know you think I have to do it all at once, that if I don’t go to school now, I never will. But there’s time. There’s plenty of time.’
Mike must have said the wrong thing. His mother had started crying again. She wasn’t sobbing like before, she hardly even shook. But the tears were welling in her eyes, and she was staring into his face as if she wanted to memorize every detail.
‘I want you to be right,’ she said.
Mike nodded. This was it. Will had better get Snow into the plane, take off before his mother started crying hard again. Mike knew Will loved his mother, he could see it. At that moment he decided to trust him to take care of her. While Mike manned the island, looking after Grandpa and Aunt Bess, running the farm, Will could make sure his mother was okay. And Snow.
‘You’d better go,’ Mike said to Will.
‘Yeah,’ Will said, shaking Mike’s hand.
Snow threw herself into his arms. Her body felt so small and beautiful, she smelled so sweet, he felt the ground shake beneath his feet. He pushed her away, not roughly but firmly, knowing he couldn’t hold her an instant longer. Dr Darrow meowed.
‘One less cat. Good,’ his grandfather said. He said his good-byes, shaking hands with Will and Snow, leaning into the plane to hug his daughter. Mike watched the way Grandpa leaned down, holding Sarah’s face between his gnarled old hands. She was looking straight at him, nodding at whatever he was saying. When Grandpa turned around, he looked straight at Mike. Mike might have expected an expression of friendliness, but instead, Grandpa looked as if he wanted to kill him for upsetting his mother. It was Mike’s turn.
‘Bye, Mom,’ he said, kissing her cheek.
She caught him with her arms. Hugging him so hard, he could hardly believe his mother had that kind of strength, she said something he couldn’t quite hear.
‘What?’ he asked, leaning even closer.
‘I have to tell you something,’ she said.
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Grandpa says he’ll send you home whenever you want. Just ask.’
‘Okay,’ Mike said, waiting.
‘I have never,’ she said slowly, as if she were afraid of not saying exactly what she wanted to, ‘loved anyone as much as I love you.’
‘No one, Mike.’
‘My dad,’ Mike said. ‘And …’ He trailed off, first glancing at Will.
‘No one,’ Sarah said again. ‘From the minute I saw you, that was it. True love, and forever. You changed my world.’
‘Yeah,’ Mike said, his throat hurting because he had something to say but didn’t know what it was.
‘I know you love me, Mike,’ his mother said. ‘Don’t ever think I don’t.’
‘Uh …’ Mike said. He wanted to say more, something about loving her too, thanking her for being such a good mother. The old problems just didn’t seem so big anymore. But those thoughts were so huge, and Mike couldn’t imagine himself saying them out loud. So he just nodded.
She pulled him close again, giving him another hard hug. Mike found himself thinking, what if this is the last time? What if we never see each other again? But those were crazy thoughts, and he looked up at the sky to drive them away.
‘Bye,’ his mother said.
‘Bye,’ Mike said. And then Will came around to close the plane door, to say good-bye to Mike, to fly the women Mike loved back to Fort Cromwell.