‘I happen to be referring to the fact that you quit the navy and dragged me and Mom way the hell into these ridiculous boondocks,’ Snow said, glaring at him. Then, afraid she was offending Sarah, she touched the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry. They’re nice for some people, but we need the ocean.’
‘I understand completely. My son used to say the same thing to me, and he was right. I moved us away from Boston to these – what did you call them – ridiculous boondocks? Mike used to call it the middle of nowhere.’
‘If I had a family farm to run away to, I just might go there,’ Snow said.
‘Don’t run away,’ Will said.
‘He’s right, Snow. Listen to your father. It’s not worth it,’ Sarah said, feeling suddenly cold. She had worn a flowing silk jacket, rich with embroidery and brocade, and she pulled it tightly around herself. She looked at Will, saw that abstract fear in his face, and knew what he was feeling: the idea that his child could just disappear from him.
‘I don’t see why not,’ Snow said. ‘Mike took off and you’re following him out there for Thanksgiving, so your family can be together. The way it’s supposed to be.’
‘That’s a nice thought, but the reality’s going to be a little different,’ Sarah said. ‘My father doesn’t believe in much anymore except high and low tide and the phases of the moon. He hasn’t really celebrated a holiday for years – not since my mother died.’
‘Then why did they ask you?’
‘Her son asked her,’ Will said, although she hadn’t told him.
‘He did,’ Sarah said. ‘He knows I love Thanksgiving more than any other holiday, and he knows I’ll close the shop and give myself a few days off.’
‘More than any other holiday? More than Christmas?’ Snow asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Always? It’s always been your favorite?’
‘No, not when I was your age.’
‘Then when?’
‘Why do you love it so much?’ Will asked.
‘It started the year my son was born,’ Sarah said, looking into Will’s eyes. Seeing him with his daughter made her like him even more than before; she recognized his passion as a parent, and she knew he would understand.
Will nodded, riveted.
‘I just never knew how –’ Sarah paused, getting herself under control. ‘Incredible it would be. How it would change me from the inside out.’
‘Having children.’
‘Having Mike made me a different person. I fell madly in love with him, and when you’re in love, everything looks so beautiful. You stare at a sunset, and you can’t bear to think it won’t last forever. You think your heart will break. You know?’
As if she knew this was between the adults, Snow was silent. She sat very still, perched on the chair, her knees drawn up to her chin, watching Sarah and her father. But Will nodded.
‘I was so happy,’ Sarah said, her eyes shining. ‘The world made sense. I’d watch red finches at the bird feeder and imagine God made them for me and Mike. I felt so grateful. All I wanted to do was give thanks, and when Thanksgiving rolled around that year, it became my favorite holiday.’
‘And you told Mike?’ Will asked.
‘Every year. All the time.’
‘You can’t tell them enough,’ Will said. ‘You have to tell them you love them all the time.’
‘That’s why I’m going to Maine,’ Sarah said, bowing her head.
‘It’s been too long,’ Will said.
She nodded. Composing herself, she looked up.
‘I’m afraid the farm is wrong for him. It’s very isolated, there aren’t any other kids around. His father was from the island, but he’s dead. And my father …’ She glanced at Snow. ‘Well, my father is difficult. Losing my mother made him unhappy. He never got over it. Never. The years did nothing to soften his pain.’
‘Death does that,’ Snow said.
Sarah nodded. ‘I’m afraid his misery will rub off on Mike. My Aunt Bess used to be the smilingest person you knew when she lived in Providence. But when her husband died, she moved back to the island, and you should see her now. Living alone with my father all this time has turned her into an old prune.’
‘It sounds interesting,’ Snow said.
Sarah stared at her. What kind of wonderful girl would think such a bleak scenario sounded ‘interesting’?
‘I felt guilty for leaving,’ Sarah said. ‘But I had to.’
‘Did you take care of your mother?’ Will asked.
‘How did you know?’
‘You just seem like someone who would,’ Snow volunteered.
‘I did,’ Sarah said quietly, remembering her mother’s loving presence, her steady gaze. ‘But I had to escape.’
‘And now you’re going back,’ Will said, ‘for Mike.’
‘Exactly,’ Sarah said. Unconsciously, her hand strayed up to her head, where the cancer had been. ‘I want to set him straight before it’s too late.’
‘Before he turns into a young prune,’ Snow said.
‘Before he forgets why you love Thanksgiving so much,’ Will said.
‘Fuel up the big plane, Dad,’ Snow said. ‘Because I’m coming with you.’
‘No!’ Sarah said quickly. ‘The island’s a mess. There’s not enough heat in the house, the geese smell terrible.’ She felt worried, not wanting this to become a big excursion, a way for the Burkes to pass Snow’s school break, to get through whatever trouble they were obviously having.
Sarah had a mission. She saw her son as lost, a piece of driftwood far at sea, and she needed to bring him back. Wanting to say more, to stop this before it went too far, her thoughts raced. She didn’t want Snow, another person in need of attention, to distract her from Mike. But Will saved the day.
‘You can’t come, honey,’ he said. ‘It’s my job, not a vacation. And your mother wouldn’t like it. She needs you with her for Thanksgiving. You know that.’
‘She has Julian,’ Snow said.
‘Yes, but she needs you,’ Will said.
‘Dad, I –’
‘No, Snow. You’re staying with your mother. That’s all there is to it.’
Sitting back, Sarah knew that Will needed Snow every bit as much. He was big and strong, and he had a deep, calm voice that hid a lot. But he couldn’t hide his love for his child. Sarah knew. She couldn’t hide hers for Mike either.
That night at home, Sarah opened the package Snow had left on her desk. It was a small cardboard box of bleach. She stood in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. The thought of dyeing her hair felt weird, but Thanksgiving was less than a week away.
She lit the candle Meg had given her before her last surgery. It glowed from within. Staring at the candle, she thought of the red barn and white goose down of Elk Island, candles and quilts, the mysterious connection between the archaic and the modern.
She pictured Mike in the cold barn. She heard the geese honking, saw their feathers drifting like snow in the wind. As a baby he had loved the geese. He had cried one time, afraid his grandfather was hurting them to get their feathers. Holding him tight, Sarah had smelled his sweet neck, whispered