Reaching blindly for the box of bleach, Sarah thought of Snow. She was another woman’s daughter, and Sarah hoped she was as kind to her own mother as she had been to her, encouraging her to take this scary step. Sarah would never have bleached her hair on her own. Wondering what she would look like, she found herself imagining what Will might think of her. Whether he would think she looked foolish, a middle-aged woman trying to look too young.
Or whether Will would think she looked pretty. Like he had said at the fair.
The evil castle was cold and forbidding, with everyone letting Snow know exactly how they felt about her. All the big, ugly, baronial furniture squatted along the walls like toady gnomes, closely watching her every move. Her mother and Julian sat on the love seat by the fire, sharing a bottle of wine. The old portraits leered at her, Julian’s moon-faced ancestors. They didn’t love her, but they were going to make sure she didn’t escape.
‘I want to go,’ Snow said again.
‘Absolutely not,’ her mother said.
‘Poor Dad. You’re going to let him fly all the way to Maine with some stranger and no one who loves him on Thanksgiving?’
‘He’s a grown man, Susan,’ her mother said. ‘Accepting that charter was his choice. If he had wanted to stay in Fort Cromwell, he could have picked you up after dinner on Thursday and spent the whole weekend with you. I’m sure you’ll see him when he gets back.’
‘Dinner’s the important part,’ Snow said. ‘Last Thanksgiving he ate frozen turkey dinners. Six of them!’
‘We want you to be here with us,’ Julian said, swirling his wine and appreciating the color in the firelight.
‘Yeah, right,’ Snow said.
‘We do,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told Pansy to make that sweet potato dish you like, with the marshmallows and pecans …’
‘Hazelnuts,’ Snow said. ‘I like it with hazelnuts.’
‘Ah. Well, we’ll have to tell Pansy.’
Snow wanted to walk right across the room and wipe that dumb grin off his face. He thought he was being such a great stepfather, telling his cook to make sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving while her father was being forced to fly practically to the tundra to rescue someone else’s kid.
‘They need me to go with them,’ Snow said.
‘That’s not what your father said,’ Alice said.
‘That’s only because he’s trying to make things easy for you and not fight for me on the holidays. They need me, to help talk Mike into coming home.’
‘Who’s Mike?’ Julian asked.
‘Sarah Talbot’s son. He went home to Maine to save the family farm, he’s practically a saint looking after his old grandfather and Aunt Bess, but he’s throwing his life away. She wants to get him back before it’s too late, and I know I can help. One kid to another, you know?’
‘Mike Talbot,’ Julian said, smirking.
Snow was stirring the fire with a long poker. Its brass handle was shaped like a lynx’s head. It had an evil little smile on its cat face, just the way Julian looked now. Snow felt like running upstairs before he spoke, not giving him the satisfaction of listening, but her curiosity got the better of her.
‘Oh, do you know him?’ Alice asked, leaning against his chest with his arm around her.
‘Yeah. I do. He’s a druggie.’
‘He is?’
‘Yeah. He worked for me after school last year. He was my clean-up kid.’
‘That doesn’t mean he took drugs,’ Snow said. She had been to Julian’s shop. He owned a big garage with race cars up on lifts and mechanics drilling things underneath and some of the faster boys from high school hanging around, sprinkling Speedy-Dry on the spilled oil and sweeping it up with a wide broom.
‘Mike Talbot did. My foreman caught him smoking pot and fired him on the spot. Zero tolerance for drugs in my operation.’
‘I think that’s wonderful,’ Alice said, gazing at him as if he had just discovered the cure for cancer.
‘Thanks,’ he said, giving her that Elvis grin he thought was so sexy. The thing was, and Snow hated to admit it, his eyes shone with love every time he looked at her mother. ‘I felt terrible doing it, though. Firing Mike. He was a nice kid. A little on the edge, but basically good. His mother runs that great down shop in town.’
‘Cloud Nine? The quilt place?’ Alice asked.
‘Yes. I dated her once before you came along,’ Julian said, nuzzling her neck. ‘She used to be very beautiful before she got sick.’
‘I don’t want to hear about beautiful women you once dated,’ Alice said, pretending to be huffy. She leaned away from Julian, and he pulled her back.
‘She was never in your league. She had this New England thing going, high cheekbones and an aquiline nose and this rich dark hair all swept up on her head. Kind of a Boston de’ Medici, real aristocratic. I bought some pillows and took her out for a drink, that’s all. Gave her kid a job.’
‘Good,’ Alice said.
‘I heard she got very sick. Frankly, ‘I’m glad to hear she’s still well enough to work,’ Julian said.
‘Well, she is,’ Snow said.
‘Sarah Talbot,’ Alice mused. ‘That name sounds familiar. I think maybe I’ve seen her at the hospital.’
Snow watched her trying to picture Sarah. Since marrying Julian, her mother had quit her job to do good deeds at the hospital. She wore a pink smock and spent two days each week with other Fort Cromwell society women delivering flowers and offering to help sick people write letters or walk to the solarium. Snow admired her mother for doing it, and she wondered if she had ever helped Sarah. But just then her mother seemed to be drawing a blank.
‘I wish her nothing but the best,’ Julian said.
‘I’m going to Maine with her and Dad,’ Snow said.
‘Susan,’ Alice said, leaning forward. ‘You are not invited. You are not allowed. You are not going.’
‘I’m going,’ Snow said softly.
‘I hear you’re sick of Gainsborough,’ Julian said, pouring more wine into his and Alice’s glasses. ‘You’re rotating the exhibit in your bedroom.’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Whatever you want, Susan,’ he said. ‘You pick out any painting you want. What’s mine is yours. You want sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving, you get sweet potatoes. This year you pick the pies. And what was that cranberry stuff you made last year? Delicious. I want the same exact thing this year, and you have to make it. It wouldn’t be the same if Pansy did.’
‘I want to be with Dad,’ Snow whispered, gazing at her mother, who wouldn’t meet her eyes.
The day before Thanksgiving, Sarah woke up with a slight fever. She felt hot, but when she pushed back the quilt, she felt cold. Her muscles ached. Her mouth felt dry, and when she swallowed, her throat hurt.
‘Please, not today,’ she said. She could not come down with the flu right now, but that was what her symptoms felt like. Today Will Burke was flying her to Elk Island. Before dark tonight, she would see Mike. Slowly, she got out of bed. Pushing back her curtains, she could see the sun rising over the house across the street. The sky was clear and brilliant, already bright blue.
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