all the way to Maine?’ Snow asked.
‘To see my son.’
‘You have a son?’ Snow asked, nearly dropping the doughnut she had just chosen.
‘Yes. Mike. He’s not much older than you.’
‘He doesn’t live with you? How come? Does he live in Maine with his father?’
‘Snow …’ Will began.
‘That’s okay. I love talking about him. He’s a man of strong beliefs and opinions, a total individual, and about a year ago he dropped out of high school to go home to Elk Island and save my father’s farm.’
‘You grew up on a farm?’ Snow asked.
‘Yes,’ Sarah said. She gestured at a pile of quilts stacked in the corner. ‘See those? They were made on our farm. About nineteen years ago I started a store like this in Boston because the farm was about to go under. My mother had been sick when I was young, and when I was fourteen she died. My father was just so distracted … especially after she was gone. He found someone from Thomaston who wanted to buy all the geese, and he had a man from Camden who wanted to buy the land. None of that sat very well with me, so I dropped out of college to start my business and support the farm.’
‘Like mother, like son,’ Will said.
‘Exactly. I have no one to blame but myself. Was that what you were going to say?’
‘No, I was going to say your father is a lucky man,’ Will said, handing her a cardboard cup of coffee.
Sarah thanked him, taking a sip.
‘Did you save the farm?’ Snow asked, sitting on the edge of her seat.
‘I can’t actually say we saved it,’ Sarah said, picturing the ramshackle buildings, the tired old geese, the falling-down fences, her Aunt Bess with her ancient treadle sewing machine. ‘But so far he’s been able to keep it.’
‘It’s still running?’ Will asked.
‘Yes. They put out ten quilts a year, and I pay them. They sell geese. Together we just about cover the taxes.’
‘Your father must love you so much! He must be so ecstatic to have Mike living with him now,’ Snow said. The thought made her so happy, she popped two doughnut holes into her mouth, one in each cheek, and left them there as she closed her eyes, basking in the notion of a grateful old father.
‘I’m not really sure how he feels,’ Sarah said.
‘Ask him!’ Snow said, stating what was so obvious to her.
It did sound simple. But Sarah and her father had years and layers of bitterness between them: disagreements over her mother’s treatment, the aftermath of her death, the fact that Sarah had left the island. Sarah tried to smile.
‘Why don’t you?’ Snow asked, looking troubled.
‘You know how I said Mike’s a man of strong opinions? Well, he got that from his grandfather. And most of his opinions collide with mine.’
‘Difficult,’ Will said, looking as if he understood.
‘It is.’
‘That’s no reason not to try,’ Snow said. ‘He’s a person too. If I’d given up on you, Dad, I’d hate to think of where we’d be. Talk about difficult.’
‘Hey,’ Will said. Was he kidding or hurt? Sarah couldn’t tell by his eyes.
‘Worse than difficult,’ Snow said, glancing at Sarah.
‘Fathers don’t have it easy,’ Sarah said. Although for some reason her thoughts slid to Zeke, who had had it about as easy as it got: From the minute Sarah had told him about her pregnancy, he had never wanted to see her again. Her father had gone crazy. His fury at Zeke had distracted him, at least a little, from the long-standing grief he felt for Sarah’s mother.
‘They don’t make it easy,’ Snow said.
‘What did I do?’ Will asked, taking another cruller. ‘To get me in such trouble?’
‘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
