Cloud Nine - Luanne Rice

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very sick, of all she had to be grateful for. She flexed her shoulders, stretched her spine. She thought of near-misses on the highway, an incredible white rose she had seen lingering in her garden last week. Instead of the flu, were the fatigue and aches cancer-related? She refused to think that way. Sarah had grown to believe in the small miracles of life, and she knew she had just received another.

      Meg Ferguson picked her up at nine to drive her to the airport. Sarah was ready, dressed in traveling clothes: jeans, an Irish fisherman’s sweater, a long navy wool jacket. She had two large bags packed, one filled with things Mike had left behind. At first she considered pulling on an old red felt hat, but when she saw Meg turn into the driveway, she took a deep breath and left the hat on the chair.

      With her head in the trunk, rearranging things to make room for Sarah’s bags, Meg didn’t see Sarah right away. But when she looked up, her mouth fell open. Sarah was so nervous, her heart was pounding.

      ‘Oh, my God,’ Meg said.

      ‘Is it ridiculous?’ Sarah asked, covering her head with her hands. Meg held Sarah by the elbows, easing her arms down. Sarah could hardly look at her.

      ‘It’s gorgeous. Let me see.’

      Meg, who wasn’t exactly the done-hair type, stood back and gazed appraisingly at her friend. Meg had straight brown hair and bangs pushed off to one side. She wore her usual uniform of a skirt and sweater covered by a white lab coat. Her stethoscope dangled from the left pocket. She had a plastic turkey pinned to her lapel. But she was looking at Sarah as if she were a world-famous stylist and Sarah was a rare specimen of beauty.

      ‘I can’t believe the difference,’ Meg said.

      ‘Is it too much? Do I look like myself?’

      ‘I never knew you before,’ Meg said, and Sarah knew she meant before the illness. ‘And you do look different. I mean, it’s like Paris. You’ve got that model’s bone structure anyway, and now with that white-gold hair … Wow. Very chic, Sarah.’

      ‘“Chic”?’ Sarah asked, smiling.

      ‘Will Burke had better keep his eyes on the sky,’ Meg said. ‘With you looking like that.’

      Sarah shook her head, embarrassed. ‘Will Burke? What would it matter to him? He won’t even notice.’

      ‘He’ll notice.’

      ‘Meg, he’s just a nice pilot flying me to Maine.’

      ‘Bull,’ Meg said, grinning. ‘Mimi took a picture of you two at the fair. The look in his eyes …’

      ‘He was just being nice,’ Sarah said. ‘Some kids had swiped my hat.’ But she found herself wishing she could see that picture, wondering about the look in Will’s eyes.

      ‘Well, you don’t need any hat today. You look beautiful. Ready to go?’

      ‘All set,’ Sarah said, climbing into the car.

      ‘Dr Goodacre gave you the green light?’ Meg asked, backing out of the driveway.

      ‘Yes,’ Sarah said, wondering if she should mention the fever. She touched her own forehead; it felt cool.

      ‘His nurse is a piece of work,’ Meg said. ‘Vicky. I used to call her for questions about your dressing changes, whether he wanted me to keep using Silvadine or not, and first of all she’d never call me back, and second of all, when she finally did, she was so mean!’

      ‘He runs a tight ship,’ Sarah said, smiling with recognition at the description of Vicky. ‘I keep hoping she’s happier outside of work.’

      ‘Anyway, you feel fine, and that’s what counts.’

      ‘Hmm,’ Sarah said. Her fever was gone, the flu had passed her by; she decided to say nothing to Meg. They were halfway to the airport, the day was shining, and she was on her way to see Mike.

      ‘What?’ Meg asked, glancing over.

      ‘If it came back,’ Sarah said, so choked up she almost couldn’t talk. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’

      ‘Oh, Sarah,’ Meg said.

      They had talked this over before: Sarah knew that when tumors like hers recurred and metastasized, the survival rates plummeted. The new treatment would be just as aggressive as the last, and the outcome would be uncertain. They would just be maintaining her life, keeping the cancer in check while she slipped away. The thought of living her life in cycles of pain and illness, steadily growing weaker, filled her with dread.

      ‘I won’t, you know,’ Sarah said.

      ‘Won’t what?’

      ‘Have any more radiation or chemo.’ Sarah shivered. ‘This is my chance, and I’m going to grab it.’

      ‘Grab it, Sarah,’ Meg said, her voice catching. Reaching across the seat, she hugged her friend. ‘That’s exactly what you should do.’

      ‘I have to,’ Sarah said. Her heart was pounding, but in the warmth of her friend’s arms she suddenly relaxed. Her head cleared, she felt calm. She was healthy, free, on her way to a place that used to be home. Sarah Talbot felt bright as the day.

      Will had the big plane all fueled up and ready to go. He had called the National Weather Service, learned that they could expect clear flying and a ten-knot tailwind the whole way. They had a high ceiling, clouds building in the west and weather blowing in for tomorrow. But for today, the line of high pressure would keep them safe.

      He had thrown his duffel bag into the baggage compartment, and tossed an extra jacket into the backseat. The Piper Aztec was an older plane, all-weather, and it had significant range. It had six passenger seats and enough instruments to fly around the world in fog, so he felt prepared.

      Even excited. It was Thanksgiving, and he had made no plans. With his daughter tied up with her mother and Julian, it wasn’t going to be any fun hanging around Fort Cromwell. He remembered last year. He had decided to boycott the holiday, spent the afternoon watching football and drinking beer, but midway through the first game he got a craving for turkey. Driving down to the A&P, he’d stocked up on frozen turkey dinners, but eating them had made him feel more depressed than he’d felt in years.

      Seeing Meg Ferguson’s blue car coming down the airport road, Will locked the office door behind him. He had his chart case. He checked his pockets, making sure he had his keys and wallet. Since Fred’s death, he had become somewhat forgetful. Before she’d left, Alice used to tease him about having early Alzheimer’s disease. Sometimes he had wondered how she did it, store all the facts and details of everyday life in with all that sorrow.

      His daughter had begged him to let her fly to Maine with him, but he had held firm. It wasn’t fair to Sarah, and it wasn’t fair to Alice. Ultimately, it wouldn’t be fair to his daughter. Selfishly, Will would have loved to have her along. But he had to do what was right. The thought of another holiday without either of his children struck him straight in the heart; he felt an actual pain, and he touched his chest.

      This is my Thanksgiving, he thought, watching the car come. Flying a stranger to an island to see her family. He recognized the self-pity, hated himself for it. But then Sarah Talbot stepped out of the car and everything changed. The woman glowed. She looked around, gazing from the sky to the plane to Will. Waving, she opened both her arms and looked straight at him, as if to ask whether he had made this day for her.

      Will looked up. For the first time that day, he saw the weather as something other than a system to fly through: a clear blue sky, shimmering sunshine. The sun sparkled on mica in the tarmac and some traces of snow left in the field. The sunlight was going to look like diamonds spread upon the ocean. In a few hours Will would see the Atlantic, the sea he loved so much.

      It was nearly Thanksgiving, and he didn’t have his daughter with him, but she was alive and well. Will walked toward Sarah and knew he was going to be fine. He had a feeling about her, and he had since the first time he’d seen her. Sarah Talbot was taking

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