Luanne Rice - Cloud Nine

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 1999

Copyright © Luanne Rice 1999

Luanne Rice asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780006512929

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008226497

Version: 2016-10-25

Praise

Acclaim for Cloud Nine:

‘In quiet, unassuming prose, Rice fashions a tightly paced story that is hard to put down’

Publishers Weekly

‘Immensely moving … Tender and heartbreaking’

IRIS JOHANSEN, author of The Face of Deception

‘With her elegant style and gift for painting scenery with words, Rice hooks the reader on the first page’

Denver Post

‘Warm, smart, and deeply touching. This is a novel filled with poignant emotion and the fine, soft twist of elegant storytelling’

DEBORAH SMITH, author of When Venus Fell

For

Robert F. Monteleone, Jr

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Keep Reading

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Books By

About the Publisher

Another autumn had come to Fort Cromwell, New York, and Sarah Talbot was there to see it. She sat on the front porch of her small white house, drinking apple cinnamon tea, wondering what to do next. The college kids next door were washing their car. Spray from the hose misted her face. Wrapped in a red plaid blanket, she tilted her face to the sun, and imagined the drops were saltwater and she was home on Elk Island.

A blue sedan drove slowly down the street. It looked municipal, as if it might belong to an undercover police officer or street inspector. FORT CROMWELL VNA was stenciled on the side, and when it parked in Sarah’s driveway, a small, trim woman in a white coat climbed out.

Sarah smiled to see her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Sarah asked.

‘That’s a fine greeting,’ the visiting nurse said.

‘I thought you were done with me,’ Sarah said. Holding her blanket with one hand, she used the other to unconsciously ruffle her closely shorn white hair.

‘Done with you? My daughter would kill me. Besides, do you think that’s how I treat my friends?’

‘I’m your patient, Meg,’ Sarah said, smiling.

‘ Were , Sarah. Were. We’re here to take you for a ride.’

‘A ride? Where–’ Sarah began. Glancing at the car, she noticed Mimi in the backseat.

‘Happy birthday, Sarah,’ Meg said, bending down to hug her.

Sarah reached up. She put her arms around the visiting nurse and smelled her citrus-scented shampoo. Meg’s pockets jangled with keys, pens, and a stethoscope. A colorful plastic teddy bear was pinned to her lapel, just above her name tag. Sarah could feel by the new padding between her bones and Meg’s skin that she was putting on weight. The hug felt good, and she bit her lip.

‘How did you know?’ Sarah asked when they pulled apart. Today was her thirty-seventh birthday. She was having a quiet day: no party, no cards or calls from home. In the car’s back window Mimi was waving with one hand, trying to paste up a bright pink sign with the other. In silver glitter she had written MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY!

‘I read your chart,’ Meg said, grinning. ‘Come on.’

Will Burke stood in the hangar, his head under the hood of the Piper Aztec. Fall was his biggest season. He needed all three of the planes he owned serviced and ready to fly. The lake region was a tourist destination, with all the cider mills and foliage trails. He operated fifteen-minute aerial tours, especially popular during the Fort Cromwell Fair. The end of October brought parents’ weekends at two area colleges, with scheduled flights back and forth to New York, shuttling parents to see the big games and visit their kids.

At the sound of tires crunching over the gravel outside, he wiped his socket wrench on a blue rag and placed it on his tall red toolbox. He checked his watch: four o’clock. A friend of his daughter’s had booked a quick birthday tour, up and down, a fifteen-minute scenic loop of the lake and mountain. An easy thirty dollars, and he’d be back to the tune-up in no time.

Tucking his work shirt into his jeans, Will walked outside to greet his customers. He didn’t really feel like taking a break, but the afternoon was sunny, and the fresh air felt good, so he found himself smiling at the car anyway. He waved as they pulled up.

Meg and Mimi Ferguson got out. Meg was the town visiting nurse, and she yelled hello with cheerful efficiency, making Will smile a little wider. He hung back, wondering which one had the birthday. His daughter sometimes baby-sat for Mimi, and judging from what he remembered, Mimi must be about ten.

But then someone new got out of the car, a woman Will had never seen. She was small and thin, the size of an underfed teenager. Her skin was pale and translucent, like high cloud cover on a fall day, and her head was covered with blond peach fuzz. It was the way she looked at the sky that caught Will’s attention: with total rapture, as if she hadn’t ever seen it so blue before, or as if she couldn’t believe she was about to go up in it.

‘Ready to fly?’ he asked.

‘Which plane, Mr Burke?’ Mimi asked, excited.

‘That one,’ he said, pointing at the two-seater Piper Cub.

‘We can’t all fit?’ Mimi asked, disappointed.

‘Now, Mimi–’ Meg began.

‘Sorry, Mimi,’ Will said. ‘The big plane’s getting an oil change. If I’d known …’

‘You know what, Mimi?’ the woman said eagerly. ‘Why don’t you go up for me?’