‘Yes. There was a fire.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry, Sam.’
Sam pushes away from the table. ‘I guess we need to get you to Gander.’
Sophie nods. ‘The plane’s leaving at five. I checked when you were in the shower. I need to be there by two at the latest. It won’t take me long to get ready. I don’t have much.’
She pushes the teacup away. ‘Look Sam, if you drop me at Wesleyville, I can get a taxi from there. You don’t have to go all the way to Gander.’
‘No. I’ll take you. I promised, didn’t I, Princess Grace? I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.’
‘Sam, what did Becca sign to me?’
He pauses at the door. ‘Oh, Sophie.’
‘Please, what did she say?’
‘She said, You’re not my mother.’
***
‘Fill her up, Wince. Taking Sophie down to Gander later to catch her plane.’
‘Ah, b’y, she’s finally on her way, then.’
Sam turns off the bike’s engine and gets off the bike. ‘Your coffee machine working?’
‘Yes, b’y. Only tinned milk though.’
Sam takes off his helmet and runs his hand though his hair. ‘No problem. Black’s fine.’
‘It’ll take the hair off you, b’y, if you drinks it black. Throw in some milk.’
Inside the garage, Sam finds a paper cup and pours out the sludgy black coffee. He takes a sip, screwing up his face at the bitterness. He walks over to the garage opening and leans on the wall. ‘What do you think of her?’
Wince peers at Sam from under his baseball cap. ‘Of Miss Julie?’
‘No, b’y. Sophie. What do you think of Sophie?’
Wince shrugs his thick shoulders as he waits for the gas nozzle to click off. ‘Seems all right to me. Then again I only saw her the one time, so she could be an axe murderer for all I knows.’
Sam grunts. ‘She’s no axe murderer. I haven’t met anyone quite like her, though. She gets right on my nerves, sometimes, some of the things she says.’
‘What kinds of things?’
‘Oh, about how I should think bigger about my work. Take the furniture-making more seriously. Find ways to earn more money. She has the idea that money defines success.’
‘Don’t see the problem there, b’y. Most people would agree with her. I makes some good money sellin’ lottery tickets along with the gas. Everybody wants to be rich.’
‘Yeah, well. Maybe I like the simple life.’
Wince hangs the gas nozzle back on the gas pump and wipes his hands on an oily rag. ‘Sounds like she’s got you twisted up like a boot in a net, b’y.’
‘No. Nothing like that. There’d be no point. She doesn’t even live here. And I’ve got Becca to think of.’
‘Well, I don’t knows about all that, b’y. Sounds to me like you’ve been caught, otherwise we’d be talkin’ about baseball.’
Sam takes another sip of coffee then dumps the rest onto the gravel. He walks over to Wince and hands him the paper cup. ‘Gotta tell you, Wince. Your coffee’s no Tim Hortons.’
***
Sophie steps onto the potholed road at the bottom of Ellie’s house. She sets her carry-on case on the dirt against a moss-covered rock and shifts her Longchamp bag on her shoulder. Turning to look up at the house, she raises her camera and takes a final shot.
‘I wouldn’t have thought a cutting-edge architect like you would be interested in an old house like this,’ Ellie says as her feet crunch on the rocky path down from the shop.
Sophie turns and smiles at her aunt. ‘It’s a lovely house, Aunt Ellie. So much character. And what an amazing location. You have the best view on the coast.’
Ellie laughs. ‘You should have seen it when I first arrived back in 1946. It hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years.’ She looks up at the house, its freshly painted turquoise trim and yellow and white clapboards shining cheerily against the blue sky. ‘Florie’s been a great help. I couldn’t have managed it without her.’ She looks at Sophie’s luggage. ‘So, you’re off then.’
‘Yes. My interview’s tomorrow, then I’m flying back to London on Thursday. This time next week, I’ll know whether I’ve got the job.’
‘Well, good luck, sweetheart. It’s been lovely having you here. Now that you know where I am, be sure to come back. Your room will be waiting for you.’
‘Thanks, Aunt Ellie. Sorry to spring myself on you like this.’
Ellie waves her hand dismissively in the air. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I only wish Dottie had made it over. It would have been nice to see her.’
‘And my dad.’
‘Yes, of course. And George. I would have liked to smooth things out with Dottie. It’s one of the things I truly do regret. Misunderstandings are a terrible thing. They cause so much pain.’ She squeezes Sophie’s arm. ‘Try not to have too many regrets, Sophie. They follow you around, you know. They cling to you like chewing gum.’
Sophie’s laughs. ‘Chewing gum? I’ll remember that, Aunt Ellie. Anyway, I don’t have any regrets. Everything is going just fine.’
‘Is it?’
‘Absolutely. I’m right on course.’
Ellie sweeps her eyes over Sophie and nods. ‘You know, you could always come back, Sophie. Take up art again. I could teach you print-making. If you get bored of city life.’
Sophie smiles. Chucking it all in and starting fresh. A new Sophie. A happier Sophie. Ellie can read her like a book. But she’s closing that chapter.
Ellie reaches out her arms. ‘Oh, look at us being so very English. Give me a hug.’
The purr of a motorcycle engine grows louder and Sam rides into view, bouncing around the potholes towards them.
Ellie kisses Sophie on her cheek and whispers in her ear. ‘Being on course is good, Sophie. But sometimes, a detour offers a richer view.’
Chapter 48
Gander, Newfoundland – 17 September 2001
Sam releases the rope securing Sophie’s carry-on case to the back of the bike and sets it on the pavement in front of the airport terminal.
‘So, this is it, then, Princess Grace.’
Sophie fiddles with the strap of her shoulder bag. ‘Yes, I guess so. It’s going to be strange being in New York. Everything’s changed there. It’s incredible to think how much life can change in just one day.’
Sam nods. ‘Everything’s changed everywhere.’ He raises the handle of the case and hands it to Sophie. ‘I guess it’ll be a while before you find your way back here.’
She runs her fingers along the handle of her case. ‘If I get this job, I’ll be up to my eyeballs with work.’
‘Sophie, I know I’ve teased you about being tied to your work. The fact is, I respect that. You deserve to go as far as you want to go in your career. I doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for in Tippy’s Tickle.’
She sucks in a breath to squash the quivering in her stomach. To keep her hands from reaching out to him.
No, you mustn’t, Sophie. You can’t just drop everything you’ve worked for to start over here as an artist. For a moment, it might have seemed possible. But it’s a silly fantasy. And Sam is just part of that fantasy.