The Sweetness of Salt(26)

I shrugged. “Good.”

“But?”

“But it sounds like a lot.” I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. “It sounds like a whole lot. Can you do all that?”

“I can try.” She studied me for a few seconds without saying anything.

“What?” I asked finally.

“You know this is my dream, right, to have my own place, my own bakery? To create amazing things for people to eat?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I do now.”

“Well, when something’s your dream, you do whatever it takes to make it happen.” She shrugged. “Even if it seems like too much.”

I waited, hoping she wasn’t going to start in again on her “you gotta have fun” speech.

“You have a dream, don’t you?” she asked instead.

I looked away uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. Of course.”

“What is it?” Sophie asked. “What’s your dream, Jules?”

“Didn’t we already talk about this?” I could feel my defenses starting to rise. “In my room, right after my graduation? You know I want to be an attorney and get on the whole legal fast track.”

Sophie nodded slowly. “I know that’s going to be your job,” she said. “But is that your dream?”

I crossed my arms. “Yes. Now can we drop it?”

Sophie nodded. “Come on,” she said. “I want to show you the kitchen.”

“Actually, I think I need some air,” I said. “The smell in here…Can we go for a walk or something?”

“Yeah,” Sophie said. “Definitely. I should’ve given you a mask to put over your face before we came into this room. I’ve been using turpentine on the walls and the fumes are really strong. Come on.”

Outside, the day was warming up fast. More people had appeared on Main Street, walking dogs or just hurrying down the sidewalk. A man in biker shorts and bright red clogs was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Brown Bag Delicatessen, and a herd of men holding coffee cups had gathered in front of a little convenience store called Stewart’s. They were laughing and talking, lifting their caps to scratch their heads and then placing them back on again.

“Let’s head this way.” Sophie pointed in the direction of the high school. “It leads right into East Poultney, where there’s an adorable little mom-and-pop store and a real gorge with a waterfall. We can get some drinks at the store and then sit for a while by the waterfall. I always go down there when I need to think. It’s great.”

I fell into step next to her, wondering when the topic of Maggie was going to come up. Should I say something now? Or wait until later, when we were alone in the house? I needed to do something. There really wasn’t much time.

We made our way down the neat little street, past the library and a bookstore with two white cats sitting in the front window, past the church with its pale front doors and a Dunkin’ Donuts—all without talking. Finally, as we crested a small hill next to the high school, Sophie turned to look at me. “Feeling any better?”

I nodded. “Yeah, much.”

“Good. Fresh air is always the best thing when you feel light-headed.”

We walked a bit more.

“It really is a cute little town,” I said. “I like it.”

“Me too.” Sophie sighed softly. “You know, I’d never even heard of Poultney until I saw the ad in the paper for the house. But when I came down to see the place, I just fell in love with the house and the town. I’m so glad I bought it.” She kicked a stone in her way, watching as it bounced and skidded along the road. “So how’re Mom and Dad?”

I shrugged. “Call them. Ask them yourself.”

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, we have this thing, the three of us, where we don’t talk for a while after a good fight.” Her tone sounded easy, bored even, but I could hear fragments of something else around the edges. “It always happens like this. We just have to let enough time pass until we forget what it was we were even fighting about, and then someone—usually Mom—calls again, and everything is forgotten and forgiven—even if it’s never mentioned again.” She lifted her arms straight above her and stretched. “I think the longest we ever went without talking was about eight months. It was right after Goober was born. I think I called Dad an *. Maybe even a f*cking *.” She sighed. “It took him a while to get over that one. It just takes time, whatever it is. Always, always time.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of stupid?” I asked. “I mean, no offense, but why didn’t you just call and apologize to Dad for saying that, instead of wasting all that time not talking?”

“Who said it was wasted time?” Sophie asked. “I don’t consider not speaking to them for eight months wasted time. It was actually a pretty good time, now that I think about it.”

I shook my head, pushing down the angry annoyance inside me. It was a little after nine in the morning, but I could already feel the heat beginning to prickle the tiny hairs on my arms. The trees on either side of the street were a deep jeweled green. Small clusters of cornflowers and stalks of Queen Anne’s lace dotted the sides of the road, and the drone of summer insects murmured around us.