Summer Light: A Novel (10 page)

She had fallen in love. She, who had been foolish in love once and totally self-protected ever since, had—almost without noticing—just given her heart to a man who had disappeared. Last night, writing in Kylie’s dream diary, she had been shocked to find herself writing about Martin.

Page Greenleigh, her mother, and her sister came and left, and May returned to the garden. The air grew hotter, and bees swarmed the roses. The sound of an engine made her look up. It was a car on the road, coming fast. The louder the engine got, the faster May’s heart began to beat. She was wearing an old straw hat and a faded yellow sundress. Her hands were covered with dirt again, and she had coffee grounds under her fingernails as she watched Martin Cartier driving his Porsche through the field.

May peered across the tall grass. Pushing herself up, brushing her hands off, she stood. She tried to smile, but she couldn’t stop her chin from shaking.

Tall and strong, he came toward her. He wore a white shirt tucked into jeans, a blue baseball cap, and sneakers. His right cheek was bruised, and he had stitches under his left eye. As he got closer, he took off the baseball cap.

“Hello,” she said.

“I was taking a ride,” he said.

“All the way down here?” she asked.

“I like the salt air,” he told her. “Here in Black Hall.”

May found herself staring at Martin’s feet, but she felt his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly she found herself looking into his eyes. He seemed momentarily unsure of how his body worked, and as he reached for her, he fumbled his baseball cap and dropped it onto the ground.

The kiss took May’s breath away. Martin held her tight, and she held him back. The day was balmy, on its way to being hot, and they were surrounded by the powerful scents of tall grass and white roses. May would never again smell spring without thinking of Martin.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” May said.

“Honestly?” he asked.

“I didn’t know.” She shrugged, standing back.

“I lost,” he told her.

“That didn’t matter to me.”

“I screwed up. I—”

“You were wonderful,” she said. “Like a tiger out there. I never knew a person could skate so fast, then go straight for the jugular…” May didn’t know what she was saying, how to describe her impressions of his game, but as she talked, she felt some of the tightness leave his body. He didn’t say anything, but as she looked into his eyes, she felt him listening.

“I saw your face,” she said. “The camera showed you up close. I felt as if I was right there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t—to see me lose.”

“But you nearly won.”

He pulled back slightly. The bruises were purple and yellow, the stitches an angry black line.

“Nearly doesn’t count in hockey.”

May didn’t know what to say to that.

“I choked. I had a clean shot, and I gave it away. Passed to Ray—Ray Gardner. My mind was racing. It was the Stanley Cup, maybe my last chance. I thought of my father. He’s—” Martin’s face twisted as he thought about it.

“You didn’t want to let him down?” May asked, guessing. She had read the papers. She knew his father was in jail.

Martin snorted. “I just didn’t want him to see me lose. Letting him down was beside the point.”

May frowned, listening.

“He’s old,” Martin went on. “He’s…I told you. We’re estranged. We haven’t seen each other in years.”

“He’s still your father.”

“I’m different from you,” Martin said. “There’s nothing sentimental or nice about me and my father.” His accent was thicker than usual. He seemed very uncomfortable, talking about his father, about losing the game. May remembered the last four days, wondering where he had been, and she couldn’t manage to smile.

“I didn’t come to talk to you about my father,” Martin said, holding her hand.

“No?” May asked.

“Our first fight.” Martin grinned, and he looked so disarming, May started to smile. “Forgive me?”

She nodded, laughing.

“I had the rose petals in my pocket,” Martin said. “I kept hearing you say: ‘How you play the game…’ ”

“You thought of that while you played?” May asked, laughing again at the idea.

“I did.” Martin laughed. “It didn’t help.”

“Rose petals aren’t magic.”

“They were for a while.” He stroked her hand. “They really were.”

May looked down at their hands. She couldn’t tell him that many brides accepted her rose petals expecting their marriages to be blessed, to be in love forever, never to fight or drift apart. She didn’t want to tell him that some of those brides were now divorced, hated the men they had once loved more than the moon and stars, were now married to other people.

Instead, she told him, “Kylie will be glad you came back.”

“She will?”

“Yes,” May said. “She had a lemonade stand yesterday, right over there by the fence. She hit up every bride who drove in, but I know she was hoping for you. She missed you.” She didn’t tell him about Kylie’s bad dreams returning, about Kylie screaming in her bed last night about the angel on the plane trying to tell her something.

“What about her mother?” Martin asked, stepping closer.

“I missed you, too.”

“I want to marry you.”

“Martin,” May whispered, her face turning red.

“May,” he said softly.

“We just met a few weeks ago.”

“I told you. It’s meant to be.”

Meant to be…what did that mean? May’s pulse was racing, but her thoughts were cool. They were so different: She had a young daughter; he traveled all the time. May’s feelings had been horribly hurt during the last four days of not hearing from him. She looked him straight in the eyes.

“I’m flattered beyond words, really. This has never happened to me before,” she said. “But the thing is, I come with a daughter. You’re very romantic, and my mother and grandmother must be playing trumpets right now, but honestly, I can’t play around like this.”

“Play around?” he asked, frowning.

“Well, yes.”

“Do you think I would do that?”

“You might not mean to,” she said. “But you don’t know me—us—very well. You’d suddenly have a ready-made family, and it’s one of the more unusual ones around.”

“Unusual how?”

“Well, I’ve been single a long time, like my whole life. And Kylie’s very…” She searched for the right word. “Magical.”

“Do you think I do not know that, eh?” he asked, suddenly breaking into a grin, as if the whole dilemma had been solved. “She takes after her mother. Rose petals in a bottle—that’s unusual. You inspire her.”

“Thank you,” May said.

“
Bien sûr.
You are the most magical woman in the world.”

“You should have met my mother and grandmother,” she said, laughing.

“But you will tell me about them, no? I’ll meet them through you. I know how important they are to you, May. I hear, by the way you talk about them. Your family will be my family.”

“I’ve always wanted that,” she whispered.

“Have it with me,” he said. “What are we waiting for?”

“To know each other!”

He smiled, taking her face in his hands. “I think we do already. The important parts, eh? In here.” He touched his heart.

Suddenly May thought of all the brides: all the proper Black Hall girls with long courtships, marrying boys they went to prep school with, men they’d met through their college roommates or sailing friends or law partners. She thought of brides who did everything by the book—correct and proper and eternally boring—and May began to smile.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I might be crazy,” she told him.

“Yes, probably,” he said, making them both laugh. “But so am I. Terrible, the way my mind goes. You’re all I could think about, all through the play-offs. What’s the word for it—obsessed? But in a good way.”

“Good obsessed?” May smiled.

“Mais oui.”
He touched her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

“And you think that means we’re meant to be?”

“Don’t you?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I’d like to think that.” She suddenly felt her heart starting to pound.

“Then think it,” he said. “I’ll prove it as time goes on.”

“How?” she whispered.

“By loving you, May.”

May kissed him. His eyes widened with surprise, but then he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight until they’d had the chance to calm down. When they stepped back, May was dismayed to feel an ache deep in her chest.

“I told myself over and over not to hope for this,” she said.

“You did?”

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

“Strange you should say that,” Martin said. “Because it did.”

“I noticed.”

“I brought something for you.” He was frowning slightly as he began to go through all his pockets. Once he’d reached into each of them, the frown grew deeper. But then he had it, and a great smile wreathed his entire face. Pulling a ring out of his front pocket, he started to slide it on her finger. The move was very smooth and romantic, but May was so nervous, she flinched, and the ring fell into the freshly turned dirt.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Here, let me get that.” Kneeling down, she started to paw through the soil, but Martin gently grabbed her wrist.

“Let me.” Digging it out of the dirt, he stayed on his knee and slipped it on her finger. Looking directly into her eyes, he said, “May, will you marry me?”

She put her hand over her mouth and felt frozen. The seconds ticked by, until she could finally speak.

“I need some time,” she heard herself say. “Not just for me, but for Kylie.”

At first he looked stunned, and she thought she had pushed him away. She’d lose him now entirely; he’d take his ring and leave. He looked so vulnerable kneeling there, and she felt so sorry to have hurt him. But she had to take care of herself and Kylie; that’s how it had been for so long.

“Martin, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Well,” he said, a wry smile coming over his face. He rose to his feet, brushing the soil from his hands. “I’m going to have to court you.”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“I’ll do it right, May. I won’t let you say no again.”

“I didn’t say no this time,” she said quietly.

“But you’re not ready to say yes.”

“I just want to know you better. I’m not asking for a courtship—you make it sound as if I want hearts and flowers, things like that—”

“Well, want them or not, that’s what you’re going to get. May Taylor, I already lost the Stanley Cup this spring. I’m not going to lose you, too.”

The bouquets began to arrive the next morning. As if they didn’t have a garden full of flowers, window boxes full of petunias, the Bridal Barn began to fill with bunches of white roses.

“He must have called every florist in Connecticut,” Aunt Enid said.

“How did he find them all?” Kylie asked, scrambling around, noting the logos for Sea Flowers, the Silver Bay Greenery, the Black Hall Wildflower Shop. “Mommy, he must like you a lot.”

“Yes, he must, dear,” Aunt Enid said. “I know that no price can be placed on affection, but these roses cost quite a bundle.”

“I didn’t mean he had to send me flowers,” May said, thinking that she had only meant to learn more about him, but secretly thrilled to be treated in such a special way. Twelve bouquets with a dozen roses each had arrived so far, with another florist’s van pulling down the drive even now.

“May, you throwing a whole bunch of weddings this week?” the delivery man, who came here often, asked as he unloaded two large white boxes. “Either that, or some fancy bride’s going crazy, buying us out of white roses.”

“No, they’re for her!” Kylie exclaimed. “Every single one!”

That night Martin picked May up at six, and they drove into Silver Bay. After thanking him for the roses, May felt surprisingly shy, as if she was on a first date. She’d ask Martin a polite question; he’d give her a pleasant answer. “Did you have a good day?” “Yes, did you?”