Read Summer Light: A Novel Online
Authors: Luanne Rice
Summer Light: A Novel (18 page)
“All the way to Santa Monica?” May asked.
“Yep. And she loved him. Gave him the benefit of the doubt I never could. He was her grandpa, the guy who built her a life-size playhouse with a real doorbell and a refrigerator for her snacks. To Nat, he could do no wrong.”
“She brought you back together? You and your father?” May asked, thinking that was how family was supposed to be: love and different generations building over and healing the rifts of the past.
“For a little while.” Martin’s voice sounded dangerous.
“He took care of her while you were in the hospital?”
Martin nodded. A mosquito buzzed close to his head, and he caught it in one hand. The loon called again, but when Martin slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the entire lake fell silent. “He took care of her, and he killed her.”
The blood in May’s body began to burn, and she felt every hair on her skin stand up. “No,” she heard herself say.
“He’s a gambler,” Martin said. “You know that, right? That he’s in prison for betting against his own team, for hiding assets so he didn’t have to pay taxes?”
“He didn’t kill Natalie,” May whispered, because the idea was so unthinkable, so much worse than anything she had imagined.
Martin began to take off his T-shirt.
The sky glowed, as if somewhere deep inside the night there was a candle giving forth rich blue light. It bounced off the mountain walls, turning the pine trees golden green, making every rock surface shine. Martin’s chest was bare now, and every muscle seemed defined by the strange light. The hairs glistened, and underneath them May saw the bizarre pattern of crisscrossed scars.
“Gamblers owe money,” Martin said. “They all do, one way or another. They might win for a while, but that doesn’t last forever. When I was ten, some guy my father owed money to wrote on my chest with a knife. He did this.”
May traced the scars with her fingertips, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My mother found out and said my father could never see me again. He moved out that night and he kept his word. Never saw me again until I was grown up, playing pro hockey.”
“They’re so deep,” May cried, feeling the scars thick as ropes across Martin’s wide chest.
“He said he’d changed,” Martin said. “That that stuff was in the past. He was an old man, he said, a grandfather. All he cared about was family—me and Natalie. We were all he had. He was just an old man.”
“When you were in the hospital—” May suddenly felt the night go cold. The sky’s glow shut down, and they could have been anywhere—in Black Hall, at the beach—instead of beside a lake ringed with mountains. The sky was pitch black now, dotted with ordinary stars.
“I knew,” Martin said. “That’s the part I can’t forget or get over. I’d experienced it myself, what my father’s greed could do. I knew he’d owed money once, and what made me think he didn’t owe it again?”
“He owed money?”
“Big money. A fortune. Enough to make him bet against the team he coached. Enough to make someone come after him and—”
May blinked, suddenly glad the light was gone. She couldn’t see Martin’s scars anymore, and when she took her fingers away, she couldn’t feel them either. She was shaking, and when Martin spoke, she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was, too.
“Hockey stars make a lot of money,” Martin said. “You wouldn’t know it from this house, but we do. Coaches, too. My father was a rich man. In ways besides money, but money was what mattered that day.”
“What day?” May asked.
“The day they came to collect my father’s debt,” Martin said.
“And he had Natalie with him?”
“He lived in an apartment by Lake Ontario. A big shiny place, where other famous people lived. It was always getting pointed out by those paddlewheel tours. Nat got such a big kick out of that. She’d be playing on the terrace, and she’d hear some garbled microphone voice saying ‘And that’s where Serge Cartier lives…’ as the boat cruised by.” He stopped, and then, as if it were an afterthought, added, “She was on the terrace that day.”
May heard the loon cry out, far up the lake, its call throaty and insane.
“The guy held her upside down, over the railing,” Martin said.
“No,” May whispered.
“She must have been scared, eh? But she didn’t show it. Even when he brought her back in, put her down safe. She ran straight to my father. Hugged him hard. With everything they put her through, she was worried about him—knew he was in big trouble.”
May had thought Martin was going to say the man had thrown Natalie over the side, and she felt herself relax almost imperceptibly. She had been holding her breath, and she started to breathe again.
“My father wanted her out of the way. Says he thought the guy might try to hurt her again. So he pushed her—not hard, he says.
Still
says. She hit her head on the corner of a table, but she jumped right back up. No harm done.”
“Then—” May began, confused.
“She came home with me. Stayed the last two weeks. She told me about the bad guy and the terrace railing, but she never said a thing about her grandfather shoving her. I called my father, told him he was out of my life again and this time forever, and he’s the one who mentioned Natalie hitting her head. I didn’t think anything of it—I was too busy hating his guts.”
Martin was breathing hard, as if he had just run a race.
“Her eyes looked a little cloudy, but I told myself that was because she was crying. She always did when we were about to say good-bye. She was scheduled to fly back to her mother that next day.”
Martin’s groan shook the night. It sent the night birds flying, their wings slapping the surface of the lake. May held his hand, crying silently beside him.
“She died that night.”
“Oh, Martin.”
“In her sleep.”
“God,” May whispered.
“They did an autopsy. She’d had a concussion, and a blood clot had formed. She had a cerebral hemorrhage. My father called that night, taking all the blame, crying that he’d never meant for it to happen.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“The blame was mine,” Martin said, gripping the chair arms again. “For trusting the son of a bitch in the first place, and then for not getting her checked out.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried telling myself that for a long time. I hate my father so much, it’s almost possible to believe it’s all his. Sometimes I forget he’s doing time for racketeering and tax evasion, not murder.”
“Blame never helps,” May said, thinking of how her parents had died, how for so long she had wanted to blame the truck driver, hate someone for taking her parents away.
“It might not help,” Martin said. “But it’s there. So you can see how I couldn’t tell Kylie what she wanted to know. I couldn’t tell her how I put my own child in danger, then failed to get her help. Just hearing her say Natalie’s name, I went crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” May said. “You’re grieving.”
They had been holding hands, and now they embraced hard, as if they had one skin between them, and she felt his heart pounding against hers. He was crying, but he didn’t want to let her know. His shoulders heaved; she held him the best she could.
The wind picked up. Leaves rustled overhead, and pine boughs brushed the rocky sides of the mountain. More stars had come out, and now milky galaxies flowed overhead.
“Kylie would be scared of me if she knew what happened to Natalie,” he said.
“We tell the truth to each other, Kylie and I,” May told him. “It’s how we’ve always done things.”
“And we will tell her the truth—together. But she’ll be scared. I worry for her, May. You think I don’t, but I worry a lot. I see you writing in that blue notebook.”
“The diary.”
“Keeping track of her dreams. I don’t want to be the cause of more nightmares for her. I know she thinks about Natalie being dead. And she died in a horrible way.”
“I’m so sorry. Thank you for thinking of Kylie,” May said.
“I do. She’s my stepdaughter. You said yesterday that everything’s connected. Everything and everyone.”
“I believe that’s true,” May said, and Martin held her. But she found herself thinking about the other person in the story, still as alive and as connected as any of them, the man Martin never talked about: his father.
Chapter 10
A
S THEIR TIME IN LAC VERT
drew closer to its end, every day seemed more important. Summer seemed shorter this year than it ever had before. On their last day, Martin asked Kylie if she wanted to take an early morning row out to the fishing hole, to see if they could find the great-granddaddy trout.
“Sure,” Kylie said, with a certain reluctance dating back to the very bad dream-day, out in the boat, when Martin had yelled so loud. Although there had been hikes, rows, and picnics since then, Kylie had mostly made sure her mother was along, too. But today she was eager to go with him. Lately he had been as nice as he’d been at the beginning.
“Come on, then,” Martin said, grabbing the oars, rods, buckets, and filed-down hooks. Kylie dug worms in the old potato patch while Martin loaded the rowboat. Her feet were bare, and the dirt wedged up between her toes.
They headed straight out, gliding over the smooth water. A rippling V formed behind them as the oars dipped and rose. Kylie leaned back in the old wooden boat and smelled summer: lake water, dried mud in the bottom of the boat, pine needles sparkling on the trees. Loons and swans swam along the shore.
Martin didn’t speak, so neither did Kylie. She stared at him and wondered what made people get lines around their eyes and mouth. Absently, she touched her own smooth face. Martin saw what she was doing and smiled. But he just kept rowing.
When they got to the fishing hole, Martin baited their hooks and they dropped their lines in. When the sun came out from behind the trees, Martin pulled two caps out of the bucket. He stuck one on his head and held the other out to Kylie.
“Put this on,” he told her.
“What is it?” She held the cap in her hand. Navy blue felt, with a blue-jay insignia, it was identical to Martin’s, only smaller. The felt was worn, the leather strap in back slightly curled. Holding it, a slight shock went through Kylie’s fingers, and she knew that the hat had belonged to Natalie.
“A baseball hat,” he said.
“But you play hockey.”
“True,” he said. “But a hockey helmet would be pretty hot out here on the water. In summer, we wear baseball hats.”
“This was Natalie’s?” Kylie asked, staring up at him.
“Yep, it was.” Martin squinted as he cast his line again.
Kylie thought back to that day, when he’d yelled at her in the boat. Soon afterward, he and Mommy had told her why: He missed Natalie so much, he sometimes got upset when he thought about her. Then Mommy had told Kylie how Natalie had died, that she had tripped and hit her head while visiting her grandfather, that Martin hadn’t known how serious it was and hadn’t taken her to the doctor in time to save her. And he felt very, very bad about that.
“Why are you letting me wear it?” Kylie asked now.
Instead of answering, he just squinted and frowned harder, staring at the lake’s surface as if he could see every trout swimming below.
“Martin?” she asked.
“So the sun won’t be in your eyes,” he said finally.
“Oh.” Kylie nodded as she jammed the hat onto her head. His answer made perfect sense; the sun was getting higher, and Mommy didn’t like her getting too sunburned. Martin smiled to see her wearing it. He reached out, adjusting the peak.
“
Voilà
,” he said.
“Thanks, D—” Kylie said. For the first time since he’d yelled, she had nearly called him Daddy. But she held the word in. “Thanks, Martin,” she said instead.
“You’re welcome, Kylie,” he said.
Was it Kylie’s imagination, or did he look disappointed? No matter; they both got on with their fishing. Martin wasn’t mad anymore. Kylie felt peace in the boat, coming from Martin, especially when he looked at the hat on her head. It was almost as if, by looking at the baseball cap, he was able to see Natalie.
“Oh, wow,” Kylie said suddenly.
“What?” Martin asked.
Natalie stood on the eastern side, dressed in cool white, her wings flapping up a storm. Kylie moved over to fish off the boat’s left side, and she never looked away from Natalie.
“I love my father,” Natalie said, her lower lip wobbling.
“I know,” Kylie whispered.
“Just seeing him makes me remember how much.”
Kylie listened and stared, but she couldn’t talk in a normal voice because Martin was there, fishing off the other side of the boat. She wouldn’t take her eyes off Natalie for a second.
“He gave you my cap,” Natalie said.
“Do you want it?”
Natalie bowed her head and began to cry. Her answer didn’t seem to be yes, but it wasn’t no either.
“Please tell me,” Kylie said.
“He gave me so many things,” Natalie said. “It used to be so much easier, when I thought things were what mattered.”
“Don’t they?”
Natalie shook her head. “I’m trying to tell you…you’re learning. But boats and toys and even that cap aren’t very important compared with love.”
Kylie laughed. “Of course they’re important! I can touch them and see them.”
“Some things you can’t see with your eyes,” Natalie said, starting to fade. “Help Daddy to understand.”
“What?” Kylie asked as Natalie disappeared. How could she say the cap was not important? Hadn’t it made her cry?
Kylie wondered if the cap would float across the lake. She took it off her head, dipped it in the water. Letting go, she watched it tilt like a small boat, then quickly fill and start to sink.
“Whoa, you lost your cap,” Martin said, reaching out to grab it.
“Sorry,” Kylie said.
“I didn’t feel the breeze come up,” he said, drying off the cap, securing it on her head. He gave her a funny look, as if maybe he suspected something.
“My head was hot,” Kylie said, scanning the shore. “I wanted to get it wet.”
“We’ll go for one last swim when we get back to shore,” Martin said, starting to row for home. Standing under the pine trees, Natalie materialized. Kylie thought of what she had said about things you can’t see with your eyes. Just then, Natalie blew Kylie a kiss, and confused, Kylie blew one back.
Leaving Lac Vert that summer meant saying farewell, after one final dinner at the Gardners’, to Genny and Ray, Charlotte and Mark. The Cartiers didn’t want to leave, and the Gardners didn’t want to say good-bye. But while Tobin and Aunt Enid had been holding down the office, May knew she had to get back to work.
Martin had decided to drive to Toronto with them for Kylie’s July appointment, and continue on to Connecticut from there.
They took their time, driving along the St. Lawrence River, staying in small towns along the way. In Toronto, Martin pointed out the hockey and baseball stadiums. He told them about the Hockey Hall of Fame, where all the great players were immortalized. May tried to listen, but all she could think about was the little blue notebook in her purse.
Finally they arrived at Twigg University, a campus of wide greens and ivy-covered brick buildings north of the city.
Dr. Ben Whitpen’s office was in the Psychology Department, in an old building with leaded glass windows. The hallways were dark and cool, the classroom doors made of heavy oak. Martin stood there blinking, trying to focus.
“Don’t be scared.” Kylie was holding Martin’s hand. Helping him seemed to make her forget her own unhappiness at coming here. “I was the first time.”
“I’m not scared,” he said. “But it’s dark in here.”
“Not that dark,” Kylie said.
“Are you okay?” May asked, watching him rub his eyes.
“My eyes itch,” he told her. “It’s hard to focus. Maybe I got something in them.”
“Do you want to wait outside?” May asked. “Kylie and I will meet you afterward.”
“Maybe I will,” he agreed. “I’ll go check out the hockey rink. See you back here in, what? An hour?”
“Make it two,” May said.
It seemed strange to May now, coming in from a bright summer day to this gloomy place, with a notebook filled with her daughter’s bad dreams. While Martin went out, May and Kylie climbed one flight to the Dream Research Lab and opened the door.
Dr. Whitpen greeted them. Dressed in jeans and an untucked polo shirt, he looked more like a graduate student than a doctor with a big research grant. Leading Kylie straight to the toy box, he told her to make herself at home while he talked to her mother. Other doctors sat in small cubicles, working on computers or talking on the phone.
May followed Dr. Whitpen into his office. Watching Kylie through the door glass, she passed him her notebook.
“More angel dreams,” he said, reading. “Good, you included the incident on the plane. She heard noises, smelled smoke before anyone else. Approached a man, asked him for help when the time came. Said his daughter told her to—his daughter?”
“She’s dead,” May told him.
“Ahh.” Dr. Whitpen raised his eyebrows. He continued reading. “Mute angels in a dream, surrounding her head like moths. Interesting. Natalie’s doll, wanting to bring the doll to the wedding. Wedding?” he asked, looking up.
“I told you I got married,” May said.
“Oh, yes, that’s wonderful. Best wishes.”
“I married the man on the plane.”
“The man Kylie approached?” Dr. Whitpen seemed shocked.
“Yes,” May said. “We fell in love. It has nothing to do with what happened that day.” As she spoke, she felt protective of her relationship with Martin.
“It’s an unusual story,” he commented.
“I know,” she agreed. “But we’re here to talk about Kylie. As I told you on the phone, I’m not as worried as before. Maybe I’ve made a mistake, taking her to so many doctors. As if she’s a curiosity, with something wrong with her.”
“You were very upset when we first met,” he reminded her.
“I know,” May said, remembering how desperate she had felt. “I’d taken her to that group in New York, and all it took was one person mentioning schizophrenia…”
“Kylie’s not schizophrenic,” Dr. Whitpen said sharply, with certainty. “But you were troubled about more than that.”
“We had just found that—” May recoiled from the memory. “That body. Just a bag of bones, really. A skeleton held together by rags, old clothes, just rattling in the wind. I’ll never forget it. I know Kylie won’t, either.”
“She dreamed about it every night at first—and then she started seeing angels,” Dr. Whitpen said, consulting his notes. “Her second encounter with death very soon after losing her great-grandmother.”
“She’s so sensitive and caring,” May said. “She can’t stand seeing things hurt. When she and my husband caught that fish this summer, she said she heard it crying. She stares when she sees animals killed on the side of a road, and she asks me about parents and babies left behind.”