Summer Light: A Novel (4 page)

Chapter 3

B
OSTON WAS A SPORTS
-
LOVING
town, and the papers were filled with articles as the Bruins advanced in the play-offs. May had never really followed hockey, but now she found herself buying the
Globe,
reading about Martin, checking the scores. On Saturday afternoon a week later, with clients milling around the Bridal Barn, she and Tobin kept the radio tuned low to the game.

“What’s that sound?” the bride’s mother asked, frowning. Mrs. Randall was a Black Hall matron wearing a knit suit and Ferragamo shoes, with a sense of decorum that didn’t include sports radio in the wedding salon.

“The Bruins game,” Tobin answered.

“The last time we were here, you had that beautiful music playing—you know, the Irish girl.”

“Loreena McKennitt,” Aunt Enid said. “I’ll put her on.” She started to put in the CD, but May grabbed her wrist.

“They’re up three-two with two minutes to play,” she said. “We have to stay tuned.”

“Darling, this is the Bridal Barn. Your mother always said we’re selling them a mood, not just a wedding. If they want Loreena McKennitt—”

“Her mother never had her life saved by Martin Cartier,” Tobin said. “Fire me, but this is the play-offs.”

“She’s right, Aunt Enid,” May said.

“Atmosphere is everything in the wedding business,” Aunt Enid said darkly, walking away.

But the Randalls signed a large contract for the dress, flowers, ceremony, and reception, and the Bruins won, so everyone was happy. “The Bruins beat the Toronto Maple Leafs,” the announcer said. “Martin Cartier scored the winning goal, and Boston will be one game closer to playing the Edmonton Oilers for the Stanley Cup.”

“Martin, Martin,” Kylie said, chanting along with the crowd on the radio.

“Martin?” May asked, smiling at Kylie’s using his first name and pronouncing it the French-Canadian way: Martan.

The telephone rang. “Bridal Barn,” Aunt Enid said. She listened for a moment, looking pleased and wise as she passed the phone to May.

“Hello?” May said.

“We’re winning the play-offs,” Martin Cartier said in his French accent. “Your rose petals—they brought me luck.”

“I know, I heard.”

“Really? You follow hockey?”

“I started to recently,” she said. “Are you calling me from the ice? You must be—the game just finished.”

“I’m in the locker room.”

“Wow,” May said. She pictured him in his uniform, surrounded by his teammates. She could hear them in the background, laughing and shouting. Her own teammates—Kylie, Tobin, and Aunt Enid—stood in a silent semicircle, not even pretending not to listen.

“Did you get my roses?” he asked.

“I did,” she said. “They were beautiful. I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know where to call. How did you find me?”

“May Taylor in Black Hall, Connecticut,” he said. “It wasn’t hard.”

“I didn’t remember telling you, with everything going on around the plane. I wanted to thank you for that, too.”

“How’s your daughter?”

“She’s fine. How about you?”

“I’ve been on four planes since,” he said. “It only catches up with me at night, when I dream.”

“Me, too,” May said. She’d had nightmares since their flight from Toronto, her eyes stinging and throat searing as the smoke enveloped her and Kylie, with no way out…. Kylie’s dreams had been of the angel she had seen on the plane, a solemn white-winged being hovering over her father’s head. May had dutifully recorded the incident in her diary. Thinking of that now, she glanced over at Kylie.

“Maybe we can talk about it sometime, eh?” he said. “Can I call you again? Maybe have dinner?”

“I don’t know,” May said. “This is the wedding season. I have a pretty busy schedule….” she trailed off.

“
Bien
.” He sounded disappointed. “Right now I have to catch another plane. We’re heading to New York for the next series. Wish me luck.”

“Fly safely,” May said.

“I meant hockey,” he said.

“That, too,” she replied, feeling let down and not exactly knowing why.

With no more clients expected that day, May asked Aunt Enid to watch Kylie for an hour while she and Tobin took a bike ride. The oaks and maples were covered with new leaves, and the chestnuts were just starting to flower. Violet shadows spread across the winding roads as the two friends rode single file through the valley.

They rode up Crawford Hill, shifting into low gear for the long climb. May followed Tobin, keeping pace as they passed the abandoned mill, Childe’s Orchard, and the pine hollow. This land had hardly changed at all over their lifetime, and she wondered how many times they’d ridden their bikes along this same route. When they turned onto Old Farm Road, where they knew there wouldn’t be any traffic, Tobin fell back so they could ride side by side.

“What did he say?” Tobin asked. After so many years, the friends could practically read each others’ minds.

“He asked me out to dinner.”

“Was that the part where you mentioned your incredibly busy schedule?”

“I didn’t put it like that—”

“You were laying the groundwork to squirm out,” Tobin said. “I knew the instant you said the words.”

“At least I don’t eavesdrop,” May said, starting to pedal harder. Surging ahead, she felt sweat rolling between her shoulder blades. Her chest burned, but not only from exertion. She felt like crying but didn’t know why.

“Forgive me,” Tobin said, catching up. “But it’s not every day my best friend starts filling the Bridal Barn with the sounds of rinkside mayhem instead of mood music. You’ve got me wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“You know what,” Tobin said.

“Let’s get an ice-cream cone,” May said. They wheeled down the backside of Crawford Hill, past the white churches in town, and no matter how fast Tobin pedaled, she couldn’t keep up. May skidded, turning into the sand parking lot of the ramshackle Paradise Ice Cream stand, nearly wiping out.

The two women ordered their favorite cones: maple walnut dipped in chocolate sprinkles and vanilla straight up.

“Why won’t you admit it to me?” Tobin asked kindly as she licked her cone. “You like him.”

“There’s not much maple in this batch,” May said, closing her eyes.

“What’s so bad about liking him? Would it kill you to have dinner together?”

“We went through something big together,” May said, catching a drip before it hit her shirt. “He helped me and Kylie off the plane.”

“And you like him.”

“I hardly know him.”

“Okay, we can put it another way. You
think
you like him—”

“That’s not a smart idea,” May said. Closing her eyes again, she kept licking her cone.

“You’ve gotten
too
smart over the years,” Tobin said quietly. “You’ve learned how to think instead of feel. That’s your trouble.”

May’s eyes instantly filled with tears; Tobin’s words were true. She thought of Gordon Rhodes, Kylie’s father. She had been in love with him from the very beginning, and when they’d conceived a child together, she had rocketed into happiness she’d never even dreamed of before. She had been wide open to life and love and commitment and passion, and then Gordon had told her he was married. Separated, but married.

“I date,” May said. “I have plenty of dates.”

“No kidding,” Tobin retorted. “With Mel Norris and Howard Drogin, the two men in Black Hall most unlikely to give your heart a palpitation. Ever since Gordon, you’ve gone completely for safety.”

“Kylie’s second doctor,” May said. “Cyrus Baxter, that psychiatrist from Boston. I had dinner with him once.”

“And when he asked you again, you switched her from the study at Mass General to the study in Toronto.”

“Dr. Henry says the Toronto study is better.” Tears were streaking down May’s cheeks. “That’s why I switched her. Dr. Baxter had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, May,” Tobin said.

“You know I wouldn’t let my feelings dictate where Kylie gets help.”

“I know that.”

“For all I know, Martin Cartier could be married,” May said.

“He’s not,” Tobin said.

“How do you know?”

“I checked.”

May’s eyes widened as her friend shrugged apologetically. Tobin had dark hair and wide bright eyes. She gazed out from under her bangs, as if she thought May might be angry.

“What did you do?” May asked.

“I called the Boston Bruins publicity office and said I was a wedding consultant doing a magazine piece on married hockey players, and that I was thinking of including Martin Cartier. Once the guy stopped laughing, he let me know I was out of luck, that Martin is considered practically the most eligible bachelor in the NHL.”

“What’s he doing asking me out to dinner?” May asked.

“He knows a good thing when he sees it,” Tobin said.

May stared down at her sneakers. She was a single mother who had made some mistakes, and her dual mission in life was to raise Kylie right and to help other women have the weddings of their dreams. It had been a long time since she had entertained dreams of her own, much less imagined how it might feel to be rescued from a burning plane and sent roses by the most eligible bachelor in the NHL. Long gone were her beliefs in family magic and love spells working for her the way they did for other women.

“You’ve got maple walnut on your chin,” Tobin said, licking her thumb and wiping the drip off May’s face.

“Thank you,” May said.

“Don’t mention it.”

“First you check up on my hockey player, now you’re cleaning off my face….”

“Well, I do it because your father would want me to,” Tobin said.

May glanced over to see Tobin’s expression. Growing up, the two girls had been like sisters, sleeping over at each other’s houses, going camping and to the movies and the beach with each other’s families. Jokingly, Tobin had sometimes called May’s parents “Mom” and “Dad,” and May had done the same with Tobin’s.

May blinked, listening. “My father,” she said after a minute.

“He’s not here to look after you himself, and I know he’d want the total lowdown on any Boston Bruin chasing after his daughter,” Tobin said.

“So you found out for him.”

Tobin nodded, taking her last bite of vanilla. “And your parents wouldn’t want you riding around Black Hall with ice cream all over your mug either, so I did what I had to do. We’ve probably ruined our dinners, eating these.”

“I won’t tell your kids if you won’t tell mine,” May said.

Shaking on it, the two women climbed on their bikes and headed home down the winding roads.

Five nights later, he called again.

This time, May had found herself hoping he would. She had stayed up late, to watch some of the game before going to bed. The Bruins had won; they’d be going to meet Edmonton in the finals. The sportscaster was ecstatic, and May realized that she was, too. She waited for a while, and she was just about to doze off when she heard the phone ring.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No, not quite,” she said. “Congratulations on making the finals.”

“You heard?” he asked, sounding pleased.

“Yes, I and most of New England. You are certainly the man of the hour.”

Martin chuckled, and May thought she heard voices in the background.

“Is someone there?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m with the team. We’re going out to a restaurant to celebrate.”

May pictured the happy athletes surrounded by beautiful women like the one on the plane, and she thought of what Tobin had said: that he was the most eligible bachelor in the NHL. She’d been crazy, thinking whatever she had been thinking. She and Martin were worlds apart. He was rich and famous, and he could have any woman in the world.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting ready for bed,” she said.

“Why don’t you come to New York, eh?” he asked. “It’s just two hours. You could hop on the next train, be here by midnight.”