Summer Light: A Novel

by Rice, Luanne

  May nodded.

  “Well, by that time she despised Serge. Martin wanted to respect her, but…”

  “He was fifteen.”

  “And his father was the top scorer in the NHL. So we set out to hitch twelve hours from Lac Vert to Toronto, middle of January, during a thaw.”

  “Twelve hours,” May said with disbelief.

  “Well, the snow was piled high, but the sun was out, so we felt good and warm. Caught a trucker going all the way from Quebec City to Montreal, then another most of the way to Ottawa, then a few rides to Toronto. It wasn’t till we arrived that it got hard.”

  Ray told of going to the Gardens, talking to someone in the ticket booth, being turned away. Trying to get in through the players’ entrance, telling the guard Martin was Serge’s son, showing him school ID, everything they could think of.

  “We couldn’t get anyone to believe us. Serge had the reputation of being a swinger, big single guy hanging out in Las Vegas. None of the news stories ever mentioned a son, because Serge knew Agnes would kill him if he ever brought attention to Martin. She wanted her son raised right—no fame and fortune…”

  May nodded, sympathizing with the mother-in-law she’d never met.

  “So the rink personnel didn’t even know Martin existed. Later, we found out Serge had two people fired for not bringing us back to the locker room. But that day, we never got past the gate.”

  “I know how that feels. Martin must have been crushed,” May said.

  “To put it mildly, eh? We started back home, just as the weather turned. Got a ride as far as Belleville, where the wind whips off Lake Ontario, when the storm turned into a blizzard.”

  “A blizzard?” May asked.

  Ray nodded. “Bad. Snow so hard we couldn’t see each other standing two feet away. We were freezing. Never in our lives had we felt cold like that. Never.”

  May closed her eyes, thinking of the lengths Martin had gone to to meet his father. To go so far and then not see him!

  “We had jackets and boots, but the snow was over our knees. The roads were deserted, no one passing by. It got dark. Our fingers and toes were numb, our faces frozen to the zippers of our jackets. We were bleeding, and the blood froze. I thought we were going to die.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Martin never let me lose hope,” Ray said. “I’ve always believed his faith kept us both alive that night.”

  May felt Ray staring at her, but she couldn’t look up.

  “Saved my life.” Ray was glaring out at the low hills. “We knocked each other around, then we built an igloo and stayed there till the blizzard ended.”

  May closed her eyes, picturing a shelter made of frozen snow and ice. Martin lived in one still, she thought, wondering about her husband’s faith now.

  “Don’t give up on him,” Ray said, touching May’s hand. May squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe. He had given up on her.

  “What did he say about my coming to the ice that night? He walked straight past me.”

  “He didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re protecting him,” May said, glaring at him.

  “No, I’m not. I told him he’s an asshole, and he said he agreed. One guy kidded him about you walking into the locker room, and he grabbed his throat so hard he left handprints.”

  “What’s going on with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Ray said, staring at Genny reeling in the kite. Dark against the darker sky, it dove and bobbed like a bat. “He’s my best friend, and I don’t have a clue.”

  Genny and the kids approached the house, and May heard Kylie talking about her skating party the next day. She was nervous because she couldn’t skate well, and the Gardner kids were telling her to be fearless and go for it.

  “Want to come?” she asked.

  “I can’t,” Charlotte said. “I have to decorate for a dance at school.”

  “And I have a baseball game. Sorry, Kylie,” Mark said.

  May wrapped Kylie in her sweater and held her on her lap. Kylie hid her disappointment deep inside. It came out late at night, during her sleep, when she’d call out for Martin. She would wake up, sweaty and crying, mumbling those words that had started it all: “Bring them together. Natalie says we have to…” May wrote everything down in the blue notebook.

  “First star.” Charlotte pointed at the sky.

  “Make a wish,” Genny told her.

  “I wish for the Bruins to win the Stanley Cup,” Mark said.

  “Good boy,” Ray said, laughing.

  “I wish…” Charlotte began, typical teenage girl, making her wish in silence.

  Holding Kylie tighter, May kissed her hair. She leaned down, to ask what Kylie was wishing for on the eve of her birthday, and she heard the fierce, almost inaudible whisper her daughter had intended no human ears to hear:

  “I wish for Daddy to come home.”

  Every night he was in Boston, Martin did the same thing: left the ice or the hotel, got into his car, and drove around. He told himself he needed air, space, to keep moving, but what he really needed was May.

  He’d drive past their house in Boston, and if he saw her car parked there, lights on in the windows, everything was fine. He would just park down the street, find a dark shadow, and watch until the lights went out. On weekends, when Kylie didn’t have school, she wasn’t there, so he drove all the way down to Black Hall, doused his headlights driving through the field, and made sure she was safe in the farmhouse.

  Watching the windows of those houses, knowing that May and Kylie were inside, gave Martin the closest thing he had to peace of mind during those weeks without them. Sometimes he would see her close the curtains or pull a shade or move from one room to another, and he’d start toward the door, ready to take her in his arms and tell her he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, that all he wanted was to start over.

  Pride was his worst sin, though. He couldn’t imagine the words he’d say. Hugging May was a great fantasy, but if he knew his wife, that would be just the beginning. She’d want to sit up till dawn and beyond, hashing everything out. May loved talking and connection and making sense of life’s mysteries. Martin would rather let them alone—especially now, when he was dealing with something more confusing and mysterious than he had ever faced.

  Ray had told him about May’s visit to the rink. How he had come off the ice, found May standing there by the locker room door. She’d been wearing a yellow dress, Ray had said, and had looked so strong, determined to see Martin. Ray had offered her a conference room, but May had said no, she’d wait to see Martin right then and there.

  Martin must have walked right by her.

  She had chased him right into the locker room. Getting into the shower, Martin had heard the laughter and catcalls, and some of the guys had had the bad judgment to tease him about it.

  Martin had been thinking of her—of that he was sure. Wanting her, needing her, planning what he’d say to her, and she’d been right there the whole time. He could almost picture her now: smiling, small and determined and shy, holding out her hand to touch him.

  But what she didn’t know, what Martin couldn’t tell her, wouldn’t even quite admit to himself, certainly wouldn’t tell Ray or the other Bruins, was that he had not seen her.

  Peering through the darkness now, it seemed as if thick cobwebs were hanging from the trees. Covering one eye, then the other, he tested himself. The night sky was clear, but he was sitting in fog. His vision, especially in his right eye, had been getting blurrier for several weeks now. He hadn’t told the team doctor, and he’d been afraid to tell May. When she had admitted her visit to Estonia, Martin had found the perfect excuse to not tell her at all: He had just walked out.

  Tonight, she wasn’t in Boston and she wasn’t in Black Hall. Martin had had the long drive from Boston to the Connecticut shoreline and back to worry about it. Her van was nowhere to be seen. Aunt Enid was alone at the farmhouse, playing solitaire in front of the TV, and t
he Boston house was dark and empty.

  Martin felt panicked. He was burning to talk to her. This had to come to an end, this insane separation. Lately he found himself thinking of the first moment he saw her: on that plane to Boston, with Kylie by her side. He pictured her leaning over Kylie, giving him a look of suspicion, as if she could somehow see that he was bad, that she would have to protect her child against him.

  What kind of man would just leave his family?

  That was Martin—he had done it twice. Obviously, May’s instincts had been right that first day. She knew how to love; Martin knew how to rage. Parked on Beacon Hill, he stared at their empty house, testing his eyes again. If she wasn’t here, and she wasn’t at the Bridal Barn, where was she? Tomorrow was Kylie’s birthday. Had they canceled the skating party and gone somewhere far away to celebrate?

  Chapter 17

  THE BACK BAY SKATING RINK echoed with laughter and music. Many children attended Friday night classes there, and they had their own lockers and equipment. On that Sunday in May, the day of her party, Kylie stood behind the partition, watching girls glide past on graceful white skates, wearing beautiful short skating skirts, the boys flashing by wearing black skates and stretch skating pants.

  Kylie wished she could disappear.

  Martin was gone from their lives. He didn’t live with them anymore, and he wasn’t coming to her party. He was “away”—supposedly playing hockey. That’s what Mommy and Genny had told her, wanting her to think he would be there if he could.

  “Hi, Kylie! Come skate!” the rink monitor called.

  “Happy birthday, Kylie!” his assistant called.

  Kylie nodded, waving. Her mother stood off to the side, talking to the man in charge of birthday parties. Kylie had a pit in her stomach. The minute she stepped onto the ice, she’d fall down—just like she’d done at Ellen’s.

  “Martin Cartier’s not here?” Jimmy Vance demanded, skating to a fancy stop right in front of her.

  Kylie shook her head. Everyone had been asking her about Martin: At school last week, people had given her candy, gum, and Pokémon cards, just so maybe she’d invite them to her skating party, so they could meet and skate with Martin.

  “Thought he would be,” Jimmy said.

  “He has a hockey game…”

  “They won two nights ago,” Jimmy told her. “The Bruins didn’t play last night, and they don’t play today. They play tonight. So he could be here if he wanted to.”

  “Oh,” Kylie said, her shoulders coming together in front of her chest.

  “She just wanted us to think he’d be here,” Ellen said, twirling over. “So we’d all come. This is my riding day. I was supposed to be in Chestnut Hill on Silver Star right now, but I came to her birthday party instead.”

  “She’s not even wearing skates,” Jimmy said, looking over the rail at the sneakers on Kylie’s feet.

  “My mother’s bringing them over,” Kylie explained. “She has to help me get them on.”

  Kylie’s heart was pounding, and she wished she had a fever so Natalie would come. If only this party would just be over, so Kylie wouldn’t have to skate in front of all these kids. They’d be making fun of how she couldn’t stand up by herself, and how Martin wasn’t here.

  Kylie closed her eyes. Wishes sometimes came true—she knew that for sure. She had wished for a father, and Martin had come into their lives. But now he was gone, and she wondered what she had done to drive him away.

  Her mother seemed sad. She was getting skinny from not eating, and instead of sleeping, she read all night. Kylie knew because she saw her. She’d climb out of bed and walk quietly down the hall, then stand outside her mother’s bedroom door and peek through the crack.

  All of a sudden, Jimmy and Ellen gasped. Their eyes got big, and Jimmy said, “Wow! It’s him!”

  Other children and parents stopped skating and began to drift over—slowly at first, and then with great speed—to the gap in the wall where Kylie stood. As Kylie looked over her shoulder, she saw Martin coming toward her, a package tucked under his arm.

  “Hi, I’m Tally Vance, Jimmy’s mother.” A lady wearing a red skating skirt was holding out her hand. “My son is such a fan, we all are! Thank you so much for—”

  “Nice to meet you,” Martin said, shaking her hand but turning away. “Excuse me a minute. I have to see my daughter.”

  Kylie’s heart leapt. She put one hand to her mouth as Martin crouched down in front of her. He stared her straight in the eyes.

  “You came,” she whispered.

  “I could never miss your birthday,” he said.

  “I thought you didn’t love us anymore.”

  Martin shook his head. His eyes looked terribly sad, as if she’d just said the worst thing in the world. “I’m so sorry you thought that.” He handed Kylie her present, a box wrapped in shiny pink paper. But then he lifted his eyes and his whole face changed, and Kylie knew he was looking at her mother.

  “May,” Kylie heard him say.

  Walking across the crowded area, May carried their skates, hers and Kylie’s, in her hand. They had last worn them on the pond behind the barn, skating that frozen day with Martin. May just wanted to get them on her and Kylie’s feet, go out on the ice, and give Kylie the best birthday party she could.

  “May.”

  Hearing her name, May looked through the crowd. Parents and kids were clustered around the bench where Kylie sat, and through them all, she saw Martin looking at her.

  “Oh,” she said, dropping one of the skates.

  Martin came toward her, bent to pick it up. He was so close, she felt his hand brush the top of her right shoe. Her heart was beating so fast, she might have been running a race. When he stood to hand her the dropped skate, his face was nearly touching hers, and she felt his breath on her cheek.

  “May,” he said. “I made a mistake.”

  She stared into his eyes, trembling with wanting to hold him, unable to reply.

  So did I, she wanted to say.

  “I walked out because I couldn’t take it,” he said, taking her hand. “I stayed away because I had to figure it all out.”

  She gazed into his eyes. They were so very blue, surrounded by many more lines than had been there a month ago. Martin had aged in their time apart, and May was sure she had, too.

  “Was it better without me there?” she asked.

  “It was horrible.”

  She started to laugh, choked instead.

  “I brought you something.” He reached into his pocket.

  All around them kids were jumping and yelling. Parents were buzzing, and Kylie was sitting alone on a bench. May wanted to go to her, but Martin held her arm. He handed her a small object wrapped in tissue paper.

  Hands shaking, May opened the package. It was the little leather pouch she had given him last season, when they had first met, to help him through the playoffs. Untying the drawstring, she looked inside and saw the rose petals and tiny bones. Her throat ached to remember how much hope she’d put into assembling it.

  Martin put his arms around her. His mouth against her ear, he whispered, “Forgive me, May.”

  “Oh, Martin,” she said.

  Aware of Kylie watching them, she wanted to be careful, to make sure. There had been moments when she would have taken back everything she’d ever said about his father, thrown her principles right out the window just to get Martin back. And there had been other times when she had wanted nothing more than to see him just once more, to have the chance to say “goodbye forever” to his face, for what he’d put her and Kylie through.

  “It’s what you do so well. Please forgive me,” he repeated.

  “I do, Martin.”

  “We belong together.”

  “I’ve never stopped believing that,” she said clearly, words from the blue notebook echoing in her mind: Bring them together, together, together.

  Kylie watched her parents. Mommy had looked so upset at first. She had held back from speak
ing or hugging, her eyes glittering with tears. But Martin just kept talking, touching her hand, stroking her hair, until finally she flew at him with her arms open to kiss and hug him. When that happened, Kylie could breathe again.

  Jimmy and Ellen wanted her to open the package Martin had brought, and the Tally Vance lady started to help her untie the bow. But Kylie just held on tight, bowing her entire body over the box to keep everyone away from it.

  “Ça va, Kylie?” Martin asked, walking over with her mother.

  “Daddy,” Kylie said, putting her arms around him as he lifted her up. Mommy was right there too, and they stood together in a small family group. Kylie felt a huge jolt of joy, as if everything was going to work out after all.

  “Happy Birthday, Kylie,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “What about your present, eh?” he asked, his blue eyes very serious as he tapped her box. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  Kylie held it on her lap. The box was large and perfectly square, neatly wrapped in pink paper. As she pulled the ribbon, undoing the big bow, her heart began to beat more quickly.

  “Skates,” Jimmy said, looking over her shoulder. “He got her hockey skates.”

  Kylie shivered. She felt thrilled and scared at the same time. The box seemed stuck as she tried to get the top off. She pictured hockey skates, like a miniature pair of the ones Martin always wore, brown and plain and, well, ugly, with that streamlined blade—she didn’t care; she’d love them anyway. But what she actually saw took her breath away.

  “A skirt!” she gasped. “Just like they wear in ballet on ice.”

  “For the prettiest girl in Boston,” he said. It was silvery white, a lot like angels’ wings, with diamond sparkles on layers and layers of tulle. Kylie slung her arm around Martin’s neck, and he held the skirt steady while she stepped into it.

  Now Kylie couldn’t wait to get her skates on. Mommy pulled off her own sneakers and Kylie’s, and while Mommy laced up her own skates, Martin crouched down in front of Kylie to slip her skates on.

  Kylie had never noticed how beautiful they were before: white leather with silver blades, the jagged slant in front to catch the ice. They matched her skirt perfectly. As he laced the skates up, making them tight enough but not too tight, Kylie stared at the top of his head. His hair was brown and gray, and all she could do was lean forward to kiss it and whisper “Thank you, Daddy.”