Summer Light: A Novel (13 page)

“You mean marry Martin?”

“No, I want that for you, May. I do. I’m a little worried it happened so fast, but I also think it’s the coolest love story I’ve ever heard. It will be fantastic for business. Once word gets out that you married the number one bachelor in the NHL, brides will be lining up for miles. We’ll have to market your rose petals. No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tobin said. Tears pooled in her lower eyelids, and May watched as they spilled over. “Marriage changes everything.”

“It won’t change us,” May said.

“Sure it will.”

“Yours didn’t change us.”

“Because we were too young to know better. When John married me, we were all kids, and you were part of the package. Now we’re all entrenched. John and I are confirmed Black Hall lifers; you’re marrying a guy who might decide to play on a team in Oregon.”

“I don’t think Oregon has a hockey team.”

“Well, California, then. Manitoba. Vancouver. Far away.”

“I know,” May said.

“He’s taking you to Canada for the summer.”

“Yes, he is.”

“We’ve never spent a summer apart before,” Tobin said.

“No, we never have.” May’s throat was tight.

“The truth is, my fine friend, that this is just the beginning. He’s got a whole life story, and so do you, so do we. John and I got to write our life story together. But you and Martin are joining together mid-book. You know?”

“But what you’re forgetting, Tobin,” May said, wiping her face with her shirt sleeve, “is that you
are
my book.”

“I hope so,” Tobin said as May pulled her close in a hug and Aunt Enid walked in.

Although Enid appeared refreshed from her nap, she had bed wrinkles and pillow hair on her left side. With Tobin giving her silent encouragement, May led her aunt into the office, closing the door.

“What is it, dear?” Enid asked.

“I have something to tell you.”

Enid smiled. Touching her fingers to her lips, she waited.

“You know Martin and I are getting married.”

“Oh, yes, May,” Enid said, coming around the desk. “You deserve so much happiness. It was such wonderful news.”

“Thank you.” May put her arms around her tiny aunt.

“I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Enid said, breaking away and grabbing her clipboard.

“Um, there’s one thing—”

“Now you just sit back and be the bride while your auntie goes to work. Never before has Black Hall seen a wedding like this. We’ll pull out stops we didn’t know we had.”

“Aunt Enid, no stops.”

The older woman laughed, as if May had just told a good one. Portraits of Emily and Abigail smiled down, and Enid pointed at them, still chuckling.

“Honey, they’d let me have it if I didn’t go all out! This is the Bridal Barn, and you’re our precious flower! The day you came home from the hospital—I can remember as if it were yesterday! Your mother, your grandmother, and I stood around your white bassinet…”

May closed her eyes. She could remember the bassinet—white wicker; she had used it for Kylie—and she could almost remember the moment. Three eager, loving faces smiling down as she gazed into her brand-new world; they
were
her world.

“And we showered you with orange blossoms and rose petals. Your mother said a prayer, and your granny said a poem, and I tickled your toes. It was our little ritual, to make sure you led a blessed life.”

May smiled, thinking of her odd and wonderful family, of the small ceremonies they held at important times. She was certain she could remember that early introduction to rose petals.

“So if you think I can possibly let you get married without a bang-up Bridal Barn special, I assure you Em and Abby would never forgive me.”

“Aunt Enid,” May said, taking her hands. “We’re eloping.”

Enid gasped, wobbling as if about to faint. May helped her to a chair, encouraged her to put her head between her knees.

“Good God,” Aunt Enid said. “I’m getting old. For a second I thought I heard you say you’re eloping.” The look in her eyes was hopeful. May nodded gravely.

“I did.”

“May, no.”

“It’s what we want.”

“Was it his idea?” As if somehow that would be easier to take.

“No, it was mine.”

“But
why
?”

May drew up a chair beside her. “This might sound strange. But we have so much love for each other, we don’t need all the rest. The planning, the guest list, the expense…”

“But I can do all that for you,” Aunt Enid said.

“I know. You’re so good to me, Aunt Enid. You always have been. I feel so lucky, as if I’ve always had an extra mother.”

“Oh, May.” Enid grabbed her hand. “You’ve been just like my daughter.”

“Please understand—you’ve taught me so much. You, Mom, and Granny, I’ve planned a hundred weddings with you—more, even! I have all that experience, all those memories inside me.”

“The Trowbridge wedding at the Congregational Church, the Paul James party at the Silver Bay Club…”

“Martha Cullen’s wedding last fall, Caroline Renwick getting married at Firefly Hill last Christmas…surprising everyone, just like me,” May said. Her mind filled with pictures: roses, ivy, satin, lace, yards of white tulle, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, tiny flower girls, brides and grooms.

“I have it all inside,” May said. “Every wedding we’ve ever planned.”

“That’s why we should have one for you.”

“Martin and I want to do it our way.”

Enid took a deep breath.

“You’re sure?”

“We are.”

Nodding solemnly, Enid pulled herself up. She walked across the room, so she was standing between the two portraits on the wall. Although she was so short her head barely came to the lower part of the gilded frames, she stood in line with Abigail Taylor and Emily Dunne.

“Then we give you our blessing.”

“Thank you, Aunt Enid.”

Enid raised her index fingers, pointing up at the two women immortalized in oil paint. May lifted her gaze, staring into the eyes of her mother and grandmother. The portraits had been done by Hugh Renwick, the great artist from Firefly Hill, a few miles down the coast, as a gift after his daughter Clea’s wedding. Keeping it in the family, with Hugh long dead, last winter Caroline had had a Bridal Barn wedding. The seasons and generations went on, as Aunt Enid stood silently pointing at the paintings.

May had been raised to be polite and grateful, and she knew what Enid was waiting for.

“Thank you, Mom,” May said to the portrait of her mother. “And thank you, Granny,” she said to the painting of her grandmother.

The time was getting closer, and in spite of eloping, there were still plans to be made. May chose a dress from the barn attic and she bought a dress for Kylie. And just before she left, Tobin gave her a box to open.

“You didn’t have to get me a present,” May said.

“It’s not a present,” Tobin told her. “It’s something borrowed.”

Her fingers trembling, May pulled the wrapping off the small box. Opening it, she found a small ring inside. It was Tobin’s class ring from sixth grade graduation at Black Hall Elementary. May had had one just like it, but she’d lost it long ago.

“It’s so tiny,” May said.

“Try it on your pinky,” Tobin suggested.

May did, and it fit. The gold was smooth and worn, the black stone extremely scratched up.

“We’ve been through so many ceremonies together,” Tobin told her. “We don’t need one more.”

“Oh, Tobe, thanks for seeing it that way,” May said, telling herself both Tobin and Aunt Enid were now convinced.

“You’re marrying Martin, and I couldn’t be happier for you. I’ll be with you in spirit.”

“You always are, Tobe,” May said. “You always have been.”

May’s mother and grandmother had told her to always follow her gut. So, on Kylie’s last day of school, May packed their bags and kissed Aunt Enid and Tobin goodbye.

Martin had loaded up his other car—a white Jeep—just before noon, and by one o’clock on a brilliant June day, they had picked up Kylie and were heading west on the Massachusetts Turnpike.

“Poor Aunt Enid,” Kylie said, once everyone had settled down.

“I think she understands.” May glanced doubtfully over her shoulder as if she might see her aunt standing there.

“She never had children of her own?” Martin asked.

“No,” May said. “In a way, I’m it. She never married, never left Black Hall. We’re very close.”

“Are you sure you don’t want her to come?”

May nodded. “Well, we said small,” she said. “I thought you, me, and Kylie.”

“That
is
small,” Kylie said.

“My mother said certain love is too pure for a big wedding. That when you have love like that, you have to be quick and simple.”

“Like a perfect slap shot.” Martin laughed. “Quick and simple. I like that.”

They all laughed, but May couldn’t stop looking out the Jeep’s back window, as if watching for a small, humpbacked woman with white hair to catch up to them, waving madly all the way.

Soon the lovely rolling Berkshires surrounded them, rounded hills covered with green, valleys spreading north and south, lakes and reservoirs reflecting the blue sky.

They stopped in Stoneville, so Kylie could have her last after-school snack as a first grader at the Red Hawk Inn, and Martin bought her a rag doll from the gift shop next door. He bought May a soft black wool shawl, because he told her the nights in Canada were chilly and she would need something besides him to keep her warm.

Back in the Jeep, they veered north. They drove for hours, and Kylie saw the first signs for Canada just as the first stars were coming out. The sky was deep blue, as soft as a mantle of dark cashmere. It draped over the low hills, covered the fields and barns and woods. Approaching the customs station, Martin slowed down. He pulled out his identity card and asked May for her and Kylie’s passports.

“Martin Cartier!” the customs agent exclaimed as he looked into the car. His face lit up like a young boy’s, and his reaction alerted his colleagues to come hurrying over. They pushed papers into the car, begging Martin to sign them for their sons, their brothers, their sisters, their nephews. Martin did so quietly. The men spoke French, and he answered them in kind.

May felt proud of Martin—the way he signed autographs so humbly, in stride, exhibiting low-key confidence with such good nature. This was her first brush with Martin’s fame since that night at Ollie’s Fish House. She noticed the men peering inside the car, trying to get a look at her, and she gave them her biggest, most glamorous smile.

“Why did they do that?” Kylie asked from the backseat when they were driving again.

“Hockey is very popular in Canada,” Martin explained. “Some of those guys have been watching me play practically my whole life.”

“Why were you writing things for them?”

“That’s called signing autographs,” May told her, turning around. She watched Kylie getting sleepy, clutching her new doll. “They asked Martin because they like him so much.”

“Mickey and Eddie don’t believe Martin’s my friend,” Kylie said. “Because he’s so famous.”

“Oh, I’m your friend.” Martin watched Kylie in the rearview mirror. “You send those boys to me. I’ll show you how to hip-check them into the boards.”

“You will?” Kylie asked, a look of devilish joy filling her eyes.

“Absolument,”
Martin promised. And as he used his native language, driving toward his boyhood home, May watched a more peaceful expression of bliss spreading across his face. He reached across the front seat to take her hand, and May felt it too, radiating throughout her body. Martin was going home, and he was taking her and Kylie with him.

They arrived in the middle of the night, and May had the impression of a bumpy road, the scent of pine, the Milky Way blazing over mountain peaks. Martin carried Kylie into the guest room, where she and May would sleep until the wedding. Both he and May were fighting back killer desire, but she was touched and a little amused by his old-fashioned determination to stay apart until they were married. She definitely would have tried to talk him out of it if she weren’t so tired from the long drive.

Kylie woke up at first light.

“Oh, my God,” she called, downstairs already. May got out of bed and oriented herself. They had slept in one of two small bedrooms upstairs in a rustic bungalow. Brushing aside the curtain, May saw nothing but deep woods. But when she’d pulled on her robe and walked downstairs, she saw picture windows opening onto the most beautiful scene she had ever seen.

Kylie stood on a small front porch beside Martin. Together they were gazing over a long lake twisting through the mountains. The rising sun painted every rock ledge gold, and the lake itself was deep, dark blue. Swans glided across its surface. Pine trees grew down to the water’s edge, where twenty white-tailed deer were scattered, drinking. Two long weathered barns stood in the shadow of one sixty-foot cliff.

“Bonjour,”
Martin said, holding May.

“It’s beautiful.” May was awed.

“It’s my lake,” he told them. “Where I learned to skate.”

“When you were my age?” Kylie asked.

“Younger. The year I learned to walk.”

“I want to learn to skate,” Kylie announced.

“You will,” Martin promised.

“The deer are so close,” May said. “And there’s not another house—anywhere!”

“It’s private,” Martin agreed.

“You should get married right there.” Kylie pointed at an old gazebo nearly hidden from view by pine trees, rustic and delicate, made entirely from birch branches and wood. “Or there,” she said, pointing at a small dock jutting into the lake, a small rowboat tied by a line. “Or inside,” she called, running back into the house.

“Or here on the porch.” Martin gently kissed May’s lips.

“Or anywhere at all,” May said, touching his face.

“Do you like it here?” Martin asked.

“I love it.” May had never been anywhere so peaceful and beautiful; Kylie’s rapture made her so happy she could barely speak.

“It’s my home,” he said. “It always has been.”