Summer Light: A Novel (46 page)

Waking Kylie up, May had her walk inside on her own. It was little times like this—knowing that Martin would have carried her sleeping into the house—that made May long for how things had been. But she felt Martin take her arm, and leading him up the snowy path, she reminded herself to be grateful.

The house was warm and cozy. Genny had hung a wreath on the door, set up a small Christmas tree. Good friend that she was, she had left it undecorated for Kylie to do later. She had also left a basket of fresh home-baked muffins and a jar of ginger jam for Christmas breakfast.

Snow had fallen during the last few days, covering everything outside with a thick mantle of white. May wished there was a moon, so she could see the mountains and lake, but all she could see was one bright star in the sky. It hovered just over the northern hills, glinting in the dark blue night.

Kylie peered out at the lake, scanning with purpose.

“Are they here?” she asked.

“Who?” Martin asked.

But Kylie didn’t reply. Still looking for the angels she’d followed north from Boston, she stepped off the path into deep snow, wanting to run down to the lake. May had to lift her up, carry her into the house.

“They didn’t come,” Kylie cried. “I was wrong.”

“Wait till morning,” May advised. “I’m so happy we’re here, and it was all your idea.”

“It was?”

“Yes.” May kissed her good night, tucking her under the warm winter quilt. May was exhausted from the long drive. She wanted to sit up, smell the evergreens Genny had left and feel the peace of their home, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Martin and Thunder were sitting downstairs in the living room.

“Who didn’t come?” Martin asked when he heard her enter. “What was Kylie talking about?”

“A dream she had last week,” May told him. “Of old ghosts.”

“Too many of those here,” Martin said bitterly. “We shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe you’ll feel differently tomorrow,” May said.

He grunted. That might have been because he was still trying to drive May away, or it might have been weariness from the long drive. Kissing her husband hard on the lips, May chose to believe the latter. “Come to bed soon, okay?” she asked. He didn’t answer, and May didn’t press.

Martin didn’t know how much time had passed. Had he fallen asleep? If so, what had woken him up? His mother’s clock ticked across the room. His elbow leaned on the small pine table, a gift from his father’s grandmother in Alberta. Had something happened to May or Kylie?

Kylie’s dream of old ghosts…it had somehow entered Martin’s head, and he realized he’d been dreaming of the past. Other Christmases, long ago, in this same house. The sound of his mother’s knitting needles clacking, the feel of a baby in his arms.

“Natalie,” he said out loud.

Something moved across the room. A skirt swishing along the floor, an animal brushing past the table. He leaned forward with a start. Listening intently, he heard only the sound of his own heart beating. Or was that Thunder’s tail thumping on the floor?

“Who’s there?” he asked.

Thunder let out a small whimper. It sounded like fear, and when he did it again, Martin knew for sure there was someone else in the room.

“Who it it?” Martin asked again.

“Look at me,” came the voice.

Martin was dreaming. He shook his head, thinking of ghosts again. He hadn’t heard that voice in many years. Kylie’s gift for dreaming of the dead had rubbed off on him, and he strained himself listening. The lightness of it, the sweetness and joy. He knew her voice as if it hadn’t been silent all these years, as if she had never died.

“I’m dreaming,” he said, wanting never to wake up.

“You’re not,” Natalie whispered.

“I have to be; this can’t be real.”

“But it is. Go on—look at me.”

“I’m blind.”

“Daddy,” she said.

“I can’t see you,” he said. “Even in my dream.”

Then he felt her fingers on his face. She must have touched him hundreds of times in her lifetime—grabbed his nose or ears, tickled his chin, rubbed his scratchy beard with her tiny hands—and he would have known the feeling anywhere.

“Open your eyes,” she said.

And Martin did, and he saw. His daughter stood before him, dressed in white, gazing into his eyes.

“Oh, my sweetheart,” he said, feeling the tears come to his eyes.

Her dress looked like a child’s first communion dress, and she had wings that glimmered when she moved. Her face was radiant, as if she couldn’t believe they were together again. Stretching her arms out, she stepped forward.

“How have I lived without you?” he asked. He reached for her, but she backed away.

“The same way I’ve been without you,” she answered.

“I miss you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Too much, I think.”

“That’s impossible,” he said. “You’re my beautiful child. My life changed forever the day I lost you.”

“Daddy, it changes every day. That’s what life is. A million changes, one right after another.”

Thunder bayed, waddling over to stand by Natalie. Glancing down at the dog, Martin raised his eyes back to the girl. She returned his gaze, as if she knew what he was thinking.

“Archie,” she said.

“I should have let you have that dog,” he said, his eyes flooding with tears. “It was so little to ask. I think of it every day.”

“But you let Kylie have Thunder,” Natalie said. “Do you know that when you let her keep him, it was like giving Archie to me? You gave us a second chance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” she whispered, sounding too wise for the tiny girl she had been.

“I loved you so much,” he wept.

“Don’t say ‘loved,’ Daddy,” she said. “Love never dies.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I had to show you,” she said. “That love never dies.”

She reached out her hand and he started to take it. She pulled back slightly and said words that chilled his heart. “This will be the end. Once I hold your hand, I’ll never be able to come back again. This will be my last night on earth.”

“No, Natalie,” he started to say. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He took his daughter’s hand, just as he had when she was alive. He hugged her tenderly, not believing it could ever end—no matter what she said. “Tell me what to do. Anything, Natalie. I’ll do anything.”

“Get our skates and mittens, Daddy. Will you, please?” she said—and in her voice he recognized his own and his father’s before him—things kids had said to parents here at Lac Vert for generations. So Martin went to the kitchen shed and grabbed his old brown skates and Kylie’s new white ones. He took his mittens and a jacket from the mudroom.

They walked out into the cold night, Thunder galloping after them. Natalie led the way down the snowy path, straight toward the lake. They stopped in the gazebo to lace up their skates. One section of the surface was clean, as if Ray had plowed it, and following Natalie, Martin skated onto the ice. They held hands, flying up the lake.

The night was so dark, with just one bright star piercing the velvet sky. Was he blind or could he see? Holding his daughter’s hand, he forgot to care. They skated north over the fishing hole where he had spent so much time with Kylie these last two summers, and he ached to think of how poorly he had treated her recently.

“I sent her to you,” Natalie said, as if she could read his mind. “I knew you needed a daughter to love. Kylie was the one; she could see and hear me, and she helped me to find you again. See, Daddy, this night is as much for me as for you.”

“How, Nat?”

“I need to find a way to say good-bye.”

“Sssh,” Martin said.

They passed the island, skated around it, and came to what Martin remembered as the Green Cove. This was where he and Ray had learned to play the game of hockey. Martin remembered his father setting up a goal of pine branches, teaching Martin, Ray, and Genny to shoot with precision and power and accuracy.

Suddenly, as if his vision had not only returned but become extrasensory, Martin could see them all playing. A dark winter day thirty years ago, with the light dying and night falling, his father shouting out commands and encouragement. The look in his father’s eyes! Martin stared with disbelief: It was bright with love, with adoration for his only son.

“He left us the next year,” Martin said.

“It hurts to be left,” Natalie said.

“I hate what he did to you.” As Martin said the word “hate,” the scene disappeared, and he was back to the present, in this dark night of Christmas thirty years later. Natalie shimmered beside him, holding his hand.

“He hates it, too,” Natalie said. “He would never have done it on purpose, not for anything in the world.”

“Forgive me,” Martin whispered. “For leaving you with him, for not being able to protect you. Please forgive me, Nat.”

“I don’t need to, Daddy,” she said.

“I can’t believe that.”

They began to skate home, very slowly, and Martin felt fear and dread growing in his chest. She’d be leaving soon. The dream would end, and Natalie would be gone and he would be blind again. When they were in sight of the house, they saw Thunder waiting on the ice.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. “Never leave me again.”

She didn’t reply, but held his hand tighter. He remembered her baby days, when he had skated with her in a backpack all the way up to Ray’s house, just to show her off.

“It’s almost time,” she said.

“Don’t say that.”

“I have to know what you know,” she said. “It’s the reason I came back, that I’ve been among the living.”

“What I know?” he asked, confused.

“You’re my father,” she said solemnly, “but I’ve learned some things that most people, even adults, don’t learn until—”

“Until it’s too late,” Martin said, guessing her last words.

And then her voice filled the air with a sweetness so piercing it brought tears to his eyes: “The truth.”

Listening, Martin trembled, feeling the bitterness in his heart suddenly give way. It broke like a dam, pouring out of him like a river.

“You saw, didn’t you, Daddy?” Natalie asked. “Back there, at the old goal?”

“I saw my father,” Martin said, his voice breaking. “Me and my friends, when we were young.”

“Not just who,” Natalie said tenderly. “But what?”

“Love.” Martin answered, again picturing the look in his father’s eyes. He held the word in his mind, a thousand images filling his sight: his mother’s arms, his father’s eyes, May’s embrace, Kylie’s constant warmth.

“Prisons don’t all look alike,” Natalie told him. And her words were so deep, Martin had to look twice to make sure it was really her. A huge icicle fell from the barn roof; it crashed and tinkled, and the falling ice became the sound of bells. The bells rang loudly, and Thunder bayed.

“Prisons don’t all look alike,” Natalie said again, as if the words were very important. She was crying, but she had an expression of love and happiness on her face. When she kissed Martin, he saw her tears sparkling on his skin, and remembered that summer night when Kylie had left glitter on his cheeks.

“My darling child,” Martin said.

“Go see your father,” Natalie said.

Martin felt himself nodding, agreeing to something he didn’t quite understand. Natalie threw herself into his arms, and he hugged her with everything he had. His heart was pounding, and he knew that although he never wanted to let her go, it was the only way she could ever be free.

“I love you forever, Daddy,” she said. “Tell Kylie thank you.”

“Nat…”

“For everything. Everything!”

“Natalie…” he whispered.

But she was gone. The ice bells were still ringing, and the first light of Christmas morning began to fill the sky. It was dark gray, but as Martin stared it turned silver. The star hung low over the hills, and Thunder bayed until his voice was hoarse.

Still seeing clearly, Martin walked back into the house. He wanted Natalie to be waiting inside, but she wasn’t. He looked all around the room, and his gaze fell on the old embroidery picture his mother had done before he was born.