picture.” May gazed at the girl’s face. “She’s beautiful.”
“Merci bien . ”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” May said. “If you’ve been thinking Kylie has some connection to your daughter. She’s very sensitive—she sees things other people don’t. I’ve been taking her to some psychologists in Toronto. See, we had this traumatic thing happen once. We found a body on a nature hike.”
“A body?”
“A man who had hanged himself. She’s very curious about death,” May added.
“She knew the plane was going down,” Martin said. “She asked me to help you.”
The waitress came over to clear their plates away. May’s heart was beating so loud she was afraid Martin and the waitress would hear. For reasons no one understood, her daughter saw angels. How could she give him the alternate explanation: that Kylie hadn’t known about the crash, that she had just been looking for a suitable father-figure, that she’d wanted a father her whole life, that May had never quite managed to provide her with one?
“I think she just liked the way you looked,” May said. “She probably wanted you to help us with our bags.”
Martin laughed. He stared at his daughter’s picture for a moment longer, then replaced it in his wallet. “Carrying your bags would have been easier,” he said. “Would you still have given me those rose petals?”
“Yes, I probably would have,” May said, glad to stop talking about Kylie.
“They brought me luck, those petals. I want to thank you, but I also want to ask you for a favor.” He grinned, as if he wanted May to think he was kidding, but she could see he was completely serious. May kept her expression steady. She felt shaken up by their time together—by a million strange emotions racing inside. She was close to the edge, and she didn’t know what she’d see if she leaned a little closer.
“What would you like?” she asked calmly.
“A few more,” he said. “Don’t tell my teammates; they’d have me on the bench so fast…but I’m an old man in the NHL, and this might be my last real shot at the Stanley Cup. It’s crazy, I know.”
“Crazy?” May laughed. “I work in a world where standard operating procedure is something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. I meet with doctors who study the supernatural. A few rose petals don’t seem weird to me at all.”
“So you’ll give me some?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have some back at the barn. I’ll give them to you when you drop me off.”
“D’accord,” he said. “That’s a deal.”
An hour later, after taking the long way back, Martin followed her into the old barn. He felt intoxicated by the smells of hay, lavender, honeysuckle, and roses. He had thought the scent was coming from the countryside, but when May stopped short, he realized it was coming from her neck. She led him through the darkness with owls and nighthawks calling from the rafters above.
“Do the owls scare the brides?” he asked.
“The birds are quiet during the day,” May said. “And the brides almost never look up. Sometimes I find piles of fur, shells, and bones on the floor, and I make them into little wedding amulets to bring the brides luck.”
“Owl throw-up,” Martin said. “Very romantic, non ?”
“I’ll give you one.” May opened a heavy glass door and led him into a dark, humid greenhouse. Grow-lights glowed darkly over rows of new shoots. “For luck.”
Martin tried to control his breathing. He wasn’t known for the sensitivity he showed to people, especially women, but in talking about his mother and grandfather earlier, he had felt something ancient awakening in him, the part of him that knew and cared how people felt. Then the conversation had started veering too close to Natalie, and Martin had felt the ice come sliding down.
But this time, he felt something different: He wanted to tell May more. He had the feeling he could trust her, that he would be telling
“Merci bien . ”
“I don’t want to disappoint you,” May said. “If you’ve been thinking Kylie has some connection to your daughter. She’s very sensitive—she sees things other people don’t. I’ve been taking her to some psychologists in Toronto. See, we had this traumatic thing happen once. We found a body on a nature hike.”
“A body?”
“A man who had hanged himself. She’s very curious about death,” May added.
“She knew the plane was going down,” Martin said. “She asked me to help you.”
The waitress came over to clear their plates away. May’s heart was beating so loud she was afraid Martin and the waitress would hear. For reasons no one understood, her daughter saw angels. How could she give him the alternate explanation: that Kylie hadn’t known about the crash, that she had just been looking for a suitable father-figure, that she’d wanted a father her whole life, that May had never quite managed to provide her with one?
“I think she just liked the way you looked,” May said. “She probably wanted you to help us with our bags.”
Martin laughed. He stared at his daughter’s picture for a moment longer, then replaced it in his wallet. “Carrying your bags would have been easier,” he said. “Would you still have given me those rose petals?”
“Yes, I probably would have,” May said, glad to stop talking about Kylie.
“They brought me luck, those petals. I want to thank you, but I also want to ask you for a favor.” He grinned, as if he wanted May to think he was kidding, but she could see he was completely serious. May kept her expression steady. She felt shaken up by their time together—by a million strange emotions racing inside. She was close to the edge, and she didn’t know what she’d see if she leaned a little closer.
“What would you like?” she asked calmly.
“A few more,” he said. “Don’t tell my teammates; they’d have me on the bench so fast…but I’m an old man in the NHL, and this might be my last real shot at the Stanley Cup. It’s crazy, I know.”
“Crazy?” May laughed. “I work in a world where standard operating procedure is something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. I meet with doctors who study the supernatural. A few rose petals don’t seem weird to me at all.”
“So you’ll give me some?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have some back at the barn. I’ll give them to you when you drop me off.”
“D’accord,” he said. “That’s a deal.”
An hour later, after taking the long way back, Martin followed her into the old barn. He felt intoxicated by the smells of hay, lavender, honeysuckle, and roses. He had thought the scent was coming from the countryside, but when May stopped short, he realized it was coming from her neck. She led him through the darkness with owls and nighthawks calling from the rafters above.
“Do the owls scare the brides?” he asked.
“The birds are quiet during the day,” May said. “And the brides almost never look up. Sometimes I find piles of fur, shells, and bones on the floor, and I make them into little wedding amulets to bring the brides luck.”
“Owl throw-up,” Martin said. “Very romantic, non ?”
“I’ll give you one.” May opened a heavy glass door and led him into a dark, humid greenhouse. Grow-lights glowed darkly over rows of new shoots. “For luck.”
Martin tried to control his breathing. He wasn’t known for the sensitivity he showed to people, especially women, but in talking about his mother and grandfather earlier, he had felt something ancient awakening in him, the part of him that knew and cared how people felt. Then the conversation had started veering too close to Natalie, and Martin had felt the ice come sliding down.
But this time, he felt something different: He wanted to tell May more. He had the feeling he could trust her, that he would be telling
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