Summer Desserts

pink-ribboned box. “But I wanted to bring you a wedding gift.”
    “So sweet.” Monique brushed her lips over Summer’s cheek. “And I have something for you. Something I hope you’ll always treasure.” Stepping aside, she drew Summer in.
    Not like this, Summer thought desperately when the first shock of seeing Blake again rippled through her. She’d wanted to be prepared, rested, confident. She didn’t want to see him here, now. And his parents—one look at the woman beside Blake and she knew she had to be B.C.’s wife. Nothing else made sense—Monique’s kind of sense.
    “Your game isn’t amusing, Mother,” she murmured in French.
    “On the contrary, it might be the most important thing I’ve ever done. B.C.,” she said in gay tones, “you’ve met my daughter, oui? ”
    “Yes, indeed.” With a smile, he handed Summer a glass of champagne. “Nice to see you again.”
    “And Blake’s mother,” Monique continued. “Lillian, may I present my only child, Summer.”
    “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Lillian took her hand warmly. She wasn’t blind and had seen the stunned look that had passed between her son and the actress’s daughter. There’d been surprise, longing and uncertainty. If Monique had set the stage for this, Lilian would do her best to help. “I’ve just been hearing that you’re a chef and responsible for the new menu we’ll be boasting of tomorrow.”
    “Yes.” She searched for something to say. “Did you enjoy your sailing? Tahiti, wasn’t it?”
    “We had a marvelous time, even though B.C. tends to become Captain Bligh if you don’t watch him.”
    “Nonsense.” He slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “This is the only woman I’d ever trust at the wheel of one of my ships.”
    They adore each other. Summer realized it and found it surprised her. Their marriage was nearing its fortieth year, and obviously hadn’t been without storms…yet they adored each other.
    “It’s rather beautiful, is it not, when a husband and wife can share an interest and yet be—separate people?” Monique beamed at them, then looked at Blake. “You would agree that such things keep a man and woman together, even when they have to struggle through hard times and misunderstandings?”
    “I would.” He looked directly at Summer. “It’s a matter of love, and of respect and perhaps of…optimism.”
    “Optimism!” Monique clearly found the word perfect. “Yes, this I like. I, of course, am always so—perhaps too much. I’ve had four husbands, clearly too optimistic.” She laughed at herself. “But then, I think I looked always first, and perhaps only, for romance. Would you say, Lillian, that it’s a mistake not to look beyond that?”
    “We all look for romance, love, passion.” She touched her husband’s arm lightly, in a gesture so natural neither of them noticed it. “Then of course respect. I suppose I’d have to add two things to that.” She looked up at her husband. “Tolerance and tenacity. Marriage needs them all.”
    She knew. As B.C. saw the look in his wife’s eyes he realized she’d always known. For twenty years, she’d known.
    “Excellent.” Rather pleased with herself, Monique set her gift on the table. “This is the perfect time then to open a gift celebrating my marriage. This time I intend to put all those things into it.”
    She wanted to leave. Summer told herself it was only a matter of turning around and walking to the door. She stood rooted, with her eyes locked on Blake’s.
    “Oh, but it’s beautiful.” Reverently, Monique lifted the tiny hand-crafted merry-go-round from the bed of tissue. The horses were ivory, trimmed in gilt—each one perfect, each one unique. At the turn of the base, it played a romantic Chopin Prelude. “But, darling, how perfect. A carousel to celebrate a marriage. The horses should be named romance, love, tenacity and so forth. I shall treasure it.”
    “I—” Summer looked at her mother, and suddenly none of the practicalities, none of the mistakes mattered. “Be happy, ma mére. ”
    Monique touched her cheek with a fingertip, then brushed it with her lips. “And you, mignonne. ”
    B.C. leaned down to whisper in his wife’s ear. “You know, don’t you?”
    Amused, she lifted her glass. “Of course,” she answered in an undertone. “You’ve never been able to keep secrets from me.”
    “But—”
    “I knew then and hated you for almost a day. Do you remember whose fault