The Memory of Us: A Novel

by Camille Di Maio

  “Didn’t you just do those a couple of years ago?”

  I knew very well she had. She’d had those chairs redone when I announced that I wanted to be a nurse. And when I was twelve, and she caught me trying to compete in the park’s boat races. And at seven, when I fancied the idea of being a circus performer someday. They had become a time line of her disappointment in me, a curious thing to focus on, a needless thing to control.

  “Yes,” she murmured, “but I’m tired of that pattern.”

  She placed her hand flat on the swatch and turned to look at me. A look of restrained fury twisted the features of her face, normally so beautiful. She moved her hand to clutch an envelope sitting on the table and proceeded to wave it in front of my face.

  “Kyle McCarthy stopped by asking for you today.”

  Kyle had been here? My heart skipped a beat.

  “I told him that you were away, so he left you a note that he’d written. Julianne, you must know I cannot possibly—”

  I cut her off and took the envelope from her hands, ripping the corner in the process. Surprisingly, it was still sealed. “It’s probably just an update on his father.” I wasn’t going to tell her that I had found out about his death early this morning. Or how enthusiastically I had consoled him. I stifled a smile at the thought.

  “I warned you, I warned you, Julianne Westcott, that his intentions were inappropriate, and you didn’t listen to me.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t blame him if he’s got some ridiculous notions about you. He can stand in line with ten dozen others. But if I were to think for a minute—a second, Julianne—that you returned those feelings, I’d disown you here and now.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “Don’t test me. No daughter of mine is going to carry on with someone so beneath her, so inferior—”

  “So beneath me? Why? Because he works with his hands? Because he doesn’t come from a proper family with loads of money? Is he beneath me because he turns to God instead of the drink, like some people I know?”

  The slap that lashed my cheek burned like hell. I’d called her on it—her pettiness, her weakness. No one confronted Beatrice Westcott. But I had, finally.

  Damn the consequences. I had a note from Kyle.

  I ran to my room, but turned around at the landing and threw a punch of my own. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Father won’t be home for dinner. Again. No wonder. I’d rather eat with some boring old client than to have to sit there with you and your judgments and your secrets, night after night. At least I get to go away to school again. He’s stuck with you here forever!”

  I sank into my feather bed after locking my door more loudly than necessary. My heart raced, whether from the argument or the anticipation of the letter, I didn’t know.

  But at last I was alone with Kyle’s words. Words that could either relieve the fears of my day or words that could break my heart. I held it to my forehead and closed my eyes, willing it to be the former. And then I opened it.

  Darling Julianne—I am so happy to be able to say it openly and not just think it. I know that I said that I wouldn’t be able to see you today, but I couldn’t help it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, and all I want to do is see you again. My father’s burial is tomorrow at eleven. If it’s all right with you, I can pick you up at 10:30. Despite the occasion, I can hardly wait.

  All my love, Kyle

  I read it again—three times, four times, pausing on certain words. Kyle had no regrets. Kyle had no regrets! The truth of it played over and over in my mind. How foolish I’d been to think otherwise. Of course he loved me. All that fretting for nothing.

  I went to my closet to pick out something for tomorrow. I found a black crepe dress, short black gloves, an old but classic hat, and my best silk stockings. I laid them on my chair and went to turn on the showerhead so that the water could start to warm up. As I undressed, I caught my reflection in the mirror, seeing myself in a new way, seeing myself as a woman desired by the man I loved.

  Turning right and left, I noticed the slenderness of my legs, the outward curve of my hips, contouring into a narrow waist. My breasts were of medium size, if I was to compare myself to other girls, and I wondered if that mattered as much as Abigail said it did.

  My imagination got the better of me until the steam from the shower misted over the mirror and I could barely see myself. I stepped into the hot water and washed away the strangeness of the day.

  I couldn’t wait to get into bed. The sooner I slept, the sooner it would be tomorrow. But first things first. If I didn’t defuse Mother, this would be a miserable summer indeed. At best, she would double up her efforts to pair me off with someone more to her liking. At worst, she would restrict my activities beyond comprehension. With confirmation that Kyle returned my love, I needed as much freedom to come and go as I could muster. So I acted preemptively. Preparing a most solemn expression, I headed into her dressing room, where she was putting on one of her many nightgowns.

  “Mother, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I don’t know what came over me. It was a long day at the office with Father, and I suppose I was just worn out. But it’s no excuse. I apologize.”

  She didn’t look at me as she slid her arms through a matching silk robe. Ice blue, and no wrinkle daring to make an appearance.

  I continued. “And I suppose I was just anxious about news of the elder Mr. McCarthy. I can’t help but be concerned, since he was sort of a patient of mine.”

  She looked at me then, pointed to her hair, and sat at her vanity table. I picked up the boar hairbrush and started at the bottom, gently smoothing out any knots. This was a sign that she was open to listening. “Kyle was only writing to tell me that his father died last night.” I worked up to the middle, and then to the ends, just as she’d taught me when I was a child.

  “I am sorry about that, Julianne. I know that you worked very hard to make him better.” The words stumbled out of pursed lips, but I capitalized on the slight concession.

  “Well, there wasn’t much hope for him getting better. I was really there to tend to his needs. Good nursing experience. I might be able to earn some extra credit out of it.” Part of me cringed for being so crass about what had been such a beloved time, but I couldn’t share any of that. And besides, I needed to soften her up for tomorrow.

  “Anyway, Kyle offered to take me to the funeral in the morning. I think that it would be both kind and useful to go. You know, kind of the final bit to the whole thing.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose that I can say no to that. But Julianne . . .”

  “Yes, Mother?” Our eyes met in the oval-shaped mirror.

  “Be careful. Despite what you say, I think that Kyle has been pouring too much attention on you. Just keep your head and don’t be naïve about it. After this, I don’t see any reason why you should even see him again.”

  I nodded in feigned obedience.

  She sat up straighter and looked at me with a chill in her eyes that belied the casual tone of her words. I felt the unspoken warning before she broke the stare and spoke again.

  “And how silly of me to think that you would return any romantic notions where he is concerned. I raised you to be a smart girl.” She slipped off her jewelry and went right into the next thing on her mind. “Anyway, your timing is good. Tomorrow afternoon Mrs. Sheldon is coming for tea, and her grandson, Simon, will be with her. He is a very nice young man, and he seems to have taken an interest in you. You know, he is reading law at Oxford.”

  “Yes, I heard something about that. I don’t know how long the funeral will go, but I will try to be home in time for tea.” The lies were coming more easily to me. If I were Catholic like Kyle, would that be something I’d have to confess? It felt completely justifiable right now, under the circumstances.

  I brushed the crown of her hair, finishing again at the ends, and stepped back so that she could admire my work. She ran her hands down the length
of it and smiled approvingly. I must be back in her good graces because she turned her cheek out to me.

  “Good night, Mother.” I kissed her perfunctorily.

  “Good night, Julianne.”

  I went to the kitchen where I knew that Betty would have saved some supper for me. Breaking yet another rule, a minor one in comparison, I took the plate to my bedroom. Mother feared attracting rats by having food upstairs.

  In the morning, at 10:30 sharp, I heard the welcome roar of Kyle’s truck. Looking down from my window, I noticed that he was more dressed up than I had ever seen him before. He wore a black three-piece suit, white shirt, and gray tie. I hurried down just in time to see Mother taking in his new look. Her eyes were more approving than she wanted to be. Kyle’s funeral attire made him look more like someone she would encounter socially. Unfortunately, I knew that the everyday Kyle, the one I loved, would never measure up.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Westcott,” he said, taking off his fedora.

  “Good morning to you. I am sorry to hear about your father.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Westcott. And thank you for allowing Miss Westcott to attend his burial. She was very helpful to us these past few weeks.”

  “Well, good. She might be earning some extra credit at school for it.” I winced at her tactlessness.

  Kyle looked my way, and I saw the tiredness in his eyes.

  My mother turned. “Ah, here she is now. Julianne—don’t forget about tea with Mrs. Sheldon and her grandson this afternoon.” She gripped my hand with authority and cast a menacing glance at Kyle as she spoke to me. “Did you know that Simon’s mother was a Dewhurst, from the Dewhurst Tea Company? I hear they have homes in Cardiff and in Paris. Such a catch.”

  “I will try my best to be here, Mother.” I wrangled myself away, and we made our way to the truck. I would have offered the Aston, but I didn’t want to deny Kyle the dignity of driving me in his own vehicle.

  It wasn’t until we’d driven the length of the winding drive and passed through the gate that I was able to shed the pretenses displayed for Mother and let myself delight at being alone with Kyle again. Even the gravity of the occasion couldn’t dampen my spirits. He must have been thinking the same thing. At the first opportunity, he stopped the truck on the side of the road and slid over to me.

  “Good morning, gorgeous!” He rested his head against mine, and we closed our eyes, tentative in the bittersweet emotions coursing through our bodies on this unusual morning. He moved forward for a slow and gentle kiss that rapidly became more hungry.

  “Good morning, yourself,” I said between breaths.

  He pulled back, resting his head against mine once again. “I intend to do that every morning for the rest of our lives.”

  “I would like that. I think my mother might have some objections, though.”

  “Then I will have to convince her that her gardens need lots of attention to give myself a reason to be here all the time.”

  “And you’d have to move to London with me.”

  “I’ll pack up tomorrow.” He slid back to the wheel and started down the road.

  Levity aside, I asked, “Where are we going?” I had expected to drive toward town to Saint Stephen’s, but we were driving in the opposite direction, toward the country.

  “We’re going to a cemetery at All Souls in Charcross, past Knowsley Park.”

  “Not Saint Stephen’s?”

  “I was there this morning. We had a rosary and a funeral Mass for my father.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have been there.” I hated being left out of any corner of his life.

  “Well, I know that you didn’t feel comfortable last time that you were at Mass in London, and I didn’t want to put you in a difficult situation this morning. There’s a lot of standing and kneeling, and Latin.” He knew that I would shudder at the last one, completely intimidated by the language that was so literally foreign to me.

  “Well, that makes sense. This isn’t the morning to jump right in. But Kyle, if we’re going to be together, you’re going to have to teach me how to participate there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if I’m going to go to Mass with you.”

  His eyes widened. “You mean that you’d become Catholic for me?”

  “I’d become German for you, if that’s what you wanted.”

  “Hmm.” He looked toward the road, lost in thought.

  We arrived at a sprawling piece of land. Headstones dotted the horizon, with angels and crosses scattered among them, their height and detail indicating the wealth of the families that commissioned them. The arched iron gate reading “All Souls Cemetery” had seen better days. Flaking black paint revealed layers of color that had been applied in the fashion of long-ago years. Off in the distance I could see a tiny stone church with a steeple and bell tower. Next to it was another stone building, about the same size as the church. I asked Kyle about it.

  “That’s All Souls church, and next to it is the rectory. The priest lives on one side and the groundskeeper on the other. The congregation is very small, being all the way out here, but he’s mostly here to conduct funerals and burials, and to counsel the grieving.”

  “How depressing!”

  “Well, it depends on the priest. Some of them like this post because they’re reclusive by nature, and this is about the loneliest church you could get appointed to. On the other hand, there are those priests who have a real gift for this work and see it as an important ministry. Either way, though, I’ve heard that the isolation gets to you after a while, so they rotate priests about every two or three years.”

  The cemetery was enormous, and Kyle told me that the oldest sections had been there for several centuries. The ones closest to us dated the farthest back. Their headstones were sunk into the ground at varying angles and their letters were weathered in places; the names and memories of the unfortunate ones below were slowly being erased. The newer ones ran up the hill and were arranged in ordered, symmetrical rows.

  It would be impossible to find our way to the specific gravesite on our own, so we drove to the church. Kyle instructed me to wait in the truck while he asked for directions. I rolled the window down and looked at the church in more detail.

  It was small. From the exterior, I doubted that it would fit more than a hundred people. It was constructed of stones in brown and gray, randomly laid, with white mortar seams that had discolored over time. The steeple seemed taller than it had from the road, and I saw two bells in the tower. I wondered what they would sound like—two solemn wails echoing and mourning in this vast resting place. The roof had a steep slant, and below it were simple windows, rectangular at the bottom until they came to a pointed arch at the top. The lone door mimicked the shapes of the windows.

  In front of the church was a courtyard lined with the same kind of stones. An elderly couple walked out of the church, rosaries in hand, followed by Kyle. The woman pointed toward the rectory, and I couldn’t hear what she said to him. Kyle knocked there and was greeted by what must have been the most recent priest sent to this beautiful desolation. I could see him nod as he put his arm around Kyle’s shoulder, inviting him in. Kyle turned around to me, gesturing that he would be right back. When he returned, he had the plot location and a map of the grounds.

  “We’re all set,” he said. “I’m glad we stopped. We could have been driving around forever!” He handed the map to me and asked me to navigate for him.

  The newest part of the cemetery was about half a mile away, and it didn’t take us long to find our destination.

  Stopping the truck, he opened my door for me. I looked out and saw six other figures there already. Kyle leaned in toward my ear to tell me who they all were.

  “You remember Father Sullivan and Mrs. Mawdsley. The others are Mr. Alden, our landlord since as long as I can remember, and two parishioners from Saint Stephen’s. The other one is Mr. Paddock. He owns a bar near our flat and is also from Wicklow. My fath
er always enjoyed grabbing a pint or two there and reliving the old days. Mr. Paddock is the only person who could ever make Dadaí laugh about the past.”

  “Do you think that he’s laughing now, being with your mother and sisters?”

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  I folded my hands together as though in reverence, but more because I didn’t want Kyle to hold them. I was suddenly very intimidated that we were about to see people who were part of his life and who were, no doubt, aware of his previous vocation. I didn’t know what he might have told them yet, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to.

  But Kyle had different plans. Without knowing the uncertain anxiety that was racing through me, he worked one hand free of the other and grasped it tightly.

  I tried to pull it away, but his grip was too strong. “Are you sure that you want to do that?” I whispered. “What are they going to think?”

  “That I am a lucky man to be holding the hand of such a beautiful lady.” I could tell that he had already considered the angles to this situation. And unlike me, he had chosen to be forthright. I felt ashamed at the contrast between my deception and his courage, and silently vowed to follow his lead in the future.

  I couldn’t help but be pleased that he was so confident in us.

  Us. It had a nice ring to it.

  I had trouble making eye contact with Father Sullivan, despite what Kyle had told me the other night. In any case, it was no matter that Father Sullivan might be understanding of it—Mrs. Mawdsley glared at me as if she would throw me down in that two-yard-deep hole if she could.

  My thoughts quickly turned to our purpose for being there, and I laid my hand affectionately on the simple coffin that held the body of the elder Mr. McCarthy.

  “Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis,” Father Sullivan began. Although I didn’t understand the words, I prayed for Kyle’s father in my own way and bowed my head like the others. I had brought a rose from Mother’s garden, from the bushes that he had spent too brief a time tending, and I tossed it over the coffin, whispering a good-bye.