The Memory of Us: A Novel

by Camille Di Maio

  Love, Julianne

  It wasn’t perfect, but my hand was cramped, and it was the best I could do at this point.

  I placed it on my bed in the morning, put Lucille’s letter in the post stack, and left with my suitcase. I closed the door behind me, not knowing what I would return to should I ever open it again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kyle’s truck was parked in its usual spot down the road. He took my suitcase and put it in the back.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.” He kissed me on the cheek and couldn’t stop grinning. “This is it. Are you ready?”

  “I have never wanted something more.”

  “May I ask a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “We have some time before Father Sullivan is expecting us. Would you mind if we drive out to Charcross to visit my father’s grave?”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

  We drove out once again to the vast cemetery. This time, we knew just where we were going and didn’t stop at the church. Kyle had a pile of flowers sitting between us, and he took a handful of them with us when we walked over and knelt at the site.

  I asked, “Do you think he would have approved of us? Of today?”

  “I do.”

  “I mean, wasn’t it his dream to see you become a priest?”

  “I think it was. But he really grew to love you as you spent the last weeks with him. He even told me that you reminded him of my mother.”

  “He did? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “He said that you were a cailín maith—a good girl—and that my mother would have liked you. That’s as good a compliment as he could ever give.”

  “That’s a nice thought. I loved him, too, you know, crustiness and all.”

  We walked hand in hand back to the truck and made our way to Saint Stephen’s.

  Before we got out, he gave me the remaining armful of flowers. They were all my favorites—tulips, calla lilies, and daffodils.

  “I’ve been growing these especially for you. I was going to give them to you as they bloomed, but I decided that I’d save them for my beautiful bride should have a bouquet that equaled her.”

  “I’m speechless, Kyle.”

  “Well, that’s a first.”

  “Oh, shush.” I punched him lightly in the side. “But really, they’re stunning. Wherever did you grow them? You don’t have a garden at your flat.”

  “Oh, Miss Ellis was able to find a little corner of earth for me.”

  I brightened up at her name.

  “I have something else for you,” he said, pulling from his coat pocket a little velvet bag, which he emptied into his hand. Three rings fell out.

  “Hold out your hand.” He picked up the one with the diamond. “Here is your engagement ring back. Now you can wear it always.” He slipped it on my finger, and I held out my hand to admire it.

  “Here’s a small wedding band to match it,” he said, giving it a nudge on his palm with his fingertip. “We should wait for you to put that one on, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose,” I conceded.

  “And this one,” he said, picking up the remaining ring, a larger gold band with a line of silver running along its middle, “this was my father’s wedding ring. I thought it would be appropriate.”

  I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I can’t believe this is really happening.” I took the rings from him and returned them to their little velvet bag, which I tucked into my handbag to be used later in the ceremony.

  The wedding was just what it needed to be. Plain and uncomplicated, nothing like what my mother would have liked to plan. Once I might have wanted the same thing that she did. But that was back when I thought that the spectacle of the event was actually necessary. Now I understood love, and I knew that what mattered was Kyle and me and our commitment. I held the flowers in my left arm and kept my right one linked through his.

  The vows rolled off my tongue with ease as I promised to love Kyle until death, for better or worse. Even more, I loved hearing the words “I do” as he professed them back to me. He rocked back on his heels after he said that, his joy barely contained.

  My favorite words came from Father Sullivan. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Husband. Wife. New roles for us. I said the words a few times, and in their newness they tasted sweet like a confectionary. I’m sure that I was not the first newlywed to savor them.

  Mr. Alden, the landlord, and Mrs. Mawdsley were our witnesses, the first beaming at us with a proud smile, and the second looking like she wanted to pull my hair out. Our marriage was now unwelcome to three people, and we were hopeful that there weren’t any more.

  Kyle asked Mr. Alden to take our picture and handed him his camera. We took some of just the two of us, then some with Father Sullivan. Mrs. Mawdsley was invited to join us, but not surprisingly she declined.

  With the most sincerity that I may have ever expressed, we thanked Father Sullivan for his support and his belief in us. Kyle and I were well aware of what he had done to make this happen. We invited him to join us for a late breakfast, but he insisted that the “young couple go off and get their honeymoon started.”

  Not needing to be told twice, we raced out of the church at the most respectable pace we could manage.

  Kyle headed east out of Liverpool. Before long we passed through Wallasey, and we recalled our day there back in December. It seemed like so long ago.

  “You know,” Kyle confessed, “I almost kissed you, right in the middle of all those Christmas trees. You looked so adorable with my wool cap pulled over your ears.”

  “I wish you had kissed me then, and I expect you to make it up to me.”

  “I intend to, Mrs. McCarthy.” And we bantered on like the hour-old married couple that we were. This kind of silly love talk once made me roll my eyes when I heard it. But now that I was in the middle of it, I couldn’t get enough.

  Continuing west, we passed Abergele, Conwy, Llanfairfechan, then Bangor. I thought that this might be our destination at last, as I had heard much about the university town, but Kyle kept driving.

  The next town of note was the seaside town of Caernarfon, and it was here that he told me we would be spending the next three nights. But before we checked into our hotel, he wanted to take me somewhere else.

  He approached the pier and waited in the queue while other cars entered the ferry ahead of us. Parking the truck on the bottom level, we walked up two flights to the outside deck. Most people stayed on the interior deck, so we were happy to find a spot where we could sit alone. The movement along the water created wind, and he chuckled at my attempts to keep my hair from flying into my eyes and mouth. He asked if I would like to go downstairs, but I declined, preferring this secluded spot.

  We didn’t talk much as we crossed the Menai Strait, just enjoying the rhythm of the water. I swayed to the lullaby. When I grew cold and wrapped my arms around myself, Kyle layered them with his own.

  We landed at Anglesey Island. After waiting a few minutes to let the stairs empty, we returned to the motorcar level and sat in the truck until it was our turn to disembark. The truck sputtered and whined as Kyle turned the ignition, but soon we were making our way around the other side of the strait.

  Verdant and rocky, Anglesey was not heavily populated. Before long we were in an area that was even more remote. The seaside road forked, and Kyle consulted a map before turning left onto a long and skinny peninsula. As we drove through the middle of it, there were times when I could see the water on either side of me in the distance. It seemed as though we were moving along the narrow finger of a woman beckoning us toward her to learn her hidden secrets. Kyle told me that it was called Llanddwyn Island, as sometimes, depending on the tide, the thin strip of land seemed to be disconnected from Anglesey.

  We passed the random lighthouse and cottage, but Kyle didn’t slow down until we reached a rolling, stony field. In the middle sat the ruins of what was once a small building. Only three sides rema
ined standing, if you could even call them sides, as they weren’t nearly as tall as they once had to have been. One side had an open, arched space that probably used to serve as a window. The rest looked like nothing more than neatly laid rows of piled stones, haunting echoes of their former selves.

  Kyle stopped the car, and I couldn’t imagine why we had come all the way for this. When I saw him pick up his camera, I searched my handbag for a little lipstick and rouge. If he was planning to take my picture, I wanted to look my best. When I’d finished touching myself up, he told me to bring my scarf, and I could only assume that he thought it might get a little windy again.

  I put my arm in his and let him lead me to the ruins through paths of mosslike grass. “Where are we, Kyle?”

  “This is, or it was, the Church of Saint Dwynwen.”

  “Of who? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Of her. Saint Dwynwen lived in the fifth century. She fell in love with a young man named Maelon, but her father wanted her to marry someone else. She begged God to spare her from this unwanted marriage, and an angel appeared to give her a potion that would erase all of her memories of Maelon. Instead, it turned him into a block of ice. She promised to retreat from the world if God would thaw him, and her wish was granted. She founded a convent on this very spot, and her fervent prayer for the rest of her days was that all lovers would find happiness, since she did not.”

  “How sad! How lonely for her.”

  “Yes, it must have been. But years later, in the Middle Ages, this became a site of pilgrimage for lovers seeking her intercession. Legend says that there was once a pool of water here, populated by eels. Couples would throw bread crumbs in the water and cover them with a scarf. If the eels ate the bread and disturbed the scarf, it was a sign that the lover would remain faithful.”

  “How peculiar. But I suppose it’s romantic in its own way.”

  He laughed at that. “Well, have no fear, there are no eels here. Not anymore, at least. But I did want to bring you here, since Saint Dwynwen is the patron saint of lovers. I thought it would be an appropriate place to begin this weekend.”

  Kyle’s gifts were from the heart, dearer to me than anything that could have been bought at Harrods. Who else would have thought of something like this?

  “I also wanted to take a picture of you here, because you have never looked more beautiful than today.”

  I arched my eyebrow, trying to imitate the way that he did it when he was trying to be funny, but I failed to pull it off. I knew that my face had to be red and my hair windblown. Surely I was miles from beautiful. But he insisted. I put my scarf around my neck, thankful that it wasn’t destined to be eel food, and sat in the opening of the ancient window. Taking his time to frame the picture correctly, Kyle snapped away once he was happy with the position. I posed nicely, but when I thought he had taken enough shots for at least one to turn out well, I made silly faces until he laughed and joined me in the window.

  Sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me closer with my scarf, he kissed me tenderly.

  We couldn’t stay any longer, as there was only one ferry going back today. As romantic as it might have been to have our honeymoon right then and there, it would likely get very cold and the warmth of a hotel bed sounded much more inviting.

  I took off my scarf, found a jagged rock, and tied it around twice so that it wouldn’t loosen and blow away. I whispered into the ruins, “Look after us, Saint Dwynwen, that these lovers will be faithful until the day we die.”

  The ferry back was even colder, and I begrudgingly agreed with Kyle that we should sit downstairs this time. I rested my head on his shoulder and nodded off as the water rocked me once again.

  I dreamed of Saint Dwynwen, beautiful maiden of long ago. Her long red hair became part of the breeze, and she seemed to be shouting to me. I couldn’t hear her, so her cries became more desperate. But I couldn’t understand her warning over the sound of the waves.

  It was dusk when we arrived in Caernarfon. Kyle had booked a room at the tiny Menai Bank Hotel—a charming, peach-colored bed-and-breakfast overlooking the straits. With its bay windows and pointed dormers, it looked like something out of a storybook. Being a Thursday, it looked like we were the only guests for the night, although they expected to be full tomorrow and through the weekend.

  But tonight, we were told, it was all ours.

  We took the key and raced up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty

  The counter of the reception desk at the Menai Bank Hotel was arrayed with colorful pages advertising local sites. The brochure for Caernarfon showed pictures of the immense historic castle that was a short drive from our hotel. Roman ruins could be found nearby at Segontium. Viking ruins were in Beaumaris. We saw none of these.

  When we finally emerged from the hotel into the bustling town, it was late afternoon on our last full day. The sky was the kind of gray that heralded an impending dusk, and the sun began its descent by sending out orange cascades to line the clouds. We walked hand in hand to the bank of the Afon Seiont and found the rowboat rental that had been recommended by the hotel owner.

  “Are you Brecon?” Kyle said to the grizzled man who sat on a whitewashed pier.

  “Ie,” he said.

  “Good, then. We’d like to take a row on the river before it gets dark.”

  “That’s the only one I have right now,” he said, pointing to a small white vessel to his right. The rowboat needed a coat of paint but looked to be waterworthy. In blue letters on the back, the name Aberfa was printed. “But she’s a good girl.”

  Kyle handed over the named amount and held my hands as I stepped in. Brecon gave her a shove and we glided out, barely missing some fishing boats on either side. Kyle didn’t speak while he looked over his shoulder and navigated the narrow passage. I was impressed that my husband could maneuver it so ably.

  When we had cleared the banks and entered the wider body of the river, he relaxed.

  “Stretch out your legs, Julianne,” he said.

  “Won’t they be in your way?”

  “Has any man ever minded the legs of a beautiful woman being next to him?”

  I blushed. “Kyle McCarthy, you say such things.”

  “And I will say them forever, Mrs. McCarthy.”

  I grinned at the delight of my new name.

  We rowed past attached homes painted a myriad of colors to distinguish their borders. Their roofs displayed various shades of red, which were really the reflection of the sun’s setting rays. We passed fishing boats and recreational boats, lingering picnickers on the banks, and in the distance we could see Caernarfon Castle and the hills behind it. It was beautiful, but Kyle and I still existed in that newlywed state where the wonders surrounding us couldn’t begin to compete with the gaze of the person in front of me.

  “I found a place to go to Mass in the morning,” he said. “Saint Monica’s. I can slip out early and let you sleep. Then we can eat breakfast and head back home.”

  I turned my head and couldn’t speak.

  “What’s the matter, Julianne?” He stopped rowing.

  I tilted my chin down to my chest. Kyle leaned forward and we both shifted to maintain our balance. He reached out his hand.

  “You don’t want to think about tomorrow, do you?”

  I pursed my lips and shook my head.

  “My darling, you don’t have to worry about anything. We’re a team now. There’s nothing you’ll have to go through alone.”

  I looked up at him. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to my parents. I don’t have any idea how they’re going to receive me. I wish we could just forget Liverpool and go straight to London.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I know this is going to be difficult for you. But don’t let it spoil these last few hours.” He put his hand around my face and drew it nearer. He placed a delicate kiss on my lips and said, “I love you. No matter what, you can count on that. Nothing can change how I feel.”

  I nodded a
nd smiled, and the tears that had come to my eyes refracted the light of the setting sun. We didn’t speak again as he turned the Aberfa around and returned her to her owner.

  The next morning I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep. I had taken Kyle’s advice not to let thoughts of today detract from the time we had and seen to it that we didn’t let it go to waste. I was hungry, but I noticed that Kyle was already awake and lacing his shoes.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m heading out to Saint Monica’s for Mass, remember? I wanted to let you sleep.” He came over and placed a kiss on my forehead.

  “I’ll go with you if you can give me a minute. But can we have breakfast first?”

  “I can’t, love. Fasting.”

  I sat up, pulled the sheet over me, and started brushing my hair with my fingers. “What do you mean?”

  “It means that I can’t eat before going to Mass.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s one of the rules. The physical hunger we feel is supposed to call to mind the spiritual hunger we should have for our Communion.”

  “OK. I’ll just take your word for that. There’s a lot I don’t understand, Kyle.”

  “You don’t have to. You have a lifetime to learn about it. And only if you want to. I’m not making any demands or asking anything of you.”

  “I know. You’ve been good about that. But I want to understand, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask questions.”

  “Of course not. Come on.” He put his hands out to mine and pulled me up. The sheet fell from me, and my nakedness was revealed. I walked my fingers up his chest to his shoulder.

  “Are you sure you want to leave so early?”

  He kissed the palms of my hands. “My love, there is nothing I would like more than to stay right where we are, for today and forever. But,” he said, as he let go and turned around, “we do, in fact, need to get back to Liverpool today, so I am going to have to decline. Very regretfully decline.”

  I jumped up. “Then I’m going with you.”

  “Would you like for me to grab a roll for you from the kitchen? You’re not fasting.”