“Thanks, but no. Whatever you do, I’ll do. We’re in this together.”
The church was far less ornate than both the Immaculate Heart of Mary and Saint Stephen’s. The people mainly worked in the fishing trade, and they were adorned as simply as their church. The heads of the women were covered with long lace veils, and I felt self-conscious at not having one. I made a note to ask Kyle to get me one for the future so that I wouldn’t embarrass him.
I was getting used to the Latin, and for the first time I followed along with a missal. It wasn’t as intimidating once the translations were in front of me. The English reminded me of something Shakespearean, with its many thees and thous. The hardest part for me to catch on to was all of the standing, sitting, and kneeling. I tried to follow whatever Kyle was doing but was always, noticeably, a second behind. He told me later that posture was part of prayer—just one more thing that I would have to learn.
We arrived back at the hotel for breakfast, packed our suitcases into the truck, and headed west. With each mile, I found it harder to breathe, anticipating what scene might be waiting for me when I arrived home.
We had the first argument of our marriage, and I hoped our last. Kyle had every intention of going in to speak with the parents of his wife. He felt that they deserved that respect and that I deserved to have my husband by my side through what was undoubtedly going to be a challenging conversation. I knew that he was right. I knew it, but I adamantly refused his assistance. It was a conversation long overdue, and I needed to do it on my own.
Quite reluctantly, he gave in and agreed to meet me by the lake.
As he drove off, it felt as if my heart beat louder than the rumble of the truck. I turned to face our house. The stately brick manor had never looked so intimidating. It had always been home, and yet I realized suddenly that it was no longer my home. I was a married woman, and home for the foreseeable future was going to be our studio flat in London.
I felt guilty but only for the disappointment that I had caused my parents. Not at all for marrying Kyle. If I went in with my head hung, it would look as if I had something for which to be ashamed. Then again, if I held it high, I would appear aloof and uncaring of my parents’ wishes. I decided to carry myself in a way that best relayed what I was feeling and hoped that it would make my intentions apparent. I was neither ashamed nor arrogant. I was a happy bride, and I wanted my parents to share that joy with me.
Taking the key out of my pocket, I opened the latch loudly, hoping to give them notice of my arrival. The door creaked on cue, and I closed it without finesse behind me. Surely, they knew I was here, but no one came out to greet me. I walked around the parlor and through a few other rooms, but they were empty. At last, I looked at the closed doors of my father’s study, with light shining through the seams. He never left lights on unless he was in there.
I knocked gently.
“Come in,” he said, releasing in me a strong wave of déjà vu.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly wished that Kyle were here after all to steady me. Why hadn’t I listened? Four days in, and I was already failing at marriage.
I opened the heavy wooden door and closed it behind me without yet looking at the figure behind the desk.
Turning around hesitantly, my first impression was that Father had aged ten years in four days. I had expected him to be angry with me, but his expression as he regarded me was one of pure desolation. This would have almost been easier if he had showed some outrage. A part of me felt as if I deserved it.
I walked to one of the chairs across from him and perched upon its edge. This time, he didn’t walk around to join me.
“Papa . . .” I said, using a term that I hadn’t spoken in a decade but feeling suddenly like I wanted nothing more than to climb into his lap and embrace him.
“Julianne.” He used the same tone that I’d heard him use with errant employees.
We sat for a moment at a stalemate, assessing one another and not knowing what to say next. My face tingled as tears formed and rose to the surface. “Papa,” I said again, rising and beginning to move around the massive desk, putting my arms out.
“Have a seat, please.” He pointed to the chair I’d just vacated.
I returned to it and sat with my hands folded in my lap. I twisted my wedding band around and around my finger.
“Where is Mother?” Surely, she knew that I was coming back, as I had stated in my letter that I would be returning this afternoon.
He looked at me, surprised that I even had to ask. “Your mother has decided to visit your aunt in Hereford for a few weeks.”
Without saying it, he was telling me that she did not wish to see me now nor see me off to London in a few days. It was obvious how she felt about this. I clung to the fact that my father had remained. If he had wanted to avoid me, there were many trips he might’ve taken. But he was here, and that had to count for something. I was grateful for this shred of hope.
“You got my letter?” I asked, although that answer, too, was obvious.
“Of course. We found it Thursday afternoon, and I spent the rest of the day driving everywhere I could think of, looking for you. I suppose it was too late by then, though.”
“Yes, Father. We got married at nine, and drove to Anglesey from there.”
He didn’t respond, so I gave him some details about the wedding and the places that we had visited in the last few days. My nervous chatter filled the silence, an empty space that I wanted to avoid at all costs.
Finally, I said, “Father, I’m sorry. At least, I’m so very sorry that I hurt you and Mother. You have to know that it is not what I wanted. But I am not sorry, not even a little, that I married Kyle.”
“And where is Kyle? Don’t you think that at least the young man could come and face me on his own?”
“He wanted to. In fact, he was quite angry with me when I insisted that he let me come here on my own. Please don’t blame him for that. I didn’t give him any choice.”
“He was right to be angry, Julianne. If you think that you are mature enough to get married, then you have to have the maturity to accept what comes with that. Whether I like it or not, Kyle is your husband, and he should be here.”
“You’re right. He was right. I was wrong to send him away.”
“Let me ask you a question. Are you with child? Is that why you did this?”
“Am I what? Of course not! What a thing to say.”
“Well, it would just explain this whole thing.”
“No, it wouldn’t. I’ve already told you the explanation. I love Kyle, he loves me, he’s coming to London with me, and we wanted to be married.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy starving, because that’s what will happen there. I’m not going to support you any longer.”
“That’s just fine with me. I know it will be a struggle, but we have plans, and we have each other.”
“Julianne.” He leaned forward. “Look. I am disappointed that you disobeyed me. I am appalled that you married someone that I explicitly disapproved of. But more than that, I am angry. I am angry that you lied to me and did this behind my back.”
“We tried to include you. Kyle came to speak to you. But you didn’t listen.”
“That’s like a wolf telling the hen that he’s going to raid the coop just before he does. Some man you married. He sat in this very room and listened to what I had to say and even seemed to agree, and then has the audacity to turn around to do exactly what I forbade. Is that what is passing for a Catholic today? Deception? Manipulation? A fine priest he would have made.” He pounded his fist on the desk so forcefully that the pens rattled in their canister. “But he is no longer the issue. I have always prided myself on our open and honest relationship, and I don’t see how I can trust that anymore.”
No. He could not have just said those words. I was ready for the fight.
“I agree, Father. Open and honest. Which is why you told me about Charles, right?”
His
eyes widened just a bit at that name, but his face remained set. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Open and honest. That’s why you have been so forthright in telling me that I have a twin brother.”
His jaw quivered and finally dropped open. “How did you—”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. I just do. It would have been a nice thing to know, growing up. That I wasn’t the only one. It could have been a lot less lonely.”
“You don’t understand. He’s not like you. He’s a very unfortunate boy.”
“No, I do understand. I understand that he likes chocolate. I understand that he loves growing things. I understand that he likes to take walks. I understand that he can’t hear me or see me, but that he knows I’m there.”
He slumped into his chair like a defeated schoolboy. “How . . . how do you know these things?”
“Because I’ve been to see him. Many times over the years. Oh, you picked a lovely place for him, and I’m glad for that, but the problem is, he can’t see the marble floors or the brocade curtains. But he can feel the presence of another person, and it makes him feel loved. He might have liked to know his parents.”
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. He looked up at me with red eyes.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be in my position and to have a son, only for him to turn out, well, the way that he turned out. You don’t know what it did to your mother.”
I felt certain I had a very good idea of what it did to her, but chose to keep that to myself and let him talk, now that he seemed of a mind to. He sighed and gripped a youthful photograph of her from the side of his desk.
“She used to be so vibrant, so joyful. I met her at a concert out at Newsham Park. Everyone was so elegant in all of their finery, sitting properly and clapping politely as each piece finished. But not your mother. Her shoes peeked out of her skirts, and they moved with the music. The rest of her body was still, but underneath, she was dancing.”
I listened expectantly, caring more than I wanted to. They’d always said that they’d met at a charity ball. I didn’t know this part of it.
“I caught her eye, and I expected her to turn away. But she didn’t. She looked straight at me, almost like she was daring me. So I started moving my feet, too. Just a little, but she saw it. I didn’t have the rhythm that she did, though. We went on like that for the rest of the concert, ten seats away from one another, moving our feet discreetly and stealing glances. When it was over, she disappeared, and I drove myself mad looking for her. That’s why, when I saw her at the ball a couple of weeks later, I headed straight toward her, asked her to dance, and put my name on every slot of her dance card.”
He looked back at me and set the picture down. He leaned in and folded his hands together over the desk.
“She was so alive. Nothing frightened her. There was nothing that she couldn’t do. Then you and Charles were born. She wanted a son so badly, because she knew I wanted one. When he came out, well, so wrong, something broke in her. She wouldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t even try to nurse him.”
He hung his head down and shook it. He continued, almost in a whisper. “She’s never really come back to me, my Beatrice. Sometimes she’s like a stranger.”
A part of me was moved by this sad, arid portrait he’d painted of their marriage. But I couldn’t help thinking of what he’d said about my husband, words he had yet to retract.
“But why didn’t you go see him? All this time, you have a son and you’ve never gone to see him.”
“It’s easier just to forget. But I suppose one can never forget. It’s easier just to pretend and to move on.”
“That may be so, but you’ve robbed me. You’ve robbed yourself, and you’ve definitely robbed him. How’s that for being open and honest?”
He sat straight up again and pounded his fist on the desk. “Don’t try to distract me from the real issue here. Perhaps I’ve made my own mistakes, Julianne. But that doesn’t excuse your behavior. This conversation is still about you and that Catholic boy.”
“That Catholic boy has a name, Father. It’s Kyle. He’s my husband now. And do you want to know how we met?”
“Frankly, I don’t. In fact, I’m going to ring my barrister and see what can be done about this.”
“No, you’re going to listen to me. I met Kyle at Bootle Home, where he was taking care of Charles. He was taking care of your son, out of the goodness of his heart, while you sat here, far away, denying his existence. You might donate to the cathedral, and Mother might raise a king’s ransom for the less fortunate, but so much for your values. They’re empty. All this time, it’s a Catholic who’s been doing what you should have been doing all along.”
He looked as if I’d struck him, as if we both saw our long-cherished rapport crumbling before our eyes.
I stood up. “I’m sorry that you can’t see it that way, Father, but you have a choice here. And if you make the one that I think you will, it is your loss. Here’s some honesty for you, since it seems to be so precious. You’ve lost a son. You’re going to lose your daughter. And you’re going to lose out on knowing the best son-in-law that one could hope for. You are a wealthy man, Father, but you are a poor, poor excuse for one.”
I marched out the front door and ran off into the park to find Kyle.
We left for London on Thursday, on a nine o’clock train, a week to the hour from our wedding. It was amazing how seven days could change everything. Kyle had sold his truck to the man who replaced his father at Bootle Home. I’d planned to make it out there with him, to say my good-byes to Miss Ellis and to Charles, but a terrible cold kept me in the flat, so I asked him to extend my love to both of them.
Before we left, I had seen Lucille, who peppered me with questions. They ranged from “How are your parents going to explain this to their friends?” to “What is it like to make love—really, do tell me, because I am so nervous!” and everything in between. To the first, I answered that I didn’t give a whit what they would tell their friends. To the second, I answered that she would have to find out for herself, but I promised with a wink that it was wonderful.
My parents were noticeably absent at the train station, but Lucille was there, as well as Father Sullivan.
The train ride was our second trip together in a week, and I was glad that Kyle wasn’t driving so that I could sit closer to him. When I was hungry, he pulled out cucumber sandwiches that he had packed. Third class was so different from the luxury I had traveled in only a year ago. Gone were the etched carvings, the embroidered upholstery, the doting service. But I paid no mind to all of that. Kyle was an excellent substitute for all of that posh. I believed I was living in absolute bliss.
Well, almost.
The flat that Kyle had inquired about from an advertisement was still vacant, which we originally thought to be a stroke of luck. But when we saw it, we realized that the description had been woefully optimistic. Cozy, cottage-like flat above charming neighborhood café should have read: Dingy closet situated above obnoxiously noisy pub; rats available at no extra charge. We left as quickly as we could, grateful that we had not sent in a deposit or signed any papers. We stayed for the first few nights in a boardinghouse and scanned the newspaper for another option.
We were just about to give up hope when I had dinner with Abigail. Kyle was meeting with his new employer, and Dorothy hadn’t arrived back in town yet.
“A runaway marriage, now? And you thought I was a bold American. You’re an honorary member of the club.” Abigail had hung on to every word of our story. “What are you going to do now?”
“Well, Kyle has a job with a landscaper, and I’m going to ask the hospital for some kind of employment to offset my tuition. I don’t think I can afford to come back full-time, but I’ll still work away at it. Maybe they have some kind of housing for married people.”
“Oh, nix that. There’s a waiting list and it could be another ye
ar before you get one of those. I think I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?”
“My father’s assistant just got transferred to the embassy in Rome. She had a lovely little flat not too far from the school, and she has to sublet it. It can’t possibly cost very much, not on a secretary’s salary. Maybe something can be worked out.”
“You’re a peach, Abigail.”
“Hey, it’s the least I could do for stealing your boyfriend.”
“Oh, Roger? He was never really my boyfriend. And you’re much better suited for him.”
“Ha! I don’t know about that. I often wonder what some of his stuffy colleagues think of me. I mean, I know how to act correctly at these functions we go to. I’m not the daughter of a diplomat for nothing. But my mouth can’t help but get the better of me once in a while. Still, he seems to like my crazy hide. Especially when I let him touch it.”
“Abigail!”
“Oh, don’t pretend that I shock you. You know me better than that. But our proper parliamentarian friend, I’m telling you—he has a wilder side.” She pressed her finger into the table squarely to drive home the statement.
“I have a hard time believing that.”
“Oh, but it’s true. There was this one time—”
“I do not want to hear this.”
“OK, I wouldn’t want to damage your innocent ears. On the other hand, you’re married now—you should know what I’m talking about.”
“Another subject, Abigail.”
“Fine, then. When do you want to see the flat?”
We were able to get in the next day, and it was ideal. It was closer to the school than to Kyle’s office, but he didn’t mind the commute. It was in Lambeth, on Black Prince Road, above a pub called the Jolly Gardeners. We occupied the middle floor of the three-story, red-and-white-bricked building. The rumbling of the train just a block away became such a routine noise that we no longer heard it. It was also a little more expensive than we had budgeted for, but it was furnished, so we made up for it out of some money that we had earmarked for that. The icing on the cake was a place on the roof where Kyle could place several wooden boxes for growing herbs and small vegetables. It reminded me of Charles and how he liked to put his hands in soil.
The Memory of Us: A Novel Page 23