The Memory of Us: A Novel (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

I kept my eyes closed at the break of daylight, basking in remembered details, one by one. Every word and every touch had been absolutely perfect.

The only cloud in my newly sunlit world was the fear that Kyle might have second thoughts in the reality of the day. After all, a lifetime of expectation and effort was not going to be easy to release. Maybe he didn’t really mean those things and had let his guard down temporarily. Certainly the emotions of losing a parent could distort one’s intentions.

The nagging fear only grew worse and soon converted my previous elation into outright panic. To compound everything, I wasn’t going to see Kyle today, so I couldn’t be comforted by his reassurances. If there were any to come.

I became frantic with ways to occupy myself so that I wouldn’t think of it. I organized my closet, then alphabetized the books on my shelves. I helped Betty in the kitchen. I read the
Daily Post
. Italy had beaten Hungary in the World Cup last night. That would surely be what everyone talked about today. But nothing worked. Maybe I needed a change of scenery.

It was Monday, so Father planned to go into the warehouses earlier than usual to get a start on the week. Maybe I could ride into town with him. But he beat me to it.

“Julianne.”

“Yes?”

“If you can spare the time, I could use some help with the bills of lading. They need to be grouped into shipping lines and then calculated for invoicing. Remember, you lost our match, so no getting out of it.”

He needn’t have thrown in the reminder. It was the perfect chance to get out of the house. And it would be nice to spend the day with him.

“Of course I can spare the time!” I gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He looked at me as if I were a crazy woman. Sorting chin-high stacks of paper was not my, nor anyone’s, idea of how to spend a day, but he had no way of knowing how desperate I was for a distraction.

“You’re driving,” he said. I grabbed my handbag, and he handed me the keys to the Aston.

Father talked about business all along the way, technicalities that I couldn’t possibly keep straight. Shipping was his life, his mistress, his religion. Even over backgammon, he’d regale me with updates on cargo regulations. He’d been that way as long as I could remember, but I wondered if it had always been so. Was it who he was, or was it his escape from the devastation of Charles’s birth, his public version of Mother’s clandestine drinking?

Today, though, I was relieved that he wasn’t attuned to the finer details of my life. Unlike Mother, whose sobriety seemed synchronized to my rides home with Kyle in the last few weeks. She’d tried cornering me several times already to register again her concern over the amount of time that I’d spent with him. Before last night, I had honest excuses.

“It’s good practice for school, Mother.”

“It will help me keep up my skills over the summer break.”

“No, there’s not anything between the McCarthy boy and me. He’s a gardener, Mother, really!” I’d tell her anything she wanted to hear.

But now? Would I be forced to choose between my parents and Kyle, my obligations and my love? Could they ever accept the Irish Catholic boy who lived by the tracks?

We pulled up to the cavernous square of redbrick buildings that framed Albert Dock. The water gave off the putrid smell of low-tide fish and harbored sea vessels. But I knew that to my father, it smelled like money. A flock of gulls basked in a sunny spot that had escaped the shadow cast by the warehouse. But they scattered at the sound of the car door, save for one whose injured wing prevented him from flying off. I sympathized with him as together we watched the rest of them soar past a Cunard liner and disappear.

The monotonous project of sorting the bills of lading was heartily welcome today. I categorized them by imports and exports, and then by shipping companies—Maersk, Messageries, Intermodal, and so forth. Meticulously, I calculated their charges for temporary storage in our warehouses. It took me nearly six hours.

When I was finished, I peeked into Father’s office and saw that he was still working. I debated between taking a bus home and waiting for a ride with him, and decided to help a little longer. Dusting the shelves and doing some filing, I stayed busy for another hour. He emerged then, jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Well done, Princess. You’re a natural, you know. You could be great.”

“Thanks, but I have other plans.”

“I know, I know. But I hope you know that it’s always here for you if the nursing thing doesn’t work out.”

“The ‘nursing thing’ is working out just fine. Maybe you should come see me in London sometime and I can show you.”

“I’d like to. You know that. But I can’t get away.”

That was his excuse for everything. Why he hadn’t come to my ballet recitals. Why he was late for my graduation ceremonies. I knew he loved me, but there was no doubt as to his priorities.

I tossed him the keys this time and sat in the passenger’s seat before he could protest. I was tired and dusty after being in the warehouse, and I couldn’t wait to shower off. My thoughts turned to Kyle again, to the impossibility of last night and the agonizing fear that he would think it was a mistake. It was too painful to contemplate. I had to think about something else, and I knew just the thing.

“Father?”

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you have any more children? You know, it would have been nice to have a sister—or a brother.”

Now, in a theatrical production, this would be his cue to pause, reflect, and tell me in choking words that I
did
have a sibling. And he was so sorry for keeping my brother from me. The turning point of the script.

But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, you know, Princess. The business was going through a major expansion when you were born, and there just wasn’t any time. Besides, once you start with perfection, you can only go downhill from there.” He squeezed my hand as if he were proud of the compliment he was paying me, but I pulled it away and looked out the window.

“That’s too bad. It would have been nice.”

“I’m sure it would have. At least you have Lucille. She’s like a sister to you.”

“Yes, at least I have Lucille.”

Poor Charles. Was he entirely forgotten?

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep all the way back.

He pulled up to the front door and told me that he had some documents to drop with a client.

“Tell your mother I won’t be home until late. Mr. Laurent is in from Paris, and I need to meet with him about the opera shipment.”

But Mother had something to tell me first. As I closed the door and walked toward the grand staircase, she called out to me.

“Julianne.” She said it like a command.

I turned around. She was sitting in the parlor with her back toward me. In front of her lay pile upon pile of fabric swatches. Her finger landed on the top one, and she traced its scrolled pattern as though hypnotized.

“Yes?”

“I’m having the Victorian chairs reupholstered. What do you think of this?”

She gripped the corner of the nearest one, and still she didn’t look at me. I stepped into the parlor and approached the table. The fabric was hideous, not something that I ever would have imagined her choosing.

“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.”