A Love for Rebecca (28 page)

“You’re right. It’s just that I get so furious when I think about Mario.”

“Forget it; we can’t do anything about it now.”

“Fine, let’s focus on the present.” He finished his coffee. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to go,” Pablo said, having discreetly listened to their conversation from across the room.

“Go? To Scotland?”

“Do you still love him?”

There was a moment of silence before she nodded.

“So what are you waiting for?

“What if he
 . . .
”

“If he isn’t still interested in you?” Enric asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you have to lose?”

Rebecca hugged herself, holding in a sudden chill. “Only the happy memories that remain.”

“Do you want to live on memories the rest of your life?”

She sighed and shook her head. “But he might be very bitter. Maybe he hates me, maybe
 . . .
”

“Maybe, maybe! You’ll never know if you don’t go.”

Her heart began pounding at the prospect of going to Beauly. Then she thought about work; she couldn’t leave in the middle of the term.

“Even if I wanted to go,” she said, “I’d have to wait until classes end.”

“That’s three months from now,” Enric pointed out. “Who knows what might happen in that time? From the picture you showed me, he looks like an attractive guy. He’s recently divorced, doesn’t have kids; he’s still young
 . . .
I’m sure there’s more than one woman waiting to pounce. If I were you, I wouldn’t give them a chance.”

“Oh, God, I don’t know what to do
 . . .
And Sofi
 . . .
”

“Don’t worry about Sofi. She’ll stay with us,” Pablo volunteered, glancing at Enric, who nodded in affirmation.

“We’ll take turns,” Enric added. “Dad can manage with just one of us for a few days.”

Rebecca bit her lip, unsure, struggling to control her emotions. Enric put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “If you truly love this guy, go see him. Talk to him. If he doesn’t feel the same way, if he’s bitter or just not interested, you’ll be at peace with yourself for finding out, and you’ll be able to get on with your life.”

Enric’s words were the push she needed. She bought her plane ticket, knowing that if she didn’t go see him, she would regret it for the rest of her life. She couldn’t keep living like this, with life passing before her eyes, the memories of Scotland—of Kenzie—never far from her mind.

She decided to tell her parents. She saw the unconditional support in her father’s face and the initial shock in her mother’s. Still, Elvira didn’t say anything. She sat with her lips pressed together, unable to conceal her disapproval.

Rebecca suspected her mother wouldn’t take it sitting down. She wasn’t wrong; two days later her mother showed up at her apartment.

“I cannot believe you’re still thinking about all that,” she said as soon as she entered.

“Shhh. Be quiet. Sofi’s napping.”

“How can you even think of going to see that man after all this time?” Elvira said, lowering her voice.

“Eight years, to be exact. You might not be keeping track, but I am.”

“Of course you are. Sometimes I think you’re incapable of rational thought.”

Rebecca led her mother to the kitchen and closed the door behind them. “And you, Mother? How rational do you think you are? Because in all these years, the only thing I’ve learned from you is that status and appearance are more important than anything else. More important than principles, or fidelity, or love.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about fidelity,” Elvira said.

Rebecca turned her back and brushed aside the hair on her forehead. Her voice was subdued. “Yes, I know. What I did was wrong.”

“At least you admit it.”

“I recognize my guilt, but you’ve never understood that I was in love.”

“That wasn’t love, and you know it.”

“Yes, Mother, it was! And I realize it now more than ever. Maybe if I hadn’t let you convince me
 . . .
”

“You know what Mario would have done if we had called off the wedding.”

“That’s the problem. It wasn’t your wedding, it wasn’t our wedding; it was mine. You knew just as well as I how selfish and cruel Mario was, and still you didn’t raise a finger to stop me from marrying him.”

“And I would do it again before I would let you go running back to that worthless man in Scotland. For heaven’s sake, I did it for your own good!”

“It wasn’t for me; it was for you. It was as if your life was falling apart instead of mine. It terrified you, the thought of having to stand up in front of everybody and tell them there wouldn’t be a wedding because your daughter had fallen in love with another man and had gone to be with him.”

“And you find that hard to understand?”

“Do you think it would have been easy for me? But you never even gave me a chance to explain. Never mind. I was as guilty as you, allowing myself to be convinced that marrying Mario was better for everyone concerned.”

“Be fair, Rebecca. When you left for Scotland, you loved Mario. Three weeks later, you loved another man. One cannot be that fickle.”

“I never loved Mario. I realized that later. I trusted so much in your judgment that I thought I loved him. But I’ve already paid my dues for that. And neither you nor anyone else can stop me now from going to see Kenzie.”

“He probably won’t even remember you. Don’t humiliate yourself, Rebecca.”

“You’re wrong. I know he remembers me—at least he did for a time, even if it was just to curse me. I hurt him badly. But as far as humiliating myself, I don’t care. Mario humiliated me all the time, and you do too. But I’m not the same person anymore. I will never again let anyone dictate my life.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’ve always wanted what was best for my family.”

“Maybe in your own way. You don’t know how else to show it. You’ve always tried to control your children’s lives, imposing your view of the world without giving us a chance to make our own mistakes.”

“You know what? Do whatever you want! But don’t come crying to me.”

“Do you really think I would go to you for comfort? Do you think I’ve learned nothing in all these years?”

Elvira’s face turned red. She had hoped to convince her daughter she was making a mistake, but the balance of power between them had shifted. There was nothing she could do to change Rebecca’s mind. She put on her coat, picked up her Ferragamo bag from the table, and turned to leave. “I can’t help you anymore. You’re an adult.”

“Then let me live my life in peace!” Rebecca choked out in parting.

She didn’t like talking to her mother in such a way; in fact, it broke her heart. She could have yelled horrible things at Elvira, things she deserved to hear, but she didn’t and never would. She’d rather let go of her resentment than hurt her mother with words spoken in anger. She was her mother, after all, and Rebecca knew that in her heart she would always love her.

ENCOUNTER WITH THE PAST

Inverness

March 18, 2014

The plane landed in Inverness, the capital city of the Highlands. Beauly was just a thirty-minute drive away. Rebecca’s initial nervousness had quieted to a contained agitation. She had it all planned out. She hadn’t made a hotel reservation. She knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find lodging in Beauly at this time of year, so she decided to go to Mrs. Munro’s house first. Rebecca hoped she would find her well, but she knew eight years for a seventy-year-old wasn’t the same as for someone in her twenties. She would turn thirty this year; Kenzie, thirty-four.

She didn’t know what to expect. Eight years ago she’d said good-bye to a youthful man; now she was on her way to meet an experienced adult who wasn’t expecting her. But neither was she an innocent girl; she’d become a mother and had survived a bad marriage. Still, she wondered if she was crazy for even being here. For better or worse, she’d soon find out.

It was already dark when she got in the taxi. The driver was listening to the radio. He lowered the volume and asked her destination.

Her memories sprang to life even more on the way to Beauly. Thinking about Kenzie being under the same sky she was looking out on provoked a storm of emotions. It wasn’t raining just then, but the ground was wet and the branches of the trees were blowing in the breeze. A song came on the radio, and the driver turned up the volume.

“Does the music bother you, ma’am?” he asked in a strong Scottish burr.

“No, it’s fine.”

The song was “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” and as if the sky and the music were in cahoots, it began to rain. The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror, and they both laughed. “Good thing it’s not falling on
our
heads,” he said.

When the taxi stopped on Riverside Drive, in front of Mrs. Munro’s house, Rebecca saw a light on inside. It was a good sign. She breathed a sigh of relief, paid the driver, and got out of the car. The rain had let up. The driver lifted her suitcase from the trunk, wished her a good stay in Beauly, and left. The wind carried with it a few straggling raindrops. She turned her face toward them, the cold wetness clearing her thoughts.

She entered through the wooden gate and walked through the garden to the house. She noticed some bushes that used to be small and round but were now taller than she was. She put down her suitcase and rang the bell, her hands a bit clumsy from the cold.

No one answered, although she could hear a television playing. This early hour was Mrs. Munro’s usual dinnertime. She pushed the bell again, holding it for a moment.

Mrs. Munro looked almost the same when she came to the door. Her hair was a little whiter, and her posture was not quite as erect, but she appeared to be well. “May I help you?” she asked kindly, peering out earnestly, trying to focus.

“Hello, Mrs. Munro. It’s Rebecca.”

“Rebecca,” the older woman repeated thoughtfully. “Hold on, love. I can’t see anything without my glasses.” She retrieved them from a table in the entryway and looked at Rebecca again.

“Do you remember me now?”

It took Mrs. Munro another moment to recognize her, but when she did, she opened her eyes comically wide. Then she threw up her arms and clasped her hands together. “My dear girl!” She embraced Rebecca and gave her little pats on the back. “Come in, love, and get out of this weather.”

She took Rebecca’s coat and led her into the kitchen, where she had been finishing her dinner. She turned off the TV and offered her guest soup and scrambled eggs.

Rebecca gratefully accepted. She was feeling out of sorts, with the change in temperature and humidity. Her nerves had prevented her from eating much in the past several days, and the hot soup lifted her spirits as it filled her empty stomach.

They ate in silence, and Rebecca was surprised that Mrs. Munro didn’t ask her any questions. She remembered her as being extremely curious, so her restraint was puzzling.

“I was wondering,” Rebecca said, “if I could rent your cottage for a few days.”

“Oh, no, don’t even think about it. You’ll stay here with me as my guest.”

They finished eating and tidied up the kitchen together. Afterward, in the parlor, they chatted about the weather in Beauly and in Barcelona until Rebecca just had to ask, “Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

Mrs. Munro reached out a hand and laid it on her arm. “I’m old, love, and my vision is slowly going, but my head still works fine. You’ve come to see Kenzie. Why else would you travel here alone? And I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable during dinner. It’s not good for the digestion.”

“What do you think?”

“What does it matter what I think?” Mrs. Munro reflected for a moment on the young woman’s face. “Listen, dear, I don’t know what happened between you two. But if you ask me, I say that boy has had the same bad luck as his father. He never should have married Mary Campbell. She was no good for him. Too jealous.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I knew that marriage wouldn’t end well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone knew they got married because she was pregnant. And I don’t blame her alone on that count, no sir! He had something to do with it too, didn’t he?”

Rebecca looked down.

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, but that’s how it was. When he came back from Skye, she wouldn’t leave his side. I suppose he felt lonely, and he is a man, after all. Mary wanted him, and she got him. When he found out she was pregnant, they got married. A quick civil ceremony with just family. I think William was the only one who got something positive out of his son’s marriage.”

Rebecca looked at her quizzically.

“You didn’t know? After all that time, he and the children’s mother, Elisabeth, came face-to-face again. And now they’re inseparable! They’ve lived together on Skye ever since.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened at the news. “Really? That’s . . . that’s wonderful.”

“Too many years had passed, poor man! I hope this new happiness lasts.”

Mrs. Munro got up, went to the sideboard, and returned with a bottle in hand. “I was saving this for a special occasion, but my children refuse to make me a grandmother. I don’t want to die without sampling it.” She brandished the bottle, and Rebecca noticed a stag head adorning it like a diamond necklace around a woman’s neck. “Scottish single malt, of course, an excellent ’74 Dalmore. My doctor says a few sips now and then won’t kill me.

“Besides,” she said with a wink, “there’s not a single healthy old person who doesn’t end up dying. Rebecca, be a dear and get two glasses from the top of the cupboard.”

Mrs. Munro opened the bottle carefully, then poured a bit in each glass. “Don’t drink it yet. First, hold it up to the light to appreciate its lovely amber color. Now give it a little swirl and bring it under your nose. Inhale
slowly
. That’s it. Let the aroma fill your nostrils.”

Rebecca did so, but she sniffed more deeply than she intended, and the burning sensation in her nose made her cough.

“Slowly, love. That’s eighty-proof liquor you’re sniffing. Good. Now, what did you smell?”

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders.

“Come on,” Mrs. Munro encouraged. “Give it a try.”

“I don’t know . . . hazelnut?”

“Anything else?”

“Orange.”

“Exactly. I would add notes of nutmeg and caramel and the unmistakable aroma of oak.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of notes.”

“Now try it. Just a sip.”

Rebecca sipped but coughed again. It had been a long time since she’d had whisky.

“We should add a little water,” Mrs. Munro said. She went and got a small pitcher and added a bit to both their glasses. She sat back on the sofa and savored it with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she looked at her guest. “Now, love, tell me your story.”

When Rebecca woke in the morning, her mouth was dry.
How much did I drink?
she wondered. She rinsed out her mouth a couple of times and drank a big glass of water. Looking out the bathroom window, Rebecca saw a sky suggesting conditions typical of Scotland in the winter: wind, rain, and, if they were lucky, a few periods of relative calm.

Rebecca helped Mrs. Munro with her morning housework to keep her mind occupied. After an early lunch, they sat on the sofa, warming their hands with a cup of tea. Mrs. Munro brought her up to date on all the village news from the last few years. Rebecca was surprised to learn that Kenzie had bought the mechanic shop where he’d worked. The Cameron boys hadn’t wanted to take over from their father when he’d retired. Kenzie had made an offer, and they had accepted. So now he was the owner of his own business and had hired a couple of employees himself.

Rebecca was grateful for Kenzie’s good fortune in that regard, at least.

As for Sophie, Mrs. Munro only knew she lived in Edinburgh with her boyfriend, a young man who worked in the registrar’s office at the Scottish National Gallery, where she also worked.

After considering her options, Rebecca decided to go see Kenzie at his house, after work. Mrs. Munro had suggested it—it would give them privacy to talk without interruptions. “And I wouldn’t let him know ahead of time that you’re here,” she added. “That way, his mind won’t be dredging up things from the past before you see each other.”

“But to just show up, after so many years . . .”

“Believe me, love,” said the old woman, patting her hand. “It’s better this way. He’s suffered too. Since you left, his life has been anything but easy. First he went to Skye; when he came back, that girl latched onto him like a mollusk on a rock. Then her pregnancy, the hasty wedding, and the loss of the child . . . I don’t know, dear; maybe your life’s been no bed of roses either, but Kenzie went through everything alone. His wife’s jealousy destroyed the marriage. I don’t know if he loved her, but I know he’s a man of his word. If he divorced Mary, I’m certain he had good reason to.”

Rebecca’s eyes were welling with emotion. “I wish I’d had the courage to come back to him,” she said, looking away.

“Time lets us see things differently, dear. Don’t blame yourself. The only thing I’m trying to say is, don’t expect to find the same boy you knew. No, dear, he’s not the same. He’s become an introspective and distant man. If you don’t get him to let go of the bitterness, you’ll never have him. And the Scots, God forgive us, are a very bitter people. It’s hard to forget an affront and let go of the poison inside.”

With her enthusiasm flagging, Rebecca got in the taxi Mrs. Munro called for her. The daylight had disappeared early in the afternoon, leaving a spreading darkness. Rebecca remembered hearing Father Arnau warn his parishioners to be cautious at night because if anything was capable of betraying man’s spirit, it was undoubtedly the dark. It was then that dark things happened.

Terrible weather had made it difficult to dress for the occasion. At the last moment, she had decided she was wearing too many layers, so she ended up with only a white T-shirt, a thin maroon sweater—which accentuated her figure and hid her extra pounds—and tall boots over black leggings that flattered her legs. She’d hadn’t spent much time on her hair, what with all the wind and rain, and she had applied makeup sparingly. She wanted to look good for him, naturally, but she didn’t want to appear desperate. An umbrella, a raincoat, and best wishes from Mrs. Munro went with her as she left.

The taxi turned onto High Street. It was six o’clock in the evening. She gazed out on Beauly’s familiar streets through the rain. Occasionally, the wind would pick up, sending sheets of water against the windshield. She tried not to read anything into the nasty conditions.

“It’s a bad day to be out,” the driver said, bringing her out of her reverie.

“Is it like this all winter?”

“Oh, no, but it’s not unusual either.”

It wasn’t long before they turned onto the gravel road leading to Kenzie’s house. No lights were on.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” the driver said. “Want me to take you back to Mrs. Munro’s?”

She briefly weighed her options. She’d come all this way. Why turn back now?

“I’ll wait, thank you.”

He looked concerned. “I can wait a bit, if you like. I won’t charge you.”

Rebecca politely declined and thanked him again.

She tightened the belt of her raincoat and surveyed the scene. There she was, alone, in total darkness, getting wet in the drizzle. She went to the door and knocked.

No one answered. She thought about trying the door and letting herself in if it was unlocked, but something held her back.

She looked around for shelter, remembered the shed in back, and used the flashlight app on her phone to light the way. She slipped the bolt on the door and looked around inside: stacks of firewood were all along the walls, but it would do. Wind came in through the cracks, making a whistling sound.

She huddled in the darkness, the piled wood Kenzie had split her only company. Time passed slowly; when she checked it, she noticed her phone’s battery was getting low. She’d been waiting an hour. What could be keeping Kenzie? Work? A pint at the pub? A woman? She turned on her light again to distract herself.