A Love for Rebecca

by Uceda, Mayte

  “Really?”

  “Sure. It’s a female.”

  She didn’t have to think long. “She’ll be Lola,” she laughed.

  “Is she a bad friend, this Lola?”

  “Honestly, no, but lately she’s been trying my patience.”

  William smiled. “I like the name.”

  They returned to the tree and finished their drinks in silence, enjoying the countryside around them. The uncomfortable silence had vanished. For some reason, she felt comfortable next to this man, and they didn’t need to speak.

  Everywhere she looked she saw vast meadows marked by fences or tree lines or shrubs, distant cottages, and colorful clouds adorning the sky above.

  “It’s a beautiful place.” She spoke almost without realizing it. William turned to look at her but didn’t respond; he simply listened. “I’ve always lived in Barcelona. It must be nice to live in a place where everyone knows you.”

  “It is nice. After all, they’re part of your life. But I’m sure someone from a large city would never be able to get used to a place like this.”

  “My father says home is where your family, love, or work is.”

  “Both a wise and practical position. What does he do?

  “He’s a lawyer. My brother, Enric, is too.”

  “And you didn’t follow in his footsteps?”

  “Law is not my thing. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.”

  “A fine career, passing knowledge on to younger generations.”

  “And what about Sophie? Mrs. Munro said she’s at the university.”

  “Yes, she’s studying art in Edinburgh.” He thought and then added, “What else did Mrs. Munro tell you?”

  Rebecca tensed. “Nothing.”

  She saw him shift. He rested both hands on his thighs and turned to see her better.

  “I just met you, lass, but I would say that a person can tell when you’re lying.”

  “Well.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “You know how Mrs. Munro is. I mean, besides being a very kind person.”

  “Yes,” he said. “She likes to talk too much, although I know she doesn’t do it to be malicious.”

  She diverted her eyes. “No, sir.”

  He sank into silence for a few moments and then suddenly seemed to remember something.

  “You know, many years ago, when I was working in the mines, I had a friend from Spain. His name was Alberto, and I’ll never forget the Spanish tortillas he made. Every time he brought one to work for lunch, he’d share some with us. He was a great guy. After a year, he went back to Spain. I haven’t had a potato omelet since.”

  “Oh yes, it’s one of our traditional foods,” Rebecca said, cheered by the turn in the conversation.

  They heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Even before it appeared on the gravel road, William knew who it was.

  “That’s Kenzie,” he said.

  Rebecca jumped up, flustered.

  “Well . . .” she began. “I’d . . . better get going.”

  “Oh, sure. But now that my son is here, he can take you.”

  “No, no, I don’t want to be a bother,” Rebecca replied nervously as the blue truck came to a stop and Kenzie got out. “I’ll walk back.”

  “Kenzie,” his father called to him from under the tree. Kenzie turned toward his father’s voice. He looked surprised at seeing Rebecca and seemed rooted to the spot. “Kenzie, trobhad an seo,” his father called him over.

  “She came to tell Sophie she can’t go to the festival tonight,” the father explained. “It seems her friend is still under the weather.”

  Kenzie nodded without answering. Rebecca noticed his attire; he must have come from work. Even in the gray mechanic’s overalls he was wearing, with the top part lowered and tied around his waist, Rebecca found him incredibly attractive.

  Averting his gaze, she turned to his father. “Thank you for the soft drink, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said, ready to leave.

  “Wait a moment. Don’t leave,” William said and turned to his son. “Kenzie, do you have time to give her a lift to Riverside Drive?”

  Kenzie looked at his watch and, again, Rebecca felt like a burden.

  “No, really, I can walk.”

  “Not a chance. There are a lot of strangers in town these days. Kenzie will take you.”

  The young man turned and retraced his steps to the vehicle in silence. Seeing that Rebecca hadn’t followed, he turned back. “Shall we go?”

  “Oh, Kenzie,” his father added. “Call your sister and pick her up wherever she is.”

  “Fine, dadaidh.”

  Rebecca followed reluctantly, fearing an awkward ride. She waved good-bye, and William waved back.

  “Good-bye, lass.”

  THE COLOR OF HIS EYES

  Kenzie gathered tools and other clutter from the front seat and placed it in back. Rebecca got in and apologized for the inconvenience.

  “No worries.” He swung the truck around and headed back to town.

  Silence hung like a rock once more, and she tried to relax as she spun her engagement ring around her finger. She risked letting her eyes wander enough to see his hands on the wheel. They were clean, without any grease stains. The same could not be said for his clothing; his military-green T-shirt was stained with a good number of fresh, dark spots. She observed letters tattooed on his fingers below the first knuckle, but she couldn’t decipher the meaning.

  “It looks like you’ve had a tough day,” she ventured. He looked at her questioningly. “I mean, the grease, on your work clothes.

  He smiled. “Old Alastair’s car. He should’ve given it up for scrap years ago, but I think they’ll die together. He loves that car.”

  She turned to look at him. “Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes people get attached to things as if they were human, and then it’s really hard to let them go.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  Rebecca tried to think of something else she could say. “It’s beautiful where you live,” she said. He glanced at her. “Your father let me name the new lamb.”

  Immediately, she felt stupid.

  Kenzie looked at her again, his eyebrows raised. “So what did you name it?”

  “Lola.”

  He smiled, and Rebecca noticed how white his teeth looked in contrast to the reddish stubble of his beard. In the glove box in front of Rebecca, a phone began to ring. Kenzie reached over to open it, brushing her knee.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I’ve seen that in the movies a hundred times, she thought, and suppressed a giggle.

  Kenzie found the phone. As he took it out, his hand grazed her knee again. Rebecca parted her legs a little to make space.

  His hand had registered the softness of her bronzed skin. He caught himself imagining what it would be like to move his hand into the space between her legs. An erotic sensation pulsed through him. There was a sweet and delicate femininity in her that made his body respond just by having her near.

  He shook the feeling off and apologized again. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” she said, and he almost thought he could feel a tingle where he touched her skin.

  A moment later, he handed her the phone. “Sophie wants to talk to you.”

  She took the phone and explained to her friend that she wouldn’t be able to go with them to the festival that night or to Culloden the next day. She felt bad as she handed back the phone; Sophie had seemed really disappointed at the change of plans.

  Rebecca smiled gratefully when they pulled up in front of Mrs. Munro’s stone cottage. “Thank you again for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Bye.”

  “Tioraidh,” he answered.

  “Tior . . . tioraidh.” She worked hard to pronounce t
he word.

  “Hmm. You learn quickly,” he said quietly.

  She smiled again and looked directly at him before getting out. His eyes weren’t brown, as they’d seemed last night, but a deep blue like his father’s.

  As she closed the truck door, she saw Mrs. Munro hurrying out to them.

  “Kenzie! Kenzie, wait!”

  He spotted her in his rearview mirror and lowered his window. Rebecca paused in the garden to hear what her landlady said.

  “Kenzie, dear, I can’t get my old Fiat to start. Could you take a look at it?”

  Rebecca didn’t wait for Kenzie’s response but went inside and watched through the curtain in the front window until he left.

  “Who are you spying on now?” said Berta, who had come from the kitchen when she heard the door. She was holding a bowl of soup Mrs. Munro had made.

  Rebecca turned her head to answer. “Sophie’s brother.”

  “Is he out there?”

  “No, he’s gone now. But he brought me home.”

  “Again?”

  She had the rest of the afternoon to fill Berta in. As Rebecca recounted the latest string of events, her emotions roiled, her moods swinging from euphoric to dejected. Not only could she not stay ahead of her feelings, she knew she couldn’t control them any more than she could control having olive skin and green eyes. What she did understand was that the turmoil arose whenever she thought about Kenzie. It was a nice feeling, but sad at the same time. Nice because it was new, unknown, and exciting; and sad because she should be feeling this way for Mario.

  In the afternoon, her phone rang. It was Mario. She’d forgotten that he’d promised to call and was happy he remembered. Finally they could talk; surely her fiancé’s voice would dislodge these disconcerting feelings and thoughts from her head. She wanted to tell him she missed him and, most of all, she wanted to hear him say it to her.

  She wanted to feel.

  But she didn’t feel anything.

  Mario filled her in on some negotiations that were keeping them busy at the firm. He talked and talked, pausing briefly to make sure she was still listening. Rebecca followed the conversation with limited comments: “Uh-huh . . . Really? . . . That’s great . . .” But there wasn’t a single reassuring word from him that made her long to be by his side.

  He said good-bye with a simple “Love ya, babe,” and Rebecca waited a moment before hanging up, wishing he would add something else. But he didn’t, and the call ended.

  She held her emotions in check but couldn’t control the feeling in her stomach. The image of Kenzie and Mary at the river flamed up in her. The passion with which she’d seen them kissing had amazed her, even more so when Kenzie told her it hadn’t meant anything. It felt as if her skin was on fire.

  But it wasn’t just the scene at the river. Everywhere she went, seemingly at every moment, she found evidence of a love different than her own. When she saw Lola and Rory’s body language and the way they looked at each other, it took her breath away. When Berta talked about Albert, a look of serene love emanated from her face. Then there was the story of William and his wife; he was destroyed by her abandonment, incapable of overcoming the loss. Why couldn’t she feel something that intense for Mario?

  Because you don’t love him, whispered the timid little voice inside.

  Before the sun began to set, Berta felt well enough to go outside. They ambled along the path by the river, breathing in the fresh, damp Scottish air. The clouds in the sky were tinted pink, as if they’d dressed in that color to say good-bye to the day and greet the night. Rebecca looked at them with interest, noticing again the dramatic beauty of the sky.

  “Berta, do you miss Albert?”

  Her friend’s face softened. “I think about him every minute. I know what time he starts studying, what time he takes a coffee break. I know his favorite position while he’s working on his tests and the way he bites his pen. He holds it with his teeth and makes it spin. All his pens have the same marks on them, and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.” She sighed gently. “Yes, I miss him, but I’m not sorry I came. I know it gives him time to himself that he needs, and these placement exams are really important for both of us.”

  Berta pulled her wool jacket tightly around her. Then she added, “And you miss Mario, don’t you? You two are always together.”

  “Yes, of course.” Rebecca tried to add something sweet the way Berta had, but she couldn’t think of anything. She was quiet a moment and finally said, “Have you ever felt, when you’re out of your everyday routine and you go far away, that it’s like you’re a different person?”

  “I guess I never really thought about it. Have you?”

  “Sometimes. It felt that way every summer I went to London. I felt different. I don’t know; it’s just a feeling. It’s the same here.”

  “Well, I’ve noticed you dress differently. You don’t try to hide under those loose-fitting clothes.”

  “Mario doesn’t like me to show off my figure too much.”

  “What about you? What do you like to wear?” When Rebecca shrugged, Berta added: “I don’t think Mario appreciates what he has.”

  “Well, I plan on wearing what I want here.” Rebecca smiled mischievously and added, “Before we left, I went shopping. And I plan on wearing all of it.”

  “I vote for that. You are amazing, Rebecca. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not.”

  ON THE LEFT

  Early the next morning, Rebecca tossed and turned in bed, wrapped in a strange dream: A whole band of bagpipes surrounded her, their piercing sound deafening her. She shrank on the ground and covered her ears, but her hands couldn’t muffle the racket, and her head was about to explode.

  Which is why she didn’t hear the doorbell or Berta, who was loudly calling her name.

  “Rebecca!”

  It took her a moment to get her bearings. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s at the door.”

  “I’m sleeping!” she called out and buried her head under the pillow, as if the bagpipes were still assaulting her eardrums.

  “You have to get it, please. Your English is so much better than mine.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Who could it be at this hour?” Rebecca fumed as she got out of bed.

  She went to the door in her pajamas, her hair a mess and her eyes half-closed against the light that filtered in from the parlor. She peeked through the window. It was Sophie. Rebecca opened the door.

  Sophie apologized for getting her out of bed so early. Her brother was taking a look at Mrs. Munro’s car before going into work, so she wanted to take the opportunity to say hi and see how Berta was doing. Rebecca invited her in, but she stuck her head out before closing the door. Kenzie’s truck was parked out front.

  Berta appeared in the parlor, covering a yawn and putting on her glasses. “Hi, Sophie.”

  “Oh, Berta, how are you doing?”

  “Much better. My fever broke.”

  “That’s good to hear. So then, do you want to go to Culloden this afternoon?”

  Hearing this, Berta perked up immediately. “Yes! I think I’m ready to join the world again. I’ve been cooped up during this vacation for too long.”

  “Awesome!” Sophie said and high-fived her. “We’ll come get you at three, then.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Fantastic! See you then! Why don’t you two go back to bed, and I’ll get going. Kenzie won’t be much longer with Mrs. Munro’s car; it never takes much time.”

  When Sophie left, Berta and Rebecca exchanged looks for a second before rushing to the window. Rebecca got there first; Berta was a little stiff after days of inactivity.

  “Come on, let me see,” Berta said.

  “You can only see his car. Sophie just got in.”

  “Quick! Lola’s room
! Her window faces Mrs. Munro’s.”

  They raced across the parlor and into their friend’s room. Berta pulled the curtain back just enough to get a good view of the front yard. Kenzie was bent over the engine of the little car, only the top of his head and his black T-shirt visible.

  “Damn it, I can’t see him,” Berta grumbled.

  Kenzie straightened up and went to get something from his truck.

  “He’s not wearing a kilt!”

  Rebecca gave Berta a sarcastic smile. “Really?”

  “Well, I had imagined him in a kilt. But from here he looks really good, I have to say. Not a barbarian at all. You two totally exaggerated. He looks more like a biker. I love his hair.”

  “I don’t think we should go with them to Culloden,” Rebecca said.

  “What?” Berta almost shrieked.

  “I mean, I don’t know; Sophie’s really nice to invite us and all, but I’m not sure her brother would be thrilled. He’s a lot more reserved.”

  “And handsome. And mysterious. He sounded quite nice, from what you told me.”

  “He is. While we were dancing he even told me my eyes were pretty.”

  “Oh! And gallant,” Berta decided. “All I know is that I’ve been cooped up here for two days. This isn’t a vacation. It’s torture. Either we go with them or we rent a car. Your choice.”

  Rebecca heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

  After tea and toast, they did a little cleaning, opening the windows to get some fresh air. The house needed to breathe after two days of being closed up with Berta’s cold. They washed their dirty clothes and hung them to dry in the back garden. To their delight, the day had dawned sunny, the first clear day since they’d arrived.

  With breakfast and laundry attended to, Rebecca decided to call her father.

  “How are you, sweetheart? How are those Scots treating you? You’re not picking up that atrocious accent, are you?”

  “No, Daddy. How’s everything there?”

  “Your mother’s busy sending out invitations and putting up with Inés begging her to put all those colored ribbons in her hair every day. And Enric has come back to work. He’s looking good; don’t worry about him.”