by Uceda, Mayte
Rebecca told herself to relax and breathe deeply as Mario began an updated speech that was nothing like his earlier threats. Mario was strong-willed and a persuasive speaker. As with her mother, she always felt at a disadvantage in conversation.
“Look, Rebecca, I know I didn’t behave very well when you returned from your vacation. But I don’t want you to think badly of me. I was really upset because I didn’t want to lose you. But I’m sure your thing was just a fling and . . . I can even understand. We’re human; we make mistakes. You’re young and inexperienced. It’s not so surprising something like this happened. But I’m convinced that passion and obsessive thinking clouded your judgment. You need someone objective to bring you back. Your mother and I are very worried. You came back to us changed, different from the real you. And it’s our responsibility to do everything we can to help you find your center again. It’s true that you’re young, but you’re not a child. You need to behave like an adult, responsible and dependable. As for me, I ask your forgiveness for my reprehensible behavior. It was because I was so worried.”
She listened without blinking. The difficult effort of swallowing was the only thing that distracted her from her nerves. But Mario’s eloquence softened her; she believed his apology was sincere. Perhaps she had judged him too harshly. She thought it possible that she could view his violent outburst and threats in a new light, even forgive the rage that had overcome him when she confessed her betrayal.
“I know I hurt you . . .” she whispered.
Mario knelt in front of her and took her hands. “You don’t have to say anything, babe. We’ll never mention it again.” He raised her hands and pressed them to his forehead tenderly.
She closed her eyes. The two rings she wore pressed against her fingers: the gold and the silver, two symbols of union, two courses for one river.
That same afternoon Rebecca met Berta at a café near the harbor. They drank iced tea under the shade of a large umbrella. Berta was dying to hear how things had gone and was astounded when Rebecca told her she intended to go forward with the wedding. A few days before, Rebecca had been certain of her love for Kenzie, and now she was ready to marry Mario? What had happened? Her confusion prompted Rebecca to divulge the whole story.
Berta could not hide her alarm. “That bastard!”
“I could have dealt with everything else, Berta. My mother’s outrage and whatever else others might think. But I can’t let this destroy my family. That’s too high a price.”
“But surely there’s something you can do about this.”
Rebecca just shook her head no.
“Have you told anyone else?”
Rebecca shook her head again, a lump in her throat. “It makes me so sad. I always thought love could conquer all.” She paused and looked into the great blue sky. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” She let out a long sigh, but her eyes remained dry. She had used up every tear yesterday, after the fateful conversation with her mother.
“Do you remember my favorite book?” Rebecca asked her friend.
“Sure, The Bridges of Madison County.”
“Do you know what I like best about that story?” Berta shook her head. “When Francesca gives in to the love she feels for Robert Kincaid and packs her bags, ready to leave with him, to leave her family and follow her dream.”
“But she doesn’t do it.”
“No, she doesn’t do it, because she wouldn’t be happy. She realizes she can’t abandon her family even though they are so in love. And he understands and leaves.” Her voice broke. “They know they can never see each other again and they’ll suffer the rest of their lives, but they also know it’s the right decision.”
Berta heaved a sigh and squeezed Rebecca’s arm. “What makes me sad is that no matter what you do, someone gets hurt.”
Kenzie phoned punctually at the agreed-upon time. The phone rang repeatedly, and he held his breath until she finally answered. Her voice washed over him, bringing everything back, including his intense longing for her.
“Rebecca . . .”
She began to sob, though the sound was muffled.
Kenzie’s initial anxiety deepened, but he waited for her to speak.
“I can’t do it, Kenzie,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.
Kenzie did not immediately respond. His worst fears were playing out. When he managed to find his voice, he said he would fly to Barcelona and they would talk about it. He asked her to wait, to not do anything until he got there. But the desperation in her voice telling him not to come, that they could not meet again, deflated his fervent hopes. He begged, he pleaded, to see her before she made a final decision. They would talk, he reasoned, and then she would be free to decide. That the distance between them put him at a terrible disadvantage was not lost on him. He must go to her!
But Rebecca’s emphatic insistence that he not do so hit him like a mortal blow. The oxygen was sucked from his lungs. He listened in shocked disbelief when she assured him that Mario was all she needed to be happy. How could she forget her promises so quickly? How could she undo in a heartbeat all the love they had shared, their moments of passion and joy?
Rebecca stared mutely at the silver ring on her left hand. She sensed he was giving up, and that hurt. She wanted him to fight, to not give in to her arguments so easily. Doesn’t he realize the precarious situation I’m in? Doesn’t he understand I’m dying inside?
She summoned all her strength to continue the charade. She had no choice but to feign toughness and indifference, when in her heart there was only love and devotion.
Into a deafening silence, Rebecca whispered good-bye.
THE REUNION
As planned, Rory accompanied Lola to Barcelona. The two-week visit would give them just enough time for Rory to meet her mother and to get everything ready for the move to Edinburgh, where Rory would begin his classes. Shortly after their arrival, the three girlfriends met at the beach in the afternoon. Lola desperately needed some tanning time before returning to Scotland.
Right away Lola brought them up to date on her plans. There was no hiding how in love she was. Rebecca listened in silence, her face clouded and distant. Berta let Lola, beaming with happiness, chatter on without interrupting. Berta didn’t have much to tell. Albert was still studying; his exams were in one month, and they had hardly any time together. But she was confident Albert would get the position; he was preparing diligently, practically without letup.
Caught up in the details of her life, Lola only registered Rebecca’s preoccupied state when she stopped talking. She frowned. She’d promised Rory that she wouldn’t meddle, had sworn she wouldn’t say anything. But her friend’s inattention galled her. Lola’s resolve not to meddle dissolved, and her tongue loosened. “So what about you?” she asked, turning toward Rebecca. “Have you destroyed the lives of any other men?”
“Lola, please!” Berta said.
Rebecca bristled and spoke through clenched teeth. “You have no right to talk to me like that. You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough. While you’re engaged to one man, you fall in love with another, promising him your everlasting love. And then you go and decide to marry the first one. Makes all kinds of sense.”
“I have my reasons.”
“So why don’t you explain them to me? Or better yet, explain them to Kenzie. The man’s a wreck.”
“Have you seen him?” Rebecca said.
Lola realized she’d said too much.
“Tell me!”
“No, I haven’t. Calm down, Rebecca.” Lola knew she could not withhold what she knew. She took a breath and began. “Rory saw him . . .”
Rebecca’s eyes bored into her impatiently. “Go on.”
“Kenzie’s father was very worried, and he called Rory that same afternoon you and Kenzie talked for the last time. Apparently he drank too much a
nd was locked up in his room with a bottle of whisky. He didn’t want to see or speak to anyone.”
“Lola,” Berta interrupted, “are you sure this will help?”
“No! Don’t stop, please,” Rebecca insisted.
“When Rory got there, William was desperate. He didn’t know what was happening in the bedroom, but he heard a lot of banging, as if Kenzie were breaking things. His sister’s cries and his father’s pleas to open the door didn’t do any good. Finally, afraid he’d do something crazy, they forced the door open.”
William’s words came to Rebecca’s mind to torment her: “The only thing I want for him is to one day have the family he deserves, a family of his own, the one his mother and I couldn’t give him.” He was the only one who knew what would happen, and now he was the one who had to pick up the broken pieces and help Kenzie put his life back together.
“They found him on the floor,” Lola continued, “leaning against his drum. He’d destroyed it. Rory told me that when he got down next to him, Kenzie sobbed like a child. He was so worked up he couldn’t sleep that night.”
At this, Rebecca broke down in tears. Berta tried to comfort her. Lola, for her part, was regretting having told all, although deep down she thought Rebecca should know. She couldn’t understand why Rebecca had gotten so intensely involved. It was one thing to have a fling, but quite another to promise to return. She shouldn’t have done that, Lola thought. She should have enjoyed it for what it was, without falling deeply in love.
She listened to her friend explain between sobs why she had to break it off with Kenzie. Her confession served to confirm Lola’s low opinion of Mario: he was a cruel and selfish man who wanted to control Rebecca, just as her mother did. How did Rebecca ever imagine she would be able to prevail against them and return to Beauly? They would never have allowed it.
Over the next week, Mario and Rebecca saw each other every day. He didn’t want to leave her alone, fearing she might change her mind. Even when the negotiations with the investors from Qatar filled his days, he found time to be with her. But Rebecca’s depression deepened after Lola told her about Kenzie. She was irritable and showed small signs of rebellion that worried Mario even more than they did Elvira. The latter tried to reassure her future son-in-law when he complained about how distant Rebecca was, her mind always somewhere else. Elvira urged him to give her time and said that her moodiness was normal given the circumstances. They both tried to keep Rebecca occupied by unwrapping wedding presents, keeping the useful or meaningful ones and exchanging the others.
Things improved after Rebecca had her interview with the school headmaster. He told her she would be starting as an assistant teacher in a class of five-year-olds. It was a trial period that all teachers had to complete successfully before becoming a permanent member of the staff. To Rebecca, it provided a ray of hope in the middle of a situation that was driving her to despair. But it failed to lift her spirits completely.
Her busy father, usually unconcerned with domestic affairs, saw that something was wrong. One night, before going to bed, he knocked on her door.
“Come in, Daddy,” she said when he stuck his head in.
Rebecca was lying down, with a book of teaching strategies in her hands. Her father went over to her bed and sat down next to her.
“Are you excited about your new job?” he asked.
“Very,” she replied in a quiet voice.
He took the book from her and closed it. “If you had a problem, you would tell me, right?”
Rebecca felt a knot in her throat and made an effort to sound convincing. “Of course,” she said, putting on a smile.
“You look very down in the dumps, sweetheart, and I’m worried about you.”
She thought quickly. “It’s just . . . When Lola came back from Scotland, she told us about someone we met in Beauly who’s having a rough time and . . . well, it made me really sad, that’s all.”
“Is it serious?”
“Someone fell in love with the wrong person, and then they had to go their separate ways.”
“Well, then, you don’t have to feel so bad. These things happen sometimes. But at your age they’re quickly forgotten.”
“And what if they’re not forgotten? What if the pain lasts forever?”
“It won’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”
“Did it ever happen to you?”
Víctor’s eyebrows drew together and he looked up, remembering. “When I was nineteen, I fell in love with a girl at the university. Her name was Alicia, and we were together for a few months. Then she left me.”
“She doesn’t know what she missed,” Rebecca said.
Her father smiled. “At any rate, I had a bad year. And then I had to look on as she dated a friend of mine.”
“Did they get married?”
“No, he left her for another girl.” He frowned and then gave a half-hearted smile. “When they broke up, I felt better, but the truth is I soon forgot about her. Now, as I think back on it, it seems ridiculous. But at the time I was devastated. A broken heart when you’re young feels like the end of the world. But time tempers your feelings, and you come to see things from a different perspective. But to reach such a perspective, we have to go through what your friend is right now. You know what I mean? Advice doesn’t help much when it comes to love and heartache. You have to live through it.”
WEDDING BELLS
Barcelona
October 7, 2006
The Barcelona morning dawned clear. Another day of sunshine would warm the city with its typical autumn vigor, making the season a pleasant transition to winter.
Rebecca looked at the wedding gown hanging in her room, and her stomach tightened with nerves. Her mother and Baudelia would burst into the room any minute now to help her dress. Before they did, she reread one last time the letter she had been up all night writing. Her wastebasket was filled with earlier drafts. She sighed as she folded it and put it in an envelope—the most difficult words she’d had to write in her life. They had come from her heart, in the hope of soothing the man she loved. She shook her head to clear it and stood. It was time to get dressed and depart for her wedding ceremony.
Her father helped her out of the car when they arrived at the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus at the summit of Mount Tibidabo. The guests, dressed in their finery, had already begun filling the pews. Rebecca ascended a red-carpeted staircase, holding her father’s arm as the breeze lifted her veil skyward. Inside, the church was cold and smelled faintly of incense. She walked down the aisle, modestly returning smiles from family, friends, and strangers. Inés walked in front of her, carrying the wedding coins in a beautifully decorated basket. Mario was waiting for her in front of the altar.
Her eyes sought out her brother, her friends, and her mother. They wore a variety of expressions: her brother serious, her friends worried, her mother triumphant, Baudelia troubled.
The ceremony was nearly perfect. Rory in his formal Highland attire was the only thing that marred the event for Elvira and Mario. It was a glaring reminder of what had happened that summer, something they wanted to forget permanently. Rebecca couldn’t help looking at Rory with nostalgia. Standing in front of Father Arnau, who would unite her to Mario in the eyes of God, she couldn’t stop fingering the simple silver band she wore on her other hand, as if the union it symbolized would be the only legitimate one. It had been blessed by the powers of the Earth, and yet now she was joining herself to another man.
She felt lightheaded. The dress was constricting her. She couldn’t breathe freely, couldn’t wait to get out of it. Mario kept glancing at her with concern, fearing she might faint. He took her hand in his, though it wasn’t the appointed time yet. Rebecca looked into Mario’s eyes and felt very cold. The church began to spin. To steady herself, she tuned out Father Arnau’s nuptial sermon and brought to mind instead the old druid’s simple, sere
ne words: “All things are circular. Night becomes day, and day leads into night, which again gives way to day. These are the flowing rhythms of the Cycle of Existence, and in the center of the Circle is the stillness of the Source, eternal and brilliant.”
The stillness of the Source . . . the stillness of the Source . . . She kept turning these words over in her mind, seeking her own elusive stillness, longing for illumination or a respite from the ache in her heart that would not go away. Time was playing tricks on her. Had she already uttered “I do”? A jumble of sensations threatened to overwhelm her, to immerse her in a numbed state somewhere distant from the reality of the day’s events.
The only time her spirit was united with her body was when she looked for Rory after the banquet. She wanted to speak to him alone; she had something to give him. When Rebecca asked him to dance, Lola gave her a look, supposing that Rebecca wanted to submit Rory to an unwanted interrogation.
“You’re attracting more attention than the bride, my Scottish friend,” Rebecca teased as they began a waltz in the center of the dance floor.
“I shouldn’t have let Lola talk me into it. She insisted I wear my kilt.”
“Don’t worry; I like seeing you in it. It brings back good memories.”
“I guess so,” he said, “but your husband looks like he wants to kill me.”
“Don’t worry about him. I’m very happy you’re here.” Then a shadow of sadness came over Rebecca. She bit her lip, unsure she wanted to hear the answer to the question she was about to ask. “How is he? It’s been almost two months since . . .”
Rory avoided looking at her. He didn’t want to talk about it; it seemed inappropriate. His discomfort was evident. He’d only come to the wedding for Lola’s sake; he couldn’t say he was happy for the bride and groom, because he knew what the event signified for his friend.
