A Love for Rebecca

by Uceda, Mayte

  “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.

  She noticed a shirt hanging from a nail. It looked like the one Kenzie was wearing the day she’d first seen him at the river. It was well worn, but she was sure it was the one. She’d spent many hours recalling the scenes from their brief life together, scenes engraved in her heart.

  She pressed the shirt to her chest, sniffing it, hoping to catch Kenzie’s scent. But the fabric gave off only the pleasing odor of wood. Particles of sawdust tickled her nose. She sneezed twice and hung the shirt back up.

  She moved the lighted screen to the right and saw some gloves on a shelf. She skimmed them with her fingers and continued analyzing the various objects. As she did so, she noticed a large shape covered with burlap. She picked up a corner of the rough fabric; the weak light from her phone illuminated a broken drum.

  Rebecca was shaken at the sight. Lola’s words about what had happened that day came back to her clearly. She imagined him furious, destroying the drum after she’d told him she wasn’t coming back. She remembered the moment when she had to pretend she was cold and indifferent to his pain. She trembled. But what could she have done differently? It had broken her heart, but she had had to say good-bye.

  Seeing the drum saddened her, and she wondered if any of the rage he had unleashed on it remained. What was she doing here? Most likely Kenzie hated her. She couldn’t get the thought out of her head.

  Rebecca checked the time: eight thirty. The fear she’d been holding at bay rose up. Maybe all this was a bad omen: the rain, the empty house, the drum . . . Everything seemed to indicate that her presence would not be welcome. She should have listened to the taxi driver and gone back.

  She decided to leave and made her way, stumbling, out of the shed and down the gravel road. She tried to use her phone, but it was dead. Opening her umbrella and clutching it, she made her way toward the highway. She was breathing hard and fighting with the umbrella as the wind buffeted it. The sound of a tree limb snapping startled her. She quickened her pace, fearing a branch might come crashing down on her. A strong gust of wind turned her umbrella inside out. She fought to control it as she felt the water seeping into her clothes. She didn’t notice a vehicle approaching until its headlights illuminated her in the road. Don’t let it be him! ran through her head like a prayer.

  REDEMPTION

  She was soaked and fighting the stupid umbrella when the vehicle passed her and pulled onto the shoulder. Her heart flipped when she recognized the blue Nissan pickup in the dark; Mrs. Munro had mentioned that he still had it.

  She felt like crying as she continued fighting the wind. She heard the car door slam, and her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

  A figure walked toward her in the dark. “Do you need help? I can take you to town.”

  His voice was all she heard. Not the cracking limbs, not the roar of the wind, not the sound of the rain. His voice. She knew he would recognize her, but there was no way to avoid it. “Yes, I need help. I can’t control this damn umbrella.”

  Kenzie froze on the spot.

  Rebecca managed to collapse the umbrella; it was of no use in these conditions anyway.

  “Rebecca?”

  She met his gaze. “Yes, it’s me.”

  Kenzie stood rooted to the earth. She stepped closer. He was wearing a wool cap and the same coat he had on in the photo her father had given her.

  “What . . . what are you doing here?”

  “I’ll explain, but could we get out of the rain first?”

  He stood there another moment, transfixed. She would have given anything to know what was going on in his mind. He shook his head, still incredulous. Then he moved quickly to the truck. “Get in.”

  She followed him to the truck and crossed in front of him as he opened the door for her to get inside. She didn’t dare look up, but she felt his eyes on her.

  Inside the truck, she was i
mmediately warmed. Without comment, he drove the short distance to the house. Rebecca listened to the sound of crunching gravel, suspecting she looked frightful.

  They stopped in front of the house. Kenzie ran around and opened her door, taking her arm as she stepped out. Then he crossed quickly to his front door and went inside, leaving the door open.

  She followed him in and closed the door behind her. She had never been inside, and her first impression when he turned on some lights was that it looked like the house in Skye—rustic furniture, simple and practical décor.

  Kenzie used a pinecone and kindling to start a fire. Once he got it going, he added a couple of small logs. He took off his coat and cap. His copper-colored hair was mussed and threw off reflections from the yellow lamplight. His shorter hairstyle gave him a more mature look. He still had the same athletic build and graceful movements.

  She understood from his body language and the serious set to his face that he wasn’t happy to see her. She felt a naïve stupidity for having thought anything else would happen. But she couldn’t turn back now.

  The fire began throwing off heat. He moved a chair in front of it. “Come closer,” he said.

  She took off her dripping wet raincoat and placed it on a wooden chair next to the wall. She sat down, intimidated by his scrutinizing gaze.

  Kenzie studied her. He saw that she was different, more womanly. Her clothing clung to her, showing breasts that were fuller and hips that were wider than he remembered. Her beauty had not diminished, and he felt his body reacting to her. But he was no longer the same man. He was still having trouble getting his head around the fact of her presence before him. He’d done his best to forget her; hadn’t wanted to remember. To see her here now, a few steps away, awoke in him feelings that had lain dormant. And they weren’t all good.