The Memories That Make Us

by Vanessa Carnevale

  I shake my head. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘But I’m starting to think that maybe none of that even matters. Maybe what matters is simply how I feel about you all, now.’

  Eleven hours later, I’m passing Scarlett ice chips from a plastic cup and mopping her brow with a cool face washer, while she writhes in pain, tiny moans escaping her as she tries to breathe through her contractions.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ whispers Noah between contractions, while Scarlett closes her eyes, trying to find some respite from the pain. ‘I knew you’d be better at this than me.’ He laughs. It’s the kind of laugh you share with someone you know well, the kind of laugh you have when you know the person will laugh back. So I do. I laugh. And then he smiles and we’re sharing a moment. A moment that gives me a glimpse of something we might have had before. A friendship. A bond. A relationship. His smile is similar to Flynn’s but not quite the same. It’s his eyes. They don’t look at me the same way Flynn’s do. They don’t say the same things Flynn’s say. Scarlett jolts me from my thoughts by announcing she has to go to the bathroom.

  ‘Right now?’ I ask, glancing over at Noah.

  ‘Quickly,’ she says, hobbling towards the bathroom.

  ‘Hold on, let me help you,’ I say, grabbing her by the elbow.

  A midwife, who has just started the evening shift, enters the room and introduces herself as Annalise. ‘All right! How are things coming along, petal?’

  Noah shrugs. He looks partly terrified by the entire situation.

  ‘Contractions?’

  ‘Um, a minute or so apart,’ I tell her.

  Noah nods, confirming things.

  ‘She needs to go to the bathroom,’ I say.

  ‘Not yet, she doesn’t. Back on the bed, Scarlett. Let me check things out,’ she says.

  ‘But I really need to go now,’ says Scarlett, doubling over in pain as another contraction hits.

  Annalise guides her to the bed. ‘I think you might be close to meeting your baby,’ she says, raising her eyebrows as she looks at Scarlett over the rim of her glasses.

  Noah and I turn away as the midwife makes her checks, exchanging sideways glances with each other, while Annalise gives us a commentary of what she’s seeing. Finally, she announces, ‘You’re ready to start pushing, love! Now, this is how you’re going to do it …’

  Noah and I look at each other in surprise and race back to the bed. ‘Okay, what do we need to do?’ asks Noah, assuming position beside Scarlett. She rolls her eyes and then squeezes them shut. ‘Why do you have to ask such silly questions?!’

  ‘Ice chip?’ I ask, extending my cup, which now contains a handful of tiny ice chips in a puddle of cold water. Scarlett ignores me.

  ‘Okay, so this is what we’ll do, Scarlett,’ says Annalise, taking control. ‘We’re going to take advantage of gravity.’ Noah’s eyes widen and I can’t help stifling another laugh. Which seems completely inappropriate, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s the nerves, the sheer anticipation, or the fact that I wasn’t prepared for any of this before I left Summerhill.

  Annalise instructs Scarlett to get up, where she assumes a kneeling position with her forehead resting on her arms against the bed. She points for Noah and I to stand beside her.

  ‘You can do this,’ I say, rubbing her back.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she moans. Annalise provides more instructions. When to breathe. When to push. When to suck on the gas.

  ‘Of course you can,’ I say, my cheek almost resting against hers. ‘You’re about to meet your baby, Scarlett. You’re about to become a mother. You’re going to have a baby to love and nurture and fill your heart with so much joy you won’t be able to describe it.’

  She nods, scrunching her eyes closed as she bears down with all her might.

  Twenty-six minutes later, Belinda Grace Beaumont mesmerises us with her angelic presence. Scarlett and Noah have become parents. Flynn and I have become godparents. And as I exit the birthing suite, and come face to face with Flynn in the waiting room, I can’t help but wonder what else we have become and what the future holds for us.

  Flynn stands up from the visitor’s chair to greet me the moment our eyes meet.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ I tell him, before he can say anything.

  ‘Can we talk?’ he asks.

  ‘Not the right time,’ I say, not meeting his eyes.

  There’s a group of people still seated beside the chair Flynn was in. Their eyes are on me. I suck in a breath. They recognise me. I look back at the four sets of eyes, gentle yet nervous smiles appearing on their faces. I don’t need to be told which couple are Flynn’s parents, because Flynn is simply a younger-looking version of his father. His mother, a well-dressed woman around my height, with perfectly accessorised jewellery and short blonde hair, looks as if she’s come straight from the local country club. I assume the other couple are Scarlett’s parents. Flynn’s mother is the first to stand up. She approaches me and extends two manicured hands over mine and squeezes.

  ‘We’ve missed you, Gracie,’ she says. ‘I’m Nora.’ She envelopes me in a reassuring hug before stroking my face with her hands. She smiles into my eyes and then leans forward and whispers, ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’ Then, she turns her body slightly, towards the rest of the group. ‘This is Stuart, Blake’s father, and then we have Mara and Seb, Scarlett’s parents.’

  I nod and smile, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Noah emerges from the suite, declaring, ‘Here she is!’ which means the attention quickly turns to him and the baby. Flynn looks anxiously at me, unsure of whether he should move forward.

  ‘I should go,’ I whisper. I nod towards Noah. ‘You should meet your niece. She couldn’t be more beautiful and perfect.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks, but I can tell he knows the answer.

  My legs feel heavy as my footsteps echo down the corridor. I look straight ahead, resisting the temptation to look back, only I can’t. When I turn around and see Flynn holding the baby, and he looks up at me and smiles, I see both the man who lied to me, and the man who might one day be a father. The man who was supposed to become my husband and the man who was meant to be my future.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Back in Summerhill, the world has turned colourful overnight. The peony buds are smiling at the sky and the world around me looks as if it has burst to life. The green layer of grass is awash with the lush growth of the herbaceous borders, as trees take on their verdant hues. Lorikeets flitter, dipping their beaks into the terracotta plates I’ve positioned by the bird feeder, shared with the odd butterfly and the occasional bee. The rosebuds, once tightly wrapped, are now unfurling, ready to unleash their heavenly scents into the garden I’ve so reverently nurtured since my arrival here. Everything is fresh and about to bloom, and during this time where I should be feeling hopeful, I’m as fragile as a withering papery blossom unable to withstand the heat. The life I never knew, and the life I thought I knew, don’t seem to be meeting and I can’t work out where Flynn fits.

  I’m on my way to see Tilly when the mailman arrives, carrying a single letter with him. I accept the envelope, knowing exactly who it’s from before it reaches my hand. My finger slides underneath the paper, ripping it open. I take a deep breath and start reading.

  Hey ladybug,

  You’re allowed to be mad, and kick and punch and scream. I knew that there would come a time when you would do all of these things. I’m sorry you found out the truth about things in the way that you did and that’s entirely my fault.

  I know Summerhill the way you do. My family spent every summer there since I was twelve years old. I fell in love with you under the willow tree. It was your spot and then, over time, it became our spot.

  I never wanted to hurt you, Gracie. The thing is, after you left, I knew you would never have let me in. I couldn’t bear the thought of living a single day without you, knowing you were hurting just as much as I was, only in a different way.

  Not many couples get the
chance to fall in love twice. But we did and what we have is special. So, once you’re done kicking and punching and screaming, remember our tender moments, but don’t hold onto the anger too tightly. You know what happens to roses if they ball. They never open. They never get to see how beautiful life can be when they open their petals and feel the warmth of the sun. You’re too special and beautiful for that. Besides, you know better than anyone that roses know how to heal themselves once they’ve been cut.

  I love you, and I’ll always love you. And if you give me the chance, I’ll tell you all about our life before, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll get the chance to fall in love with each other for a third time.

  Forever yours,

  Blake Flynn Beaumont (but you can call me Flynn)

  I fold the note, and sigh. I can’t find a way to circle back to Flynn right now. There’s too much for me to reconcile. My choices. His choices. Future choices.

  As I make my way down the driveway to the street to visit Tilly, local cyclists glide down the footpaths and up the gentle slopes past me. Tourists, with their hiking sticks, head for the nearby walking tracks to explore all the precious gifts from nature this beautiful place has to offer. She doesn’t notice me by the stand immediately, but when she does, her face lights up.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asks, her voice demanding answers. ‘Storm hits and you disappear? If it weren’t for Charlie I’d have sent a search party looking for you.’

  ‘There’s been a lot happening. My best friend had a baby and … well, I discovered a friend of mine has been lying to me. And even if I understand why he lied to me, I can’t seem to get past the fact that he isn’t who I thought he was.’

  ‘He’s not just a friend, now, is he?’

  I shake my head. ‘He’s much more than a friend.’

  ‘When you pick a peony, a tight-budded, perfectly rounded ball, you never quite know what you’re going to get. But sometimes what you do get is much more than what you expected. A lot more beautiful and special than you ever could have anticipated.’

  ‘You knew? You knew who he was too?’ I narrow my eyes.

  ‘Well, not immediately. But I suspected. The way he doted on you, the way he looked at you, the way he finished your sentences for you. Didn’t surprise me. Not one bit. Though, I can imagine you’d be feeling a bit bruised and battered. Nobody wants to ever be lied to, Gracie. But I’m going to tell you something. I’ve told you once, and I’m going to tell you again. It’s their unseen beauty that makes the flowers special.’ She lowers her voice so she’s speaking in a hushed whisper. ‘And maybe what you couldn’t see is the entire point. Maybe it’s the flowers that brought you back to the very place, and the very person you should have been close to all your life.’

  I sigh, pulling a bunch of hydrangeas from one of the buckets, the beauty of an abundance of creamy white petals offering some respite from the disappointment I’m feeling. Could Tilly be right?

  ‘A few more weeks and I can stop buying these imported blooms,’ she says, pulling a rose from a bucket. She places it under my nose. ‘Can you smell it?’

  ‘Hmm, yes and no.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I lost quite a bit in the storm, Tilly. Almost all the sweet peas.’

  ‘It was considerably brutal,’ she admits.

  ‘Which means that I don’t know if I can stay after spring. I might need to sell, after all.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ she scoffs. ‘If you want to make it work, you’ll make it work. And if you don’t want to make it work, you’ll give up. But I’ll tell you this—it’s never a good idea to give up on the things you love.’

  I find Charlie in the fields when I get home. He’s carrying out some repairs, re-erecting the remaining stakes in an effort to rescue whatever plants he can.

  ‘I put up a windbreak,’ he says, hammering in the last stake. ‘Hopefully, it’ll prevent any more damage in case another storm hits. The most unpredictable things those storms, the way they sweep through, take you by surprise, jolt things around and then leave a gaping hole at the very core of what your heart’s tied to.’

  ‘Do you think we can save them?’ I ask, running my fingers along one of the snapped stems.

  ‘Maybe not all of them, but some. You got hit pretty hard out here, and it’s going to take some work to get things back into shape. But we’ll do what we can, and keep growing some new seedlings while we can. We’re just moving into a new phase while we find our footing. No need to despair.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, love,’ he says, looking up at me. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says, smiling back at me.

  I kneel down beside him, and join him in fastening the stakes to the plants, drifting in and out of conversation as my thoughts flicker to Flynn. I have no idea whether we’ll ever find our footing, too.

  THIRTY

  With the peony harvest now only weeks away, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I need to take a break. Somehow, on the way back from my stroll, I end up at the willow tree. The drooping branches swing gently in the breeze, reminding me of my time here with Flynn. We’d stop under this tree to talk, letting the luxury of time pass us by.

  I sit on the grass and pick at some wildflowers, building a daisy chain, losing myself to the hum of a song I can’t name, but which seems so familiar. Memories of Flynn and me on our morning jogs and afternoon strolls filter into my consciousness. A bird flutters past me and rests on one of the willow’s branches above me, and that’s when I notice a string of lights suspended from the tree. I squint, trying to get a better look at them. I’d never noticed them before. I stand up and reach for the switch nestled between the trunk and a branch. They don’t turn on, but a memory floats into my mind, and it’s enough to take my breath away.

  ‘I think we should get out of here soon,’ Blake whispered, his lips brushing my ear ever so slightly. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘Right now?’ I asked, my attention focused on the bride and groom dancing their final dance for the night under a canopy of paper lanterns emitting a soft glow in the middle of the barn-turned-wedding-venue. For two weeks, Blake had worked tirelessly to transform this space into something that could cater for a little over a hundred guests for his brother’s wedding. For all the hours he put into it, you’d never know that a few short weeks ago this barn was filled with cobwebs and twenty-five bales of hay.

  As awkward as Noah was on the dancefloor, there was something endearing about the way he tried, despite his feet not being able to keep up with the rest of him. Scarlett spun around and laughed, her joy palpable. I loved seeing her like this.

  ‘You’re going to love it.’ Blake plucked the strawberry from his champagne glass and popped it into my mouth. He knew I loved strawberries. He knew everything about me. He knew me better than I knew myself. ‘I think we should be next,’ he said casually. He finished off his glass of champagne and gave me a side glance, his mouth forming a mischievous smile, like it always did when he was up to something.

  I almost choked on my strawberry. I coughed, my eyes watering, and Blake laughed so hard I reached out to slap him across the arm.

  ‘If that’s how you’re proposing, I’m going to say you need to lift your game in a big way,’ I said, clearing my throat as I reached out to a passing waiter for another glass of champagne. The waiter paused next to Blake and he took a glass, too.

  ‘To a future proposal,’ said Blake, flashing his perfect smile at me. He looked so handsome in his grey suit and white shirt, a nice change from his usual powder-blue scrubs, even if they did highlight the sapphire in his eyes.

  I clinked my glass against his. ‘Better make it a good one,’ I teased.

  He took the champagne glass from my hand, leaned forward and delivered a kiss on my lips, the kind of kiss that took my breath away. The kind of kiss that promised the world and then delivered. Then he rested his cheek against mine for a second or two like he usually
did, and I inhaled his scent, a scent I’d never tire of, and never forget. Finally, he whispered in my ear, ‘You’re my world, ladybug.’

  He set down the champagne glasses on the wooden barrel beside us and grabbed my hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘But we need to say goodbye, I’m the maid of honour! We can’t just leave!’

  ‘Half of the people here are too drunk to notice.’ He laughed, tugging gently at my arm. I glanced around the room. He was right. Nobody would notice us gone.

  Blake squeezed my hand and we made our escape into the moonlight, past the congregation of guests smattered in small groups around the lawn surrounding the barn, empty champagne and cocktail glasses in mismatched arrangements on the wooden barrels serving as tables.

  ‘I can’t wait to get out of these shoes,’ I said, pausing to slip them off. I carried them in one hand and walked barefoot on the grass. It was a warm night, one of those balmy summer nights that made you forget that winter even existed.

  ‘Okay, so what did you want to show me?’ I’d known Blake long enough to recognise he was up to something.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we reach the willow.’

  The hum of cicadas amplified as we made our way across one of the paddocks on the hill to our tree. A weeping willow positioned at the bottom of the paddocks that separated the property of my childhood home and Blake’s summer home. We spent countless hours here as kids, counting the scrapes on our knees and the mosquito bites on our legs, and that continued into adulthood. It was where we shared our first secret, our first kiss, our first fight, and countless other memories over the years. It was our thinking spot, our love spot, our chilling-out-because-we-felt-like-it spot. But the most special part about the willow tree, was that it was ours.

  ‘I don’t see anything. It’s too dark,’ I said, squinting.

  ‘Okay, ladybug, see if this helps,’ he said, reaching up to one of the branches.

  A second later, the tree lit up, its branches intertwined with dozens of fairy lights, illuminating the space around us.