Winter in Full Bloom (18 page)

“It would be wonderful to stay a few more weeks. But as you know, I’m on a leave of absence. I’m not independently wealthy, so eventually I do need to go back to my job, as much as I dislike it.”

“What do you want to do? Something relating to music?” he asked.

“No, but maybe something creative. I’m not sure. Guess I still haven’t grown up yet.”

“That’s okay, since not growing up is a prerequisite for being creative.”

“I suppose that’s true. But it’s hard to quit, since everything in oil-related services pays so well. Even a secretary’s job. I stay there for Julie’s sake, actually. You know, to make sure I have enough money for us.”

Marcus caught my gaze. “But Julie’s gone now.”

“True, but I want to help her with college. Who knows … maybe it is time to make a few changes.”

“Changes.” Marcus leaned down. “Yes, you might be—” His words ran out as he hovered by my lips. His breath, warm and tickly on my cheek.

I lifted my chin and met him halfway to enjoy some confection that was far sweeter than the apple dumpling we’d had for dessert. I’d been waiting all evening for that kiss—maybe my whole life. My spirit took flight, and it reminded me of when I was a girl, and Nanny Kate had let me fly my first kite. The sun on my face, the tug and rush of the kite taking off and soaring in the breeze high above me. It was a moment not to be forgotten—just like this one. When we reeled in our delight, I said, “Wasn’t that the nicest thing?”

“I thought so too … very nice.”

“But what were you about to say earlier about changes?”

“I don’t know. When I’m around you I lose my train of thought.” Marcus twirled a curl of my hair around his finger. “I just know these next two weeks will go by much too quickly. Even now the minutes are ticking at a maddening rate, making me crazy, making me wish I could reach out and stop the hands of the clock. Or at least slow it down. Make every moment last.”

I felt that desperation like Marcus. I felt the confusion too. Our relationship was far enough along that we knew something wonderful was happening, but what would we do now?
Lord, give me wisdom.

Marcus wrapped his hand over mine. “I may be forced to come visit you in Houston.”

“I would like that … very much.”

“I’ve been so moved by your determination to reconcile with your family that I’ve wondered if I can’t do the same with mine. You know, somehow make things right, even though my parents don’t appear all that receptive.”

“That’s such a good idea, Marcus.” I gave his hand a caress.

“Of course, it could be a disaster, just as you said about taking Camille home.” He grinned. “But I admire your desire to try.”

A sudden chill whipped up from the river, making me shiver.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel.” Marcus warmed up my hands. Then he warmed up my lips one more time, but like the gentleman he was, he escorted me back to my hotel as promised. I went up to my room with a strange joy, a mixture of so many emotions I couldn’t categorize them in my usual emotional filing system. They were new ones, the kind you keep close to touch and study and know, not out of reach, hidden away in a bottom drawer or filed away like office data that was rarely used. Guess I’d been a secretary a bit too long. Even my metaphors were clerical.

Over the two weeks before my departure I spent lots of time with Marcus, and of course Camille joined us whenever she could get off work. By bus, we traveled on the Great Ocean Road to see the Twelve Apostles, which turned out to be spectacular—limestone sentinels jutting up from a sparkling turquoise ocean. We saw miles of eucalyptus woods, and if one looked closely, hugging the branches and gaping down at us were koala bears looking just like stuffed animals. I snapped a bezillion photos to show Julie.

As the time got closer for my departure Marcus threw in a few more adventures. We toured an old gold-rush town, where we journeyed below ground to see the way life had been for the miners long ago. We explored Melbourne’s aquarium and the famous flea market, and stood happily terrified as we swayed on top of the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere.

Then leaving the most enchanting experience for last, we drove two hours from Melbourne to see the famous parade of the fairy penguins. I nearly froze to death, but the three of us bundled in blankets at sunset and watched hundreds of the tiny creatures march out of the waves toward the dunes on Phillip Island—toward home. I remember thinking yes, my time had also come to take my little family home. But with that joy came a sorrow. Saying goodbye to Marcus.

Each time we went out I sensed a silent countdown. Marcus and I no longer spoke of it, since it was easier not to mention it, but each day had become a small goodbye as we waited for the big one. The one that would surely make me cry a river.

And then the day came—that day—it fell on an ordinary Monday.

The taxicab driver put the last of our suitcases into his trunk. Camille said her goodbyes to Marcus, gave him a hug, and slipped inside the cab.

It was my turn now—the moment of the big farewell.

Marcus pulled me to him
in an embrace, the kind that overflowed with unspoken sentiment. “I should be driving you to the airport. That is, if I had a car and I wasn’t concerned about driving on the other side of the road, and well, not getting you and your sister there in one piece.”

Dear Marcus. Would he ever recover? I smiled at him. “This is the best way. There’ll be fewer people here when I embarrass myself crying.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Lily. I’ll miss all of you, even your tears.” He gathered my hair in his hands and brought it around to frame my face. “I wish you’d had more time here. There was still a world to share with you. You only got to see a tiny fraction of Australia. You didn’t even see the Outback or Sydney or …” His voiced faded in the breeze.

Was he only longing to play the affectionate tour guide with his adoring fan, or were other more profound emotions hiding in his words—the kind that could last a lifetime? I pulled away to look into his eyes. No doubt, great affection radiated in his countenance, but was there love? Since no real declarations had been made, I said, “I just want you to know that if something happens, and you change your mind about coming to Houston, I won’t hold it against you. I promise I won’t shriek at you on the phone or riddle you with guilt or bawl like a baby. Well, I might do that last one.” I chuckled. “But I promise you I’ll be brave.”

Marcus took me by the shoulders and caught my misty gaze. “Then I must never give you a reason to be brave.”

“I’m serious.” My chin quivered.

He kissed my chin and my mouth and then whispered into my hair, “I’m serious too.”

I breathed him in one last time. Some scent that was fresh and clean, but his touch would be even more memorable—like solid earth covered in a soft green moss. The touch of the man who’d changed my life.

The cabdriver cleared his throat.

Marcus cocked his head at the man. “Hey, mate, give us a minute here. Haven’t you ever had to say goodbye?”

The cabby grinned and shook his head. “It’s your dollar.”

“Guess it’s time to go.” I stroked my finger along the contours of Marcus’s cheek, memorizing every angle of that emotive, whiskery face of his. I tucked away the moment, wanting to imagine it all the way home, hoping to imagine it always.

Marcus took hold of my finger and kissed it.

“I don’t want us to miss our flight. Okay, you’ve got my numbers and home address, so if you do come—”

“When I come,” he corrected me.

“For when you come back home to your America.”

“That’s better. It does have a nice warm ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” More tears threatened. No matter how we spun the phrases and promises, the moment felt like the closing of a beautiful play—a drama worthy of a standing ovation—but a performance in which the hero and heroine are torn apart for good. I scrunched up my face to keep more tears from streaming down, but they did anyway, against my will.

Marcus kissed my cheeks where the tears fell.

“I’ve got to stop crying.” I swiped the tears away and chuckled. “Honestly, I’ve got to go.” I wanted to scream out that I’d changed my mind and I would stay in Melbourne, but we both knew that was ridiculous. All was set in stone, and my main concern had to be Camille, my new family.

I slipped a letter into his pocket. “For later when I’m gone.”

“For me?”

“For you. Well, goodbye, Marcus.”

He patted his pocket where I’d put the letter. “See you soon … Love.”

I grinned. Then I turned away from him and scooted into the taxi next to Camille.

When I looked at Marcus again, the sun had lit his smile. And such a smile—such an inspiration to know that even after all he’d been through with his family that his smile could still come out looking like a sunrise. I wish I’d written more in the letter. It was too short, and not nearly sweet enough. But I’d wanted him to know that my time in Melbourne had been some of the best weeks of my life. Beyond the joy of finding my dear Camille, there had been such dazzling sites shared with Marcus, the exotic foods and unique culture and diverse peoples, and the quieter, holy moments, like evensong. It would all be missed. Every last moment of it.

Just as the taxi pulled away Marcus picked up his bagpipes and began to play an Irish tune. I had no idea what the melody was, but it sounded sweet and sad, and it would be forever branded on my heart. What a send-off—majestic, beguiling, and so very Marcus. Guess I’d need tiny silver bagpipes to put on my charm bracelet.

I strained to watch Marcus for as long as I could, until the cabdriver turned the corner, and then he was out of sight. That’s when I rested my head on Camille’s shoulder and the rest of my tears began to flow.

Even though Camille didn’t seem to know what to do with my pitiful state, she held to me tightly.

The words to a beloved Irish blessing came to me then—one Nanny Kate had me memorize as a child—but its bittersweet refrain brought with it as much sorrow as it did consolation.

“May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back.