Winter in Full Bloom (8 page)

“I suppose that’s true.” But how would it feel to say all the words out loud? Would it lessen the pain or rub it raw again like sandpaper on a wound not yet healed? I had no idea. “Well, the woman Richard had an affair with was from his office.” Succumbing to my stress mode I hid my hands under the table and began picking at my fingers. “I found out about the affair from a note hidden in his desk at home, and then I decided to confront him. But before I could ask him the whys surrounding the affair … well, Richard died of a heart attack.”

“That must have been a difficult time.”

“It was. All of this happened a little over a year ago, but the pain hasn’t gone away. I guess it’s because I was grieving over his death, but I felt angry too, for what he did. Angry at the woman. Maybe even angry at God, since I couldn’t understand why I’d been left with grief as well as so many questions about our marriage. It made me wonder if what Richard and I had all those years was real. Had he loved me, or was he waiting for the right moment to escape? Had he planned on leaving me to marry this other woman? I knew Richard and I didn’t live a fairy-tale life, but it seemed like a good marriage. I thought so anyway. I just wish we’d had a chance to talk, so I could have asked the question all women want to know in my position … the big why.”

I glanced down at my dark clothes. Maybe the reason I wore funeral-type outfits was that even after I’d said my goodbyes to Richard, something still felt unresolved. Something felt unburied. Too many questions still lingered in the air.

Amazingly, Marcus was still listening as intently as before. “It does help for someone to hear my story. It wasn’t easy holding it in all those months.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

Before either one of us could say any more, the waitress arrived with two plates of lamb chops and potatoes.

After my troubling disclosures, my stomach seemed in a quandary whether it should churn or cheer over the food.

Marcus said grace, a lovely prayer, in fact, which included me and my quest to find my sister. Nothing was said about Richard. We turned our attention to the food as I tried to forget that this man across from me now knew my most painful secret.

The lamb did a savory melting thing in my mouth, and I closed my eyes for a moment. In some small way I came a little closer to Melbourne in that bite. The noise around us sounded more like laughter. The breeze felt more refreshing than chilling. And my spirit embraced the moment. “I’ve never eaten lamb before.”

“What do you think?”

“I like it. Not at all like chicken.”

I thought Marcus would chuckle but instead he stopped his eating and looked at me. “Since you told me something very private, I’m going to give you something in return. I’ll tell you why I left Dallas and moved to Australia.”

“Yes, I’d love to know.” I speared a bite of potato, glad to be using my ears instead of my mouth.

“Well, the truth is … my family has disowned me.” Marcus set his knife and fork down but didn’t quite look me in the eye. “You see, my younger sister died a year ago, and I’m the one who killed her.”

That tasty morsel of potato
stuck in my throat like a pebble. A big one. I stifled the urge to run. “Oh? That’s pretty heavy, Marcus.” I managed to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Maybe you’d better explain.”

“I’m not a murderer, traditionally speaking. I know it’s what you’re thinking, and yet what else do you call it when the passenger in your car dies, and the accident was your fault?”

I calmed myself and swallowed. “While deeply tragic, I’d still call that an accident.”

“Well, it’s not what my family calls it.” Marcus looked away toward the river and the boats and the tide of tourists strolling along the promenade.

A couple next to us effervesced with laughter. Their heads dipped and touched, and the outline of their forms almost made the shape of a heart.

The pleasant vignettes seemed to ease the taut pull of Marcus’s revelation. But he really had allowed me to see into a window of his past. I could tell that the confession had diminished the playfulness in his demeanor and replaced it with a burden that I could not imagine. “Do you mind if I ask how the accident happened?”

Marcus pushed his food around on his plate but didn’t eat it. “I wasn’t drunk, but I was very tired, which is just as bad. I shouldn’t have been driving. After I had dinner that evening with my family, I needed to go home to bed. But my little sister, Ellie, wanted to go to the movies, and she didn’t want to go by herself. My parents weren’t in the mood to go, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. We all had trouble saying no to her, because she was such a good kid. Anyway, she had her own car, but she asked me to drive. She still wasn’t all that sure of herself as a driver.

“But it didn’t matter,” Marcus spat out his words. “I should have listened to my gut. I was tired. Too tired to be driving. I fell asleep, and the car drifted off the road. Ellie screamed, and I woke up, but it was too late. The car hit a light pole. I was only cut and bruised, but my sister died there in the car with me by her side… while we waited for the ambulance. It was as swift and horrific as that. And I cannot go home. I can’t blame them for the way they feel. I think God has forgiven me, but my parents, well…”

I reached out to him, touching the edge of his sleeve. I gave it a little tug to get him to look at me. “I’m sure they knew you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt your little sister for anything in the world. Didn’t they feel differently about you after they had some time to think and pray and grieve?”

“I’d like to say they did. But my father would ignite into quite a fury every time he talked to me, and my mother lived inside this dark haze I couldn’t really understand. I’d never seen either one of them like this, but then nothing so horrible had ever happened to our family. At one point, my father told me that keeping some distance for a while might help the healing.”

Marcus took a deep drink from his water glass. “I had this friend who’d moved here some years ago and loved it. I thought, why not? I figured I could go for a visit and see how I liked it. I fell into step right away. I’ve been here not quite a year. Of course, I brought all the sadness with me surrounding my sister, but I figured at least my parents might recover now. There’s been some consolation in that.”

His story moved me as much as it grieved me. An attachment toward Marcus, like the first tiny roots clinging to the soil, took hold in my heart. “Do they know where you are? You know, in case they’re worried? Even if they’re angry with you, you’re still their son.”

“The day I flew out I told them. They have my address and phone. But there’s been no communication from them, so I’ve let it go. I assume when I hear from them someday, if I ever do, it’ll be time. But you see, Ellie was always their favorite, and I understood that. Everybody adored her, including me. She was funny and sweet and full of life. I was always a few steps behind her in every way even though I was twenty years older.” Marcus took a bite of his lamb.

“What do you mean, a few steps behind her?”

“Well, I’ve never fit in with my family the way Ellie did. Some kids seem like they belong to their parents, and then there are kids like me. A little offbeat. Sometimes I can relate to children better than adults. When I was a teenager I thought I’d been adopted, but I wasn’t. I’m just different.”

How very true.
But now instead of agreeing with Marcus about his peculiarities I wanted to defend him. “I’m sorry your family did that to you. Surely, though, in the end, they wouldn’t want to lose both their children.”

“It’s what I hope for, pray for.” He daubed at his mouth with his napkin. “But I will say this … you don’t really know people until there’s a tragedy. Even family. Suffering has this way of stripping us all bare of any pretenses. There can be no more pretending.”

I thought of my mother. If Camille really had been taken from Mother against her will—although I couldn’t imagine how—it would have been a terrible heartbreak. I know if anyone had taken Julie from me it would have been unbearable. Maybe Mother’s grief had turned into bitterness over the years, which would explain her attitude. “You’re right, calamity works like fire, bringing impurities to the surface, but sometimes all that’s left are the impurities.”

“The voice of experience?” he asked.

“Yes.” Maybe God really had brought this man along to help me. Marcus of all people could understand my strange family drama.

We ate quietly for a few moments as the sounds of the evening surrounded us. Finally I said, “Thank you for sharing that piece of yourself. I’m sure it was hard for you to tell me.”

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult.” Marcus smiled, revealing some of the buoyancy from when I’d first met him. “I trust you, even though we’ve just met. Why is that, Lily?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“I’m sorry if my story put a damper on the evening.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “It was just an honest moment between two new friends.”

Marcus smiled. “Maybe we should hurry a little. I wouldn’t want you to miss your sister after coming so far.” He sliced off another bite of lamb.

“Thanks.” I gave him my best smile. “Really, Marcus. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When we were finished, Marcus paid for the food and escorted me out of the bistro. The performers had just started to show up along the promenade—magicians, musicians, and comedians all delighting the crowds.

“I didn’t expect to see so many people. So many performers.”

“It’s the balmy weather,” he said. “Brings them out like turtles on a sunny rock.”

I laughed. “Balmy?” Was that another twinkle in his eyes? I tucked my sweater around me.

Marcus took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. “You need this more than I do. I’m used to the weather, you’re not. I don’t want you to get ill your first night here.”

“Thanks.” I snuggled into the warmth of his jacket and vowed to be more prepared the next day for the wildly fluctuating temperatures of Australia. I could barely comprehend that I, Lily Winter, was in such an exotic locale. I’d never done anything outlandish in my life. Maybe I’d stayed up late for a Johnny Depp movie marathon or splurged on a little black dress that was searching for the perfect evening, or ate my way through a bowl of chocolate cake batter when I was feeling particularly lonesome, but those were indulgences, not colorful life events. I knew mostly ordinary days in a life that appeared not too far from trifling.

Marcus steered me away from a group of musicians playing chamber music and then after a short walking distance he stopped. “This is it. This is the spot where I’ve seen her play. Right here. The woman who looks just like Lily.” He smiled at me.

I scanned the area, searching and praying.
Lord, please let it be.
But we waited and nothing happened. No woman suddenly appeared to play her flute. So, we waited some more. The woman, whom I’d willed to come, did not, and my optimism drifted away like one of the gondolas floating on the river. My disappointment weighted my whole being like a terrible yoke.

When Marcus saw my forlorn expression he whispered, “Sorry, Love.”

Not too far from our spot the chamber orchestra began packing up their instruments. “Just a moment. I want to ask one of the musicians about Camille.”

“Good idea,” Marcus said.

I hurried toward the cellist, a young woman who appeared friendly enough. I dropped twenty dollars in a colorful basket, which sat in front of the group, and then said to her, “Excuse me. I’m looking for someone.”

“Yes?” She set her bow into the case.

“Have you seen a woman play a flute here in the evenings? She stands just over there.” I pointed toward her right, closer to the river.

The woman’s smile morphed into a puzzled frown. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, not at all. What do you mean?”

“But you look like her. Just like her.” The woman gave me a good long look, taking me in from different angles. “Except, I guess your hair is longer.”

“Really?” My heart sped up. “This woman … she’s my identical twin sister. At least I think she is. Her name is Camille. Do you know her?”

“Never met her. But she does play here sometimes. She was here a couple of nights ago. But I think I heard her coughing. Maybe she’s ill.” The woman snapped her instrument case shut and looked like she was ready to move on.

Why was everyone always in such a hurry? Perhaps I’d become a still-life painting. I talked faster. “So, you don’t know if her name is Camille or when she might come back? Any details about her at all?”

“No, I’m sorry. But she does play beautifully. I’m envious of her, I’ll tell you that.”

“Oh?”

“You’re American, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes. I’ve come a long way to find her. All the way from Houston.”

“I love Texas … cowboys.” The young woman’s face lit up.

“We have a few cowboys there.” The taxi driver had mentioned John Wayne. Guess Australians had seen too many old westerns.

“Here we call cowboys and cowgirls jackaroos and jillaroos.”

“That’s cute.”