Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Maura
The remainder of our honeymoon passes blithely. Christy is his usual caring and attentive self once more. Dashing and charismatic. And mine. He is every inch the man I excitedly walked up the aisle to. He is the man who says, “I cannot wait to have a baby with you.” And “I am the luckiest man in the world.” And “Maura, my darling, I am going to make you so happy, just you wait.” He is the man whose love fills me to the brim and he is the man who, I am certain, will never hurt me again.
By day, Christy and I explore the island on foot. The green fields stretch out for miles, and sometimes our feet hurt and we laugh about being city folk who look forward to the hustle and bustle of Dublin when we return.
He turns women’s heads as he walks, and I tease him once they have passed.
“I only have eyes for one woman,” he tells me, blushing.
We hold hands and talk about our future. We eat a simple picnic most days and time seems to pass without punctuation. One day is set apart from the next only by the beautiful sunsets that dip into the sea. The nights are long and full of intimacy. Christy was right; each time it gradually becomes more bearable, and by the time we are leaving there is almost no pain at all.
“See? What did I tell you?” he says as we pack our bags on the morning of checkout. “It’s the same with having babies. The first one is a bit of a shock to the system and after that it’ll be no bother to you. We’ll have four or five at least, won’t we?”
“More.”
Christy dresses in the suit he wore to our wedding and on the ferry on the way here. I think about the trousers folded at the bottom of my bag and I squash the pang of sadness as I pull on a box-pleated skirt, tan nylons, and a blouse, and I marvel at how much I look like my mother. I spend time brushing my hair until it’s as silky and shiny as Doris Day’s and tuck it behind my ears on both sides.
“Don’t do that,” Christy says.
“Do what?”
“Don’t wear your hair like that; it makes people stare.”
“I thought you liked it,” I say. “When we first met you said—”
“We’re not just meeting.” Christy cuts me off with a clipped tone. “You’re not a single shopgirl anymore. You’re my wife. And I can’t bear you catching the eye of every red-blooded man who walks by.”
“Christy, I—”
“Tie. It. Back!”
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes and if I dare to blink, they will spill. Christy shakes his head, as if he’s trying to shake off a part of himself he doesn’t recognize. A part we are both afraid of. My tears blur my vision as I wait for his next move. When he speaks again and softly says, “Tie it back, darling, won’t you?” I realize I was holding my breath.
He reaches into my bag and pulls out a silk scarf.
“Your something blue,” Grace said on our wedding morning when she gave it to me.
It’s a beautiful scarf, royal blue silk with small white flowers embroidered around the edges. I wore it knotted around my thigh, under my dress, like a garter. It felt rebellious and cheeky. I thought Christy and I might laugh about it when I told him. I had forgotten about it until this very moment and suddenly I don’t want to tell him anymore.
I snatch the scarf from his grip and tie it around my hair. I glimpse myself in the mirror and I am irritated to find that the vibrant colors look rather pretty against my fair skin.
He smiles and says, “That’s my girl. Gosh, you’re just too beautiful. Do you know that?” He gathers me into his arms and kisses me hard. “I love you, Maura. I love you so much.”
I kiss him in return as my silent tears finally escape.
Christy settles our bill and we say our goodbyes to Rita and Bert and thank them for their hospitality.
“You’ll have to come back and visit us,” Rita says. “Once you have little ones running around. The island is a wonderful spot for a family trip.”
Christy reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” he says.
My fingers curl around his and I truly can’t think of anything more wonderful than becoming a mother.
Christy shakes Bert’s hand and then Rita’s, and he turns and walks toward the car. I follow him and once again slip my fingers between his.
“Lovely couple,” he says.
“Yes. Lovely.”
“How long do you reckon they’re married?”
I shrug. “Thirty, maybe forty years.”
“I’d say forty or more. That’ll be us someday,” he says zealously.
My mind wanders toward our distant future. I swallow a lump as I imagine forty years of being told how to dress and how to wear my hair.
Christy and I sit into the car and he leans across to kiss my cheek.
“Thank you for a very special honeymoon. I’m a lucky man,” he says.
“Yes. And I’m a lucky woman,” I say, although the words taste bitter leaving my mouth.
Christy is about to start the engine when we hear a female voice screeching.
“Doctor, Doctor!”
Rita races toward the car, waving her arms above her head. “Doctor, Doctor, come quick!”
Christy opens the car door and hops out.
“It’s Bert,” she says.
I glance back at the house. Bert is lying on the ground outside the front door. He’s clutching his arm and his face is the color of barley water. Christy opens the boot and pulls out his black leather medicine bag. He runs toward the house, kicking up dirt behind him. He’s on his knees at Bert’s side while my mind is struggling to catch up. I drape my arm over Rita’s shoulder. She blesses herself and begins to pray.
“Hail Mary full of grace…”
“Maura, water,” Christy shouts, summoning me with a click of his fingers.
“Water?” I ask Rita.
“Holy Mary Mother of God pray for our sins….”
She doesn’t hear me above her own chaotic mumblings. Her focus seems solely on trying to save her husband with mere words. I let her go, afraid for a moment that she might fall to the ground, but she doesn’t. I run through the open front door and into the kitchen. I pour a glass of water, and by the time I return, Bert is sitting up. He’s wrung out, but a hint of color is returning to his cheeks.
“Angina, most likely,” Christy says, taking the glass from me and helping Bert to sip some. “You had a lucky escape this time. But you need to contact your local practitioner. You might not get a second chance.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Bert is scarcely able to draw his breath but he answers obediently. “I will do just that.”
Rita has snapped out of her trance and tears are trickling down her flushed cheeks.
“Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much,” she says.
Christy slips Bert’s arm over his shoulder and helps him to stand. Rita flaps around them like a headless chicken and I feel for her—so helpless and frightened. Christy and Bert shuffle inside and Christy settles him in the fireside chair in the sitting room. Rita fetches a blanket and drapes it over her husband’s knees despite the humid June weather.
“Can I make you something for the road?” she asks. “A tart, maybe? I make a fine apple tart.”
“No, thank you,” Christy says, dusting the garden dirt off his knees. “We’d best be on our way. Make that visit, Bert, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’ll see to it that he does,” Rita says.
Christy smiles, but I don’t miss the flash of annoyance in his eyes that Rita has answered for her husband.
“Let’s go, Maura,” he says.
“You’re a lucky young lady,” Rita says, catching my hand and squeezing it tighter than is comfortable. “You’re married to a wonderful man. A wonderful, wonderful man.”
Christy walks away and I follow him. I glance over my shoulder at Rita and Bert. Rita is crouched next to her husband. She is kissing his face and stroking his hair.
“Will he be okay?” I ask as we sit into the car once more.
“If he listens to his doctor and not his wife.” Christy exhales, starting the engine. “She’ll kill him with her greasy cooking.”