The Memory of Us: A Novel by Camille Di Maio Page A

peeked out of the window, desperate to avoid discovery. The curtains had a rough texture, like a brocade. Gold and red. I rubbed them in the palm of my hand. Funny, I hadn’t noticed them before. But, patient in my surveillance, I saw details all around me with new eyes. The cobblestone path below was laid in an offset pattern and the iron gate was adorned with a scrolled B that was so elaborate, you could barely tell what it was.
    At last Kyle appeared down in the gardens. His unkempt white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his forearms and neck glistened from the sweat of hard work. He had a melancholy look about him, and it only made my ache for him more pronounced. I wanted to run outside, to abandon every promise I’d made to myself. To tell him that I was here, that if he had fallen for me, he could have me. My knuckles whitened as I gripped the sill and debated my next move. But then, his mouth slanted slightly upward, forming a whistle. I wondered what tune was on his lips.
    I pressed the lens of the Kodak right up against the glass to avoid a glare, wrapped the body of it in the curtain, and snapped the picture before he could see me. I hoped that it would turn out well, because I wasn’t going to chance another one.
    With my heart pounding, I took a breath and turned away from the window. I picked up one of the plants.
    “My, my, Charles. Look how they’ve grown.” I set it back and hugged him until he pushed me away. He didn’t understand that I was leaving for a long time. Would he miss me? Or was each day the same to him? So often I wished I knew what went on in his head. I kissed his hands and fled the room, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my eyes.
    As I passed the reception desk, Miss Ellis came around and said good-bye to me with that tragic expression that had made a home on her face. “We’ll miss you, deary. You write to us and let us know how you’re doing.”
    “I will. And thank you. Thank you for everything.”
    I embraced her tightly, my partner in crime. She represented much of what had become special to me here.
    “He’ll miss you, too, you know.”
    I didn’t know if she meant Charles or Kyle.

    After a couple of hours, the train slowed into the station at Crewe. I pulled a compact out of my handbag to powder my nose. My eyes were red, and I blinked several times to wet them. Stretching my arms, I reached for my bag and exited the cabin.
    The porter took my hand to help me down the steps. “And where are you heading today, lass?” His voice had a Scottish lilt.
    “London. Victoria station, please.”
    “Aye, that’ll be Platform Four. Just go down a ways on your right. We’ll have your trunks delivered.” He glanced at his gold pocket watch and pointed to the left. “You’ve got just under an hour before it departs, and there’s a café inside the hall over there.”
    I did not care to sit in a busy station, preferring to be alone with my thoughts. “May I just go straight to the train and board now?”
    “Right you are, lass. It should be open. I think they’ve just cleaned it.”
    “Thank you. I do prefer that.”
    I handed him a few shillings, and he tipped his hat as I walked away.
    The Crewe station was familiar to me, having made this transfer many times with Mother when we went to London to go shopping for a few days. Its large, angled ceiling was supported by a crisscross pattern of iron and glass, displaying none of the elegance of the Liverpool station, with its arched features that softened the industrial setting.
    A train pulled into Platform Six as I continued on, sending billows of exhaust into my face. I turned away and coughed, and put my hand over my nose until I reached the Pullman that would bring me to my new home.
    The porter at Platform Four was more perfunctory than the prior one, and I helped myself into the cabin. This one was immaculate. The velvet on the wide and comfortable seats looked as if it had been upholstered yesterday, and tables