“Where?”
“Pitcairn Islands. In the South Pacific.”
He looked impressed. “How in the world did you know that?”
“It’s where the Mutiny on the Bounty took place.”
“What’s the Mutiny on the Bounty?”
“It’s an old movie. Before your time.”
“It’s always weird when you say that.” He reached over and rubbed my neck. “Are you okay?”
“I think I’m ready.”
“For coffee?”
I smiled. “To settle down.”
“Mamma mia, finalmente,” he said. “You’ve been running me ragged. I’ve been on fumes since the Cinque Terre. You’re like the Energizer Bunny.”
“The what?”
“Sorry, that’s after your time.”
I wagged my finger at him.
“So, why don’t you and Charlotte just take it easy tomorrow, sleep in, go shopping, have fun, and I’ll make arrangements for Capri. Bene?”
The thought of it filled me with joy. “Bene,” I replied. I turned to Charlotte, who was lying with her head on the table, barely keeping her eyes open. “Do you want to go live on an island?”
“Are there tigers?”
I smiled and Matthew stifled a laugh. “No, honey,” I said.
“Okay.”
That night as we went to bed, I said to Matthew, “There’s something I don’t understand. The younger you . . .” I wasn’t sure how to ask this. “In nineteen ninety you were ten years old.”
“Right.”
“That means you’re still in Italy. But you’re also here now. Are there two of you?”
“I really don’t know. I’m not sure how this works. But I’m pretty sure that my parents are in Sorrento.”
“What if you accidentally run into them?”
“Then there will be a clash of time continuums and the world and universe will come to an abrupt end.”
I stared at him. “Really?”
He burst out laughing. “No. I just saw that on a science fiction show once. They wouldn’t know me, of course, any more than if a thirty-year-old Charlotte walked up to you right now and asked for directions.”
“But what if you see yourself?”
A slight smile crossed his face. “That would be cool.”
The world would be a better place if people and countries learned this one lesson: Desiring something doesn’t make it yours.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
There is something you may be wondering. Through those ten months together, dozens of cities and thousands of miles, Matthew and I were never intimate. I know, in today’s world, that might not seem plausible, but our situation was not out of today’s world. I’m not saying that there weren’t times that abstinence wasn’t agonizing. That would be a lie. And we were certainly affectionate. But as much as I loved and wanted Matthew, he was still my daughter’s future husband. And that made all the difference. Love gives you strength to do what’s right. Even when it’s hard.
Matthew and I never talked about our desires, or even our chasteness, for that matter. It was just understood. Though once, in a lighter moment, I said to him, “You know, if I had your baby and it was a boy and then you went back to 2008, your son would be your brother-in-law.”
He thought about it for a moment then said, “That’s just bizarre.”
“Absolutely bizarre,” I said.
We both started laughing.
By grace or oversight, there are corners of Eden that God left on this earth.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
Capri is a dream, a jagged chunk of limestone that juts out of the cobalt blue Tyrrhenian Sea just west of the Sorrentine peninsula. Julius Caesar so coveted the beautiful island that he traded fertile farmland for the rock. Since that time it has been a favorite of artists from around the world, from the great Russian writer Gorky to the French classical composer Claude Debussy, who even named one of his preludes “Les collines d’Anacapri” in homage to Anacapri—a small commune nestled atop the Capri mountains. It was the perfect setting for our life at that time, a dreamscape. A symphony.
Matthew had found a villa for us in Anacapri. The wide, spacious home was already furnished and had white stucco walls hung with paintings from local artists and vibrant ceramics. Behind the home there was a large, terra-cotta–tiled terrace that overlooked the sea. The outside walls were also whitewashed, though mostly covered with purple bougainvillea, a flowering plant that climbed the walls like ivy. The yard beyond our villa was lush with cyprus, yellow oleanders and lemon trees that produced fruit as large as grape-fruits.
As I look back over my life, I have never been so happy as I was in Capri, and the days passed all too quickly. Unfortunately, happiness came with an expiration date.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
October came. There was a particular evening I will never forget. We had spent the day in a small motorboat exploring inlets around the island until we were all exhausted and sunburned. We stopped near the port for dinner, then came home, where Matthew put Charlotte to bed and I retired to the terrace, looking out over the shimmering sea. The air was cool and moist and filled with the sweet scent of the Capri oleanders.
I just sat content to do nothing, my thoughts as vague and drifting as the sea. My reverie was broken by Matthew’s voice.
“May I join you?” He carried a porcelain teacup in each hand.
I looked up and smiled. “Of course.”
He set the tea on the small, tile-topped table next to me and sat down, sharing with me the view. “It’s beautiful tonight,” he said.
“It’s always beautiful,” I said.
“Sempre bella,” he repeated softly. “You’ve been quiet today. What are you thinking?”
“It’s the anniversary of Marc’s death.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” I said sadly. I looked at him. “I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t come down with cancer. Would he have ever told me? Or would my whole marriage have just been a lie?” I took a sip of tea and let the moment fall into silence. “My life would have been different,” I said softly, downplaying the enormity of the understatement. It was a few more minutes before I asked, “How do you and Charlotte meet?”
He turned back toward the sea. “We meet at a friend’s party. She was with some of her friends. I was a goner the moment I saw her. You should have seen her.” He smiled. “I guess you will.”
“Are you happily married?”
He hesitated. “We are very happy. Charlotte taught me how to love. As I told you on our first date, she’s my everything. But watching her suffer through the cancer . . .” He stopped. “It was like having my heart peeled one layer at a time.” He set down his tea and turned toward me. “I fear the future, Beth. I need to go back to it, but I fear it more than I could ever tell you.”
“When do we go back?” I asked.
He took a long drink of his tea following the golden horizon with his gaze. “We’ll know when it’s time,” he said. “You’ll know.”
The story is told of a gentleman who was reading his newspaper aboard a train when the conductor shouted, “The brakes are out, we’re picking up speed and we’re going to crash into the station—everyone off the train!” The passengers began jumping off. As the conductor himself was about to leap he looked at the gentleman who was still casually reading his paper. “Aren’t you going to jump?” he asked. The gentleman replied, “I’m going to wait until I reach the station to decide.”
I should have jumped before the train got moving too fast.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
The next two months passed like a dream—but all dreams come with the expectation of waking. As the day (as I began to call it) came closer, I found myself struggling more and more with my decision to let Matthew go, and a battle waged in my heart. Didn’t I deserve happiness too? Didn’t I deserve love? Haven’t I given everything for my daughter? Doesn’t sh
e want me to be happy too?
One afternoon I was watching Matthew teach Charlotte Italian when I found myself resenting the time he spent with her. I found myself resenting her.
Jealousy is as subtle as a weed. I didn’t notice its first inroads into my heart, but it was there, filling in the cracks of our relationship, growing stronger each day and cleaving us apart. I wasn’t just resenting her, I was resenting them, the future couple. More and more I found myself angry at Matthew. Why wasn’t he fighting for me? Why didn’t he at least ask me to stay? Had he ever really loved me?
It was mid-December. Matthew had gone down to Capri to bring back fresh fish for supper and had taken Charlotte with him. They were gone several hours longer than I had expected, and as twilight fell, I grew angrier with each tick of the clock. When they finally arrived home, I blew up at him. “Where have you been?”
“Amore,” he said. “Mi dispiace, the fisherman was a friend of mine and he offered to take Charlotte through the Blue Grotto.”
“While I just sit here alone wondering where you are?”
He leaned over and whispered to Charlotte and she ran off to her bedroom. Then he just looked at me, carefully reading me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would care.”
“You didn’t think I would care or you just didn’t care.” I stormed out of the room to my bedroom, slammed the door and threw myself on the bed.
A minute later he knocked on the door even though it had no lock. “Beth, can we talk?”
“Vai!” I shouted.
He didn’t speak for a moment, then he said gently, “May I please come in?”
I was crying hard. He opened the door, then walked to the side of the bed and knelt down next to me.
I said, “Why don’t you want to be with me? Why are you spending so much time with her?”
He was quiet for a moment, then replied. “Beth, I’m not just saying goodbye to you.” He took my hand. “When I go back, there is no time left with her. This is the last time I will have with my wife.”
I had been so selfishly caught up in my loss and in my time that I had not even considered what he was going back to. I was filled with enormous shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“You don’t need to be forgiven,” he said. “I would never hold your love for me against you.”
He lay down on the bed next to me and put his arm across my back. When I could speak, I said, “It’s time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to look at him. “I’m so afraid.”
He put both of his arms around me. He held me while I cried. When I had finally calmed, he said, “We’ll leave Monday.” He kissed me on the cheek, then got up and left the room.
As soon as the door shut, I began again to cry. I could already feel him slipping away. He wasn’t mine and I was terrified to lose him.
I have wondered if those who say “it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” have ever lost their loved.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
An hour later Matthew returned. He lay down next to me and put his arms around me and held me through the night. Usually, when my heart is wracked with pain, I seek sleep to escape, but not this time. Pain or bliss, I didn’t want to miss any of his touch. I just lay in his arms feeling his body against mine, absorbing his warmth as if I could somehow store it. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I woke the next morning, the sun had already climbed above the Sorrentine mountains. Matthew rolled over and kissed me. “I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll be in Capri most of the day making arrangements. I’ll ask Nonna Sonia to tend Charlotte tonight. Okay?”
“Grandma” Sonia was our cleaning lady, though she seemed more like family than housemaid.
“Okay,” I said.
I spent most of the day with Charlotte. I needed to tell her that we were leaving. In the early afternoon we took the chairlift to the top of Mt. Solaro. From the mountain vista we could see 360° around the island clear to Naples and south to the Amalfi coast. I bought her an orange Fanta and we sat down on a bench.
“We’re very high up,” I told Charlotte. “This is the highest place on Capri.”
“Is it the highest place in the world?”
I shook my head. “No. Only our world.” I pulled her in close to me. “It’s time to go home, sweetheart.” I realized that she might not be sure where that was anymore. “Home to Utah.”
She looked down but said nothing.
“Did you like living here?”
“I want to always live here,” she said. “With Matthew.”
I looked down at her. “Don’t ever forget that. Your wish may come true.”
That night I wore a hand-sewn white linen dress that Matthew had bought for me from a tailor in Anacapri. We went to a small restaurant about twenty minutes from the piazza, away from the tourists and their haunts.
It was hard finding words adequate for the moment, so we ate. I asked Matthew to order for me and we had ravioli in sage butter and tender steak cutlets with parmesan and rucola. We had finished our meals and were drinking prosecco from beautiful crystal glasses when Matthew said, “I have something for you.” He reached under the table and brought out a small, cedarwood box.
I looked at the box then up into his eyes. “I want you to open it for me.”
He held the box in front of me and pulled back its lid. Inside the velvet-lined box was a ghostly blue cameo pendant attached to a gold rope.
I put my hand over my mouth.
“I bought it in Positano. I was just waiting for the right moment.”
I just stared at it. It was beautiful. The cameo had the profile of a woman carved in an abalone shell, set in a gold bezel.
“Do you like it?”
“Oh, Matthew.”
He lifted the necklace from the box. “Let’s see how it looks on you.” He reached around my neck and connected the clasp. I suppose that the simplest of things, when facing extinction, become of utmost worth. The touch of his hands on my neck filled me with exquisite pleasure. He sat back and I looked down at the cameo, touching it against my breast. “Thank you.”
“It’s something for you to remember me by.”
He said this as if it were possible that I could forget him. “I don’t need anything to remember you by or this time we’ve had together. I could never forget.” I looked into his eyes. “Do you know what I fear most?”
He shook his head. “No, amore.”
“That you won’t remember me.”
The next morning we packed our necessities. A little after noon, a truck arrived outside the villa, and Matthew’s two friends, Nonna Sonia’s grandsons, Salvatore and Dario, helped us with our baggage and drove us down the mountain to the port of Capri. Several large boats had docked in the marina that hour and the city was crowded with tourists.
Using handcarts, our friends lugged our baggage through the crowd along the long, wooden pier to a ferry on the far end of the Capri dock.
We kissed them both goodbye, then climbed aboard the boat minutes before it pulled away from the dock. I never looked back at my beloved Capri. I couldn’t.
In Sorrento, Matthew got us a cab and we went to the train station, where we boarded the train to Rome.
It was late, nearly eleven o’clock, when we disembarked at the Rome Termini and checked into the Ambasciatori Palace Hotel on the Via Veneto near the U.S. Embassy and the Church of the Cappuccini with its four thousand sleeping residents.
We slept for much of the next morning, Matthew transacted more business downstairs, and it was afternoon when we went out as a family into the city for our last night in Italy.
At twilight we ate dinner in the Piazza Navona with its three Bernini statues. It was a sullen time and only Charlotte had much to say, as she ran excitedly between the fountains, artists, merchants and mimes on the cobblest
one surface.
Matthew and I finished our cappuccinos, then, taking Charlotte’s hand, walked the crowded sidewalks about a half-mile to the Trevi Fountain, the final outlet of the ancient Roman aqueducts.
You can hear the Trevi waters before you reach the fountain, which is always crowded after dusk. At night the blue, illuminated waters shimmer seductively beneath the statuary, casting golden webs across its marble facade. The central figure of the Trevi is a trident-wielding Neptune, the Greek god of water, flanked by two Tritons, one trying to rein in a wild seahorse, the other leading a docile one, symbolic of the contrasting moods of the sea.
Holding tightly to Charlotte’s hands, we walked down the crowded stairway to the marble retaining wall of the pool. The churning waters dulled the sounds of the crowds and I looked over at Matthew, who was staring at the fountain, lost in thought. Then I saw him reach into his pocket and bring out coins. He leaned close to me to speak.
“The legend says that if you throw one coin into the fountain, you will return to Rome. If you throw two, you will find love.” He held out the coins.
I shook my head. “Then I don’t want them.” My eyes welled up with tears as I turned away from him.
“Beth.” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me around to look into my eyes.
“I’ve found love, Matthew. I don’t want to love someone else and I don’t ever want to come back here without you.”
For a moment he just looked at me, his beautiful eyes mirroring my sadness. Then he said, “If this is what I’ve brought to your life—then I’ve failed. I promised to come back to take care of you, not to take you. I came to bring you hope.”
I turned away from him. I looked down for a long while, then up at the pulsing theater around me, the vibrant, boisterous crowds—the camera-toting tourists, the fresh-faced students in their Levi’s and sneakers, the young American women with hopeful eyes, the Italian women with their scolding lips, the Gypsy boys selling roses—each of them playing their roles, each playing out their parts. And then I grasped what it had to teach me, that life would go on. Just as the fountain’s water flowed each night for different eyes, with or without him, my life would still flow and churn and bubble. I looked out over the waters, then back into Matthew’s eyes and put out my hand. “I want two coins.”