Ahead, next to Ioli’s grandmother’s grave, a deep hole awaited us with a hill of freshly dug up dirt to its side.
The elderly priest opened his Bible and with one eye on the page and one on the approaching dark clouds, read his words in a hurry. Anna knelt by the six-foot hole and with Ioli’s hand on her shoulder, watched her husband lowered into the ground. Her lips moved –maybe a final goodbye, I thought, maybe one last I love you-as she threw in a handful of dirt. Ioli knelt beside her, her black dress collecting mud, and threw in a handful of dirt, too. Her words, bye my sweet, sweet daddy were more audible than her mother’s.
With a loud bang from above, the darkened clouds collided and fat droplets of water fell from the sky. Ioli’s cousins took the wooden handled shovels and with sleeves rolled-up, began to fill in the grave.
Tracy approached Ioli, placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and whispered in her ear. ‘Anything, anytime. Just call us.’
Ioli stroked Tracy’s hand and whispered ‘thanks.’ In a matter of minutes the crowd of a hundred had dispersed back to the dry environment of their cars. As Tracy and I walked back to our vehicle, I noticed Mark standing under a towering oak tree, his eyes on Ioli.
‘Go ahead,’ I said to Tracy and ran up to meet Mark.
‘You should go talk to her,’ I advised, pulling him out of his daze.
‘Oh, Captain. I did not see you there. No, it’s not the right time. She is clearly in pain.’
‘And that is when they need us the most. Come round the family’s house. Everyone is heading over there for a nice, hot, strong coffee and to show our support to the family. She would love to see you.’
‘Would she?’
‘She wouldn’t have been showing your text messages to Tracy and talking about you if she wasn’t interested.’
‘She only replied to one of my messages. A simple thank you to my condolences.’
‘She’s not a girl of texts and fancy words. A strong woman like her needs a man of action. And that is as far as my matchmaking skills go. It’s up to you, Mark to be the hunter she needs,’ I said and did not stay for a reply. I dashed out into the rain and ran to catch up with Tracy; my back aching every step of the way.
At least, my mission was successful. Mark did show up at the house and even in the gloomy atmosphere, he managed to make Ioli’s eyes shine. After all, life is for the living and the living need to keep going on.
As for me, my mind over analyzed my doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning.
‘All you are going to do is let the doctor have a look at you, take your pressure and a blood sample. Stop worrying,’ Tracy said, rolling her eyes, annoyed that I was not listening to a word she was saying.
She was right. The doctor listened to problems, asked a few routine questions, ignored my google-based questions, took my pressure and had the nurse take a blood sample. What Tracy did not guess was the urine test. I was given a small, plastic cup and shown to the bathroom. It’s funny how when you really have to go you never do. I stood there, with my piston in my hand for a good three minutes before release came.
In a matter of twenty minutes, I was out of the chlorine-smelling clinic and back in my dirty car. My mind journeyed to the barbeque-flavored spare ribs I was going to order. Friday night still remained date night for us. And date night always meant eating out. The juicy meat, the aged whiskey and Tracy’s fine love-making skills erased the whole appointment from my mind. Until, four days later, the phone rang from the doctor’s office and I found myself over-thinking things again.
The following day, I entered through the hospital’s glass doors and headed to the second floor.
I hate hospital chairs. Always cold, always hostile to your back. Even in a prime private hospital, like the one I sat in. The oversized clock opposite me, informed me that my appointment was supposed to occur twenty minutes ago.
‘Take a seat and the doctor will see you shortly,’ the blonde, young girl with the soothing voice had apprised me from behind her modern looking booth.
Your results are in Mr Papacosta. When are you available to visit? The doctor advises you to come as soon as possible.
That is what she had said in the same voice, with the same tone. I admit, I panicked. As soon as possible. That is what you would say if something was wrong.
My foot tapped upon the cold, shiny floor. My fingers fought around with each other.
Six other people sat around me.
A blonde pregnant lady had sunk back into the white leather couch outside her doctor’s office. Judging by the size of her tummy, I guessed she was due any week now. Her husband sat patiently besides her wearing a hipster checked shirt, a sports cap, a thick black beard and a worried expression.
First child, I thought before producing thoughts of jealously. Why couldn’t my pathologist have nice, comfortable sofas?
An elderly gentleman to my left did not seem to mind the cold, hard chair. He kept nodding off to sleep. I feared to think how long he had been waiting outside his doctor’s office.
Opposite me, a young woman in her early thirties, dressed in a flowery dress fought hard to keep her two boys busy. Her ammo in the war against boredom included coloring books, toy cars, story books and action figures. All failed. Her green eyed twins with their snotty noses only settled down when provided with their mother’s phone and tablet.
‘Candy crush,’ they cheered in sheer excitement.
I smiled at the frustrated woman.
‘Boys and their toys,’ she said and proceeded to pick up after their mess.
I gazed up towards the towering clock. The hands seemed to move slower than usual. Tracy was right. I am such a bad waiter. Thankfully –for me-she had to work. She said she would take the day off, but I persuaded her otherwise. I love her, but there is no need to have someone next to you telling you to relax every two minutes. That only makes me nervous.
I’ll relax when I want to relax.
And with that thought, the doctor’s door opened.
‘Mr Papacosta, the doctor will see you now.’
With sweaty palms wrapped around the chair’s cool, metal arms, I lifted myself up and beelined behind the youthful nurse to the doctor’s grey door. She held the thick door open and patiently waited for me to enter the spacious and well-lit office.
‘Good morning, Costa. Please, take a seat,’ Dr. Ntia Germanou said, exiting her examination room, her olive skin in contrast with her shiny, white coat. She pointed to the much more comfortable armchair in front of her wooden desk with the disc shaped, brass pull knobs. The normally-joyful doctor who loved to talk about the weather and always asked me about murder cases while laughing and explaining how she was not a psycho, but enjoyed a good mystery tale, walked past me in silence. She remained distant as she informed her nurse that she would not be needing her for this and she would buzz her when she was ready to accept her next appointment. With the nurse gone, Dr. Ntia released her tied-up, black, silky hair and let it fall to her shoulders. She settled down in her high backed chair and reached for her red glasses. She lifted the brown envelope with my name labelled on it and pulled out a few papers. Next to her was my file. Her eyes were fixed on it as if reading, yet her eye pupils revealed otherwise.
‘Costa, you are a straight forward kind of guy, so I am going to be straight with you. Your tests are quite worrying. I am going to order a series of tests that I wish to be done ASAP…’
‘What is it you suspect?’
‘Cancer.’
Many long, fancy words came out of her mouth after the c-word. Medical terms, various procedures such as a CT scan and an endoscopy, and jokes as ‘don’t worry’. My mind probably did not hear half of it. It shut down the outside world and processed the one word that did stick. Cancer.
Mixed emotions overwhelmed me.
After Gaby’s murder, Tracy and I fell apart. We eventually broke up and I resigned from my detective’s job in New York. Days later, I decided I did not wish to go on living. However, I w
as not one to pity myself enough to commit suicide. I wanted to go out my way. I came back to my homeland and joined the force here, only to discover that when you remove the fear of dying from a police officer, you have your perfect crime fighter. I took on every case labelled dangerous. The dragon-rapist, the Olympus Killer, crazy monks, the Athen’s arsonist, the July the 11th terrorist group, the campus murderer, the spiderweb shrink, you name it. My life was always on the line. Now, with Ioli’s friendship, my reconnection to Tracy and my acceptance –if there is such a thing-of my daughter’s death, I realized that I was not ready to depart the world of the living. But, I guess, cancer would be the judge of that.
‘Costa,’ Dr. Ntia said, raising her voice to grab my drifting away attention. ‘I realize this is a scary situation, but nothing is for sure yet and I promise you I will be with you every step of the way…’
I still remember that line of hers. ‘Nothing is for sure yet…’ It played through my mind during our next subsequent meeting when she announced that I had gastric cancer. Yes, my stomach -after years of being treated like a king by me, had betrayed me. Stomach cancer. Two words. Terrifying words yet for some bizarre reason, funny to me. Of all the places I could get cancer, I got it in the stomach. Two words, forcing me to regret the twenty five years of my life that I spent as a smoker, the last ten years of my life that I never spent inside a gym and the fifty years that I spent as a food lover. Oh, did I enjoy food. As Dr. Ntia put it, ‘the top three reasons are smoking, being overweight and a diet high in salty, pickled, and smoked food.’ Even as she listed the types of food, my mind thought of certain delicious goodies and the saliva increased in my mouth.
I drove home in silence, that day. No popular hits blurring from my aging, crackling car speakers and me singing along off key. Just me and my thoughts. One question overshadowing all other thoughts. What the hell, I am supposed to tell Tracy?
The sun hid behind the line of apartment blocks to my right and the darkness grew stronger. By the time I reached home, I had switched on my Audi’s lights and opened the car window, letting the soft, cool night breeze caress my slightly sweaty-from-anxiety body. My cancer-cell-carrying body. An enemy from within. Your own body ganging up against you.
I parked outside the house, noticing the light from our living room TV playfully coloring our thin curtains, and unwillingly approached our doorstep. It took me a minute or two to focus enough to land the key into place and I pushed open the dark brown, aluminium door.
‘Honey, you back?’ Tracy called out.
‘Yeah, babes,’ I said, trying to paint the words with my usual happy tone.
Yesterday’s terrorist attacks were playing on the television and multiple windows were open, all filled with experts analyzing the reasons why they had happened. As if that would bring back the dead. Prevention is what is needed, not an after-analysis, if you asked me.
‘I can’t believe what I am hearing. There is so much hatred in the world. People are over-generalizing and blaming all Muslims for this. How can you blame an entire religion?’ Tracy grumbled. ‘Christians blaming Islam for promoting violence. As if Christianity is so innocent! Have you read the Bible…? Ancient Egypt, Sodoma and Gomorrah, the flood, gays, witches, bastards, adulterers… all violently dealt with. Then, Christianity crusaded against the Middle East leading to Islam fighting back. Every action has an opposite reaction; all religious books are out of date. You can’t blame a whole religion for a bunch of terrorists that follow the Quran literally. A lot of people followed the Bible literally and they burned women at the stakes; was all Christianity to blame? All religions have murdered millions. Whatever does not unite us, separates us. Organized religion has been a plague on the planet for thousands of years….’
Tracy’s rant came to abrupt end after witnessing the wide smile on my face.
‘What?’ she asked. ‘What you grinning about?’
‘You. Your lawyer ways. I love it when you get all fired up about something.’
‘Do you, now?’ she said, smiling back. ‘Come sit down, tell me how did your doctor’s appointment go?’ she continued, picking up the remote control and pressing MUTE.
I had not revealed Dr. Ntia’s suspicions to Tracy. I left her in the dark. Tracy hoped the doctor would recommend a healthier way of living and prescribe me some vitamins.
‘I have cancer,’ I said, remaining standing. I was never one for being subtle or taking the long way to the point.
Tracy struggled to form her next words. Her smile dropped and her eyelids moved rapidly as her brain processed what I had said. A mixture of shock, disbelief and sorrow overtook her.
‘Costa, if you think this is even funny, I swear to God you will be Ioli’s next murder case!’
‘Oh, boy,’ I said, exhaling. I approached our leather couch and sat beside her. I took her hands into mine. ‘I had all sorts of tests done this week. I did not want to worry you, just in case it was nothing…’
Tracy shook her head. ‘What did the doctor say?’
‘Stomach cancer. Well, you know Dr. Ntia. She is always optimistic. She blabbed about surgery, chemotherapy and how targeted drugs work miracles nowadays.’
Tracy stood up. ‘I… I can’t even hear the words.’ She placed her hands on her head and walked into the kitchen. The loud smashing sound that followed informed me that the vase with the fresh sunflowers was no more. I knew my wife. I gave her time. I even read the news running along at the bottom of the TV. Commercials had to come on, for me to finally rise from the soft sofa and drag myself to the kitchen. Tracy stood with watery eyes and a cool glass of white wine. Judging by the bottle to her right, it was not her first glass. Her victim lay in pieces by the fridge, the dying sunflowers among the small puddles of water. She let the glass down slowly and walked towards me. She paused for a second about a foot away from me, staring into my eyes. Then, she fell into my arms, kissed my neck and whispered ‘another thing we will face together. Don’t you dare shut me out again. This is our battle, and the Papacostas play to win.’
Our next kiss was on the lips. Two fifty-year olds sharing a teenage kiss, defying danger. My fingers got lost in her curly hair as I held her close. A tender kiss, our first step in an uphill journey.
Chapter 24
Spring time in Greece is a delightful period; if winter decides to leave by March and summer does not invade in May. More sunlight hours to enjoy the beauty around you and the perfect weather in which to do so.
Not that I got to enjoy any of it. I was ‘forced’ by Tracy, the police Chief, Ioli and my doctors to take a six month leave from work.
‘Isn’t will-to-live a major booster for cancer patients?’ I tried to trick my doctor to letting me stay at work.
‘We do not live to work, Mr Papacosta. Let’s beat this first and you will be back at work next year.’
‘Next year?’ I asked, my voice revealing the horror inside. ‘Why don’t you just shoot me now and get this over and done with?’
‘Costa!’ Tracy said, and by the look on her face she needed to say no more. Every husband knows when the last word has been spoken. I screwed up my face in retaliation and got lost in my thoughts, once again.
I am never going to go back to work…
The thought sent shivers down my spine and my bottom lip trembled.
This is not how I wanted things to end. We humans have knowledge of our mortality, but we always remained optimistic that we will have enough time. Enough time to do and say everything in our life plan. Determination came over me.
Cancer will not have the best of Costa Papacosta! I will beat your ass and be back at work as soon as possible.
My inner fighter sounded so sure of himself until my pessimistic voice replied.
Yes, you will beat cancer.
Your fifty-year old sorry ass and your hanging-from-unhealthy-foods beer belly will beat cancer.
You! With your aching back and stressed out knees. What a joke.
Four weeks later
‘Utter rubbish,’ I muttered.
‘Read a book, dear,’ Tracy called out from the kitchen; her supersonic ears able to hear me whine from miles away. She was busy preparing my favorite meal. Octopus cooked with red wine.
‘Anyway, Ioli will be over shortly,’ she continued.
‘I thought I heard you conspiring against me over the phone.’
‘Nonsense. We have better things to talk about than you.’
She did have a point. Ever since Ioli and Mark went on their first date in February, Tracy called her daily to chat about all the juicy –as she referred to it-news. I was happy for Ioli. Plain as that. And even better, if I could survive a night of gossip with my two favorite ladies, maybe I could discuss a few cases with her. So far, whenever I spoke about work with Ioli, all she would do was complain about the idiot –according to her-rookie that the Chief assigned to her as my temporary replacement. The kid was probably not as bad as she described him.
‘I don’t like his stupid ways, his stupid voice, his awful cologne and that dumb expression he wears every time I talk with him!’
I knew she was harsh with him, because she missed me. And worst, she feared I was not coming back. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to me. Besides, it was better than in the beginning when she would just stare at me with watery eyes and act tough, so I played along.
‘What did that dumb-ass do now?’ One question strong enough to have Ioli ranting for an hour.
There was no need for the mighty question tonight as the night focused on Mark. I dived into my delicious, soft, well-marinated octopus, glad that chemotherapy did not mess with my appetite as I had been warned it might. It took my first hairs last week, it put a dent in my sex life, it had every bone in my body feeling weak, but it did not take this. My appetite and love for food conquered cancer.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 62