by Ann Nichols
“You’ve got a point there,” Anastasia grudgingly admitted. She unconsciously reached up and touched her hair—the universal female gesture that says, I don’t think I look up to par.
“I’ll help you get ready,” Melissa was quick to offer.
Anastasia’s eyes blazed. “I’m fine the way I am,” she snapped, surprising Melissa with her sudden anger. Her emerald green eyes, a shade lighter than Luke’s, seem to offer a challenge.
Undaunted, Melissa took it. Looking down at her own silk dress and delicate sandals, with the rhinestones glittering across the front strap, she said, “Oh, then, I must be overdressed.” She looked straight back at Anastasia. “Should I put on my bathrobe?”
Anastasia’s eyes darkened and Melissa thought that she might have gone too far. But suddenly, as if she finally understood the punch line to a joke, Anastasia laughed. In that moment, Melissa caught a glimpse of the woman she had been before the accident took so much from her life. “All right. Let’s shock my brother. I’ll dress,” she declared. “But I have one condition.”
Melissa tilted her head and held her breath—a lifelong habit. She was already learning not to underestimate Luke’s sister.
Motioning toward the guitar, Anastasia softly said, “You have to promise to play your guitar for me after dinner. It’s so soothing.”
Melissa let her breath out and caressed the smooth wood finish like a dear and true friend. “That’s why I was playing,” she admitted. “It fills my mind with peaceful images and the hymns calm and edify me.”
Anastasia rolled her eyes in amazement. “Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time—and I have both Greek and English to choose from. Why do you,” she ran her eyes over Melissa, “need to be edified? You look pretty perfect to me.”
Looking out over the now dark sea, Melissa lightly touched the outline of the cross beneath her dress before answering the question. “Everyone needs edification, Anastasia. Sometimes, those who look the most perfect, need it most of all.”
“And how does playing the guitar edify you?” she asked. Mixed with the skepticism in Anastasia’s voice, Melissa detected a desire to know.
“It’s the words of the hymns,” Melissa explained. “They remind me that God is close by, that I’ve always got my Best Friend with me wherever I go.”
Melissa read a mixture of amazement, unbelief, and sympathy in Anastasia’s eyes. Yet when she spoke, it was with a gentleness to her words that hadn’t been there before. “I have a friend who thinks that way. Gabriel Crown. He’s very religious—a great man, though,” she added as though being religious would make someone unpleasant. But Melissa knew what she meant. She’d met enough “religious” people in her day.
When Anastasia turned back to her it wasn’t with anger but with confusion that she hurled out her words. “But I just don’t understand why a God who loves as Gabriel says he does, would allow that accident to have happened. I think of my husband and little baby so often.” She shook her head, a defeated gesture. “I can’t do anything else because of it,” she admitted. “I’m a horrible mother to my daughter—she hardly knows that I’m her mother—and I can’t sleep for thinking about them all. To be honest, this,” she motioned to her legs, “is nothing compared to the broken way I am inside. My useless legs don’t really bother me. But my husband, my child, my little daughter who has a mother but doesn’t. . .” her voice trailed off into the dark, debilitating place of pain that too many people in the world have visited.
Melissa’s heart cried with her. Leaning her guitar against the chair, she went over to Anastasia, knelt down, and wrapped her arms around her slight form. Anastasia immediately dropped her head against Melissa’s shoulder, as if her head full of grief had suddenly become to heavy for her neck to support.
“I won’t pretend to say I understand how you feel having lost so much,” Melissa finally whispered and rubbed Anastasia’s back, “but I know the anger and pain that I felt after losing loved ones of my own.”
“You?” Anastasia lifted her head and looked at Melissa through a film of tears. “What happened to you?”
“My parents were killed in an accident when I was twelve.”
Anastasia gazed across the veranda, as if she were trying to remember something from the deep, dark past. Slowly, she nodded her head. “Yes. I’m sorry. I had forgotten. Luke told me. Long ago.” And then returning her attention to the present moment, she asked, “But how did you cope? You were just a little girl.”
Melissa shrugged her shoulders and took a deep breath. “On the surface, I was fine. My uncle and aunt took me in and gave me everything money could buy. But mentally, well, quite simply, I didn’t cope. I was confused, angry, superficial, hurt for years, until one night—many years after I lost my parents—burglars ransacked my uncle’s house and tore up my room. They uncovered a book that I had stuffed on the bookshelf behind all the latest best-sellers.” She paused and looked Anastasia in the eye as the wonder of that day again filled her. “Anastasia, it was my father’s Bible. The thieves didn’t want it any more than I had. They threw it into the middle of my room. I found it. I read it. And, I found the faith of my father. I cried out to God and I learned that I’m not made—not constructed—to carry all the hurt, confusion, and anger that living can bring to us. I learned after that how to give those feelings to God.”
“Fine,” Anastasia replied tersely. “But why didn’t He save your parents?”
“He did.”
“What?” Anastasia shook her head confused. “But you said. . .”
Melissa nodded and explained. “My parents were saved by God by believing that it was the Son of God who hung on that Roman cross for our sins.”
“Riddles.” Anastasia snorted.
“No. Not riddles. Truths.” Melissa licked her lips and while sending up a silent prayer for guidance, she continued. “Look, Anastasia, what most people forget is that this earth of ours is ruled by evil. It was given over to Satan in the Garden of Eden and it has been that way ever since. This isn’t home to God’s people.”
“Fiction,” Anastasia snapped, dismissing Melissa’s words. But her verbal response couldn’t wipe out the question that remained in her eyes.
Melissa saw it. She pressed on. “No, Anastasia. Nonfiction. The truth.”
From the way Anastasia’s brows moved back and forth, Melissa could tell that she was amazed, maybe even a little envious of what she thought of as Melissa’s blind faith. But Melissa knew that faith isn’t blind.
“You really believe it?” she finally asked, and Melissa heard awe in her voice.
“I really do,” Melissa confirmed. “I also believe that Satan laughed when my parents and your husband and your child were killed. But even more, I believe that God cried. He cried great big tears that were even bigger than my own and even bigger than yours, and then He took our loved ones, wrapped His big arms around them, and put them in a safe place free of pain.”
Anastasia shook her head. “I don’t know. You talk so much like Gabriel.” And then suddenly, as the thought occurred to her, Anastasia asked, “Does Luke know how you believe?”
“Not really,” Melissa grimaced. “I tried to tell him once. It’s one of the reasons we broke up.” She looked directly at Anastasia and was truthful. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve come to see him.”
Holding her hands out in front of herself as though reading a juicy novel, and smiling in a teasing way, Anastasia said slyly, “Hmmm. . .the plot thickens.”
“Anastasia?” Melissa warned with a laugh, but when Anastasia sighed, a heavy sound of yearning, Melissa asked, “What is it?”
Touching first her uncombed hair and then her faded dress, she murmured, “I never used to keep myself like this. I used to be quite into fashion and I was a fun, happy person.”
“I know. Luke told me all about you. He adores you.”
“Luke,” Anastasia said his name and smiled. “I would never have made it even this far without him. H
e’s been everything to me and like a father to my little girl. Emilia has come through all this okay because of him.”
Melissa reached out and squeezed Anastasia’s hand.
Anastasia squared her shoulders and sat up straight. “You were almost my sister through marriage, and I think,” her eyes twinkled in a suddenly playful way, “that someday you might get another chance.”
“I hope you’re right,” Melissa said.
Anastasia reached forward and touched Melissa’s arm. “That’s something I really like about you. You’re real. Truthful. You say what you believe.”
“I haven’t always been like this,” Melissa warned.
“Maybe not, but you are now. And I need that. I need,” she paused, and her hand wrapped around Melissa’s arm like a vice, “I need someone who hasn’t seen me like I’ve been since the accident. Except for tonight, you haven’t, and I don’t ever want you to again. My family needs me, but I need a push. I need a friend who hasn’t been a part of my grief—one who is only a part of my recovery.”
Tears sprang to Melissa’s eyes. “Anastasia,” she began, “I think many prayers are being answered tonight. I’m honored that you would ask me, but believe me, I need your friendship every bit as much.”
“Bah,” Anastasia shrugged her shoulders. She hadn’t felt needed in so long that she had almost forgotten what a nice feeling it was. “It isn’t possible.”
“Anastasia, except for Luke, I don’t know a soul in Greece, in all of Europe for that matter,” Melissa reminded her.
Anastasia shook her head, and admiration for Melissa shone in her eyes. “How my brother ever let you get away, I’ll never understand. Come on,” she pushed on her right wheel to direct her chair toward her room. “I’ll take you up on your offer to help me dress. Let’s shock my brother.” She laughed. “But we’d better hurry.” She started pushing the chair. “He gets ornery if he’s kept waiting.”
Rolling her eyes, Melissa followed and replied, “Some things never change.”
Thirteen
The hum of the elevator drew Luke’s eyes away from the medical journal he had been reading. His brows came together in a quizzical frown. Anastasia? She was the only one who used the elevator. But he couldn’t remember the last time she’d come down to the first floor.
The elevator clicked to a stop, the door opened, and as Anastasia wheeled herself out, Luke sucked in his breath.
The faded gray housecoat she’d worn for ages had been replaced by a soft violet dress with white polka dots, a romantic summertime creation. Luke remembered it from before the accident. Her hair, which had been neglected for so long that Luke had forgotten the difference it made in his sister’s appearance, was smoothly brushed and formed a soft, shiny frame around her face. She had even applied just enough makeup to offset the pallor of her skin—the result of her self-imposed indoor exile.
“Anastasia,” he said with a big smile creasing the corners of his face. He tossed aside the journal and stood up. He was speechless.
“Are you trying to suggest that I don’t always look this good, dear brother?” She tilted her head saucily to the side, shades of the old Anastasia, and he wondered what had brought about this remarkable transformation. He’d often thought that if his sister ever changed from the frumpy recluse she had become, her coming out would be remarkable, given her flair for the dramatic. But seeing it now with his own eyes was beyond his wildest imagination.
He crossed the marble floor with a bounding gait and bent down to kiss her smooth cheek. “Um, no, I wouldn’t say that.” He scrambled to find the appropriate words. “You look,” his voice cracked with emotion as his eyes scanned her face, “like my sister again,” he finished simply, truthfully.
She rubbed her knuckles against his cheek, something she hadn’t done since the accident. “Thank you, big brother,” she said, and he heard some of the old jauntiness in her tone. Only the small lines that grief had carved around her mouth attested to how hard she was working to keep up the happy appearance. But the important thing to Luke was that for the first time since the tragedy, she was working at it. She was striving to live again.
She took his hand and held it tightly against her face. “For all that you’ve done for me, Luke, thank you,” she whispered. “Maybe, just maybe,” she lifted her green eyes to his, “I’m on my way back.”
“I hope so, Sis,” his voice cracked. “Your daughter and I. . . we need you,” he answered honestly and stroked her cheek.
The sound of Melissa’s heels clicking down the stairs echoed in the marble hallway. Anastasia felt Luke tense, and he quickly stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of his slacks. With a sudden flash of insight, Anastasia understood exactly what her brother had given up to care for her. The woman he loved.
Granted, he and Melissa had broken up before the accident, but Anastasia was certain that if she hadn’t needed him so much, Luke would have reconciled with Melissa long before now.
Melissa stepped into the room and both Luke and Anastasia looked at her with the same open expression of welcome creasing their faces.
Melissa paused. She knew that something wonderful was going on. She could feel it. The room did not feel as cold and sterile as it had before.
Anastasia smiled at Melissa but spoke to Luke under her breath in rapid Greek. “I think we both need this lady, big brother.”
Luke turned startled eyes to his sister. She had just answered his question about her amazing turnaround. She had met Melissa and Melissa had won her over, every bit as quickly as she had captured his heart two and a half years before.
As Melissa stepped tentatively into the room, Luke left his sister’s side and took a step toward her. If his breath had been arrested by his sister’s change, it was punched clear out of him by the change in Melissa. When he had seen her earlier in the day, she had been tired and dusty and dressed in a simple cotton dress. Now she was impeccable, exquisite, and as stunning as the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
With his heart in his throat, he held out his hand to her, and without hesitation she reached for it.
He squeezed her fingers close to his.
She squeezed back.
And when their eyes locked, Luke knew deep in the center of his being that, given a choice, he didn’t ever want to lose her again. “Anastasia,” he spoke to his sister without looking away. “This. . .is Melissa.”
Anastasia waved aside his senseless introduction. “Of course she’s Melissa,” she answered impatiently. “But what I want to know is why you didn’t tell me before that ‘the Castle Lady’ was your lady?”
“Castle Lady?” Melissa inquired, saving Luke from having to answer Anastasia. Luke looked at her sheepishly and lightly ran his thumb over her wrist. “That’s what Emilia, Anastasia’s little daughter, calls you. We told her that a lady was coming here to visit Greece’s castles and you’ve been the Castle Lady ever since.” He turned at the sound of small feet pitter-pattering down the hall.
“Ah. . .here’s our little lady now, coming to say good night.” He gently squeezed Melissa’s hand before letting go to greet his niece. “I always tuck her into bed and then, about ten minutes later, I take her her favorite doll,” he chuckled, sounding for all the world like an indulgent dad, “she conveniently forgets at the dinner table every night.”
Melissa heard the evident pride in his voice and remembered how dearly he had wanted a child—their child. Something inside of her almost cried at the thought.
“Theo Luke. . .” The little girl came running toward him, soft curls streaming out behind her and cascading down her back. But when her eyes settled on her mother, she stopped in her tracks. As if seeing an apparition, she stood and stared in openmouthed wonder as only a child would do. “Mamma. . .?” It was a question that spoke volumes about the suffering and loss she had endured since the accident. Tears gathered in Anastasia’s eyes as she held out her arms to her little daughter.
Slowly, as if tiptoeing across a narrow
bridge, Emilia walked to her mother’s side. Tentatively, she reached out a small, six-year-old hand to touched the soft brightness of Anastasia’s dress before moving her hand to her mother’s hair. “Pretty,” the little girl said in a tiny, awestruck voice.
“Do you want to sit on my lap?” Anastasia asked quietly.
Emilia looked up at Luke as if to get permission, but as soon as he nodded, she scrambled into her mother’s lap.
“You smell nice,” the little girl said as she buried her face in Anastasia’s shoulder.
“Thank you. So do you,” Anastasia replied, smoothing back her daughter’s silky brown hair.
Motioning toward Melissa, Anastasia asked, “Do you know who this is?”
A gigantic grin flashed across Emilia’s face. “The Castle Lady!” she exclaimed, and they all laughed.
Melissa left Luke’s side and crossed over to Anastasia’s chair. Extending her hand to the little girl she said, “Hello, Emilia.”
The little girl took her hand and responded politely, “Hello.”
“You can call ‘the Castle Lady,’ ” Anastasia paused, and her eyes bounced mischievously between Luke and Melissa, “Thea Melissa.”
Melissa glanced at Luke in time to see his eyebrows arch, and then her eyes turned back to Anastasia just as she was shooting her brother a cryptic, sisterly look.
Anastasia looked up at Melissa and explained, “Thea means aunt.”
Melissa’s mouth formed an O but no sound came out. Unlike Luke, Melissa wasn’t surprised by Anastasia’s cheeky suggestion. Apparently, Luke’s sister was taking on the role of director by introducing a new plot twist to the unfolding “drama.”
Turning to Emilia, Melissa said sweetly, “I’d like it if you called me Thea.”
“Me too,” the little girl replied. “I’ve never had a thea before.”
Melissa swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and avoided looking in Luke’s direction. If they had married, Emilia would have a thea already. “Well, you do now. And you know what? This thea isn’t only interested in castles made of stone. I like to make castles out of sand too.”