by Ann Nichols
“Oh! All the time,” Melissa said, “when I’m at home. But I haven’t here, because. . .well, I’ve been afraid of waking you.”
Anastasia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be. I’d like to wake up to your singing,” she assured. “In fact, play now if you want.” Shielding her eyes from the glare of the morning sky, she started backing her chair into her room. “As for me,” she stifled a yawn, “I’m going to close these eyes for awhile longer.”
“Pleasant dreams,” Melissa whispered after her.
From then on, playing her guitar in the morning became a part of Melissa’s daily routine, along with sharing a continental breakfast with Anastasia and Emilia on the western veranda, and then swimming and playing on the beach with Emilia.
One day, Emilia had just finished placing flags made out of seaweed on the four turrets of the largest sand castle they had made to date when the sound of a bee, just above Melissa’s left shoulder, sent her scampering to her feet. She pulled Emilia up with her and protectively squeezed the little girl behind her while she backed away from the insect.
Emilia poked her head out from around Melissa’s legs and asked, “Are you afraid of bees?” There was amazement in her voice.
“I suppose I am,” Melissa admitted. Her heart was pounding, but she was trying hard to sound calm so as not to pass her fear to the little girl.
“Don’t worry. I’m not.” And before Melissa could react, Emilia slid out of her hold, stepped in front of her, and started fanning her little arms slowly and gently. “Shoo, shoo, go away, little bee!” The bee, evidently deciding that it would be best to leave such a brave little lady alone, buzzed quickly away, across the beach.
“My protector,” Melissa laughed and chased the happily squealing little girl around the beach and then up the path to the house, where they ran smack into Luke.
“Theo Luke!” Emilia shouted out as he lifted her high into the sky, sandy body and all. “You’re home early!”
“I thought I’d come and eat lunch with you today,” he answered the little girl, but his eyes spoke on a different level to Melissa. She looked down and realized that she had forgotten to put on her beach cover-up before running up to the house. Not that Luke had never seen her before in her modest, one-piece swimsuit, but she suddenly felt more exposed than she ever had before. She quickly wrapped her towel around her shoulders and let it drape down around her.
When she glanced back at Luke, he was watching her with a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
“We were playing on the beach.” Emilia wiggled out of his arms, totally unaware, as children can blessedly be, of the tension that was crackling in the air between the adults.
“I know. I saw you,” he answered, and he ruffled his niece’s hair, dislodging some of the thousands of sand particles stuck to it. As they fell, like bits of golden sun from the sky, Emilia tried to catch them.
“We built a sand castle and I chased a bee away. Thea Melissa’s afraid of them.”
“Is she now?” Luke asked his niece, but cocked his head toward Melissa.
“But I told her not to be,” Emilia continued blithely along.
“Good advice,” he said to the little girl. “But sometimes difficult to follow.” He glanced again at Melissa.
“Where’s my little lady?” An older man called out from the doorway.
“Nono!” Emilia exclaimed, and on feet that barely touched the marble she ran pass Melissa to greet an ageless man with snow-white hair, who was waiting for her at the other end of the veranda. Melissa watched as the man she assumed was Luke’s godfather pulled a straight-back chair into the shade, dusted off Emilia’s legs, sat, and pulled the little girl onto his lap. They looked like the best of friends.
Melissa turned back to Luke, then looked down at her sandy swimsuit and murmured, “I think I’d better get cleaned up.”
His mouth tightened and he nodded. She started past him but his hand reached out, stopping her. “Melissa—”
She looked at him inquisitively. “Luke?”
“Seeing you like this,” he nodded toward her swimsuit, “reminds me of our lazy days at Lake Breeze, before. . .” He frowned and stopped speaking, as though he wasn’t quite sure what his point was going to be.
Melissa nodded her head and tried to reassure him. “You know, Luke. . .we haven’t lost that much. Only a year and a half, and maybe this time—”
Luke’s eyes instantly flashed with fire. “Maybe we haven’t lost that much,” he spat, “but Anastasia. . .she lost almost everything.” He dropped her arm as if her skin were suddenly burning him.
Melissa’s brows knitted together. “Luke? What are you talking about? What does Anastasia have to do with us?”
He whipped out his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and jammed them onto his face, shading his angry eyes behind the smoky gray lenses. “Ask her yourself.” His answer was clipped and tight. Turning sharply on his heel, he walked into the cool darkness of the house.
Fifteen
Melissa ran up to Anastasia’s room, but when she didn’t find her there, she decided to shower and dress. She had waited a year and a half to discover the core to Luke’s anger. She could wait a few more minutes.
Melissa could see the back of Anastasia’s wheelchair as she walked toward the veranda from the living room. On an impulse, she reached up to the chain hanging around her neck and pulled the heavy cross out from beneath her yellow sundress. Today seemed to be the day for revelations. Anastasia hadn’t seen the cross yet. Melissa wondered what her reaction would be.
The sound of happy talking and a strange click, click, click sound came from outside the French doors. Melissa would have to wait to question Anastasia. She still couldn’t fathom what Anastasia’s situation had to do with her relationship with Luke, but knowing that she would soon learn something made her more patient than she normally would be.
“Here’s the Castle Lady, Nono!” Emilia sang out, welcoming Melissa as she stepped onto the dining area of the veranda that was protected from the meltemia breezes by a glass partition.
Emilia and Anastasia, Nono and Soula were seated around the table. Luke wasn’t there. Somehow that didn’t surprise Melissa. He always went away when he was angry. This time, Melissa was almost glad that he had.
The strange click, click, click came from a strand of elegant Greek worry beads, komboloi, which Nono had twined between the thick fingers and the thumb of his left hand. He stopped twirling them when Melissa appeared, and rose to greet her. Melissa had never seen a more gallant gesture.
“Nono, this is Melissa,” Anastasia paused, “my almost sister.” Melissa saw only kindness in her green eyes, which only deepened her confusion about what Luke had said. “Melissa this is our nono,” she reversed the introduction with fondness in her voice for the older man. “He is actually Luke’s nono, which means godfather, but we have all adopted him as our own.”
The snowy-haired man held out his hand to Melissa.
“My dear, it’s nice to finally meet you. Welcome to Greece.” He had a distinguished accent, which almost seemed to come from another era.
Melissa took his hand and felt the warmth of his welcome, which was reinforced by the twinkle in his sagacious eyes. He was a big man—every bit as tall as Luke—and his many years had not diminished his stature. His crown of white hair was thick, and Melissa’s mind went immediately to the words of Psalm 91, “with long life will I satisfy him.” Melissa liked the old man immediately.
“Thank you,” she said, and she sat in the cushioned chair that Soula indicated. Nono folded his body back onto the hard, cafe-style chair beside her and the clicking of his beads began again, a pleasant sound that was part of the Greek milieu.
“Luke has always spoken so highly of you, but tell me, please, what exactly is the role of a godfather here in Greece? I have the feeling that to be a nono in Greece is a much stronger relationship than a godfather would have in America.”
“Oh, it is,” Anasta
sia quickly confirmed. “In fact, in some cases a nono is like a second father.” She looked fondly at the older man. “In our case he is like a first father.”
The older man patted Anastasia’s hand and turned to Melissa. “Between war and the plague, both of which Greece has suffered greatly through the centuries, the mortality rate was high, and godparents would naturally fill the role of parents if the need arose.”
Anastasia nodded and continued, “It’s kind of like the modern system of naming a guardians in a will today, only—” She stopped speaking as her eyes landed on the cross nestled in the folds of Melissa’s dress. “Luke’s cross,” she whispered, and her eyes flicked up to Melissa’s. Melissa almost cringed when she saw the sudden accusation in them. “He told me he lost it.”
“He did lose it,” Soula said quietly from behind Anastasia. Melissa swung her head around to look at the kindly housekeeper. “Symbolically,” Soula finished.
“What?” Anastasia spat out like a recalcitrant child, her gaze returning to the cross.
“He lost it at the same time that he lost our dear Melissa,” Soula explained, and Melissa felt as though she had just been touched by an angel. She had known that Soula was a friend, but she hadn’t realized how dear a one until now. She sent her a smile of thanks.
But Anastasia was still bewildered. “I don’t understand.” Reaching out toward Melissa, she ran her fingertips over the cross and eyed it in the way that suggested she was evaluating its monetary worth.
“It’s a long story,” Melissa replied.
“It’s pretty, Thea Melissa!” Emilia sang out, relieving the tension as only a child could do. Anastasia let go of the cross.
“Would you like to hold it, Emilia?” Melissa asked. When the little girl nodded, Melissa removed the chain from around her neck and handed it to her. She couldn’t help but notice that Anastasia’s eyes never wavered from the golden pendant.
“Do you have any idea how old—and valuable—that cross is?” Anastasia asked, and Melissa was sad to recognize a note of jealousy in her tone.
“Anastasia.” Nono spoke firmly with a father’s warning in his voice. “What you should ask is, ‘Do you know the meaning behind that cross?’ That is where its glory comes from. Certainly not from its metal or workmanship or age.” He turned his wise old eyes toward Melissa.
Melissa met his gaze and it was as if a fresh springtime breeze—in contrast to the brisk, hot wind that whistled on the other side of the partition—had wrapped itself around them and bound them together in a sweet relationship that was far stronger than human emotions could express. Melissa knew— and so did Nono—that they were united in their love for the Lord.
“That’s the reason I came,” she whispered, and it was as if the two of them were all alone. “To tell Luke the meaning behind the cross.” She motioned toward the cross that Emilia was turning over in her hand. “When Luke first gave it to me,” Melissa continued, “I didn’t understand what it stood for. And now that I do, Luke won’t accept the cross. . .or its meaning.”
Nono reached out and gently took the cross from the little girl. It was at home in his grasp. “I wore this cross for nearly seventy years, and my nono before me for nearly the same number of years,” he said as he caressed the smooth metal. “For the first ten years that I wore it, I did so only to please my old nono,” he admitted. He held the cross out to Melissa. “Its message is strong, but is best given slowly, and with love. His love.”
Melissa reached slowly for the cross. “I understand,” she whispered, and Nono let go of the chain.
“Put it on,” he said gently. “Let it sit against your heart and give it to Luke when he accepts it.”
Nodding her head, Melissa slipped the chain over her hair and let the cross fall beneath her dress as it had hundreds of times during the last year and a half. Then she hesitantly, warily glanced over at Anastasia.
“I’m so sorry, Melissa,” Anastasia spoke softly with remorse in her eyes. “Please forgive me. Sometimes I can be extremely selfish. I always was jealous of that cross. I always wanted it,” she admitted, twisting her lips wryly.
Melissa released the breath she had been holding. “Anastasia, if Luke never accepts it from me, then I’ll give it to you. It belongs in your family.”
“No, Melissa,” Anastasia replied softly, and there was no mistaking the love in her voice. “You are the one who belongs in our family. How can I ever forget what you’ve done for me?”
“Anastasia is right,” Nono pronounced, and placing his strong hand on Anastasia’s slender shoulder, he gently kneaded it. “You’ve given us back our daughter, our sister, our mother. . .” He looked over at the happy face of Emilia and smiled. “We can never thank you enough.”
Melissa shook her head. “It is the Lord who heals,” she whispered to Nono, and he smiled. Then, bowing his head, he offered thanks for the meal that Soula had placed before them.
Melissa was surprised when she heard him say the Lord’s Prayer. Nono spoke the prayer as the Lord Himself might have said it, with truth, meaning, and worship. She could have sat there all day listening to the wise old man pray, but when Nono had finished, they all dug in eagerly to the summertime feast of prawns, meatballs, and salad.
After the meal, when Nono and Emilia went to take a siesta, Melissa tried to help Soula clear the table, but the older woman wouldn’t hear of it. “Stay and keep Anastasia company,” she suggested.
“I’d like that,” Anastasia quickly agreed.
“You aren’t going to take a nap?” Melissa inquired.
“You know,” Anastasia said with pleasure and awe mingled in her eyes, “I sleep so well during the night now that I don’t even need to rest in the afternoon anymore.”
Melissa smiled and the two women lapsed into a thoughtful silence as they watched the wind kick up whitecaps on the surface of the cobalt blue bay.
After a moment, Melissa spoke up hesitantly. “Anastasia, there is something that I need to talk to you about.”
Anastasia looked over at her, her green eyes registering concern. “Sounds serious.”
“I think it is,” Melissa admitted.
“Is this the reason Luke left so suddenly?”
Melissa sighed. “Has he always gone away when he’s angry about something?”
Anastasia mulled over the question, as if considering it for the first time. “You know, I think he has. That was one of the reasons he moved to the States all those years ago. He was angry with our father.”
Melissa laughed and, rolling her eyes upward, suggested, “So maybe I shouldn’t take it personally?”
“It’s Luke’s way of dealing with things,” Anastasia explained, quickly defending her brother, but then she softened her words with a smile. “Let’s move into the living room. I think the meltemia is blowing a bit too strongly for me,” she declared, just as a particularly fierce gust of wind blew over Nono’s favorite chair—the cafe-style one—that had been left at the edge of the glass partition. The two women laughed in unison. Releasing the brake on her wheelchair, Anastasia propelled herself toward the door. “See what I mean?”
Melissa nodded. She stepped into the exposed part of the veranda to retrieve the chair, struggling to keep her blowing hair out of her eyes. “Living room it is!” she agreed, and followed behind Anastasia.
Melissa sat in what had become her favorite chair. It faced the fireplace, had a reading lamp above it, and commanded the best view in the house. If she looked to the right, she could survey the vast expanse of the sea; and if she turned to the left, she saw the little castle on the hill.
Anastasia situated herself to the left of Melissa’s chair, setting Castle Beauvoir in the background.
“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Anastasia prompted after a moment.
Melissa brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and began. “Things are changing between Luke and me. When I first arrived, I saw immediately that he still cared for me, but, at the same tim
e, I also realized that there is something, or maybe many things, that are keeping him from caring too deeply. There is a restraint. I thought I was going to have to deal with it immediately, but,” she smiled and reached out for Anastasia’s hand, “after that first afternoon, we’ve all been basking in the euphoria of your recovery. Whatever was tormenting Luke about me was pushed aside.”
“I’m glad,” Anastasia said, squeezing Melissa’s fingers comfortingly. “You needed the time to get to know one another again.”
Melissa nodded, but then her lips pursed together in a straight line. “But like I said, things are changing. The time has come when we have to face what happened between us. And this is why I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead,” Anastasia prompted.
Melissa let go of Anastasia’s hand, stood up, and walked over to the fireplace. “Earlier, Luke said something that I don’t understand, but which I think has a great deal to do with his anger toward me, and toward God.” Melissa paused, and Anastasia’s brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “When I tried to tell him that we had lost only a year and a half—not that much in the scope of a lifetime, he cut me off and said that we—meaning he and I—hadn’t lost much, but that you. . .” she turned to face Anastasia, “you’d lost almost everything.”
Anastasia dropped her eyes and her lower lip came out in a sad pout, reminding Melissa of Emilia when she was told to go to bed and she didn’t want to. But Anastasia’s entire body shook, telling of much greater emotion.
Walking quickly over to her side, Melissa knelt down beside her chair and took her hands in her own. “Anastasia? What does he mean? He told me to ask you, otherwise, I wouldn’t—”
“No, it’s okay,” Anastasia assured her, but when she looked up, Melissa was startled to see tears swimming in her green eyes.
“Anastasia—?”
Anastasia held up one hand, halting Melissa’s words. “I realized when we first met that you didn’t know,” she began. “The woman I was then,” she rolled her eyes, almost embarrassed, “might have told you with spite, but,” she looked back at Melissa and there was no mistaking the love she felt, “I think that I was already beginning to love you.”