Black Night, Amber Morning, page 16
Concerned, she set the hand brake and got out, stepping carefully through the stinging nettles that grew in the shallow ditch. “Dion—”
“Get away from me. You can’t help.”
She set her jaw. “You’re sick—”
“Anyone would be sick.”
Bewildered, she could only stare at him.
“I suddenly realized how it must have been for them in the prison.”
“For whom?”
“For my parents, of course,” he said as if she were a backward child. “God only knows what Pavlou did to them before he killed them.”
Dion stumbled back across the ditch and opened the trunk of the car. He reached for the bottle of water he always kept there.
The water was tepid, flat and unappetizing, but it moistened his dry mouth. Pouring some into his hand, he splashed his face, then drank deeply, rinsing the bitterness from his throat.
If only he could erase the bitterness from his heart as easily.
“I’m going to kill that bastard Pavlou,” he muttered without realizing he spoke aloud. “And enjoy doing it.”
Chapter Eleven
“So that’s it.” Everything suddenly fell into place in Solange’s mind. “That’s what you came to do, isn’t it?” Her lips felt stiff, her face wooden. “Are you really doing a book on the Sarakatsani, or is that just a cover? And me, just a smokescreen?”
“I’m really doing a book. I didn’t want to involve you, but it just happened.” He capped the bottle and returned it to the trunk, closing the lid with a bang that echoed off the mountainside. “I think I can drive now.”
She got in on the passenger side, fastening her seat belt. Her numbness was going, displaced by a simmering anger. “Dion, it was a tragedy, but you can’t ruin your own life in this quest for revenge.”
“He ruined their lives. He ended their lives. He has to pay.” His voice was adamant.
Solange groped desperately for words to convince him that he was heading for his own destruction. “God will punish him.”
“Where was God when they died? Why didn’t he stop the killing?”
“I don’t know,” she cried, echoing the despair of every human who faces life and death and realizes the futility of attempting to control it. “I don’t know why children die, either, but they do.”
He heard the catch in her voice and some of his own agony receded. “Is that why you left Montreal, because a child died.”
“Yes.”
“Was it your fault?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe it,” he said flatly. “You’re too good a doctor.”
She jerked her head toward him. “How would you know, Dion?”
“I know you. You don’t see people as patients; you see them as human beings.”
Solange sighed. “Yes. I’ve never been able to keep that distance and detachment they say doctors should cultivate. That’s why I like working here. My patients are also my friends, shopping in the market for potatoes and onions the same days I do.”
Dion reached across and squeezed her hand. “Tell me about it.”
Her smile was brief and rueful. “Why do I feel you’re distracting me from questioning you?”
“Later we’ll talk about that. Now, let’s hear what happened to you.”
“An intern we had fell asleep, and didn’t hear a monitor beeping. I was his supervisor and should have been watching him more closely. The child had stopped breathing, and by the time I realized it, I couldn’t revive him. It was my fault.”
“It wasn’t,” Dion retorted.
“The hospital board ruled that it was, and the intern didn’t admit his part in it, and the administrator didn’t even make him testify. I was in charge. I was blamed.”
“Old boy network in action, I suppose.” Dion’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I would have choked it out of him.”
Solange looked at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Yes, that’s your way of handling it. It’s not mine. What worked most against me was the hospital administrator’s prejudice against female doctors. He considered women far too emotional to make rational decisions, and I confirmed his belief by yelling at him about the institutional, mechanical way he ran the hospital. So I lost my privileges, and he said I was lucky not to be sued for malpractice.”
“But you told me you’d been reinstated.”
“About a month after the inquiry, the intern was caught sleeping on the job again, though this time nobody died. They reopened the case, changed their original verdict, and gave back my privileges with an apology.”
“I hope you told them what to do with it.”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” she said with remembered satisfaction. “I’d already made the arrangements to come to Greece with the earthquake relief group. And the final irony is that at the next board meeting, the administrator was fired.”
She sobered. “But it doesn’t change the fact that a baby died.”
“Could you guarantee that it would have lived, anyway?”
Could she? She would have liked to say yes, but the child had been critically ill, hadn’t been expected to last the week. “No,” she admitted. “He probably would have died anyway, but not that night.”
“You can’t save everyone, Solange.” He felt her pain and tried to temper his cynicism, but was only marginally successful.
“No,” she said. “But we can help. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be able to go on living. Any death is a waste.”
The tires squealed on the hot asphalt as he executed a sharp turn that would take them past the road to Zagora. The ski field, bare grassy patches on the mountainside, appeared on their left, the idle chairlift a spider web of cables threaded on red-painted pylons.
“We Greeks take death more philosophically than Canadians.”
“Do you?” Solange said with a bite to her voice. “Not from what I’ve seen. You want to personally avenge your parents, make someone pay for their deaths. That’s hardly accepting the inevitable.”
“That’s different. That’s—”
“As a people,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted, “you react differently, depending on the individual who dies. But philosophically? Not unless the person is very old. Then, and only then, there is the sense of completion, that death is an inevitable part of life. But when the person is young, there is only a sense of the injustice of it, the pain of loss.”
“Then you can understand my pain when my parents died.”
“Yes.” She backtracked, realizing her quick answer was less than honest. She couldn’t understand. Even though her mother had died, and she’d experienced all the usual reactions--pain, anger, guilt--she couldn’t understand how she would feel if the death had been violent, a senseless murder.
“No, I don’t understand. No one could understand that without going through it. But I also don’t understand this burning need for revenge. It won’t bring them back.”
His mouth set stubbornly. “I know that. But the man has to be punished. He’s already had almost twenty years more than he gave them. If he’d been locked up after the new government took over, I might have been satisfied. But he’s been free all these years. My parents died for nothing.”
“Not for nothing, Dion. They must have done something to have come to the regime’s attention. That means their deaths would have made an impact, might have inspired others to carry on the fight.”
“It inspired nothing,” Dion stated flatly. “Didn’t you hear Hatsis? He’d never even heard of them.”
“How could he have, when he wasn’t even in the country? It’s wrong, Dion, what you’re planning. It’s wrong and pointless. And it may end up with you in jail.”
“Not if I handle it right.”
“Going to the law and presenting your case is the only way to handle it right, Dion.”
“They won’t listen. I couldn’t even get into the army records, remember? And look at Amelia’s son’s death. A highly convenient accident, if you ask me. And nobody’s ever investigated it. They’re sweeping that whole era under the rug. They don’t want to hear about it.”
For that she had no answer, and it was pointless to argue with him when anything she said was only going to make him more stubbornly sure he was right.
In a way he was, she admitted deep inside her. A murderer should be punished. But not this way.
She stared sightlessly at the passing scenery, the perfect summer day. It would be better if she spend her energy thinking of a way he could achieve his goal through the conventional channels. But convincing him wouldn’t be easy.
They drove in silence for a time, reaching the twisting road through Portaria, just north of Volos before Dion spoke again. “The kind of leukemia that your mother had—is it hereditary?”
As soon as the words left his mouth he wondered why he’d asked them. The philosophy of life he’d adopted and stuck to had been to travel light, no emotional baggage, no attachments. Why should he care about her mother’s illness when Solange had no part in his future?
“Why, are you thinking that I might get it and you’ll be rid of me?”
Her flippant question hid the deep hurt she felt. He knew it, and wished he wasn’t the cause of it. “No, Solange, I just wondered.”
Solange let out her breath in a sigh. “No, it’s not hereditary. I’m no more likely to get it than anyone else.”
He kept his eyes on the road, edging the car close to the wall on the right in order to allow an approaching truck room to negotiate the tight curve. “I’m glad, Solange,” he said quietly at last. “Believe me, I’m glad.”
Volos lay below them, a city of modern buildings and not much obvious charm, sweltering under a heat haze. Dion didn’t remember much of Volos from his childhood, but in the short time he’d been back, he’d grown to like it. It was a city that combined graciousness with a lively, forward-looking attitude, its economy strong, thanks to the burgeoning agriculture in the surrounding area and the growing shipping industry at its harbor.
The traffic was mercifully light, Sunday dinner in progress. In the evening the waterfront would be crowded.
“Do you want to stop for something to eat?” he asked.
“Where can you get anything on a Sunday afternoon? Everyone eats at home. Why don’t we just continue to my house? I’ve got some pork chops that won’t take long to cook.”
Was that a good idea? Dion wondered. Although a truce seemed to be in force for now, all they had to do was get back on the subject of his past and his dubious future, and they would be fighting again.
Stopped at the traffic light on the Larissa road, he glanced at Solange. She met his eyes with a challenge in hers. No, if he refused, she would think him a coward. He frowned, wanting to resist the pull she had on his emotions, but was unable to. Unwilling to.
“All right.” He engaged the gear and sent the car into a sweeping left turn, tires squealing.
“Such a gracious acceptance,” Solange muttered.
He couldn’t help the amusement that against all odds rose in him. “Thank you, Doctor Richards, for your kind invitation. There, is that better?”
“Much.” She fidgeted with her hands in her lap for a moment. “Dion, I just want to say, uh, I’m sorry about what happened. With your parents, I mean. It was presumptuous of me to tell you what to do, or rather what not to. In your position I might feel the same way. I really can’t predict something like that.”
“Well, thank you,” he muttered, wondering what had caused such a reversal.
“But I still think you should go about it in a different way,” she rushed on. “What you’re planning will only lead to a lot of trouble.”
His jaw clenched. “My trouble, Solange. My trouble.”
That was his final word. He dropped her off at her house, and sent the little car roaring off down the street, barely giving her time to close the door. Solange looked after him as the dust slowly settled, her heart in turmoil.
* * * *
Kyra called the office on Monday morning, saying she was expected home right after school and could not make the appointment. “But you should find out,” Solange protested.
“If I’m not, the test won’t be necessary. If I am, a few days won’t matter.”
“If you are, you’ll need to know certain things, like whether you need vitamins or iron—”
“Another time. I’ll call you.” The girl’s voice was firm. “I have to go now. My father’s coming down for breakfast.”
“Damn.” Solange muttered as she heard the click of the receiver being hung up.
The morning was a busy one, especially since Penny had the day off. The stream of patients, both with appointments and without, didn’t let up until half past one. Solange had just settled into her desk chair with a sigh when Litsa came bouncing into the door on her way home from school. Oh, no, not another one, Solange groaned silently, irrationally.
“Kali mera, Dr. Solange,” Litsa said cheerfully. “Have you heard about Kyra?”
Kyra? Solange’s thoughts skittered wildly. Had Kyra confided in Litsa then? “What about Kyra?” she asked, forcing a smile.
“We just heard that she’s made such a good mark in her English exam, she may be chosen for a trip to England. If she does as well on her final, she’s sure to be.”
Solange relaxed marginally. “How does her family feel about this?”
Litsa frowned. “I don’t think they know yet. Her father…” Her voice trailed off. “Her mother would encourage her to go. She has relatives there, where Kyra could stay. But her father will probably give her trouble. He doesn’t want her to go to university, either, and that’s only in Athens.”
So that was general knowledge. Knowing the active grapevine, Solange wasn’t surprised. “How long would this trip last?”
If Kyra went away, had the baby and gave it up for adoption, her parents might never find out. Solange and Penny would keep her secret. As for the ethics of such a course of action, the girl being a minor…well, Solange decided, she would worry about that when the time came. If it came.
“Probably a year,” Litsa said.
Plenty of time. If the relatives in England went along with it, no one in Korfalli need ever know. Was that going to be the solution? It might well be the easy way out, though there was Kyra’s young lover to be considered. Solange suddenly realized she’d never asked the girl if he knew about the baby.
And where did it leave Litsa? “Will that change your plans? Kyra was going to share an apartment with you, wasn’t she?”
Litsa shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter. I think this is a wonderful opportunity for her. I can always get someone else for a roommate. I wish I could go with her, though. But I’m a klutz at languages.”
“And a math and science genius, from what I hear,” Solange said with a smile.
Litsa blushed. “Thank you.” She shifted her book bag to her other hand. “I’d better get going then and do my homework. Antio.”
“Yassou, Litsa,” Solange said absently, pulling a stack of files closer. She stopped in mid-reach. “Oh, by the way, Litsa, how’s your friend Helena?”
“She’s fine. Her aunt introduced a boy from Mavrolofos to her family, and they’re talking about an engagement as soon as school is over.”
“Is Helena happy about it?”
Litsa shrugged. “She seems to be. He’s just finishing his military service—the air force. She thinks he looks dashing in his uniform. It doesn’t take much to make Helena happy.”
Lucky Helena, Solange thought. “I guess we need some people like that,” she said dryly. “Give my regards to your mother, Litsa. I probably won’t see her until at least this evening. I’ve got a lot of work to finish here.”
The girl left, but Solange found it hard to concentrate. She stared at the tan file covers without seeing anything. What was she going to do about Kyra?
And about Dion.
He was so determined, so set on his vendetta. And if he accomplished his mission, she knew it wouldn’t make him feel better. Her own experience with the hospital administration had shown her that. She’d felt a brief moment of triumph when the intern had been found responsible and her own position reconfirmed, but she couldn’t have gone back to work there, even if she hadn’t made her other plans. Despite the written apology, hard feelings remained.
Revenge wasn’t sweet; it was bitter and pointless.
* * * *
She was making a salad for her lunch an hour later when there was a quiet knock on her door. Kyra, perhaps? Below her, the household had settled down some time ago for their afternoon rest.
Heat, like a dense smothering blanket, lay heavily over the land, wilting blossoms and turning the wheat golden in the fields. Solange wiped sweat from her face with a paper towel as she headed toward the door. She’d never seen it this hot in late May.
Dion stood on the landing, his fist raised to knock again. His smile, when she opened the door, was faintly uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there.
“Dion, what a surprise.” After their parting yesterday, she hadn’t expected to see him again. In fact, on her run that morning, she’d avoided passing his house, for her own sake as much as to save him embarrassment. She didn’t think she could stand it if he snubbed her.
Yet, here he was.
“Can I come in, Solange?”
She couldn’t resist a little revenge of her own. “So humble. What a change.”
He put up his hand. “Solange, please.”
Stepping inside, he pushed the door shut. As he came into the brightness of the living room, she noticed for the first time how pale he looked. Mauve shadows lay under his eyes, and lines of weariness etched his face.
“Solange, I’m sorry. You don’t know the whole story, and I expected you to understand.”
Her annoyance, petty, she admitted, faded. “Come into the kitchen. I was just having lunch. Have you eaten?”
“I had a sandwich. I’m all right.” He sat down on a kitchen chair, heavily, with none of his usual lithe grace.
“Then how about some iced tea?” Without waiting for his reply, she went to the fridge and took out the pitcher and the ice, pouring him a tall glass.
