Passage of Promise

By Dorothy Robey

Marina’s relationships have a rocky history, with a controlling mother, distant sister, and a string of lousy boyfriends. In the midst of her troubles, Marina’s family discovers her four-year-old nephew, Christopher, is diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. Her mother orders her to go to the Greek island of Santorini to retrieve

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorothy Robey
• Release date: May 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578665948

Book preview

Chapter 1

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Marina and her nephew Christopher huddled in his Toy Story tent in her sister Barbara’s backyard. They hid among the trees from the pretend bear bounding through the imaginary forest. Bears came out of hibernation on Christopher’s birthday to hunt down food, and they didn’t want to be the animal’s next meal.

In a typical azure Colorado sky, the afternoon sun spread its warmth like a second canopy over Marina and Christopher.

How’s it feel to be four, little man? With a smile, Marina reached over the Candy Land board between them and tapped his nose with her index finger.

Good. He stuffed his mouth with a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap.

Marina chuckled. You’ve grown this much since yesterday. She stuck out her hands and widened them a foot.

He nodded, set the bowl down, and stood up, his wobbly legs steadying a few seconds later. I’m gonna be big as Daddy if the bear doesn’t eat me first. A crooked grin broke on his face, one that had only appeared in the past couple of months. Marina found it endearing.

She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. We can’t let the bear get us. She grabbed one of the last s’mores on a plate next to her and bit into it. We better eat up the rest of this food so the bear doesn’t smell it and come charging into our tent.

Christopher, come in and blow out your birthday cake candles, Barbara called from the back porch.

Hurry! Christopher shoved the last of the popcorn in his mouth. He popped his head out of the tent. We gotta eat this food before the bear gets us, Mommy!

Right. Don’t leave any scraps. Barbara laughed.

He bobbed his head back into the tent.

Marina handed Christopher the last s’more, but he shook his head with a grimace. No more.

Okay. Marina put a portion of it in her mouth.

Christopher’s hand went to his belly; he groaned and dropped to his knees.

Christopher?

Everything he’d eaten spewed from his mouth, landing in a pool on the game board.

Marina rocked back on her heels. Not again. She scrambled out of the tent. Barbara, he’s thrown up!

Marina’s sister emerged from the back door with a roll of paper towels in her hands, jogging toward her. She crawled into the small tent as Marina sat outside, the flap open.

That’s three times this week, Barbara said, wiping Christopher’s mouth clean.

Marina took a bunch of paper towels, crawled back inside the tent, and mopped up the game board. It’s happening more often.

Mommy, my head hurts, Christopher whined and put a hand to the side of his head.

Barbara touched his forehead, then smoothed down his hair. I’ll get you some Tylenol to take away that hurt.

What’s happened? Marina’s mother, Irene, appeared next to her.

He’s thrown up, Marina said.

Like last week. Irene lowered onto the grass and peeked inside the tent. Sweetheart, are you all right?

Christopher shook his head.

Barbara, I’m worried, Marina said.

I know. The pediatrician—

The pediatrician was wrong saying he had a stomach bug. Irene huffed.

Stomach bugs don’t last a month, Marina added.

Christopher clung to Barbara’s waist. I want some juice.

Yes, baby. I’ll get you some. She crawled out of the tent. Come inside the house, and I’ll get you the juice.

Christopher obeyed, and Barbara carried him in with Irene close behind them.

Gathering the plate and bowl, along with the pile of soaked towels, Marina stood by the tent. What is wrong with Christopher? She bit her lip and headed to the back door.

Friday, July 8, 2005

Marina stood inside the doorway to the ICU room at Denver’s Children’s Hospital where Christopher lay sleeping. A brain tumor, they’d been told, had attached to his brain stem. Only the portion away from his brain stem could be removed in the operation. Otherwise, they would have lost Christopher.

Gauze covered Christopher’s head, and a tube poked out from his crown, leading to a machine that looked like a scale with a ruler and numbers. Wires snaked from his little hospital gown, and an oxygen tube rested in his nostrils. The glowing and beeping machines around him flashed like an old video arcade.

He looked so delicate, so fragile, and so different from the boy with whom Marina had played Candy Land, Hot Wheels, and built forts. The thought of touching him in this state scared her to the point of paralysis. One careless move with a tube or wire and he could slip into a coma, or… She bit her lip. Would he ever again be the boy she knew?

Barbara sat on a chair next to the bed, holding Christopher’s tiny hand. The results from the biopsy won’t be in for a couple of days.

Too long to wait, if you ask me, Irene said. This tumor could be cancerous.

Barbara glared at their mother. You’re not helping.

Irene folded her arms across her chest. You expect me not to worry over my grandson?

No, but we’ll just have to wait for the results. There’s nothing else we can do.

Irene leaned toward Barbara with hands on hips. What about the rest of the tumor inside his head?

What will they do with it? Marina managed to ask.

Barbara lowered her head and sighed. I don’t know.

Well, the doctors have to know, Irene said impatiently.

For God’s sake, Mom. Barbara raked hair from her pale, drawn face. Christopher just got out of brain surgery. Can we talk about this tomorrow?

It can’t be good leaving that tumor on his brain stem, Irene muttered and sat on the other side of the bed. She gently rubbed Christopher’s arm.

Marina shifted her feet. What if the doctors can’t remove the rest of the tumor? Will Christopher die? She swallowed and tried to block out the constant high-pitched beep of the heart monitor machine, chilled with fear that the beats would stop. When will the doctors be by?

Tomorrow morning, Barbara said.

In the dimly lit room, Marina glanced through the doorway where her brother-in-law and father talked with the nurses at their station. In the corner of the room, her yiayia sat in a chair. Marina moved to her and put a hand on the elderly woman’s soft, plump shoulder.

Yiayia’s brown eyes rose to meet hers, a serene smile splitting her angelic face. She patted Marina’s hand on her shoulder. Christoforos needs Saint Anna.

Saint Anna? Marina shook her head. I don’t understand.

Yiayia turned her head toward Irene and Barbara. "We need Mamá’s Saint Anna icon," she said in her soft broken English.

Her miraculous icon? Irene asked.

"Nai," Yiayia replied with a smile.

Is it still on Santorini? Irene asked.

Yiayia nodded. It help heal Christoforos.

An icon could help heal Christopher? How? Marina wondered.

"You’re right, Mamá. We need it here. Irene gave a sideways stare with a careless flutter of her hand at Marina. Marina will get it."

Marina gaped. What?

Irene tapped her chin. We’ll book your ticket to Greece.

Marina’s mouth dried up. Me? You want me to go to Greece?

"Yes, you. Who else is free to do this?"

But I have work—

Didn’t you tell me just last week you had vacation time you wanted to use?

Yes, but can’t one of your relatives mail the icon to us?

Irene’s mouth pinched, and her eyes narrowed. Do you really want Yiayia’s precious icon manhandled by mail people, jostled about, probably stolen or lost on the way over here? Irene pressed two fingers against the side of her temple. Think, Marina.

She wrung her hands. Her mother’s nasty habit of making her feel stupid had only gotten worse since Christopher’s illness.

Irene gestured a hand toward Christopher. This is serious for Christopher. The tumor on his brain stem is life threatening, whether the biopsy shows cancer or not. She pointed toward Yiayia. We have strong spiritual backing with the icon.

Yiayia gave Marina an assuring tilt of her head.

Marina’s gaze fell again on her little bandaged nephew. She clenched her teeth and pushed back her fear of flying. She couldn’t help him here, but maybe she could in Greece. Okay. When would I go?

Irene glanced at the calendar on the wall outside the glass room. As soon as possible.

The more she thought about it, the more Marina warmed to the idea of going to Greece, away from this unbearable situation. She nodded. I better go home and pack.

Yes, you better. Irene made a shooing motion at Marina.

See you when I get back. Marina gave Yiayia a gentle hug, then squeezed Barbara’s shoulder before heading out of the room.

Chapter 2

Late Monday afternoon, Marina ducked inside a stone chapel, out of the heat of the midsummer sun and crowded Athens streets. Its cobbled floor and walls made the space cool. The flicker of sunlight peeking through the entryway in the tiny space resembled the bright, distant light at the mouth of a dank cave. If she’d been a foot taller, her head would have brushed against the stony ceiling.

Just about every corner of this city has a church, and larger ones at that, but you chose to enter this pillbox. She shook her head, then glanced at the narrow entryway and shrugged. The tiny church sat conveniently across the street from her hotel, and all she had to do was light a candle for her nephew.

Burning beeswax candles wafted through the musty, grotto-like alcove. The scent brought back a rush of Marina’s childhood memories vacationing in Greece to visit her mother’s side of the family eons ago when Irene and she were as close as candy in its wrapper.

This is serious for Christopher. Her mother’s words ran through her head.

Moving to the small wooden candle stand, Marina muttered, Do what you came in to do. She lit a taper for Christopher and stuck it deep in the sand. Next to the stand, an icon of Saint Anna with baby Saint Mary in her arms hung on the pebbled wall. Their golden halos glowed in the dim candlelight. Her mother and yiayia had talked nonstop about Proyiayia’s icon before they put her on the plane to Greece. Marina knew the one hanging in front of her looked almost identical to hers. Irene had been adamant that all icons were painted in the same manner. She’d find out after she arrived on Santorini tomorrow afternoon.

Marina crossed the arched entrance into the dimly lit nave. Two bearded men in ebony cassocks stood at a wooden stand and chanted hymns that filled the cramped space. To her left, two hunchbacked old women veiled in black scarves and frocks clutched onyx prayer ropes. Yiayias. Just like my own. She smiled and patted her backpack that held her yiayia’s letter.

Marina glanced over her shoulder at a couple entering the nave with cameras at the ready, peering around the hollowed stone room. Envy seeped into her chest. To be only a tourist, wandering where she pleased with no worries— Stop it. She pushed back wishful thinking and focused on her surroundings.

The two men in robes gathered up their books and strode to the arched opening of the church. Marina filed in behind the chanters, passing the yiayias and vacationers toward the entrance. She glanced one last time at the icon of Saints Anna and Mary, then stepped onto the sidewalk. The blinding glare of the sun hit her face. She shoved sunglasses on as the warmth of the sunshine bathed her skin.

A clutter of buildings bordered the street teeming with tourists. She merged into the stream of people, letting her nose lead the way toward the aroma of grilled souvlaki. The smell brought back memories of her mother ordering souvlaki for her and her sister at one of the vending carts perched along the Athens street curbs. The savory taste of the juicy lamb kabobs filled her senses.

Marina wiped beads of sweat off her forehead and walked toward a familiar open area with shops called the Plaka. Several restaurants rose before her like colorful cutouts in a pop-up book. Marina strode through the clusters of people gawking at jewelry and garments suspended from hangers hooked on many of the kiosks’ makeshift walls.

She found a vacant table in front of a restaurant and sat down. A boisterous group of people speaking a foreign language occupied a table next to her. The group morphed into the figures of her family gathered together years ago in a spot like this one.

This trip is crucial, Marina. Her mother’s voice interrupted her reminiscing. Don’t get scatterbrained and forget why you’re there.

Frowning, Marina rubbed her temple. As if she could ever forget. The frightening possibility of her nephew’s death gripped her with chilly, loveless arms. Those frigid arms had kept her paralyzed while at home, but they didn’t have a hold on her in Greece. A few thousand miles separated her from the horrible circumstance. This mission felt a little like an escape. And a large part of her craved it.

She pushed aside those thoughts and reminded herself to call her mother when she finished dinner. Irene would be expecting her call.

Her mother had told Marina at the airport that she was the perfect candidate for this trip. Marina knew what her mother had really meant. She was the unmarried, childless daughter, code for the daughter with no life. But, if Marina was being honest, no one else in her family was available to do this.

Her family had now placed all their hopes for Christopher’s healing on her yiayia’s icon of Saints Anna and Mary. They swore the icon performed miracles. Marina had no idea if it did, but that didn’t matter. They didn’t ask her opinion but only to retrieve it and bring it back home. And she’d have a week to obtain the icon. Just a week. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach.

"Yassas." A waiter appeared next to her with a pad and pen.

"Oh, yassas. Do you speak English?" she asked.

Yes. What can I get for you?

She skimmed the menu, ordered a gyro and lemonada, and the waiter darted for the restaurant’s open door.

Marina pulled a tissue from her bag and dabbed the perspiration above her lip. Ahead of her, an attractive man with shoulder-length, wavy hair and beard the color of buckskin, walked with a relaxed step toward her, then passed by. The faint scent of soap, spice, and sweat floated from him. He sat at an empty table a few feet away. Retrieving a handkerchief from his beige shorts pocket, he mopped his glistening forehead and the back of his neck.

The waiter appeared and set down her glass of lemonada, then swept over to the bearded man. Marina decided to name him Sully, after a gorgeous, rugged 1860s mountain man from a former TV show. While sipping the lemonada, she peeked at him and strained to hear what he was ordering. The familiar blues tune of her cell phone shattered her eavesdropping. It belted out from the confines of her backpack. Marina bent over, hitting her head on the table’s edge.

Ow! She winced and touched her stinging skin. Great. She’d probably end up with an ugly, red welt above her eyebrow.

The cell continued its tune, and working against time, Marina unzipped the pack and frantically rummaged through it. Finding it, she brushed a strand of hair from her face and raised her eyes in Sully’s direction. A captivating smile broke on his face below caramel-colored eyes that seemed to gleam with melancholy. Marina’s face warmed. Of course he witnessed her klutziness. Her luck. Carefully sitting back, she answered the phone.

Marina! Why didn’t you call me when you touched down? Irene said.

Sorry. I was hungry. I’m about to eat dinner.

Have you been eating? I know they must have fed you on the plane.

Yeah, I ate on the pla—

Did you get your luggage? I know those airline workers can be complete idiots. Irene huffed. She heard a hand brushing over the receiver and her mother’s muffled voice yelling, Yes. Didn’t you just hear me ask her?

Mom, I got my luggage with no problem. Marina touched her tender forehead. Just as expected, a small bump had formed.

Well, you were lucky this go-around, she said with a sharp laugh. Have you checked into your hotel?

Yes—

Are you going to visit a church to light a candle for your nephew?

Already did before dinner.

I’m surprised you listened to me but glad you did. You haven’t stepped foot inside a church since you were a child. Better late than never, I suppose.

Just because her mother, father, and Barbara had started going to church on a regular basis three years ago, her mother had expected Marina to do the same. She hadn’t. The thought of going to church had never crossed her mind until Irene hounded her the past few months. But she’d not succeeded in getting Marina into a church until now. Marina had entered that cramped chapel for her nephew. Okay, that was partially true. She’d also gone there in obedience to her mother. Irene always won out in the end.

"You did remember Yiayia’s letter, didn’t you?"

Yes, Mom.

I worked hard translating that and writing it for her.

I know. It’s in my backpack. I wouldn’t forget it.

Good.

The waiter arrived with her plate of food and set it on the table. She nodded in appreciation.

My dinner is here, but before I go, how is Christopher doing?

He’s an amazing, tough little boy. He’s too young to know what’s going on, which is a blessing.

The image of Christopher bundled up in bandages, wires, and tubes floated in Marina’s head. She mentally blotted out the distressing picture. Her mother was probably right that Christopher’s not knowing what had happened to him was for the best.

Are you still there? Mom asked. Her voice faded as Marina heard her mother ask whomever was in the room with her, Did we lose connection?

I’m here, Marina said, nearly shouting.

Well, why didn’t you answer me?

I’m sorry. I was thinking of Christopher.

Yes, well, all of us back home will be happy to hear some good news from you in the days to come. You know how important this icon is.

I know. Marina chewed her fingernail.

Okay, we don’t have unlimited international calling rates. Contact me when you get to Santorini.

Will do.

Marina slipped her phone back into her bag. Glancing in Sully’s direction, an empty chair was tucked next to the table. He must have skipped dinner. Marina blew out a breath. The fantasy was great while it lasted. So long, Sully. I’ll see you in my dreams.

Yiayia’s letter came to her mind. Marina searched through her knapsack for it, took it out, and flattened the page on the table. She’d already read it once on the trip over, but it was a good tool to keep her focused on why she was there.

Dearest Marina,

Your proyiayia was given a beautiful icon of Saint Anna by her parents for a wedding gift when she and your propapou married. A year later, she had me, and two years later, she had my sister, your megáli thía, Despina.

Despina was sick with influenza three months after her birth, and Mamá and Ba’bas were very worried about her. She told me years later she was preparing herself for Despina’s death. But she had prayed with Ba’bas at the church and in front of the icon of Saint Anna for Despina’s healing.

One afternoon after she had finished washing Despina’s clothes, she passed by the icon and saw a stream of oil on the right cheek of the saint. It exuded a sweet-smelling fragrance that all the saints exude. She touched the oil on the saint’s cheek and rushed over to my sister, who was lying gray and wet with perspiration in the bed. She anointed her on her forehead, and by the next morning, Despina’s fever was gone and color had returned to her cheeks. The illness had left her. God answered Mamá’s and Ba’bas’s prayers for healing.

Yiayia’s story sounded unbelievable, but her mother had said she swore by it, and Yiayia had always been an honest, pious woman. Marina slid the letter back in her pack to finish reading later.

Soon Marina would have her proyiayia’s icon. Maybe Irene would give her accolades for successfully fulfilling her mission. Then shortly after, her time in Greece would end and she’d return to her new depressing reality and see what, if anything, the icon would do to heal Christopher.

Chapter 3

At seven thirty in the morning, Marina waited outside the hotel for a taxi to take her to Piraeus Harbor to catch the ferry to Santorini. Already, people swarmed the pavement as cars rumbled by, their horns often blaring, echoing off the surrounding buildings. Heat rose from the asphalt and laced its way through the early-morning air.

A family of four strode on the sidewalk across the street. The two young daughters hopped along the cement. Hopscotch. Marina smiled as the nostalgic images of Barbara and her skipping on the sidewalk, playing hopscotch, emerged like ghosts in front of her. Marina could almost hear the scraping of the rocks under their shoes on the cement.

The scene dissipated like mist in the hot rays of the sun when Marina’s cab pulled up to the curb. The driver got out of the vehicle and put her rolling luggage in the trunk. Showing him her Piraeus Harbor brochure, she climbed into the back seat. The faint odor of cigarettes coated the vinyl cushions. She wrinkled her nose. Yuck. Greeks still puffed on their cigarettes in public places as much as they had when she’d been a child vacationing there. Thankfully, the windows were rolled down and the ride to the port wouldn’t be long.

The taxi driver navigated through the congested streets and said, How do you like Athens, eh? It’s the best city. Do you agree?

It’s a great city, Marina answered as she studied her ticket and the ferry schedule.

The ferries are running today; no worries. Last month was the last strike. You come at the right time. He let out a gurgling laugh, then coughed.

That’s good to know.

Tourists love to get on ferries and island hop. They love to drink and dance in clubs on Mykonos. Some like to go for history lesson. Rhodes is good place for history. I bet you’re going to Mykonos. You like to swim? Great beaches, not just the islands but also the mainland has many good and bea-u-ti-ful beaches. Eh, will be crowded this time of year, but the water sure feel good when you’re sweating from heat. The concrete make it so hot—

Did I bring any Dramamine? In her backpack, a bottle of Valium was sealed inside a plastic bag. The tranquilizer always helped her get through the horrors of flying. No Dramamine, so the Valium would have to do, as it usually did. A folded-up piece of paper lay tucked next to the bag of medicine. Irene had given cousin Alex’s phone number to Marina before she’d left. A vague image came to her mind of a lanky young boy with dark brown hair and deeply set brown eyes playing foursquare with her and Barbara on a tiled court in front of a church near her aunt’s home. She unfolded the note and observed her mother’s curly, neat writing. Under Alex’s phone number, it read:

He will be at the pier when your ferry docks. He’s the only family member that still lives on the island, but he’ll be able to help you.

Would she recognize him?

The car jolted to a stop, propelling Marina forward. She guarded her head, just missing the passenger seat in front of her. Marina’s heart beat wildly in her chest. The smell of burned rubber drifted through the taxi’s open windows.

Beep, beep!

The cab driver smacked his steering wheel. "Vlaka! Watch where you’re going!" He shot his fist out the window.

Crazy drivers. Marina leaned over to pick up her bag that had fallen to the floor.

You okay back there? The taxi driver half turned his head in her direction, peering at her from the corner of his eye.

Yes, thanks. She smiled and shoved the pamphlet and note back in her pack.

When the vehicle started moving again, the harbor rose up ahead of them, the smooth surface of the dark blue water undulating rhythmically.

He pulled up to the curb in front of the pier. She retrieved her luggage, paid him, then strode toward the huge blue-and-white ferry.

Marina boarded the ship and climbed the stairs clogged with people who had no regard for personal space.

A tall man with honey-colored hair and startling blue eyes brushed against her as she reached the top of the stairs. His strong, musky cologne lingered in the cramped space as he passed her with a grin. "Me synchoreíte."

Fighting light-headedness, Marina