O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster...
-10-
She stares down at the phone in her hand with incredulity. Then she punches his number back in. But there is no answer. When it goes to voicemail, she says. "Harry. You need to call me back on this number. And I absolutely did email you about coming here to Cyprus. I have some business here and... For God's sake, Harry. Just call me back. Please." She rings off. She stands there, now uncertain. She had come to Cyprus for a specific reason, and she had intended to tell Harry about it, but now…She begins to walk faster and faster towards town. Her foot slips a bit on a stone, and she nearly wrenches her ankle. "Great. Just great." She says out loud. Taking a bit more care, she continues walking towards the village.
Stopping at the edge of town, she looks down at the mobile still clutched in her hand. "Harry, " she only says, shaking her head. She sighs and continues walking until she sees the taxis lined up not far ahead. Approaching only minutes later, she asks the driver in Greek, "How much to go up the mountain?" He gives her a price, and she nods. Getting in, she leans over and says, "Saint Athanasios Cemetery." Leaning back into her seat, she looks at the silent phone in her hand before slipping it into her pocket.
He stares down at his mobile. Call her. Call her. Call. Her. Back. Ignoring the voice in his head, he puts his phone down and goes over to his corner cabinet in his office, pouring himself a whiskey. Bringing it over, he sets the glass down on his desk and listens to her voicemail again. He downs the drink all at once. He welcomes the pain when it hits him with a vengeance.
The climb up the mountain does not take long. Ruth stares at the rolling hills and lush countryside, biting her lip. The last time she was here she was being followed by two men; Nico and George in her car, she driving like a lunatic down the mountain. How she was able to elude the car and actually make to the airport before her pursuers remains a mystery to her. Sometimes she believes that they allowed her to do so. They knew where she would end up. And in fact, did find her easily enough once she was back in London. And then…." She shakes her head at the memory, wishing she could wipe out the what happened after with a simple shake of her head as well. But she knows that is impossible and in order to look forward, she must face her past. For her. For Harry. For them. She shakes her head again. Oh, Harry.
She tries to banish all thoughts of him and their brief phone conversation from her mind. When the taxi soon passes the road near the house, she no longer has to try. Her thoughts are consumed with her time in Greece with George, mostly idyllic, filled with sunshine, laughter and love. And Nico. Always Nico. The car moves closer until it draws near the house, a house no longer hers. A little girl and boy are standing on the road, an adult close by. She wonders if they are the new owners. She turns her head away.
Not long after, she sees the road leading towards the cemetery. "Please wait for me," she tells the driver. He obliges, shutting the motor off as she makes her way towards the entrance. She walks among the headstones, large very white Greek Orthodox crosses greeting her. From where she stands, their arms jut up from the earth beseeching the sky-or beyond-for benediction. Or perhaps, mercy. She continues walking until she comes to a large grassy square with the name Papadakis. There are many crosses here, but she scans through them, looking for the one she came to see. She stops in front of one, even whiter than the others, her heart pounding.
George Nicodemus Papadakis
1965-2008
Beloved son of Anastasia and Nicodemus
Beloved father of Nicodemus; Beloved brother of Athena.
And under their names:
My soul shall live, and it shall praise thee
and thy judgments shall help me.
She stares at the inscription. There is nothing on it to show her time with him or his son, Nico. She steps closer. "George, she whispers. "George. Mea Culpa." Her body sways and slowly she sinks down onto the grass.
Later, much later, she is once again in the taxi heading towards the marina. She checks the time; it's earlier than she had thought she would be. She gets out a little before town and continues to walk towards the town, looking for a place to just sit down. When she sees a small table and chair near a café, she does so. The proprietor soon comes out. "Just a cup of tea and a glass of water, please." She says to him in perfect Greek. As she waits, she looks at the mobile again. She checks to see if they are any messages. No messages. She has no idea why he didn't get her email. She does remember, however, that in her rush to board the Argos, she hit compose mail and typed in Harry's address instead of simply hitting reply like she usually does. Perhaps in her haste, she typed in the wrong url. She wonders if it could be as simple as that. But she's too exhausted to think any further. That and not knowing what happened to her own mobile is all too much for her. It is, she thinks, as if the gods were conspiring against her. Punishing her.
Harry has now been up more than 24 hours. The frantic evening which never ended seems to mock him now with its relative quiet. Instead of being thankful, however, he's not sure that this is a good thing. When not on the phone or speaking to one of his team, his stomach feels if it's being blasted with a blow torch, at times keeping perfect time with the pain in his heart. He's not sure either if the last is pathological or not. But he doesn't much care one way or the other. He moves over to the small couch in his office and lies down on it. When he finally closes his eyes, he falls into an exhausted sleep in spite of the the pain.
Awakening a while later, he feels a bit better until he remembers. Getting up, he goes over to his mobile on his desk and listens to her voice again. He reaches for his computer and and logs on.
Ruth:
I'm sorry for hanging up on you. But do you have any idea what you –
He hits DELETE.
Ruth:
I was so worried..
He deletes that too.
Ruth:
What happened?
-h.
He deletes the last as well. He reckons she won't get it for another 24 hours, anyway. Unless of course, she uses an internet café. Or a smart phone. He doesn't care which. He just wants to talk to her; he'll settle for a text message. Anything. He looks down at his own phone. He's loathe to send her a text message on Stefanos' phone. But while he stands there trying to decide what to do, his hands act. Miraculously, she answers almost immediately. The pain in his chest and stomach vanish when she says his name. Another miracle, he thinks.
"Harry."
"Yes, I'm here." He says. He clears his throat and says again. "I'm here."
"I did email you," she says. "I did. When I get home, I'll see if I can—"
"Ruth. I'm sorry."
"My email..." She stops.
"I'm sorry. A thousand times over. " He adds, "I've been an absolute arse."
She says, sounding as as exhausted as he does, "I really don't know what happened."
"I thought. You. When. I . "He finally manages a coherent sentence. "My behaviour was inexcusable. Execrable, really. But I thought I'd never see you again."
She hesitates only a few moments, but for him it is interminable. "Is that all?"
"All? What else could there be?"
This time the silence is longer and much more eloquent. "All right. " He says, "I admit when I saw that you were safe and who you were with... Yes. It bothered me."
"Harry." But her voice holds no real rancor and he rejoices in that small victory. So he takes a chance. " I ...why did you go back to Cyprus?"
"You mean with Milos, don't you?"
"Yes." He says.
She sighs. "Therapy has been...difficult. I wanted to write and tell you about it when the time was right."
"But I thought everything has been going so well."
"It has. But ...I needed to go back to Cyrus to say goodbye. To my time there. To George." she adds. Then pauses before going on. "It's one of the reasons why I'm here and not home."
With me, he thinks. But he only says, "But it all seemed so sudden."
"Not sudden at all." She say wearily.
"You never..."
"You didn't give me a chance to explain. Harry." She tacks on his name like the chastisement it is meant to be.
"No. I didn't. I'm sorry for that as well."
"And I know as well, you are wondering why with Milos and not simply a plane to Athens? And a ferry over?"
"Yes," he admits.
"He and I, " she says, "are simply friends. I am allowed to have friends. Right?"
"Of course," he says, hoping he sounds more convincing that he actually feels.
She takes a breath. "After my session with my therapist the day before -two days now actually," she amends, "I went down to the harbor the next morning to speak with Milos. He was getting ready for a run to Cyprus. I hadn't planned on going quite so soon, but I decided to seize the moment, as they say. You know. Carpe diem. And since he was leaving within the hour, I simply ran back to my place, took my phone. Grabbed a few things. And," she goes on breathlessly, "before I left, I wrote an email to you. But you never got it. And from there, everything went wrong. And for that, I'm truly sorry. For worrying you so. But, we still need to have a serious talk when I get back."
"About?"
"About us. The issue of trust. But now," she says, before he can think of anything to say to that. " I'm exhausted and running late. "
"Where are you?" He asks, welcoming a change of topic as the voice in his head competes with his spoken words. Trust. Us. Serious Talk.
"Still on Cyprus. I'm heading back to the tug right now, in fact. When you called. Finally." She adds, another chastisement.
"Ruth. I..."
"We will speak later when I return. But give me time. It will be at least another 24 hours or so."
"Of course."
"Bye." She says.
"Take care," He adds, but she is already gone. He holds onto the mobile reluctant to let it go from his hand. His gaze falls on the empty glass. Picking it up, he turns it in his hand, around and around. All at once, he hurls it against the wall. It shatters into pieces, perfectly matching the shards of glass piercing his aching heart.