Second Chances (6 page)

Overwhelmed with the guilt of lying to her family but knowing that Sofie was right, Pashmina followed her friend’s advice and left soon after. Only once had she briefly looked back on her former life, when she discovered the unopened manila envelope from George carelessly shoved into one of the many unpacked moving boxes.

It appeared to be a manuscript. Scanning the pages of neatly typed words she’d quickly recognized his methodical style of writing, laying out the facts word by word, chapter upon chapter, like a builder erecting a skyscraper; a style as different from her own imaginative chaos as night from day. And as Pashmina read his story she understood why he had left it in her possession. It was unequivocally the best thing he had ever written and undeniably the greatest secret he could never tell. By entrusting her with the manuscript, George had placed his life and his future completely in her hands.

For twenty-nine years she’d kept his secret buried deep amongst her affection and concern for him, forbidding herself to even think of it again until today. Now sitting here in the same café where they were to have met decades earlier, the truth came rushing back. “I take it, it’s safe for you to be here now?” she asked, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

George laughed. “And you’re still not one to beat around the bush are you? Does this mean you read my manuscript? What do you think of it?”

Without hesitation she answered, “It’s your best work yet and you know it. But George you know you can never publish it without incriminating yourself,” she warned, concerned for her friend.

“Ironic isn’t it? I finally got my story and I’ll never be able to tell it.” He raised his glass drinking deeply under Pashmina’s thoughtful gaze. Was it disappointment or sadness or something else shading his handsome face?

“Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing?” she asked her own voice heavy and sad.

He smiled. “Don’t feel bad for me Pashmina. I’ve had a good life. At first I traveled a lot, always moving, afraid the past would catch up with me. But eventually I came home, back to Greece. I’ve been living in Cronilys ever since.”

“Are you still writing?” she asked curious.

“Not really, I’m a fisherman now,” he held up his calloused hands for her inspection. “I use my hands to haul nets and catch fish instead of tapping keys on a typewriter or a computer. That’s what you use isn’t it?”

Pashmina nodded before protesting, “But how could you stop writing? It was your passion.”

“No Pashmina, it was my job, you were my passion,” he said simply, “from the day we met and every day after, you were all I ever wanted.”

He paused letting his words sink in and waited for her to react. Taking her silence as a good sign he pressed on. “I’ve spent the past twenty-nine years dreaming of the day we’d be together again. As soon as I thought it was safe all I wanted was to come find you.” He gazed at her with pride. “By then of course you were a famous author, Pashmina Papadakis, and I was just a hardworking fisherman. What kind of a life could I offer you? But now here we are both visitors at the same time and place and I think fate must be telling us something don’t you?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“Right, I’d forgotten.” He shook his head ruefully. “We make our own choices and let the chips fall where they may.” Silence fell between them as he studied her intently. Time had been generous to Pashmina changing the naive innocent of his memories into a bold and confident woman of the world but he suspected the two still had much in common.

A broad smile lit his face like the sun coming from behind a cloud. “I choose you Pashmina. Say the word and we can still have our happy ending.”

“Careful what you wish for George,” she warned trying to keep things lighthearted, “I’m a diva now you know.”

“I’m serious Pashmina. I know we can’t go back but we can start again.”

“There’s been no ‘we’ for a long time George,” she said wary of where this was headed. “Harry was the only one for me, he always was. I told you that.”

“You did,” he agreed. “But then he left you and it was supposed to be our time, our chance to be happy. That’s what I was going to tell you before everything blew up.”

It was as if he hadn’t spoken. “Harry’s gone you know, he died a few years ago.”

The turn in conversation was getting to him even as George tried his best to comfort her. “I’m sorry Pashmina he was a good man, an admirable one. I know he only wanted what was best for you.”

“That’s what I used to think,” she scoffed, “but an admirable man would never just up and leave his wife.” Love and pain cast delicate shadows across her face causing her lips to quiver and her eyes to glow with unshed tears. In his eyes, she’d never looked more beautiful or vulnerable. It was time to come clean.

“I met him, once,” he said instantly grabbing her attention. No going back now. He took a deep breath and continued, “You’d just broken up with me, and I was beside myself because I knew you were making a terrible mistake. We were perfect for each other. So I told him about us, how much we loved each other, how good we were together, and the whole time I prayed he would do the right thing and let you go. That’s why I think Harry is an honorable man, he put your needs above his own your happiness came first with him.”

Understanding dawned slowly but surely as Pashmina tried to make sense of what he was saying. My God, what had he done? “You told Harry about us?” Nausea woke inside her making her sick to her stomach. “Why, why would you do that to me?”

It’s the right thing to do. How did this happen? She couldn’t believe Harry would agree but obviously George had convinced him. She’d lost the love of her life and her marriage because of George. She’d trusted him, cared about him, carried his child. Bile rose in her throat at the thought.

After the baby was born she’d almost refused to let it go, just one look and she’d fallen completely in love. But she was scared. What did she know about being a mother and how could she possibly live without Harry? Adoption was the best option for both of them.

Or so she’d thought until she finally saw Harry again and then she wondered if she’d made the right choice after all. Harry was engaged to be married to his childhood sweetheart. “She’s a wonderful girl, lovely and kind,” he told her in a voice so tender it nearly broke her heart. “But not as strong as you Pashmina, she needs me.”

She needs me
. If his words didn’t hurt so much they’d be funny. But there was nothing at all humorous about her situation. Harry was lost to her. George was gone. Her baby was gone. Just me, myself, and I she thought with steely resolve. And that’s how it’d been ever since.

“Pashmina?” George was looking at her, concern barely masking his happy expression. “We should be celebrating our reunion not mourning the past.”

She stared at him blankly. For so many years she’d struggled to manage the past, ignore the pain of loss and her own costly mistakes. And for what? The past was all a lie anyway. What if she’d told Harry the truth back then, begged for his forgiveness, and convinced him her love was real, would things have turned out different? Maybe, maybe not, but thanks to George, she’d never know.

“You bastard!” she snarled, slapping away his hands reaching out to calm her. “Get away from me! You ruined my life and now you want me to be happy about it?”

Pashmina’s chest heaved as hot tears spilled onto her cheeks and she could feel the curious stares of the other patrons judging her. Fuck them. She didn’t care.

“You had no right George.” Barely able to look at him, she stood to leave.

“Pashmina wait.”

“For what, so you can hurt me some more? I don’t think so.” But there was something she needed to know. “Just tell me one thing, if you had met me here that day would you have told me the truth about Harry then?”

She waited for him to answer, a cocoon of quiet surrounding them blocking out everything and everyone except the two of them. Their eyes met and locked hard granite to icy steel.

“No,” he said shattering the silence.

She tilted her head as if hearing sound for the first time and saw life happening all around her; a group of teenage girls was preening and giggling trying to catch the attention of a group of young men, a mother pushed a stroller, protectively tucking a blanket around her infant as she went, an elderly couple bowed and bent with age held hands as they walked, their movements synchronized like two dancers who’ve waltzed together a lifetime.

Pashmina shook her head sadly sending cob-webbed memories and futile wishes scattering. So much time wasted pining for a man she’d lost, a man she’d never have again thanks to George. But no more, she was done.

“Wrong answer,” she replied, stepping onto the crowded sidewalk where the flow of people swept her away from the misery of the cafe, away from George, away from his anguished gaze that continued to burn long after she was out of sight.

*   *   *

For some time after that fateful meeting and George’s full disclosure, she’d lived in a mind-numbing state of nothingness. In less than five minutes, life as she thought she knew it had been turned upside down leaving her hanging suspended, an emotional wreck and a creative cripple.

He’d once claimed that timing wasn’t his strong suit, but George had hit the mark perfectly this time. With pressing deadlines bearing down on her, Pashmina was stuck, unable to write a word, paralyzed by his confession. Lethargic, apathetic, and void of her usual ability to write at will, she struggled, half-heartedly chipping away at the mental block impeding her writing while trying to think of another way around it.

The evenings were the hardest. Anxious and uneasy, she was desperate for relief from consciousness. Fighting to get some sleep one night, she’d reached into her night table drawer for a sedative and found something else buried under the pile of tissues, notepads, and reading glasses that lived there. George’s manuscript weighed heavy in her hands as she pulled the dusty manila folder from the drawer and eyed it suspiciously.

It won’t bite you silly girl. It’s just a manuscript, you read a long time ago. Too long ago to remember? Turning the folder over and raising the unsealed flap, she let the bound pages glide easily out of their protective sleeve and began to read. Maybe a good bedtime story was all she needed.

*   *   *

CHAPTER FIVE

George stepped easily over the heavy rope neatly coiled on the dock, the warmth of the early morning sun already heating his skin, and the cool sea air filling his lungs. Early as it was, the village of Cronilys was a bustle of activity as fishermen crowded the docks preparing their boats for a full day of baiting and netting.

“George!” someone yelled and he turned squinting against the sun to see who it was.

“What is it Vasily?” he called, instantly recognizing the short, squat captain of the CERILIA fishing boat. As round as he was tall, good natured Vasily was often the butt of many jokes but no one was more respected on these docks than him and George counted himself lucky to be one of his crew.

“Grab those buckets of bait and bring them to the front of the boat. We need to take off in the next half hour if we’re going to lead the fleet.”

George smiled. “OK boss. I’ll be right there. Just need to grab some tobacco at the Fish Stand. Do you need anything?”

“Get me some too will you?”

With a wave to Vasily he headed down the dock towards a small merchant’s market called The Fish Stand. Invaluable to those who worked the docks, it had all the things fishermen needed: cigarettes, cold drinks and snacks, not to mention gossip. Once a long time ago, George had asked about newspapers. “What do you need a paper for,” the shop keeper had asked?“ Anything you need to know you can find out right here at The Fish Stand.”

Chuckling at the memory he grabbed two packages of chewing tobacco giving a quick scan of the worn shelves to see if there was anything else he needed.

“Thank you for the fish, Cosmos,” a woman’s lilting voice sounded pleasantly from the front of the store as he approached the counter, “I’ll see you again soon,” she promised. Lifting a paper bag filled with her purchases she turned to leave and came eye-to-eye with George standing directly behind her.

Her eyes grew wide as she stared into his baby blues gazing calmly back at her. With casual interest, George let his eyes stray from her face, panning the length of her trim form and back again. She was middle-aged, wearing a blue sundress and leather sandals, her dark hair piled on top of her head. Looking slightly flustered and with a nervous smile she moved towards the exit.

“Wait, please,” he asked halting her in her tracks. She looked so familiar. “Have we met before?”

She nodded, resigned. “Yes George we’ve met, I’m Sofie Anastas.”

Recognition dawned as he remembered Pashmina’s friend. The only person he’d ever met from Pashmina’s other life. “Why don’t you introduce me to any of your friends, your family,” he’d once asked eliciting such a look of fear and horror that he’d never asked again. If hiding was the only way he could have her, he’d just have to live with it.

“Sofie, of course,” he said with a smile gently guiding her out of the shop and earshot of the gossip mongers inside. “How are you? You’re looking well.”