Page 39 of Bluebell Promises

“Love, Margaret.”

Celia finished reading and blinked up at the rest of the Harper sisters. Wren’s cheeks were wet with tears, and Ivy and Juliet weren’t handling it any better. Together, they sat in silence, considering the depths of their mother’s depression and the ache in her heart.

For years, they’d been trying to understand her. Every written word brought them closer.

And then, Wren considered her own secrets. She considered how separate she still felt from her own sisters, if only because she still hadn’t come clean about what had happened in Greece. Was she going to keep all her secrets close to her heart forever? Was she going to die without sharing everything that had happened to her?

“I don’t know what to say,” Ivy offered delicately.

Juliet pressed her face with her hands and let out a long sigh. “She was a poet,” she whispered.

Celia nodded and folded the letter back up. Her hands were shaking.

“I want to tell you all something,” Wren said, raising her chin.

Her three sisters turned their attention to her, the baby. The baby who’d once cried all night, tormenting their mother during her most difficult time.

“Something happened to me,” Wren said, her voice shaking. “In Greece.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. All this time, she’d known something was really wrong. All this time, she’d been pestering Wren for details, but Wren hadn’t felt strong enough to share.

“Wren,” Juliet breathed, “You know you can tell us anything, right?”

20

Last June: Santorini, Greece

That first night back in Santorini, Wren could hardly sleep. After seeing the boarded-up hotel, she ached with worry for Angelos and his parents. Her mind ran wild with ideas of what had happened. Was it possible that his parents had been doing something illegal at the inn? Had they all been arrested and taken to a jail cell in Athens? She pictured angry Greek cops, kicking down doors and crying out.

If that were so, maybe she could head to Athens and wait out the trial. Maybe she could use the fact that she was pregnant as proof to the judge that Angelos needed to be free. Perhaps Angelos hadn’t even known his parents were up to no good! Maybe they’d been framed?

Or maybe Angelos’s parents had abruptly closed the inn and moved to a quieter island? Perhaps Angelos was so busy moving them to wherever they’d chosen that he hadn’t picked up the phone. Or he’d dropped the phone off the ferry and had been too busy to get a new one? Or maybe…

Oh, she needed to stop thinking in terms of maybes and get to the bottom of this. There had to be an explanation. She felt sure she’d discover it soon.

She got up early, dressed, and left the hotel, walking the streets and watching as the shopkeepers and coffee shop owners opened everything for the day. It was going to be hot, ninety degrees, and she stopped to get an iced coffee. She’d googled it and learned that one cup of coffee a day for pregnant women was all right, so she’d decided to let her fears around it go. There was only so much she could do without a little bit of caffeine.

The coffee shop owner appeared slightly younger than Angelos’s parents. Thinking maybe they were from Santorini, or that maybe they knew him, she asked, “Angelos? Their family inn? Do you know them at all?”

The coffee shop owner gave her a look of startled recognition. At least, that was what Wren thought it was. He muttered to himself, “No, no,” then took a step away from her.

“Do you know him?” Wren asked, careful to speak clearly in English. She knew he understood her. Tourism had made speaking English almost a necessity here in Santorini. “You know his family? Where did they go? I really need to find them.”

But the coffee shop owner continued to back up until he was in the kitchen, closing the door behind him. This left Wren still coffee-less, her brow furrowed. Around her, tourists demanded to know where he’d gone and why he hadn’t made their coffee yet.

“This is ridiculous,” an American man said, smacking his thigh.

Already, people began to spill out of the coffee shop, eager to find something else. But Wren waited with bated breath, watching the kitchen door. She felt sure that the owner would come out again, that he had answers for her that he was, for some reason, unwilling to give. Her stomach split with nausea, and she rushed to the bathroom, where she vomited what felt like everything she’d ever eaten in the past five years. It was hard to comprehend. When she returned to the coffee shop area, the kitchen door was still closed, and a sign on the counter read “Closed for the next hour.” Wren shivered, stomped her foot, and left.

Outside, tourists filled the streets, making it difficult for her to find her way through town. It was already much hotter than it had been an hour ago, and she bought a sun hat and hid herself away for a while, people-watching and trying to decide what to do. Already, she was hungry again, so she stopped and got herself a gyro, praying that she wouldn’t throw this up later, too.

As she ate the garlicky and divine sandwich, she tried to imagine what Angelos would say when he found out about the baby. She imagined his face, echoing shock, before he threw his arms around her and said, “Wren! You’re going to be a brilliant mother! We’re going to have a family! Right here in Santorini, together!” She imagined celebrating into the night, dancing to Greek instruments that she didn’t recognize but loved the look of. He’d taught her the names, but she’d already forgotten. She supposed he’d have to teach her again.

Maybe it would be difficult, at first, for his parents to accept this change. Perhaps they’d think, Why did he want to be with an American woman? But soon, they’d fall in love with her, just as Angelos had. She’d take Greek lessons, and maybe they’d have one of those big, fat Greek weddings—like in that movie Ivy used to love when they were younger. Wren had liked that movie, too. Sometimes when the sisters were getting along, they’d all sit around the living room at the Harper house, watching that film and eating snacks and talking about how handsome the Greek woman’s future husband was.

Back then, it had been hard for Wren to imagine ever falling in love herself.

All day and into the night, Wren scoured the streets and inquired about Angelos and his family. Nobody reacted the way the first coffee shop owner had, but nobody wanted to give her any information, either. Some of them pretended not to know Angelos, and some really didn’t. Frustrated, she wound her way back to her hotel, thinking she might give up for the day. She was exhausted. Being pregnant in the heat was no joke.