Page 47 of Bluebell Promises

“As you can imagine, they’re reeling after the news you passed along to them yesterday,” Christos continued. “I have them here beside me, and they want to respond and ask questions.”

“Of course,” Wren said. She cozied up on the sofa and gazed out at the early morning darkness.

“You told them yesterday that you are pregnant with their son’s child,” he stated.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And you are living in the United States?” the interpreter asked.

“Yes. With family. But I thought they should know about the baby,” Wren said.

Christos translated everything back to Angelos’s parents. Wren wished desperately that she could speak to them directly.

“They want to come see you,” Christos said.

Wren smiled with surprise and relief. “The baby will be born in late February,” she said. “Tell them to come in March or April. Tell them they’ll be more than welcome.”

He translated this back. A bunch of Greek was exchanged, while Wren sat in the dark with a huge smile on her face. Her baby was going to have grandparents! It was too good to be true.

“They want to know your address,” Christos went on. “They want to start sending you things.”

Wren laughed and said her address aloud, so that they could write it down.

“Angelos’s mother, in particular, has a great deal to say to you,” Christos said. “She says she’s going to have me write a letter to you in English. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course,” Wren said. “I’m sure I have a great deal to say back to her. But why don’t you send an email? I can give you my email address.”

The translator laughed. “Mrs. Skandali says that an email won’t cut it. She needs time to compose her thoughts, and she thinks the letter needs time over the ocean, time for thought. I don’t know if I’m translating that quite right. It’s quite romantic, the idea.”

Wren thought she knew what Mrs. Skandali meant—a letter gained importance and beauty and poetry the longer it traveled. “I’ll be here,” she said. “Waiting.”

Two weeks later, an enormous box arrived on Wren’s front porch. It was addressed to Wren from Maria and Andreas Skandali. Now six months pregnant, Wren didn’t have the strength to haul the box inside, so she had to wait for Ben to come over and bring it in.

Inside the box were numerous presents for both her and the baby. There were maternity dresses with Greek flair, boxes of Greek snacks, Christmas decorations for the upcoming holiday season, plus baby clothes, baby toys, and baby blankets. There was even an ornate, vintage rocking horse for a toddler, which, Wren guessed, had once belonged to Angelos.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. Wren sat on the sofa and cried.

After hugging her and telling her he would help with anything she needed, Ben knew instinctively that she needed time alone. Pierre, the dog, took Ben’s place on the sofa, knowing she needed his strong support beside her.

Eventually, she found the letter from Mrs. Skandali, tucked between two boxes of baby toys. On the envelope, it read: WREN HARPER. With shaking hands, she opened it and read the words Christos had translated.

Dear Wren,

Since May, my husband and I have been in a state of nightmarish shock. Never did we imagine we would have to say goodbye to our son.

For years, we had been running through time. Running our family’s inn was no small feat, and we often argued as we tried to keep the place afloat. Angelos was always part of our drama. He watched out for us, but I know he was irritated by us, too. I hate that we said so many cruel words to one another. I hope we told him that we loved him enough.

When he met you, we were not pleased, but we imagined it was just a fling. Angelos was never like the other men on our island. He didn’t usually have romances with tourists, and he liked to keep to himself. We weren’t sure whether he would ever settle down. But we knew from the beginning that he saw you differently. He avoided his tasks at the hotel. He seemed to drift further away from us. We panicked and tried desperately to drag him back. What we should have done is let him go. Maybe he would still be alive.

We know that we can’t get bogged down with “should have, would have.” Everything happened the way it happened.

I know you know that the island of Santorini called you “cursed.” We thought you were cursed, too. That idea came out of grief and shock, but we don’t really believe it, especially not now. You’re pregnant with our grandchild, Angelos’s baby. We are thrilled to our bones. We hope that these gifts provide you with a bit of relief during this terrifying time. And we’ve already made plans to fly to Maine in late March. We hope that will give you a little bit of time to settle into motherhood before your “crazy in-laws” arrive.

Oh, and Andreas and I are taking English classes a few blocks from our apartment. Maybe when I write you again next, I will write the thing myself. Wouldn’t that be something?

Please know that our doors are always open. Maybe, down the line, you and your baby can come to Greece and stay for a while. We’d love to teach Angelos’s child how to speak Greek and how to appreciate our culture and food. And we’d love to help raise a baby we want to love as well as we can.

We, Angelos’s parents and you, are united in grief at losing Angelos and love in the form of this baby. We look forward to many more years of getting to know you, Wren. Isn’t life strange?