She'd been careful not to mention the name of the island, although she later wondered why she had bothered doing that before realizing she wasn't ready to face the outside world and its questions just yet. After hanging up, she thought she had done a reasonable job at calming their concerns over her safety, telling them she was just exploring an unexpected work opportunity in the area and would be in touch again soon.
Around sunset, two local women had appeared at the doctor's house and had been shown to Tess's room. Although they spoke little English, she eventually understood that they were the wives of some of the fishermen who had found her on the beach. They had brought her some clothes: a pair of cotton pants, a nightdress, a couple of white blouses, and a thick cotton cardigan into which she happily wrapped herself. They had also brought a large, piping-hot clay pot of giouvetsi with them, which Eleni explained was a lamb and rice pasta stew. Tess had dug into it gratefully, surprising herself by wolfing down a large plate with newfound appetite.
Later, a hot bath had worked wonders for her general stiffness, and Mavromaras had changed the dressing on her arm, the purple bruising from the rope looking to her as though it would be with her forever. Then, and despite her hosts' gentle objections, she'd spent most of the rest of the evening sitting at Reilly's bedside, although she'd found it hard to talk to him the way, she knew, some people did to loved ones who were also comatose. She had doubts about whether or not it would actually help him, and she wasn't sure if, given everything that had happened, hers was the voice he'd most want to hear. She blamed herself for what they'd been through, and, although there was so much she wanted to tell him, she wanted to say it when he was in a position to respond, favorably or not. She didn't want to force herself on him when he was, at best, a captive listener, and, at worst, not listening at all.
Close to midnight, she'd eventually succumbed to exhaustion, physical as much as emotional, and gone back to her room. She'd dropped off to sleep effortlessly, her head nestling between two musty pillows.
***
By the next morning, Tess felt strong enough to venture out of the house and walk off her stiffness.
The wind was still blowing, although the rain had petered out, and she felt a short walk would probably do her a lot of good.
She slipped into her clothes and looked in on Reilly. Eleni was there, as always, and was gently massaging his leg. Mavromaras soon appeared and examined him. Reilly's condition was stable, he told her, but not markedly improved. He explained that in these situations, any improvement wouldn't be gradual. It would happen more or less at once. Reilly would be unconscious one moment and, if he were to emerge from his coma, he would simply awaken without any physiological warning.
Mavromaras had to check on another patient across the island and said he'd be back in a couple of hours. Tess asked if she could walk him out to his car.
"The air ambulance service in Rodos called me this morning," he told her, as they stepped outside the house. "They should be able to fly in sometime tomorrow."
Although Tess had been anxious earlier to get Sean to a proper hospital, she wasn't so sure anymore. "I've been thinking about what you said. Do you really think we should take him there?"
A gracious smile crossed the doctor's face before he answered. "Frankly, it's up to you. It's a very good hospital and I know the man in charge there, they'll look after him well, I can assure you." The uncertainty must have been etched clearly all over her face, because he then added, "We don't need to make any decisions now. Let's see how he is in the morning, and we can decide then."
They walked across the street, skirting a couple of big puddles of water, and reached a slightly rusting old Peugeot. Mavromaras opened its door, which, Tess noticed, wasn't locked.
She glanced up and down the narrow street. Even in these overcast conditions, the town was breathtaking. Tier upon tier of neat, neoclassical houses painted in warm pastel colors straddled the steep hill all the way down to the small harbor below. Many of them had triangular pediments and red tile roofs and were of a pleasing, subde uniformity of style. Water spilled down overwhelmed gutters at the sides of the road and tumbled down the steep flight of steps cutting up the hill.
Overhead, the bruised sky still looked poised for another onslaught.
"That was one hell of a storm," Tess observed.
Mavromaras eyed the clouds, nodding. "It was far worse than anything anyone can recall, even the oldest people in town. And especially for this time of year ..."
Tess flashed back to the storm that had hit the Fa-Icon Temple all those years ago and, almost to herself, she murmured, "An act of God."
The doctor cocked a curious eyebrow, surprised by the comment. "Maybe. But if you want to think in those terms, think of it more as a miracle."
"A miracle?"
"Of course. A miracle that you and your friend were washed ashore on our island. It's a big sea out there. A little bit further north and you would have landed on the Turkish coast, which, in this area, is rocky and completely deserted. The towns are all on the other side of the peninsula. A bit further south and you would have missed the island entirely and been carried out into the Aegean and ..."
He raised his eyebrows and nodded knowingly, leaving the rest for her to fill in, then shrugged and threw his medical bag into the passenger seat. "I have to go. I'll be back this afternoon."
Tess didn't want him to leave just yet. There was something comforting about his presence. "Isn't there anything I can do to help him?"
"Your friend is in good hands. My wife is an excellent nurse, and, although this isn't anything like the hospitals you're used to in America, trust me when I tell you we've had a lot of experience dealing with all kinds of injuries. Even on small islands like this, people do get hurt." He paused, thought about it for a moment as he studied her, then added, "Have you talked to him yet?"
Tess was taken aback by the question. "Talked to him?"
"You should do that. Talk to him. Inspire him, give him strength." His tone was almost fatherly and then he smiled, shaking his head slightiy. "You must think you've fallen on some small-town witch doctor. I promise you that's not the case. Many studies by prominent physicians support the idea.
Just because he's in a coma, doesn't mean he can't hear. It just means he can't respond . . . yet." He paused, his eyes beaming with hope and empathy. "Talk to him . . . and pray for the best."
Tess let out a small chuckle and looked away wistfully. "I'm not very good at that."
Mavromaras didn't look convinced. "In your own way, although you don't realize it, you're already doing it. You're praying for him just by wishing he would recover. A lot of prayers are being said for him." The doctor pointed across the way toward a small chapel. She could see a few locals greeting each other at its door, some of them leaving while others were heading in. "Many of the men on this island earn their living from the sea. There were four fishing boats out at sea the night the storm hit. Their families prayed to God and to the archangel Michael, the patron saint of seafarers, for their safe return, and those prayers were answered. All of them managed to come back to us unharmed. Now, more prayers are being said, prayers of thanks. And prayers for your friend's recovery."
"They're all praying for his recovery?"
The doctor nodded. "We all are."
"But you don't even know him."
"It doesn't matter. The sea brought him here to us, and it's our duty to nurse him back to health so he can go on with his life." He climbed into the car. "Now I really must go." And with a small wave and a parting glance, he drove off through pools of muddy rainwater and disappeared down the hill.
For a moment, Tess watched him go. She turned to walk back into the house, then hesitated. She couldn't remember the last time that she had been inside any chapel or church or religious building of any kind, except for her work and, of course, during the brief episode in the burned-out remains of the church in Manhattan. Splashing her way across the soaked road, she crossed the small pebble courtyard, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.