ALSO BY PATRICIA SANDS
The Bridge Club
The Love in Provence Series
The Promise of Provence
Promises to Keep
I Promise You This
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 Patricia Sands
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542045872
ISBN-10: 1542045878
Cover design by Ginger Design
CONTENTS
START READING
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live.
Serenely let us move to distant places
And let no sentiments of home detain us.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
—“Stages” by Hermann Hesse
PROLOGUE
The first time her life came to a screeching halt was twenty years earlier when the predawn phone call came from Greece where her parents, Sophia and Nikos, were vacationing. Everything changed with that tragic car accident. Arianna’s father was dead. Her mother had minor physical injuries but was emotionally scarred forever.
In her typically close-knit Greek family, daily interaction was the norm between the generations. Nikos Papadopoulos had been the head of the household in every way with his loud and loving Zorba-the-Greek personality. His absence left a void that slowly filled with memories. His spirit remained ever present.
Arianna’s husband, Ben Miller, took over full responsibility for Papa’s on the Danforth, the popular Greek bistro he had run with his father-in-law. Arianna left her career as an art historian at the Art Gallery of Ontario to help patch their world back together.
They worked in tandem to maintain the spirit and reputation of the restaurant. Ben moved between the kitchen and the customers with his creative cuisine and his contagious high spirits. Arianna worked behind the scenes, keeping the staff organized and the menus updated, as well as handling accounts.
As time went by, they gently guided heartbroken Sophia into her changed life.
Helping Sophia adjust to her role as a widow had been a challenge. Arianna was thankful her son, Tadeus, was a responsible teenager with a strong sense of self. He easily stepped into the role of helping his dad. The same could not be said for his sister, Faith, two years older, who had fallen apart at the sudden loss of her beloved pappouli.
As it does, life slowly moved forward. Roles shifted. Where Sophia had been the dominant matriarch of the family, she now acquiesced to the decisions Arianna and Ben made about the business. The family weathered the storm and began again to live a life that was full and no more complicated than most.
Then, twenty years after that heartbreaking call from Greece, Arianna’s life came screeching to a halt once again.
Her children were adults with busy lives of their own. Sophia was settled and content in a seniors’ residence.
Now Arianna Papadopoulos-Miller had choices to make that were hers alone. A new life to lead—or not. It was up to her.
CHAPTER ONE
They sat together in the office of their longtime family doctor. Ben reached over to take Arianna’s hand.
Gripping a tissue, unaware her nails were digging into her palm, Arianna let Ben gently unclench her fingers. He nestled her hand in his. In spite of his over-the-top personality, he was always a calming influence, and she loved him all the more for it.
A battery of test results—including blood work, neuropsychological assessments, and neuroimaging—had been assembled over the preceding weeks. In this office, finally, they hoped to find the answer to the puzzling and troubling changes Arianna and others had observed in Ben.
Ben stared straight ahead at the doctor, who was as much their friend as their physician. Dr. Russell Spencer had delivered their children. Their families often vacationed together. The men played poker with a group of close friends once a month. Arianna and their doctor’s wife, Karyn Spencer, danced their hearts out once a week in the same Zumba class.
They had already greeted each other warmly and exchanged the usual friendly small talk. But something hung in the air, an anxiety absent from every previous appointment.
The doctor busied himself shuffling papers on his desk and opening documents on his laptop. Then he quietly cleared his throat and slowly looked up, directly at his friends.
“I’m so sorry, Ben . . . and Arianna . . .” He paused, his eyes dropping down before meeting their questioning gazes once again. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. I’m heartsick to deliver this news.” His voice clearly reflected the pain his words were causing him.
“The diagnosis is frontotemporal dementia, FTD, also known as frontal lobe dementia or Pick’s disease. There’s no way to make this sound better. It’s not good. It certainly explains your ongoing stumbles and memory loss.”
Dr. Spencer’s eyes searched those of his friends for a moment. He wished he could offer his friend and patient some words of hope or consolation, but he knew there were none.
“Frontotemporal dementia consists of several disorders that affect the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain. Personality, emotions, behavior, and speech are controlled in these areas of the brain. Currently, there is no cure for FTD, but there are treatments that help alleviate symptoms. We’ll do
more tests to chart how far along it is.” A deep sigh slipped out.
A rogue tear rolled silently down Ben’s cheek. Arianna gasped and sobbed loudly in the chair beside him before she buried her face in a cluster of tissues.
Their hands fused together.
Arianna would remember forever that this moment was accompanied by the sound of an enormous door slamming shut in her head. There were no thoughts now . . . just black emptiness swallowing her as she fought to breathe.
Dr. Spencer came around his desk. His face was flushed with worry as he leaned down to hug Arianna. Now her arms hung limply at her sides.
Ben stood to embrace his friend. They clung to each other as only close friends could. The doctor mantle slipped off.
The room was filled with sorrow.
Collecting himself, Dr. Spencer pulled up a chair next to them. “Goddamnit! I’m so sorry. I thought it would be better for me to tell you than have the specialist do it. We’ve been through so much together. But there’s nothing that makes this easier . . .”
Ben nodded and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’m sorry you had to do it . . . but I’m grateful you did.”
Arianna mumbled and nodded in agreement. Her shoulders were racked with sobs, and she accepted a box of tissues Russ handed her. Ben pulled his wife into his arms. “Come, come. We will deal with this. We have to.”
Arianna tried to speak, but she couldn’t find any words. Her sobbing was muffled in Ben’s shoulder as he held her tightly, stroking her back. Russ and Ben shared a look that conveyed the depths of their friendship and their despair.
“I’ll go get some water,” Russ offered, his voice strained as he left the office.
When they were alone, Ben pulled away slightly. Tracing his finger lightly down Arianna’s cheek, he lifted her chin so their eyes could meet. “Sweetheart, we have to accept this. We’ll cry when we get home . . . and many times after, I’m certain. But let’s pull ourselves together now and listen to Russ.”
Arianna nodded. Her breath came in gasps, catching in her throat. Her thoughts swirled, impossible to calm. She’d never felt so out of control.
After discreetly taking his time, Russ returned with his doctor persona back in place and a pitcher of ice water and glasses. He poured a drink for each of them.
Then, barely composed, the three friends sat and began talking through the prognosis. The reality was grim. Arianna felt completely outside of her body as she listened to the words the doctor was obliged to share.
“Most people with a frontotemporal dementia disorder live an average of six to eight years after the first symptoms appear. In some cases, people live as few as two years. It can’t be predicted.”
Dr. Spencer had collected an assortment of literature for them. He had also compiled a list of medical websites that offered additional information.
“There’s a support group at the hospital that I believe may be helpful for you. They meet every Monday evening, and I’ve heard positive feedback about it. You might give that a thought . . . when you are ready . . .”
After a short while, they all agreed they were flailing for words. It was impossible to digest the facts and think clearly.
Arianna asked, “Russ, would you and Karyn come over to our place tonight and help us break the news to the kids? I’m pretty sure they will be available—we’ll arrange for Faith to join us on Skype. She’s still up north.”
Ben patted her hand. “Good idea. They’ll have a lot of questions we won’t be able to answer on our own.”
Russ said, “Of course. Just give us a time, and we’ll be there. In fact, why don’t we bring over dinner? Just go home and hold each other.”
“I’ll check our supply of Scotch,” Ben mumbled. “I have a feeling we may need a few stiff ones.”
Russ nodded. “No question.”
Walking slowly, hand in hand, Arianna and Ben left the medical building. Shock could not begin to describe their state. They had been blindsided.
Arianna’s legs felt like rubber. Each step she took was faltering and irregular. Ben held on to her tightly, as much for his own steadiness as hers.
This was not what they had anticipated. They had expected a problem, not a death sentence. They’d known there had to be a reason for some of Ben’s increasing forgetfulness, stumbling, and unpredictable personality shifts. More recently he had struggled to find words, which resulted in frustration and sometimes a loss of temper. Never before had that been part of his warm personality.
They’d known something was wrong. But not this.
To receive such a final, definitive statement of how Ben’s life would soon drastically change was difficult to process.
“Let’s look at the positives here,” Ben said, attempting to control his emotions as they sat in the car. “I’ve had an amazing life. It ends for all of us at some point, and many people are not as fortunate as I’ve been. Let’s keep remembering that.”
Arianna wept again.
And that is how Ben Miller accepted the end of his life.
Until he no longer could.
That night, Arianna and Ben lay awake, tossing and turning. Breaking the news to Faith, Tadeus, and his wife, Christine, had been sorrowful and difficult. They would wait a day or two and consider how to tell Sophia.
In the following weeks, there was a flurry of meetings with their lawyer and accountant. Demetrios, the young man who had worked as Ben’s assistant manager in the restaurant for the past two years, put together a group of associates to purchase the business. The purchasers asked if they could keep the name, out of respect. It was a bittersweet gesture that brought Ben some satisfaction in the midst of such turmoil.
The next month, Ben sweetly handed a rose to Arianna and suggested they spend the weekend at the Whispering Pines Inn, a rustic lodge with a popular spa an hour away from Toronto. They had celebrated many special times in the calm splendor of its setting. With their son’s help, Ben had arranged a limo with a chilled split of champagne and assorted hors d’oeuvres. Ben had thought long and hard about this weekend.
“Oh, Ben. Look how glorious this lane is today,” Arianna said as the car brought them down the long driveway, which was carpeted in red, orange, and gold. “I’m surprised there are still so many leaves on the trees. It feels like we’re entering a magical land.”
Later, they ambled along woodland paths, leaves crunching and crackling underfoot as the earthy, musky smells of autumn filled the air. Ben stopped at one point, inhaled deeply, and waved his hand at the surrounding forest. “I want to savor all of this. I think I will miss this season the most.”
Arianna swallowed hard and felt every muscle in her throat tighten. She silently slipped her arm through Ben’s and nudged him forward. She knew if she said anything at that moment, her heart would break into a million pieces.
Today there was no mistaking the chill in the air. Thanksgiving had always been their favorite family holiday, and they loved the time leading up to it: the changing leaves of early October, pumpkins and gourds decorating front porches and mantels, the smell of wood-burning fires in the air.
They chuckled as they strolled and exchanged memories.
Ever since they’d gotten married, the kitchen was Ben’s domain at Thanksgiving, off-limits to everyone except Arianna. Ben would open a bottle of wine and pour them each a glass. Arianna always prepared the stuffing and tackled getting the bird ready for the roasting pan while Ben made scrumptious appetizers and flavorful veggies. His mashed potatoes drew raves, and he held tightly to the secret of his rich gravy.
Sophia always brought her homemade kolokythopita, the Greek pumpkin pie with phyllo dough. In the early years, Nikos kept the ouzo supply topped off. He could be counted on to entertain with reminiscences of their early life in Greece, ending with a toast of thanks for the family he adored.
“Family, friends, and food: the perfect combination,” Ben always said.
“And no shopping for presents!” A
rianna would add.
That exchange had passed between them so often at Thanksgiving that Tad and Faith expected it and teased them every time. It was one of the many endearing habits they had established over the years. One Christmas, Faith had even presented them both with needlework pillows on which she had stitched their exchange.
“The gifts we give each other at Thanksgiving are priceless,” Ben reminded Arianna now. “The best kind—love, laughter, and lots of delicious things to eat.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. They stopped in the middle of the path and faced each other. Ben kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, before their lips briefly met in a quick, caring kiss, in some ways more meaningful than one filled with passion.
They stayed in a long embrace before they continued to walk and reminisce, hand in hand.
Absorbed in the pleasure of those memories, they explored the property for almost an hour. Arianna noticed Ben’s gait was growing more erratic, and she held gently to his arm. When they reluctantly admitted they were beginning to feel cold, they returned to their suite, where Ben had planned everything perfectly.
A couple’s massage was next on the agenda. Massage tables were set up in the suite’s spacious living room. Soft music played, and the masseuse asked if they would like a scented candle.
“Absolutely!” Ben enthused. “The more atmosphere, the better!”
Dinner was served in their room by the gas fireplace. But as delicious as the meal was, much of it remained on their plates.
That night they lay sharing tender thoughts as their lips and fingers retraced memories. Intimacy had become increasingly difficult for Ben in recent months. Tonight, Arianna made certain Ben knew how deeply she loved him. How his touch had pleased her throughout their life together. How he filled her with laughter, happiness, and respect during a wonderful partnership as a lover, husband, and father. How she had no regrets.
As much as they tried, reality could not be ignored.
They had promised each other this weekend would be a celebration of all that they’d been and still were. They had sworn there would be no tears.
But wave upon wave of torrential sadness engulfed them—a tsunami of disbelief, frustration, and sorrow.
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