Same Beach, Next Year

  “Yassou, Theia Anna,” I said, remembering that Yassou was how to say hello in Greek.

  She threw her arms around me again and I hugged her for all I was worth. I was hugging the next best thing to my mom. Her only sister. Now nearly eighty years old. Something in me began to crumble. Maybe it was the place in my heart that had closed the door to Greece when we buried my mother and then Yiayia. I felt a flush of warmth from my head to my toes. She was a wall of love. Love emanated from her entire being. I could not say that I had ever felt so wanted and welcomed.

  We stood there in her courtyard in the breeze of the evening and she began to chatter away in Greek so fast that I strained to understand her. Somehow, I could pick up the meaning of a few things. She touched my face tenderly and hugged me again. She asked so many things. How was I? Did I bring pictures of my children? She was sorry to hear of my father’s death. I answered her in English as she nodded and responded in Greek. Kiki stood by watching all of this in amazement.

  “How do you know what she just said to you?” Kiki said.

  “Because I remember some words, I guess. She just said, ‘Oh, look at you! You look just like your mother!’ and I hope she’s right.”

  “That is exactly what she said,” Kiki said, still shaking her head.

  I grabbed my purse, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, handed Aunt Anna the flowers that Kiki was holding, and we all went inside.

  Her home was very similar to my grandmother’s. And it was brimming with people, some of whom were related to me. There was a huge smile on every last face.

  “Kalinita,” a handsome man said. “I’m Nick. Kiki’s husband!”

  Kalinita meant good evening.

  “Kalinita! Oh! I’m so happy to meet you!”

  “And we are so happy to see you here! Let me introduce you around.”

  The next few hours were filled with broken English, broken Greek, and an absolute feast of food. I took pictures on my phone of everyone and all the food so I could show my boys. When dinner was finally done and almost everyone had gone home, my aunt took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. Kiki followed us. We sat on the edge of her bed while Anna went into the bottom drawer of an old armoire.

  “What did she just say?” I said.

  “She wants to show you something, something she’d been saving for you and your brother all these years.”

  Anna dug around and produced something wrapped in linen. As she unwrapped it I could see that it was a book, and when she opened it I saw that it was an album.

  “Come by the light,” Kiki said. “This old house has never had enough light. You could go blind trying to read a book at night.” Then Kiki said something in Greek to her mother and my aunt hurried from the room.

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I said, we need a magnifying glass to really see the details. I can’t see anymore. Can you?”

  “Are you serious? I must have ten pairs of reading glasses.”

  “Me too, but I can never find a pair when I need them.”

  We were having the same thoughts simultaneously—where had the years gone? Now we are older women who need reading glasses. How much richer would our lives have been if we had only made the time to see each other? And now that we were together again, it was so wonderful and we got along so well. It felt so natural, not forced.

  This time I was the one who reached over to pat the back of her hand.

  “I’m so happy to be here, Kiki. Thank you for all the many things you’ve done to make me feel so at home.”

  “But you are at home,” she said. I could feel her sincerity.

  It was true. I had found my place in the world.

  My aunt returned with a magnifying glass and together we went from page to page. This album had belonged to my grandmother and it was filled with childhood photographs of my mother and my aunt Anna. There was my mother at six or seven years old, all dressed up for Easter. Then there were pictures of my mother and aunt in their pajamas. There were pictures of graduations, birthdays, and Christmases. Then there were more of my mother and father, and of course pictures of me and my brother with Yiayia and with Kiki. I had never seen any of them before. I just marveled at them all, moved that my Yiayia had chronicled my mother’s life so completely and grateful that my aunt had saved them.

  My aunt said something I didn’t understand. I was tired and my intuition was shot for the night.

  “She wants you to have this,” Kiki said.

  “Oh! Are you sure?” I said.

  “Nai, nai!” my aunt said, nodding her head. “Parakalo!”

  “She saved it all these years, hoping you or your brother would come to visit.”

  “Sagapo. Efharisto,” I said to my aunt, and I welled up again. I had just told her that I loved her. And, of course, I thanked her.

  My aunt said parakalo again and handed the linen wrapper to me as well, saying something to Kiki I didn’t catch.

  “What was that?” I said.

  “She wants you to have this too. Yiayia kept this on top of the chest of drawers in her bedroom to protect it from scratches. She embroidered it herself when she was a girl.”

  It was just beautiful, bordered with flowers and butterflies.

  “It’s a treasure,” I said.

  After so many hugs and thank-yous and promises to come by the next day and the day after and every day that I was still in Greece, Kiki and Nicholas drove me home.

  “We have a little surprise for you for tomorrow,” Kiki said. “I hope we have a sunny day.”

  “Really? What?”

  “Do you remember when you used to come here when you and JJ were really little? We used to go out into the country and have picnics and gather horta?”

  “I remember the picnics. They were such fun. We used to fly kites. I remember that. What’s horta?”

  Nicholas said, “Kiki, my sweet, you don’t pick horta in the summer. It’s out of season.”

  “Ah! My love, you are right!” Kiki said.

  “What’s horta?” I asked again.

  “Wild greens! Dandelion, honey wort, chicory . . . so many things. They grow all over the place. You pick it, bring it home, clean it up, and boil it until it’s tender. Then you pour olive oil over it with salt and pepper and serve it as a side dish with potatoes and fish and bread and, of course, feta.”

  “We cook greens like that,” I said, “but with a smoked ham hock, and we serve them with sherry pepper vinegar.”

  Kiki laughed and said, “That sounds terrible!”

  “I’ll admit, it’s an acquired taste.”

  Kiki said, “I see. Well anyway, tomorrow my mother and I are going to take you to where we used to go and see if we can find some horta. It’s a traditional thing to do. Whatever she has left over from tonight will become tomorrow’s lunch and we will eat in the countryside!”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said.

  “Yes, you have to be able to say you’ve done this if you want to truly be Greek!” Nicholas said.

  “Horta,” I said. “Okay.”

  We said good night and I went inside my grandmother’s house.

  As I washed my face and got ready for bed, I thought again about how remarkable it was that I felt so comfortable here. It would be so easy to slip into a life in this place. The weather was mild, like Charleston was in the winter months, but the light was different, crisper. It seemed like there was more blue and the edges of everything were more clearly defined.

  Maybe there were other places I could call home.

  I loved the little village, my aunt’s friends, and the long-lost cousins that I’d met. Life here seemed so easy and unencumbered from the daily stresses of my life with Adam. At least no one here had to drive an hour to buy groceries. I needed to do something nice for my aunt. Maybe I’d make her a southern pound cake. In the morning, I told myself, I’d dig around in the kitchen to see what kind of pans there were. The oven looked ancient, but sometimes old stoves wor
ked better than new ones. I wondered if my grandmother had ever used it.

  I put my phone on its charger and checked my e-mail. There were notes from the boys and one from Carl. I opened his first.

  Hey! I hope you had a safe and uneventful trip over the pond. After our conversation when you were changing planes in New York, I decided to move out. Boy, they sure had us fooled, didn’t they? Stay in touch. Take care. Carl

  I felt sick knowing that something I told Carl led him to leave Eve. Eve had to be ripping mad. I wondered if she was going to stay in Raleigh. I wondered if she was with Adam, sleeping in my bed. And I didn’t make Carl leave Eve. I reminded myself that it was what Adam and Eve had done that was the catalyst, not a side note from me. I should respond to this, I thought. But I wanted to think about it.

  I opened Max’s e-mail next.

  Hey, Mom! I can’t believe you’re really in Greece! Wow! When are you coming home? Have a ball! Love, Max xx

  I’ll be back, Max, but I don’t know when, I thought.

  I wrote him back.

  Max, baby, yes, I’m on Corfu visiting my family and having a wonderful time. I wish you and your brother were here with me to see all that I’m seeing. This is a gorgeous place. We’ll have to come here together some day. Love, Mom xxoo

  And from Luke . . .

  Mom! Are you okay? I still can’t believe you just got up and flew to Greece! What’s really going on? Are you sure you’re okay? Love you, Luke xx

  That’s my tenderhearted Luke, always worrying about everyone’s happiness. At some point when I knew what the future looked like, I’d have to say something to my boys. The future, which I’d been imagining as eight to ten years from now, was supposed to include my boys coming home with their lovely wives and babies and Adam and me spoiling them all to death. And Adam and I would get old together, snuggled up on big sofas watching old movies and laughing at our house on the Stono in the winter. And we were supposed to be walking the beaches on the Isle of Palms holding hands, watching the sun set, and just being happy to be alive and with each other.

  My smartphone pinged and I knew I had e-mail. It was Kiki.

  Pick you up at eleven?

  Perfect!

  I replied.

  The rest of my e-mails were all junk. Nothing from Adam or Eve. You’d think that by now I would’ve heard something from Adam. Was I alive? Dead in a Greek ditch? Did he care? Eve’s behavior still baffled me. I went over last weekend again in my head, as I probably would a hundred times. How in the world could she possibly have thought it was okay to entertain my husband half naked in some slinky negligee and then sleep on the sofa with him all night? Was she losing her mind? Or did she have some latent gargantuan need for attention that I had never noticed? I mean, yes, Eve loved being the prettiest girl in our gang, but I had never had an inkling of anything like this coming. It was a little bit as though a freight train had come right through my house and made matchsticks of everything and I was standing in my own front yard looking at the wreck.

  If I’d been in her position—which I cannot even imagine how I ever would be—I’d have run away to change clothes in the first instant. And even if I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I wouldn’t have gone to sleep with my head in my husband’s friend’s lap. Even if I had a fever so high that I was delirious! No, what they did was outrageous and there was no excuse for it in the world.

  I missed Adam, of course, although the pain and disappointment I was feeling overshadowed it. He would’ve loved dinner tonight. I wondered again if he was spending time with Eve. Then, suddenly, I felt sorry for him. How terrible to carry a torch for someone else for decades. If he thought Eve would make him happier than I had, he should go be with her. He really should. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to live out my days with a man who really wanted to be someplace else with someone else. I was still in shock over the whole incident. And for all those years I’d thought I had a perfect marriage.

  I crawled into bed and turned out the light. The night was quiet and the sheets were cool and comfortable. Was I sleeping in my grandmother’s bed? Or my mother’s? I’d have to ask Kiki.

  What would become of me? I thought. Should I have been thinking about hiring a lawyer? No, it’s too soon for that, I told myself. I didn’t feel like I wanted a divorce anyway. But would I wind up divorced? How stupid! Maybe it was time to call Adam. Or maybe I’d just send him an e-mail. I wondered how long I should stay in Greece. Should I make some day trips to other islands and be a tourist? I was so tired. My skin felt itchy. I’d go to Nicholas’s drugstore in the morning and buy some body lotion. Supposedly long flights dehydrated your skin. I’d heard that somewhere.

  When the village lights went dark for the night, I could see a slice of the millions of stars in the sky from my bed if I turned on my side and looked through the window. I wondered what constellations were visible in a Greek winter sky. I would ask someone. Didn’t Calypso tell Odysseus to keep the Bear on his left? Ursa Major. I couldn’t find it if my life depended on it. But I had to say that celestial navigation was a piece of brilliance. Maybe someone had a telescope or maybe there was an observatory on one of the islands. I couldn’t remember how to find Polaris, but I sure did love to look up at the heavens at night. Eventually I drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning, I washed my hair and bathed. There was no hair dryer in the house, or at least I couldn’t find one. I decided to just go native, so I braided my hair and tied it off with a rubber band. No one was looking at me anyway. I thought it might be a nice idea to bring something to the picnic, and I hadn’t forgotten about the cake I intended to bake. While the coffeepot was percolating, I looked through all the cabinets. I found no cake pans, but I did find an old cast-iron skillet. I could make an upside-down cake. This would require a trip to the market, and the cake I’d make would depend on what I found there.

  I drank two cups of coffee while I dressed and put the house in order. I thought about Carl’s e-mail again. I still felt very upset that I’d had a part in Eve and Carl’s separating. Having had even the slightest role in it was deeply troubling. I composed an e-mail to him.

  Carl, I have to tell you that I feel a little sick inside for telling you what Cookie said to me. If that is what caused you to leave, then there is blood on my hands too. I’m so sorry. Eliza

  There. I’d spelled it out. I’d apologized. There was nothing more I could do. As my father used to say, that cat is already out of the bag. I hit the send button.

  On my way to the shopping district I laughed, thinking, How am I going to buy anything with my pathetic command of the language? This ought to be good, I said to myself. My first stop was a bank that had an ATM on its outside wall. If I had cash it would make a transaction that much easier. I took five hundred euros from my account and thought about how wonderful technology was. And while five hundred euros was a lot, if I didn’t spend them, it didn’t matter. I knew I was coming back to Corfu. That was the moment when I knew I would never deprive myself of my family again. How had I allowed this much time to pass without ever visiting my Greek relatives? I thought about it and I had no real viable answer, except that Adam had no interest in my origins and I let everything he wanted come first. But I did know this much—for starters, I was going to bring JJ and his family back into my orbit. And I’d never be so weak again.

  The village grocery store was small and had limited inventory. But I made my way around the aisles and picked up eggs, flour, butter, brown and white sugar, vanilla, and the other things I needed for a basic cake recipe. Then I noticed the clementines. They were bright orange and heavy with juice. I took a dozen. Then I bought some large green olives in oil, some stuffed grape leaves, a few tomatoes and cucumbers, and a block of feta. They had fresh bread, so I took a loaf and added it to my basket. It was a good idea to have a little food in the house. To my surprise, the market sold Pellegrino, and I wondered how a rather expensive Italian water came to be on these shelves next to the Greek varieti
es. I took a large bottle of the Greek water. And lastly, I picked up a bottle of local Greek white wine.

  I paid for everything and the cashier was a little surprised that I didn’t have my own shopping bags. She pointed to the stack of straw ones with leather shoulder straps. They were great looking—bright red with yellow stripes, navy with red stripes—and each one was different. Only five euros each. I took two and added them to my pile of groceries, and she began to fill them.

  “American?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, adding, “and Greek.”

  I loved saying that.

  I had not considered that I would have to carry what I bought back to the house, as I walked along the cobblestone road, giving the strength of my shoulders a challenge. The next time I went food shopping I’d take the weight of everything into consideration. Like, if I wanted a case of water, I’d call a taxi or hitch a ride with Kiki. I was definitely no longer in Kansas.

  On the other hand, for that short while I felt like a local—just an ordinary woman going out in the morning to do some errands. I passed schoolchildren in uniforms on their way to class and men whitewashing the street. The shops were opening, and people filled the little cafés, having coffee, frappés, and pastries, reading the newspaper, working on their laptops, beginning their day.

  I was falling in love with the place.

  Nicholas’s pharmacy was open. I went inside and did not see him there, but there was a clerk behind the pharmacy counter. I sauntered over with a bottle of shampoo and a tube of some kind of body lotion and hoped a wide smile could substitute for my lack of proficiency in the language.

  “Is Nicholas here?” I thought, I can’t ask in Greek, so let’s see how far my English takes me.

  “No, no. Noon.”

  “Okay,” I said.