Reverb

  James speaks to her in Greek. The only word Elisabeth gets is Tylenol.

  “What are you telling her?”

  “Just what’s going on.”

  The nurse speaks to James in Greek then she picks up the phone and calls someone, says something quickly then hangs up. “Eláte me aftón ton trópo.” She speaks to both of them.

  James indicates for her to follow the nurse then he falls in step behind them.

  The examination room is small but clean. It has two tables in it, and the nurse points to one while she gathers several forms from the plastic bins on the wall and puts them on a clipboard. Elisabeth sits Cameron on a short vinyl table and holds him to her as he looks around the room, then fixes his sleepy gaze on James.

  A wide smile forms on James’ exquisite face as he stares back at her son. Cameron smiles back at him, reaches his tiny hand out to James lingering in the doorway, but James stays where he is. Elisabeth releases a deep, shaky breath as she holds her son on the examining table. She strokes his forehead, which is much cooler, and suddenly she feels a little silly that perhaps she’s overreacted and doesn’t really need to be here.

  The nurse attends to Cameron, takes his temperature with a digital ear thermometer, unzips his sky blue onesie and listens to his small chest with a stethoscope, then checks his ears with one of those magnifying flashlights. She leaves the instrument with Cam as she steps away, fills in forms on the clipboard, has a quick exchange in Greek with James, hands him the clipboard and points where to write, then hands him a pen.

  He looks at Elisabeth, pen in his left hand poised to write. “Cameron what? C,a,m,e,r,o,n, right?”

  “Yes. Whitestone, spelled as it sounds.” Cameron gets up on his pudgy legs and tries to stick the ear magnifier in Elisabeth’s ear, but nearly puts it in her eye. “Stop that.” She picks him up, takes the instrument from his tiny fingers, which apparently isn’t the right thing to do because he starts fussing and whining and leaning, trying to get it back.

  “Oh. Shh. Shh. Eivai Wpaia,” the nurse says, startling Cameron into silence as she takes the instrument from Elisabeth.

  She rocks her son gently and he actually snuggles into her, rests his head on her breasts and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Elisabeth watches James write. His fingers are very odd, unnaturally long, and very slender. He stops writing and looks down the hallway, watching someone approach.

  “Hi. I’m Dr. Nikolaos Avgoustis.” A tall, athletic, Mediterranean man in his late forties maybe, stands in the doorway, extending his hand to James.

  “Hi.” James shakes the doctor’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “You must be the concerned father?” He glances in the room at Elisabeth and Cameron.

  “No. Just a friend.” James doesn’t offer his name.

  “You must be the worried mother.” The doctor speaks to Elisabeth as he comes in. He gives her a wide, white smile and extends his hand. She shakes it, feeling the weight of worry dissipate.

  “Elisabeth Whitestone. This is my son, Cameron. He’s thirteen months. He had a fever of 103 earlier this evening. I gave him Tylenol, and I think it’s coming down now.” Cameron is snuggled in, the top of his head under her chin feels much cooler than it did earlier.

  “Okay, then. Let’s take a look, shall we?” He turns to his nurse and they exchanged some words in Greek. He’s olive skinned, clearly Greek, yet speaks perfect English with only the slightest swarthy middle-eastern accent. He turns back to Elisabeth. “Put him on the table here, and I’ll just take a quick look at him, okay?”

  She peels him off her and puts her son back on the examination table, but he's not happy about it and his small, round face contorts into a frown as his eyes well. The doctor shows Cameron his stethoscope, diverting his fear to wonder, holds the device to his own heart and let’s Cam listen before reversing the roles. He examines her son, showing the child the instruments before using them, explaining what he’s doing the entire time in simple, exaggerated language. She could have kissed that doctor right then.

  “Okay. Looks like your son has influenza, or the flu as you Yanks call it.” He flashes a teasing, white smile. “The inflammation in his throat is moderate, and his lungs are only slightly congested. I don’t see any signs of an ear infection, but it often follows the flu so I’m going to give you some Amoxicillin, just in case. It’s good to have around anyway.” Doctor Nikolaos retrieves the clipboard from James and starts writing.

  “What should I do if the fever returns?” Elisabeth picks up her son.

  “Tylenol. And lots of it. Cradling him will comfort him. Half the cure is in the contact.” Doctor smiles that charming grin again. “You have any more questions for me?”

  “No. Thank you. You’ve been really great.” She feels stupid. “This is the first time Cameron's ever been sick, and we’re so far from anywhere if he needed real care, and...well...”

  “I’m assuming Cameron is your first child?” The doctor gives her a gentle, tired smile.

  She nods, looks at James watching her.

  “Ms Whitestone, Elisabeth, your son is just fine. He appears to be a healthy child who at the moment has the flu. Take him home, keep him as hydrated as possible—water or juice are fine, and all of you get some rest.” Doctor Nikolaos glances at James. “I’m sure a good night’s sleep will do you all some good.”

  The doctor retrieves a bottle of Amoxicillin from a white cabinet, hands it and several sample boxes of Children’s Tylenol to Elisabeth. She pockets them with thanks. They follow the doctor back down the hall to the waiting area where he joins the nurse behind the front desk. Elisabeth and James thank them again and leave the clinic. No payment for service required. Health care in Greece is socially funded for all residents, permanent or not.

  Cameron sleeps in her arms on the ride back. His fever is way down, and she feels confident her beautiful son is going to be just fine. Exhaustion sweeps over her with the gentle swaying of the Jeep. She can hardly keep her eyes open. James is focused on driving. He looks tired, darkness around his eyes she’d not noticed or wasn’t there earlier. It’s close to dawn. She’s kept him up all night, and is feeling kind of bad about that. “I’m sorry for dragging you out of your house in the middle of the night. You probably think I am an over-reactive jerk.”

  “You’re trying to do right by your son. No fault in that.”

  “Thank you, for all your help. Even if I’d gotten to the clinic, I would never have been able to talk to that nurse. I’m surprised you speak Greek. It’s not exactly a common language.”

  “I’ve been studying it since I got to the island, about three months now. I have a pretty good ear for this sort of thing, though I’m still not very fluent. I missed half of what the nurse said and I’m not so sure what I said to her was accurate. I'm glad she got the message.”

  “Me, too. What brings you to Corfu?”

  He doesn’t answer. Elisabeth starts to think he isn’t going to, but then he says, “Space. And I find I enjoy the pace. What about you?”

  “Same thing, I guess. My husband, Jack, Cameron’s father, was killed in a terrorist bombing in Israel a few months ago, and this seems a good place to preserve what’s left of my sanity.”

  “I’m sorry.” His square jaw tightens hollowing his cheeks. “And for your son’s loss as well.”

  “Thank you.” She holds Cameron tighter to her. “Are you a permanent resident of the island?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. I like it here.” The Jeep is drafty. Fine strands of his hair blow about. He runs his hand through it to tame it. “It’s quiet, secluded and beautiful.”

  She stares at him. He really is magnificent. Classic profile, straight nose, full lips, ultra long lashes surrounding big, almond shaped eyes. Wow. Elisabeth looks back out the front windshield hoping he doesn’t see her blush. “It is beautiful here, right out of a post card. Can’t stop taking pictures. Hoping to sell some to a stock house, but most of them will probably end up on Tumblr with the
rest of the travel blogs.”

  “Didn’t realize that you were a fine photographer.”

  “I’m not. I’m a photojournalist.” The way he phrased his statement irked her, and she remembers feeling the same when he’d originally answered his door this evening. “When I came to your house tonight you said that you knew who I was. How is that? I don’t recall having ever met.”

  “I bought the house on the hill. It came with forty acres, which includes your house on the waterfront. The broker that manages the property ran your application by me.”

  “You own the house I’m renting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you find out about me?”

  “Pretty much what you’ve already told me. Look, don’t worry about it. Like you, I’m kind of hiding from the real world, too. Corfu is a good place for that, don’t you think?” He smiles at her, this wide grin. She smiles back. He focuses back on the road. His smile fades but he seems relaxed, weaving the Jeep along the winding road. The rain has stopped and the wind calmed with the dawn. Sky is just beginning to get light.

  “You must be very tired. I’m sorry I kept you up all night.”

  “You didn’t. I don’t sleep all that much anyway.”

  Cameron starts to fuss. The top of his tiny head feels hot again, and with his fever comes her fear.

  “What’s up?” James asks, glancing at her longer than she’d like with him driving.

  “He’s hot again.” She kisses her son’s head. “Think it’s too soon to give him more Tylenol?”

  “Not if he needs it. We’ll be back at my place in a minute. I’d take you to yours but the road doesn’t go down there. Give him the medication at my house and by the time you get back to your place his fever will be down.” James pulls into his carport.

  Elisabeth follows him into the house, Cam to her chest, still cradled in the carrier. James leads her down the dusty hardwood hallway, past the unfurnished kitchen and into the furniture-free living room. A fire smoulders in the fireplace, sparks of gold and red suck up the chimney. She retrieves the sample bottle of Tylenol from her jacket pocket. Cameron fusses, flails to get out of the carrier, pushing away from her to get down, winding up to wail as she holds him while trying to uncap the childproof bottle. “Will you take him a minute, please?”

  She lifts Cameron from the carrier. James hesitates only an instant before gingerly taking her son. He cradles Cam to his chest, but he keeps fussing so James sinks crossed-legged onto the sleeping bag in front of the fireplace. Cradling her son in his lap, he unzips his onesie several inches. Cameron settles, smooshes his face into James’ soft flannel shirt, sticks his thumb in his mouth, and sucks.

  Crackle of charring wood is all that breaks the silence that follows Cameron’s near tantrum. She stares at them. James looks at her and smiles as he gently rocks her son. She smiles back. Then she opens the Tylenol and squeezes three droppers full into Cameron’s mouth just to the side of his thumb, which he sucks incessantly. By the time she seals the cap back on the bottle, Cameron’s asleep in James’ arms. And at that moment she can’t tell who is more beautiful, the man or the child.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispers.

  He smiles but doesn’t say anything. Elisabeth scans the titles of the books lying around. The range is extensive—from Dostoyevsky, to Machiavelli, to Michael Crichton. He has a lot of non-fiction too, from learning conversational Greek, to coping with loss, and dealing with anger. He seems so even-tempered. It’s hard to believe he needs an education in anger management.

  “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Do you just sit around and read all day?”

  He laughs. “Pretty much. Right now anyway. I blow a lot of afternoons playing Tavli— Backgammon, with the old men who hang out at the cafés, but I haven’t really integrated beyond that yet.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To get away from out there.”

  “What did you do ‘out there’ that you’re trying to get away from?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I see you running every morning. I’ve imagined all these crazy things about you. You know, make up stories about who you are, what you do. My best guess, I’d say a musician.”

  His eyes narrow. She feels him tense. “How do you know that?”

  “Relax. It isn’t rocket science, James, not with hands like yours.”

  “Well, I’m not a musician anymore.” He looks down at Cameron. “Anyway, I can walk you down the hill now if you’d like.”

  That’s her cue that the conversation is over and it’s time for her to leave. “That’s okay. I’m sure you’re tired. You’ve been very kind. I can manage from here. Thanks.”

  He gets on his knees, and gently hands her back her sleeping child, then strokes the hair out of Cameron’s eyes. “He feels much cooler now. Perhaps the fever has broken.” He looks at her, stares actually. A gentle smile spreads across his face. “He’s going to be just fine, ‘Lisabeth.”

  And she believes him. A warm wave of tired sweeps through her. She stuffs Cameron in the carrier against her, thanks James again, and leaves.

  Chapter Two

  Heavy, labored breathing wakes her. She’d fallen asleep on the patio after putting Cameron down when they got back. Elisabeth opens her eyes to see James turning away from her gate at the patio step.

  She sits up, smiles. “Hi,” she says, happily surprised.

  James turns back to the gate. “Hi. Sorry I woke you. Just stopped by to see how Cameron’s doing.”

  “I was hoping to see you this morning.” Elisabeth blushes, gets up and goes to the gate. “Cam’s much better, thanks. Sleeping. Has been since we got back. Thank you again, for everything. Would love to make you breakfast, show my appreciation.”

  “Not necessary. I’m just glad Cameron’s doing better.” He drops his hand from the gate. His long sleeve white shirt clings to his sweat soaked chest, shoulders and arms. Its unbuttoned all the way and hangs open. Sweat drenches his face, his neck, his slender, swimmer’s torso, even darkens the waistband of his gray sweatpants. What an odd choice of apparel to run in. Hot.

  “Hang on. I’ll be right back.” She goes inside to the kitchen, grabs a bottled water from the fridge and comes back out and offers it to him.

  He smiles. “Thank you.” He takes the water, drinks nearly all of it and sighs when he finishes. She smiles. He laughs. “It’s good. Really good. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She studies him. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I guess.” But he doesn’t seem he likes the idea.

  “Why are you running in sweats and a long sleeve shirt in eighty degree heat?”

  He grins. “I like to sweat.” Then he gulps the last of the water, caps it and hands it back to her. “Thank you. I should be off.”

  She takes the plastic bottle. He seems to hold on a beat too long, and in that instant she feels his intensity, like a static shock, and gasps. He smiles, lets go. And it’s gone. Then he bows ever so slightly and turns away, disappears into a grove of pines that canopies the trail at the base of the hill.

  She pictures his soft chestnut hair falling into his striking green eyes and framing his stunning face; his flat belly, the gentle curve of his abs; his sweatpants hanging on his hips just right—

  A sudden, choking wave of overwhelming guilt.

  Jack. Damn you. I need you Jack. I miss you. I hate you for leaving me alone.

  Elisabeth sits back down on the bench, stares out at the small waves crashing on the shore. The beach is empty as far as she can see.

  “Damn you, Jack.” She says aloud to no one, and cries.

  Cameron sleeps a good portion of the day, and there is no fever when she puts him in his crib for the evening. He wakes her several times throughout the night crying to be fed, and suckles her greedily. Though he wakes late, he seems back to normal the next morning, even eats half a bowl of Cheerios mixed with blueberries after bre
astfeeding. Elisabeth brings him out to the porch to play while she reads The New York Times and drinks her one cup of coffee for the day.

  She sees James coming back from his run along the shoreline. She envies him his discipline. He slows to a walk and looks over at her then crosses the sand towards the house. Dark gray sweatpants hang on his hips, and are soaked around the waistband from the sweat dripping down his torso. His white shirt is unbuttoned and hangs open but clings to his wet shoulders. It’s hard not to stare in awe.

  “Hi.” He’s still breathless.

  “Hi.”

  “Want to see something very cool?” Wide smile spreads across his face.

  “Sure.”

  “Come on.”

  She picks up Cameron and follows him up the hill towards his house. About a quarter of the way up the cliff she notices them. Monarch butterflies. They’re everywhere. They swirl through the knurled pines and swarm together in the leaves of the Eucalyptus.

  “Oh wow…” Elisabeth is awestruck. Cameron bounds after them, and she feels his sense of wonder. “This is amazing.”

  “Isn’t it? I saw them on my way to go running this morning. They’re incredible, aren’t they?” James stares at them wide-eyed, smiling. His expression is the same as Cameron’s as he watches the ebb and flow of butterflies. His sculpted face sharpens against the background of fluttering color, and for a second she’s lost in him, in his amazement.

  “Oh God, I don’t have my camera.” She thinks of running home to get it, then Cameron goes chasing after the swarm as they take off down the hill. She races after him, James follows, and they all gather where the path meets the sand, and monarchs surround them.

  Cameron grabs at them, though they’re impossibly out of his reach.

  James laughs. “This is wild.” His smile is as infectious as her son’s.

  Butterflies rise from the trees and brush, flutter above them—orange and zebra black pulse against the clear blue sky. Then Cameron releases his high pitch shriek of frustration and suddenly they scatter, fly every which way then seem to disappear. The three of them stand breathlessly looking around, but only a few remain fluttering about.