Page 93 of 10 Days to Surrender

That’s okay. She’ll answer soon enough.

35

ARIEL

The garden path has never seemed longer than it does tonight. My swollen feet shuffle uncertainly over the uneven stones, but Sasha’s arm around my waist keeps me steady. He’s been hovering closer lately as the pregnancy progresses, as four weeks has shrunk to three, treating me like I might shatter. Usually, it annoys me, but right now, I’m grateful for the support.

It’s a strange day.

Ever since Mama arrived, we knew that we’d have to deal with the elephant in the room at some point. Or rather, the elephant who’s pointedlynotin the room.

After all, Leander’s death meant Jas and I lost a father. That Kosti lost a brother. I don’t know what Mama would call him these days, but I’m sure it’s still hard to bear such a sudden and violent end to someone to whom you gave such an essential part of your life.

The sun soaks the garden warm and bright as it sets behind the hilltops. Sasha and I follow the trail of stone pavers that Jasmine spent all week settling into place. She, Uncle Kosti, andMama are waiting at the end, next to the spiral of river pebbles sparkling clean in the light.

Such a Jasmine thing to do, washing each one by hand. I guess, as the only one of us who’s been alive for their own funeral, she had some thoughts on how these things are supposed to be done.

Sasha passes my hand to Jasmine, who clutches it tight. I catch his eye and mouth,Thank youbefore he retreats to the shadow of the villa, giving us the privacy we need for this moment.

I stand in silence while Mama scatters rosemary around the stones, an old ritual that none of us can recall the reason for. This is the place where Leander Makris will be remembered. Not his body—that’s lost to us now—but his memory. The good parts, at least. The father who taught me to ride a bike. The husband who danced with Mama in their tiny kitchen. The brother who made Kosti laugh until wine came out his nose.

It’s strange to mourn someone you spent so long running from. But as the four of us huddle together in the fading light, I realize that’s exactly what we’re doing. Mourning not just the man he was, but the man he could have been.Shouldhave been.

Mama’s fingers find mine in the growing dark. She smells like that fancy French hand cream she’s used since I was little. When I was young, I used to sneak into her vanity and steal it, just so I could smell like her. Some part of me is still that child, wanting to crawl into her lap and let her smooth my hair until the world makes sense again.

Instead, I pick up a stone. It’s cool and heavy in my palm, water droplets catching the last rays of sun. I add it to Jasmine’s spiral, completing the pattern that marks where we’ll remember Leander Makris.

Not Leander the mob boss. Not Leander the arranged marriage broker.

Just…Baba.

“Well.” Kosti clears his throat. “I suppose we ought to say something.” He’s been so quiet I almost forgot he was there, a shadow among shadows. “I’d like to remember nice times, though. Do… do you girls remember the cigarette boat? You might not—you were so young. That stupid thing cost more than our first house in Astoria. Leander showed up at the dock wearing this ridiculous captain’s hat.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Crashed it into the pier within ten minutes. Scratched the hell out of the paint job. But he just laughed and said, ‘That’s what insurance is for, little brother.’“

I’d forgotten that story. Forgotten how Dad used to actually laugh. It feels jarringly at odds with the man I knew, who smiled either sadly or not at all.

Mama goes next, her voice soft as wind through the olive leaves. “Before all the money, before you girls, before… everything, we had this tiny apartment in Queens. The stove only worked half the time. So, every Sunday, he’d wake up early to buy fresh bread from the bakery down the street. Always came back with chocolate croissants, too, even though we couldn’t afford them. He said a man who couldn’t spoil his wife a little didn’t deserve to have one.” She swallows hard. “That’s who he was, before everything else. A bright-eyed boy with flour on his shirt, bringing me breakfast in a paper bag. I want to remember him like that.”

Jasmine plucks a sprig of thyme, rolling it between her fingers. “Remember his chess set? The one with the marble pieces?” She smiles, but it trembles. “He’d let me arrange the board howeverI wanted, break every rule. Said creativity was more important than winning. Until it wasn’t.”

My turn. They look at me expectantly. I open my mouth, but the memories stick like thorns in my throat.

Then it hits me: chlorine, summer heat, the scratch of concrete pool deck against my pruned toes. “The Hamilton Hotel pool,” I mumble. “I was terrified of the deep end. He spent hours in that water, holding me up by my belly while I flailed around and cried.” I can still feel his hands, steady and sure, promising I wouldn’t sink. “He kept saying, ‘Trust me,neraïdoula mou. Baba’s got you.’“

Even that memory has a shadow. All those swimming lessons, and he still let me drown in waters far deeper than any hotel pool.

But that’s not the story we’re telling tonight. Tonight, we’re remembering the father who wore a captain’s hat and smelled like flour and lost at chess and held his daughter up until she learned how to float.

“He loved you both,” Mama says, voice cracking. “In his way.”

Jasmine’s laugh is pure scorn. “His way sucked.”

“His way was not always the right way,” Kosti agrees.

The cicadas swell their song as the sun dips below the hills. Behind us, Sasha lights a cigarette—the flare of his lighter, the faintest plume of smoke. Not intruding. Just… present.

With trembling fingers, Mama pulls something out of her pocket: a gold wedding ring that she took off the day she left home. I haven’t seen her wear it in fifteen years. As we all watch,she bends down to give it a final home. The gold catches the last ray of sunlight as she nestles it between two river stones.

Jasmine reaches into her pocket and withdraws something that clicks against her nails: a chess piece crudely whittled from wood. The king. She sets it next to Mama’s ring.

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