Page 34 of Footprints in the Sand
They reached the Coleman House, parked, and carried the groceries Dimitra had brought—traditional Greek stuffed grape leaves, Greek wine, Greek cheese, and a few sesame-based snacks.
“I feel bad I didn’t bring anything,” Harry said.
“You brought Cash,” Dimitra said. “He’s the life of the party.”
“True.” Harry looked like he was floating.
Dimitra knocked on the door and prepared her heart for what awaited her. She knew that Oriana and Meghan wouldn’t let her forget about how she’d met Harry. Like good friends, they’d tease her about it relentlessly. She also knew that Oriana would mention William Cottrill, the intensity that had brewed between Dimitra and William. But for the first time in twenty-plus years, Dimitra was a single woman, trying out different stories.
Maybe Harry wasn’t the right story. But gosh, he looked good beside her, waiting to be let into this massive American house.
Chapter Sixteen
Paros Island - July 2025
The painting Eva made that late night on the Fourth of July was one of the worst things ever put to a canvas. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Eva finished, and she laughed at herself, cleaning the paintbrushes and wiping the table down. “I tried, Aphrodite,” she said aloud, anticipating the moment when Aphrodite would see her attempt and laugh and laugh. Aphrodite had a brilliant laugh, one that made Eva’s heart open, even if she was using that laugh to make fun of something Eva had done.
It was sort of a miracle to have a friend like Aphrodite here so far from home.
Now, Eva went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water and get a snack. So overwhelmed from kissing Nico (something she’d decided was probably a bad idea, although maybe she’d known the entire time), she’d forgotten to eat dinner, and now she was famished, scrounging around her fridge for something, anything. She ended up taking crackers, cheese, and wine toher rooftop to listen to the sounds of the wind over the water and houses. Somewhere not too far away, someone was playing traditional Greek music.
As she sat up there, Eva thought about the not-so-distant past, when Dimitra and Kostos had come up here to cuddle and eat and drink and laugh.
She wondered why Nico had been so adamant about Kostos and their family secrets. She pondered what darkness lurked just beyond that harsh tone.
Then again, she was a Coleman. She knew plenty about family secrets. More than that, she knew that family secrets needed to be uncovered in order for healing to begin.
This isn’t my family. This isn’t my culture.
I can’t get involved,she told herself.
A little while later, Eva brought her dishes to the kitchen and walked down the hall toward the bedroom Dimitra and Kostos had once shared. Not in all her weeks here had Eva crossed that threshold, knowing it was private and part of a very different past. But curiosity had gotten the best of her. She opened the door and found herself in a perfectly ordinary bedroom, with a double bed and bedside tables and art on the walls. Most of it wasn’t Dimitra’s art, she didn’t think. She wondered if there had been a conversation about that.
There were also framed photographs of Dimitra and Kostos on their wedding day, on vacation, riding camels, and kissing in London. Eva’s eyes filled with tears. Careful not to touch anything, she bent down to get a better look at handsome Kostos, his big black eyes and curly black hair. He was looking at Dimitra the way Nico had looked at Eva earlier that day—like she was the answer to all of life’s questions. (Nico was a very good actor, Eva knew.)
The fact that Kostos had been lost at sea was the most tragic thing Eva could imagine. She hoped that back in Martha’sVineyard, Dimitra was getting some much-needed peace. Maybe she could even have a little summer fling, if she could find it in her heart to try.
Jean-Paul invited Eva to a marble-carving workshop on the neighboring island of Naxos a week or so later. He explained what it was over the phone. “It’s all the marble artisans on the Cycladic Islands, coming together to teach, make, show and sell their wares, and discuss the future—and past—of marble carving. I think you’d really like it.”
Eva smiled into the phone. “I think it would be great for social media. A great way to connect you with more people in the community.”
“That too,” Jean-Paul said. “But you’re the expert on all of that. I have to trust you.”
Eva told Jean-Paul she’d be ready to leave at seven thirty the following morning. The plan was to stay a couple of nights on Naxos so they could visit all the exhibitions, get Jean-Paul through a few teaching workshops, and sell all of his marble sculptures before returning to Paros. A part of Eva’s job, Jean-Paul said, was to help ensure the safety of Jean-Paul’s marble goods during their travel from Paros to Naxos. “We have to wrap everything in cloth and towels and so on,” Jean-Paul said. “I’ve never gone, because I’ve never trusted anyone else to help before.”
Eva was touched. She hadn’t imagined that Jean-Paul already trusted her that much. She said she’d do whatever she could to make sure everything arrived in one piece. She could feel Jean-Paul wince on the other end, as though just the idea of them cracking to pieces made him dizzy.
The following morning, Jean-Paul picked her up in his little beat-up red car and took her back to the marble workshop, where they drank coffee, ate cream-filled phyllo pastries, and loaded up his trailer with marble goods. True to her promise, Eva was incredibly sensitive, moving the sculptures, plates, jewelry, and so on gently. Jean-Paul was stressed but quiet. When he was satisfied with what they’d done, he double-checked the attachment of the trailer to his truck, and Eva got in the passenger side. They were on their way.
Eva was surprised at how quiet and contemplative Jean-Paul could be. To her, he seemed like the polar opposite of Nico, who really couldn’t shut up and was very pleased about all of his opinions. Jean-Paul only spoke when he had something good to say.
“Doesn’t it feel strange,” he said after they’d boarded the ferry and safely parked. “What we’re doing today involves this ancient way of making art, an ancient way of communicating with the world. But we’re still at it. We’re still going.”
Eva thought about it, about the thousands of years behind marble carving and the hopefully thousand years after this. “It’s beautiful,” she said finally.
Jean-Paul smiled softly and got out of the truck.
The ferry from Paros to Naxos took about an hour. Throughout, Eva and Jean-Paul sat on the deck in the open air, drinking coffee and talking. Eva was amazed at how philosophical Jean-Paul could get. It was like he was always fully aware of his heart and his mind. No wonder he wasn’t good at social media. You had to be good at lying, sort of, to be good at social media. Eva wondered what that said about her.
