Page 7 of Footprints in the Sand
“Um? I don’t know.” Eva forced herself to imagine a summer in Martha’s Vineyard, a summer of sorting through her belongings and making sense of her relationship, a summer of confronting terrifying conversations with Finn, her mother, her father, and Aunt Oriana.
A summer of reckoning with the fact that she wasn’t married, divorced, in a relationship, pregnant, or anything else she associated with “being an adult.” She was just Eva.
She was going to be on her own.
“I have this sort of crazy idea,” Rachelle said. “I don’t know if it will work. But do you want to hear it?”
“I don’t have anything to lose,” Eva said.
Rachelle explained that just last week, she’d met a fifty-something Greek islander named Dimitra who was struggling after the death of her husband, Kostos. “She’s an artist, but she’s emotionally stuck, living in a village where she was born and raised.”
“I relate to that,” Eva said.
“Right?” Rachelle’s eyes were glowing. “What if the two of you swapped houses for the summer? What if you swapped lives?”
Eva’s ears rang with surprise. “Um? This isn’tThe Holiday.”
Her cousins chuckled in recognition. Everyone in the Coleman family loved that movie.
“Listen, it’s just an idea,” Rachelle said. “But I think she’d go for it. She needs a fresh start. I think you both do.”
“Where would Finn go?” Theo asked.
“It’s only my name on the lease,” Eva admitted, remembering how they’d always meant to change that but had never gotten around to it. “I can kick him out whenever I want.”
Rachelle was on her feet. “I want to call her,” she said. “Can I call her?”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Knock yourself out.”
She didn’t think Dimitra would go for it. She couldn’t fathom who in their right mind would ever leave a Greek island and come over here. She couldn’t fathom who would ever want her life.
Chapter Four
Paros Island - June 2025
When Dimitra and Eva first discussed the potential arrangement—a house swap like something out of a television show—they said two months, maybe three. “I don’t want to let myself off the hook too easily,” Dimitra said. “I want to fully immerse myself in Martha’s Vineyard. I want to really experience what it’s like to live there.”
Eva said, “And I want to escape for as long as I can.”
Dimitra laughed nervously. Eva hadn’t mentioned what she was escaping, and although it was terribly interesting, Dimitra didn’t want to pester her for more details. On the phone, Rachelle had simply said that Eva needed to get away for a while, and Dimitra had understood that to her bones.
Rachelle knew that Dimitra needed to get away. Dimitra had told her enough during their nights out in Rome. And maybe Rachelle had realized the deep, impenetrable sorrow behind Dimitra’s eyes was not something that could be dealt with easily.
It needed moving and shaking. It needed change.
Now, the day before Dimitra’s departure, she was finishing up a deep clean of the house she’d shared with Kostos and trying to see the space from the perspective of a twenty-eight-year-old American woman. In Dimitra’s mind, Americans had enormous houses with big grassy yards; they had big-screen televisions and fireplaces and golden retrievers. She hoped Eva wasn’t going to be disappointed in Dimitra’s two-bedroom, one-bathroom house on the hill overlooking the turquoise Aegean. More than that, she hoped the men in the village would leave Eva alone, or at least not pester her too much. Eva was coming all this way to get some perspective, or something. She didn’t need some overly romantic Greek man to “sweep her off her feet.” Nobody did.
There was a knock on the front door followed by the scream of the hinges. It was her sister who always let herself in. “You really need to do something about those hinges!” she called as she breezed in, walking through the halls to find Dimitra in her art studio, packing up the rest of her paints and brushes and drawing pads and vacuuming the corners, under the easels and desks and chairs. She wanted to give Eva the impression that she could use any space in the house if she wanted to. Art was a form of redemption.
But how much help did Eva really want from Dimitra? They were strangers.
“There you are.” Athena stood in the studio doorway with her hands on her hips. “I really don’t know why you’re doing this. Mom’s sick with worry.”
Dimitra half rolled her eyes and went over to hug her sister. “I’ll miss you, you know? Even though you’re annoying.”
Athena flared her nostrils. “How can I help you? Put me to work.”
“I did everything already.”
