Page 27 of Love on the Rocks
“There has been a development, actually. Yesterday, an archaeologist came to see me about Pappou’s cup.” I waited forher reaction, but her face remained neutral. “She has a copy ofThe History of Lyra. And when she saw the photo of the cup, she recognized it. A bucchero—I looked it up online—it’s a sort of special ceramic technique. She thinks it’s Etruscan.”
“Etruscan? Weren’t they in Northern Italy? How’d it end up in Lyra?” She laughed and shook her head, her short curls falling over her forehead. Her dark hair was just beginning to show streaks of gray.
“No idea. I’m no expert, but she is. She works with Reginald Harris.” I wanted my mother to be as amazed as I had been by these developments, to consider that she’d been wrong about my grandfather. He wasn’t just a stubborn, old eccentric who refused to leave his island. Maybe he’d been right after all.
“Well, don’t be too disappointed if it turns into nothing. You know Pappou loved to invent stories. None of it was true.” She pursed her lips, skeptical as ever.
“Careful, that’s your father you’re talking about,” I warned.
“You don’t have to remind me. Why do you think I was so eager to get out of there as soon as I could? I loved him, but he was too stubborn.” No kidding. I remembered how they’d argue. She was his only child and my grandmother had passed away shortly after giving birth. So it had been tough on him when my mother had left for Athens and then emigrated to the US, taking all three of his grandchildren with her.
Despite the kilometers that separated us, I’d always had a special bond with my grandfather—maybe because we shared the same name—and with the island that generations of my mother’s family had called home. My earliest memory was floating in his boat before I could even talk, stretching my hand out to touch a sea turtle. All my best childhood memories were on Lyra with my grandfather.
“So, any news from Columbia?” Not wanting to hear her criticize him anymore, I changed the subject.
“Not yet. Your father and I are going into the city this Friday. I may just stop by in person to see if there are any updates.”
“You going to see Kosta?” My eldest brother worked in finance and had a ridiculously expensive place on Central Park South where he lived with his wife and three kids.
“Yes, that’s the plan . . .” My mother hesitated. She was never any good at keeping secrets.
“What is it?” I sighed. I knew she wanted to tell me.
“Now, don’t get mad, but I’m going to the new exhibit at the Whitney with Nathalie. And we might do brunch on Sunday.” She smiled uneasily.
I tensed like I did anytime she mentioned my ex-wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife, rather. Nathalie still hadn’t signed the divorce papers.
“Ma, we’re not getting back together. It’s been three years.”
“But maybe if you came out for a bit, the two of you could work it out.” My mother could not get it through her head that we were done. At times, I couldn’t remember what had ever brought Nathalie and I together. Lust, obviously. We’d met in med school and gotten married on a whim in Vegas. We figured out soon enough that we didn’t have that much in common. We’d remained friends, however, and she was now a very successful dermatologist on the Upper East Side.
I didn’t regret my decision to abandon my promising career to come back to the place my soul longed for, but my parents were baffled by it. They’d left Greece for better opportunities, and here I was a small-time GP on a forgotten island in the Aegean.
“You know that’s impossible,” I said, and her forehead creased with concern.
“Still having those panic attacks?”
I looked around to make sure no one was listening. I was embarrassed about the crippling panic attacks I started having afew years ago, the ones that drove me to leave New York in the first place. “Nah, I’m good. As long as I stay away from crowds and big cities.”
I’d developed the same sort of agoraphobia that my grandfather had suffered from—airports, big cities, public transportation—I couldn’t do any of it anymore. After a few months in Lyra, I’d gone to Athens, only to have another panic attack as soon as I stepped off the ferry in Piraeus. I couldn’t even think about getting on a plane without hyperventilating.
“Oh, Niko. Please don’t tell me you believe all Pappou’s stories.” I knew immediately what she was referring to—the rumor that some people couldn’t leave the island, that there was some sort of ancient spell keeping them here. My grandfather, half-jokingly, used to say that he was under the spell. I didn’t really believe in the myth, but I did feel like my soul was tethered to this place.
“I’ll just have to come to you. I’d like to finally meet Emmanuel in person. And I’d like to see for myself how you’ve taken over Pappou’s practice. Next thing you know you’ll be running for mayor.”
“Politics don’t interest me. I prefer to get things done, not just talk about it.” I wasn’t ready to end the call, but with a glance at my watch, I realized I was going to miss my ride back to Lyra. “Sorry, Ma. Gotta run if I don’t want to spend the night at the camp.”
She blew a kiss. “Okay, love you.”
“Me too, Ma. Bye.” I closed the computer screen and stared out at the community center, now filled with people chatting. As hard as this was, as much as I had my belief in humanity tested by this crisis, I wouldn’t trade it for a midtown office and a six-figure salary.
* * *
The next day I woke up later than usual, exhausted from the two days at camp. By the time I started over the hill, the sun was high in the sky. I hadn’t seen the dog yet this morning. He’d pretty much abandoned me this past week and I couldn’t blame him; I’d probably hang out at the feet of that woman if she let me.
I marveled at her determination. Even I would have found a week in a rundown, old shack too much to take. And I didn’t want to analyze why I was glad she hadn’t left yet. Was it because of the little thrill I got out of irritating her? The secret enjoyment of sneaking glances at her? Curiosity about the food she made, but wouldn’t let me try? Or was it something else? Reluctant admiration, perhaps. It wasn’t because she featured nightly in my fantasies.
As I approached the house, I searched for Argos but he was nowhere to be seen. What’s more, the front door was wide open and blowing in the wind. When I peeked inside to investigate, the place was empty. Immediately I imagined the worst.
