Nicolai's Daughters (22 page)

“And where is the money going to come from?” she asked.

“These are just details.” Achilles shrugged. “The dream makes things happen.”

“To start with, yes, but then you need money.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin, then the corner of her cheek where Achilles left a peck.

“You worry too much.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“I have some money I can lend you, but it is not enough.”

“A start is all I need, my love, and of course, someone who believes in me.”

Nicolai pushed his chair back. It squealed against the floor. He waited for Achilles to shout hello, come over and slap him on the back.

They continued talking as if they hadn't noticed.

In the kitchen, the cook told him the back door had been jammed shut years ago.

He wasn't going to stick around until Achilles and Dimitria left. He walked past them, staring straight ahead. They wouldn't notice. Lovers only had eyes for each another.

“And where did you come from?” Achilles asked as Nicolai passed their table.

Dimitria dropped Achilles's hand, picked up her napkin. She folded it into an impossibly small square and put it back on her lap. She didn't look at him.

“What a surprise,” Nicolai said.

“For us, too,” Dimitria said. As she stood up, her napkin fell. She bent to pick it up.

“My love. What is the matter?” Achilles said. “Join us, Nicolai. Please.”

“Yes, please do,” Dimitria said. Her olive skin turned pink, her lips pressed shut.

“I don't want to impose.”

“We have plenty of time.” Achilles hugged Dimitria. “Don't we, my love?”

She shrugged out of Achilles's embrace and took Nicolai's hand. “Please stay.”

Nicolai thought: she seems to be pleading. “Okay,” he said. She smiled then, just like the time he told her she had a ton of talent.

They pulled up a chair for him. Sitting between them meant that while he listened or talked to Achilles, he had his back to Dimitria.

Achilles ordered more wine. He picked at the
moussaka
, pushing bits of eggplant and potatoes into a small mound as if building a sand castle. He didn't take a bite of any of it. “We've just been talking about business.”

“Yes,” Dimitria said. “That's all.”

Her perfume lingered. He couldn't tell what it was, but it was the same one she'd worn the last time he'd seen her. He adjusted his chair to face her. Their legs touched. He moved his away. Or had she moved hers first? He looked into her eyes and wondered why he hadn't noticed the copper speck in her pupils before tonight. Well, why would he? He was a married man. Yes, she was dead, but Sara would always be his wife.

“What happened to your hand?” Dimitria said.

Nicolai looked down at his knuckle. “A little accident. It's nothing.” He adjusted his chair, turned to face Achilles.

“…people walking, eating, partying on our waterfront,” Achilles was saying.

“It could be good.” Nicolai nodded.

When they stepped out of the café, the rain was coming down like a steady stream of pebbles. Achilles ran to his moped, grabbed the plastic sheet he had secured on the back and covered the seat. Nicolai and Dimitria waited under the large awning in front of the café, watching Achilles. I should say something to her, Nicolai thought. But what? I disappoint all the women in my life.

“I can give you a ride to Diakofto if you want,” Nicolai said, finally. “Achilles could pick up the moped tomorrow.”

“You know him,” she said. “He's stubborn.”

Achilles ran back. He flicked water from his hair and shirt, spraying Nicolai and Dimitria. “Maybe we can wait it out,” Achilles said. The plastic sheet he'd placed on his moped flipped up in the wind and blew across the parking lot. They watched it tear in two. The bits were caught in the gust and flew in different directions. No one gave chase.

“I could give you a ride,” Nicolai said over the growling rain.

“We had some plans for tonight, didn't we, my love?” Achilles put his arm around Dimitria's waist. Her back stiffened.

“If you're going home anyway,” Dimitria said, “I think it would be good.”

“I live here now.”

“What?” She turned.

Nicolai shrugged.

“His father threw him out.”

She put her hand on Nicolai's shoulder. Lightning exploded and lit her face. There it was again. The copper flicker in her eyes.

In the car, Achilles sat in the back and Dimitria in the front. The rain turned to hail. Nicolai's hands gripped the steering wheel. Achilles poked his head between the two front seats. He commented about the unpredictable weather. His damp hair and clothes smelled of sour cologne. Nicolai kept his eyes on the asphalt, lit up with hailstones.

When they finally entered Diakofto, Achilles sat back. In the rear-view mirror, Nicolai caught a glimpse of Achilles crossing himself. “You might as well drop me off.”

“Good driving,” Dimitria said.

He nodded, but didn't look at her.

“Make sure you take my love home safely,” Achilles said. He held Nicolai's shoulder firmly, then touched Dimitria's face. “This wasn't exactly what we had planned.”

The rain stopped and she suggested they go to the beach. “It's still early.”

The light at the front door of her house was on when he drove by. The living room was dark except for the blue light of a television. “Your mother is up.”

“Probably.”

“Won't she wonder where you are?”

“I'm a big girl.”

They drove in silence. Nicolai parked at the end of the beach where they used to meet. He turned off the ignition. He didn't know what to say to her. Should he apologize for the other day? Tell her what happened with his father? Where would he start?

She turned to face him. She took his damaged hand in hers, kissed each knuckle.

He met her eyes. She smiled. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. When he pulled away, her eyes were closed, her lips still puckered as if she hadn't realized he was no longer there.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm not ready for anything.” He turned away. “I'm not sure I'll ever be. I don't even know what's going on with me. I'm all over the place, lonely, stupid, can't cope. I don't want to drag you into anything. I don't know.”

She took his hands in hers. “It will pass.”

“I'm not so sure.”

She gently touched his face and he leaned towards her hand. It felt so long since he'd been caressed. He kissed her temple, then her hands and neck, squeezed her breast. She moaned and he kissed her.

“Ouch.” She pulled away and held her breast.

“I'm so sorry. I don't know what I'm doing.”

“We have to get used to each other,” she said, guiding his hand back.

“No.” He turned away. “I'm a mess. I don't know what I want or what I'm going to do. I'm married. I'm bad news.”

She held him. He tried to pull away, but eventually he put his arms around her waist and lay his head against her chest, listened to her heartbeat. He wanted to fall asleep to this steady sound. They held onto each other until she whispered his name.

“I should get back,” she said.

“I'm sorry to make such a mess of things,” he said.

She kissed him. “There will be another time,” she said.

“But there can't be.”

“We need each other, Nicolai,” she said. “You can see this, can't you? Don't you remember when we were children? How we were together all the time? Playing, talking. We couldn't do anything about it then. Now it's different. We can do what we want.”

“What about Achilles?” he asked.

She kissed him.

He pulled away. “We're cousins. I haven't resolved anything. I'm…”

Her mouth covered his.

1986

The lights skimmed over his eyelids and woke him. He heard the car pass. It was dark again. Nicolai curled up closer, lay his head on her chest, as he had before. Something hard prodded at his back and he shifted away from it, closer to her. “I've missed you,” he whispered. Her breathing remained steady. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Her wrinkled skirt had crawled up as she slept and exposed her sunbaked thighs. He squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath. They were in his rental car and pinched together into the passenger seat. He slid into the driver's seat and sat staring out the windshield. What had he done?

Dimitria moaned and stretched out her arms. Her hands struck the inside of the car's roof. She smiled as if she had just realized where she was. She turned towards him and stroked his arm.

He started the car. “We have to go.” He stomped on the gas pedal. Dimitria lurched upright, threw her hands against the dash. He stared at the road, though he could feel her glare. She buttoned her blouse, smoothed her skirt, ran her fingers through her hair. Her seat belt clicked.

Nicolai stopped the car a block from her house and left it running. She reached over and stroked his cheek. He turned away.

“Don't do this,” she said.

He rubbed his nose. Her smell hung on his fingers. He wiped his hands on his pants. “I shouldn't have done…”

“Turn it off. Please.”

He leaned across to open her door. His arm grazed her breasts and he apologized, nodded for her to leave. “I have to go,” he said. “It's not your fault. I just can't.”

“Why act this way?” she asked.

He drummed the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. She got out and slammed the door. That's good, he thought. Be mad at me. I deserve it.

He pulled away. Half a block down the road, he slowed down at the yield sign and glanced into the rear-view mirror. The squall of dust he'd kicked up hadn't yet settled, but he could see her standing alone as if unsure which way to turn.

Nicolai weaved in and out of his lane, jerking through the gears and gunning the engine. He heard the muffled sound of a horn somewhere behind him. So what? We've all got problems. Get over it. The road took a long, steady bend. What if he just let go? He relaxed his hold on the steering wheel. Guardrails flashed by, a blur. He pressed his foot down. He'd fly, land somewhere, anywhere. He'd stop hurting everyone.
Alexia. Mamma. Dimitria
. He shut his eyes, tightened his grip. His hands ached. Let go. Go on.

He took his foot off the pedal, and the car slowed down. He opened his eyes. The barrier rushed to meet him. He yanked the steering wheel left, and moved smoothly through the curve.

He banged the steering wheel.
Coward
.

Driving past Aigio to Patras
,
he followed the road that led to the docks. It didn't matter where the next ferry was going. He'd get on and with any luck end up in a small Italian town where no one knew him. Forklifts scraped across the concrete, picking up cargo and hauling it onto ships. A sign at the gate to the terminal read,
Closed
.
Open at 7 a.m.

He could wait. It was only a few hours. He'd sleep in his car. There was nothing special he'd left behind in Aigio. He had his wallet and passport. What else did he need?

A uniformed guard approached the car, tapped at the window with a baton.

Nicolai shrugged as if he didn't understand.

The man gestured for Nicolai to roll down his window.

“You cannot stay here,” the man said.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

Raising his baton, the man pointed to a turn-around exit lane. “Come back in the morning. We open soon enough.”

Nicolai stared at the man. The man waited. His eyes were dark and hard. He reminded Nicolai of his father.

He turned the car around and drove down the road. Five hours until the first ferry sailed. Time enough. He'd go back to Aigio, take a shower, pack up.

A loud and intermittent ring nagged him awake. Maybe it would go away if he lay still, ignored it. The light annoyed him. Why had he left it on? He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd put his head down, but then woke every hour or so to look at his watch. The last time he checked, it was a couple of minutes after four. He pulled the covers over his head. He had another hour or so before he had to get up.

The ringing persisted. He reached out and slapped at what he thought was his alarm. The ringing stopped for a few seconds, then started up again.

He shoved off the bedspread and crawled over to the kitchen for the telephone. The alarm clock fell to the floor behind him. Finally he picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Daddy, is that you?”

Nicolai sat, his back against the cupboard and rubbed at his eyes, grinding the small crusty specks in the corners.

“Were you sleeping? What time is it over there?”

“I don't know.” He reached down for the clock. Shit. The ferry had left more than an hour ago.

“What did you say, Daddy?”

“Nothing,
paidi mou
.”

“Auntie Mavis let me stay up so I could call you.”

He propped himself on one elbow and stacked two pillows behind him, lay his head against his hand.

“…did this big hike in Pemberton, and had to spend the night all by myself.” She took a deep breath. He knew she was waiting for him to say something. Wake up, he told himself. This is your daughter, for God's sake.

“I wasn't really by myself,” she said, finally. “I could always see a tent a few feet away on both sides of me. But it was really cool and kind of spooky, too.”

“And I guess you made lots of friends,” Nicolai said. He scratched his chin.

“They came from all over,” she said. “But we promised we'd write and come back next year. I mean, if that's okay with you.”

“That's good.”

“You're working too hard, Daddy. Right?'

“I guess so,” he said. “Can I call you another time?”

“I just wanted to tell you about my hike,” she said. Her voice was quieter, distant. “I didn't want you to worry.”

“Glad you did.” Really? He wasn't acting like it. And no wonder. She just reminded him of how badly he'd betrayed her and made a mess of everything else.

At the ferry terminal, he watched the ships come and go, had lunch and drove back to his motel. “The ferry I wanted was full,” Nicolai said when the clerk asked. He checked in for a single night and unpacked the things he'd packed that morning. He left early the next day and returned in the afternoon. The same guy greeted him. “It is hard to leave us.”

“I know which room it is,” Nicolai said, ignoring the clerk's ready smile.

After three or four days of hanging out at the docks, scanning the ferry schedule, he realized there was no place he wanted to go. He took out an open-ended lease on the room. The clerk flashed a condescending grin, making Nicolai feel like a child again. Mocked and tolerated, but only just.

Late one morning, he drove into the mountains. As the ground-hugging fog began to dissipate, narrow fingers of light poked through the clouds. The road ahead steamed as it dried in the heat. He noticed a lookout on the left. “Let's stop up there and take a look,” he said, and turned to find Dimitria wasn't sitting beside him. These drives were the kinds of things he'd done with her. She would touch his arm, then point to something in the distance. “Look at that shade of red on the mountain. The sun is hitting it perfectly. I wish I could capture these things.”

He parked and got out of the car. Villages peeked from folds of the forest below. “How about we find our way down and have lunch?” he said. He cupped his hand at his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. No reply.

Nicolai stared down at the valley. He saw her as clearly as if she were standing there in front of him. Her blouse was open, the crease of her breasts teasing. He ran his fingers through his hair. He definitely needed to find new places to go.

“I heard you have the best food,” he said to the man who greeted him as he walked into the café. The man smiled, brought Nicolai the speciality of the house. This became his way of greeting all café owners he met. There was nothing unique about any of these places. But if his comments made them feel good, why not?

He drove to Kalavryta on a hot day because he thought it would be cooler in the mountains. On one side of the road, rocks hung above him and on the other, cliffs dropped away. It took all his focus to drive. Still, in the few short straight stretches, he remembered the conversation he'd had with Dimitria when they'd been here.

“Don't you wonder how all of this was created, what our grandfathers and great-grandfathers had to do to settle here?” she said.

“Not really.” Why would he?

“These hills were the beginning of our independence in 1821. They protected so many people before the Germans came.” She talked about the history of the monastery and guided him around Kalavryta, her arm in his.

He felt her hand on his forearm. He swiped at it. Her touch would not be wiped away. How could he blame his parents for what they'd done? He was no better. How the hell had he ended up with his cousin? And worse still, he couldn't get her out of his mind. It was too soon for someone else. He knew that. He should go home, get on with taking care of Alexia. Except, right now he wasn't sure he could ever go back. Who would he be when he got back? I'm just another idiot who let his wife down, he thought. Alexia knows it, too. She might not be able to admit it to herself yet, but she knows. One day, that's all I'll see in her eyes. Disappointment.

He lay in bed, wondering where he'd go today. He could go back to Patras or further north for a few days. He'd already done these things so many times.

In the kitchen, he glanced at the map spread open on the kitchen table. He flicked the coffee machine on, paced up and down in the small kitchen and went back into the bedroom to get dressed. He turned off the coffee machine before it was done and slammed the door behind him.

He drove to the beach in Diakofto and parked.

Her chair and easel weren't lodged in the rock. He looked for her down the beach. There was no one. He'd wait. He had nothing better to do, anyway. If she didn't come today, maybe he'd come back tomorrow. We'll see, he told himself. He might find other things to do tomorrow and he wouldn't have to come back here. He might call Stuart. Talking to him might help, but while they were friends, he wasn't sure he could tell him all of this. Not over the phone, anyway. Stuart would think he'd gone crazy. And maybe he had.

A light tap startled him. He looked around. She stood outside the passenger door. He leaned over, opened it. “I was just looking at the view.”

“You came back,” she said.

“I need us to be friends,” he said.

She got in the car, held the door ajar with her foot. “I broke up with Achilles.”

He stared at her. “Did you tell him?”

She pushed the door back and forth with her foot, didn't look at him. “He didn't want to know the reasons. He turned it around and made it his idea.”

“What we have can't be anything more than friendship.”

“I know,” she said.

“Let's get a drink,” he said.

She closed the door.

The restaurant overlooking the beach was noisy. They ate and didn't say much. The racket was a distraction. As he glanced across the crowded room, he felt Dimitria's hand on his. He looked at her, saw the question in her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. “I like watching people.”

She nodded. Her smile reassured him, made him feel comfortable.

“Have you spoken with your daughter?” Dimitria asked.

“Briefly,” he said. “She just got back from a hike. She's off to a summer camp next.”

“You must miss her.”

“She's having a great time. She makes friends easily. She slept out in a tent by herself. She said it was cool.” He used the English word because he couldn't think of how to say it in Greek.

“Yes, it would be cold.”

Nicolai laughed. “Cool means fun, good.”

“Yes, of course.” Her cheeks turned rosy pink. She smiled, bowing her head as if she didn't want him to notice.

But how couldn't he notice? She had a beautiful smile. “We're just about done here,” he said.

She folded her napkin and put it on the table.

“Would you like to see where I live?” he asked. “I think I have a bottle of wine.”

She nodded. “If it's okay.”

He knew it wasn't a good idea. But he didn't want to take her home just yet, go to that awful room by himself. He just needed a little company.

As she walked past him into his room, her arm grazed his chest. He took in the curve of her neck, the outline of her spine under her blouse, the sway of her hips. He kicked the door shut. Moving in close, he put his arms around her. She leaned into him. He breathed in her perfume and smiled for the first time in days, since the last time they'd been together. She turned to face him, her lips parted.

“I'm not sure I can ever be what you need,” he whispered into her hair.

She pulled away and he tugged her close. He stroked her back, clipped off her bra and pushed her towards the bed.

She cuddled into him, straddled one leg over his. She traced his nipples, then the hair on his chest with her fingers. Her head lay on his shoulder, pinning him down. “You wanted this. You came back to me after all these years away,” she said. “Yes?”

“I came back because I couldn't cope after my wife died.” He put his hand over hers. His shoulder felt numb. “I need a friend more than anything else.”

“I want this, too.”

He held her close. Still, it didn't feel right. Her touch bothered him somehow. Like it was too much, more than he could ever repay. She was gentle, beautiful, and she wanted him.