Authors: Brandie Buckwine
“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
“I still can’t believe you almost did it on the ferry. Weren’t there people around?”
“It was dark, and we were in a cubby behind the stairs.”
She grinned and shook her head. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“I do, and right after the grand opening, I’ll help you look for her, though, you’re running out of time. You’re only staying another nine days, right?”
As the words came from her mouth, it felt like a large boulder landed on my heart. I shrugged. “I might have to stay longer.” Would they let me change my ticket?
“Can you do that? With your work?”
“Yeah, yeah I can. If I wanted to, I could log in and work from here. Most days, I don’t even go in, anymore. I just work from my house.”
“So you could stay indefinitely?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m sure I could extend my visit if I wanted to.”
“This is so exciting,” she bounced in her seat and clapped her hands. “I would love to have you here longer.” Then, her face fell, just a bit.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll get a room if I stay longer.”
“No, no, you don’t have to do that. It will be fine.”
“I will. Your place isn’t very big, and I can tell Niko’s getting sick of me already.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she nearly shoved me out the door. “Jennifer has a little place she rents out. It’s furnished. You could stay there.”
The dark cloud of Jennifer returned, but I didn’t want to let on to Ginny how unsavory the idea was. “Maybe,” I said, hoping she’d drop it.
“You’d love it, I’m sure. It’s cute.”
I just nodded and studied my surroundings once more, hoping to catch sight of her.
Part III
Five days now I’ve been working on Eight Leg Aquarium. Carla quit bugging me after the second day. She’s found a man in town, and barely comes home, so I’m surprised when she appears in my studio late in the morning and plops down on the lumpy bed that doubles as a couch. I nod at her and nearly ten minutes pass before she speaks.
“You’re very talented, you know?”
Carla has never complimented me on my work, and I can’t stop the blush from rushing to my cheeks. “Why thank you.” From the corner of my eye, I see her studying me, like she doesn’t know me.
“I saw your boy-toy in town yesterday,” she mutters, chewing at her fingernail.
My paintbrush drops from my hand. “Shit!” I pluck it from the ground and examine it for dirt. “My what?”
“Your lover boy from the ferry. He chased me down.”
My heartbeat echoes through my head and a film of sweat rises to coat my skin. Though I want to go on painting, the brush now shakes in my hand and I feel light headed. “He’s here,” I whisper.
Carla nods, studying her nails.
“What did he say?” I glare at her, angry because she didn’t rush home to tell me.
“He wanted to know where you were, where he could find you.”
“What did you tell him?” The echo in my head is slowly fading, leaving only my pounding pulse ringing in my ears.
She spits a piece of nail. “I told him you weren’t interested, and to fuck off.”
The echo is back.
“Why would you tell him that?”
She shrugs at me. “If it was that special, don’t you think you guys would have exchanged some information on the boat, like, oh, I don’t know – names?”
Part of me knows she’s right, but he’s here, and he’s looking for me. Surely, that means something. “What else did he say?”
“That was about it. I may have told him he was stupid.”
The urge to choke her to death is strong, but I grip the brush tighter in my hand, instead. The turpentine sloshes as I toss the brush in the jar. There is no way I can continue painting today, not when I know he is here.
“You’re taking a break?” Carla bolts upright. “Will you come into town with me tonight? I want you to meet Tasos. You haven’t come to town since the day after we got here.”
My heart rate is almost back to normal, but now that I know he is here, it will likely remain elevated. If I go into town, I might see him again. What if it doesn’t go well? Yeah, he seems like a nice guy, and he makes me want to strip and drag my lips across his skin, but what if he decides he doesn’t like me? What if … I get hurt?
“Maybe,” I tell her, hoping to sound nonchalant. “And I went into town yesterday. If you were around a little more, you’d know that.” She rolls her eyes at me and wanders out of the room.
Normally, I don’t swim in the afternoon, but today, I need to clear my head, and the time of day doesn’t matter. In late afternoon, the sea is warm, so I swim out farther – dive deeper – in search of cool water to relieve my burning cheeks. Four meters is my limit. Beyond that, the pressure in my head is too much, but the water at the bottom of the shallow bay is so refreshing. I push off the seabed hard, racing toward the surface, out of breath and close to passing out. I know better than to swim when my thoughts are so muddled and I’m not thinking clearly, but the cold depths are more soothing. I dive back down, and slowly make my way back to shore swimming along the bottom, enjoying the chill while it lasts. The octopus is gone. I grilled him night before last, but I check the rock anyway, just in case a new tenant has moved in. It is deserted.
Carla toasts on the beach. She won’t even go topless though I’ve assured her no one will see. At my approach, she clasps the untied top of her swimsuit to her breasts, afraid, I suppose, that it might slip and she’ll flash me some tit. She is so weird. I asked her the other day how long she plans to stay, but she didn’t answer. Now that I know he is here, I hope it’s not long. At least she spends most of her time in town, only checking in every few days. She averts her eyes as I emerge from the water. I linger, moving around her as much as I can because she’s uptight, and I know my nudity agitates her. I bend to pick up a rock and she groans, flipping to her stomach. Grinning, I skip the rock into the bay.
I don’t spend any time sunning. No, I have to figure out what I’m going to wear. Attire isn’t a big priority for me, but tonight, it’s important if I’m going to see him again. I spread my meager wardrobe out on the bed, but nothing seems good enough. Eventually, Carla joins me. Since she’s under the impression I will be accompanying her to the clubs, she agrees I have nothing suitable, and convinces me to buy something in town.
At the boutique, I try on at least ten dresses before I settle on a simple island dress – deep blue cotton, gathered at the shoulder with a somewhat revealing neckline. It matches my wedged Espadrilles. Carla is disgusted and thinks I should get a strapless black dress.
“It’s too much like a cocktail dress,” I argue. “I need something a little more ‘every-day,’ because if I’m going to spend the money, I want to wear it more than once.”
“God you’re cheap. Those paintings of yours bring in a butt-load of money. Why not let some of it out of your tight little fingers?”
It doesn’t bother me now to tell her I’m not coming with her and her man. “I get money for them now, but it might not last. Tomorrow, I could wake up to find I’m yesterday’s news, and no one will give ten bucks for a painting. By the way, I’m hanging out on the waterfront tonight.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re not coming dancing?”
“Not tonight. I want to watch the sun set with a glass of ouzo and a plate of octopus. After that, I’ll watch the sea until it’s time to go home.”
She doesn’t answer, but leaves me standing alone in the dress shop. Stopping the wild twists at the corners of my mouth is beyond my power. Sometimes, I just love to piss her off.
~
My favorite café on the waterfront is where my mom always brought me for rice pudding. It’s been here fifty years at least, and I’m sure it will be here fifty more. The owner, Barba Yianni, is old and rickety now, but his son helps and will take it over when the old man can no longer work.
Across the waterfront-promenade, stacked boulders and a seawall keep the waves away. This is where my younger self met her best friend. On a bleak winter’s day, her mother sent her to buy yogurt for the family, and as I passed, I saw Katerina drop the top four cups of yogurt. My heart broke for her when she sank to the ground, crying. I knew of her family. They were poor, and yogurt from the cafeneon had to be a treat. My weekly allowance jingled in my pocket as I ran into the café and ordered four more yogurts from Barba Yianni.
Katerina cried harder when I gave her the plastic cups, but she thanked me copiously. I helped her carry them home while she dried her tears. Two years later, a terrible case of appendicitis took her, and I couldn’t even sit with her or say goodbye. She was the second person I lost that summer.
When Barba Yianni’s son, Stefanos, brings me my ouzo, I wipe away my own tears, hoping he won’t see and ask me what’s wrong. He doesn’t notice, but welcomes me back to the island.
The waterfront is the perfect place to watch for him. Everyone passes along the waterfront at some point in the evening, unless of course they don’t go out. As though to prove me right, no fewer than fifteen people stop to visit over the course of the night, but there is no sign of
him
. The sun sets and darkness falls, but nothing. Some groups pass by numerous times, on their way to and from dinner, a bar, maybe a movie.
Just before the lights of the café dim, Stefanos brings a bottle of wine and a glass. Fewer people pass now, and I’m a little tipsy, but I continue to watch and drink. Nothing. Later, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I’ve been dozing, and my farmer’s son stands beside me and asks if I need a ride home. It’s nearly two. I could stagger the distance or go to the port for a taxi, but I’m tired and it’s late. I don’t like imposing on my neighbors. Tomas assures me it’s no trouble. He takes me home.
The next morning, my head pounds as I swim, and I must face the fact that’s he’s left. Carla told him to fuck off, and he has. My wishful side argues he might not have been out last night. Perhaps he stayed in, or maybe he’s sick, but my gut tells me he’s gone. Why would he stay? After the way I blew him off and Carla’s rudeness, he probably boarded the next ferry and went on to Rhodes.
I throw myself into Eight Leg Aquarium so I won’t obsess about him. It works. A day passes, and then the next. I stop at five because I have to go into town again. My painting stares back at me, and is changed. No longer a tranquil glimpse into the underwater world as seen through the octopus fisherman’s spotting can, it is now a storm, the rocks and seaweed strewn about by raging winds and crashing waves. As I clean my brushes, my shoulders slump. My escape was no escape at all.
Later, wearing an older, more humble dress, I follow Carla into the party. We walk through the throng of people, occasionally stopping to catch up with old friends. Marcia, an older British woman married to a local Greek man, fancies herself an artist, and as usual, wants to draw me into a conversation about technique and supplies. I humor her, but it’s the same conversation we have every time we meet. The smile on my face is like a cardboard cutout – it’s the same one I use for all the fake and annoyingly boring people I meet.
We no sooner escape Marcia than the lascivious butcher pounces on me. For years, I have successfully deflected his pathetic attempts at seduction, and when I gently fend him off once more, he turns his attention to Carla. I can’t help but feel a sick pleasure as the middle-aged letch drools over her. The disgust is clear in her expression, but he is not deterred. Soon, I am bored with his disgusting suggestions and rescue her, tugging her arm and telling the man we are expected by friends.
When we are almost through the crowd, Carla turns to me. “You are the luckiest bitch I know,” she sneers. At first, I think she’s referring to the butcher, but when the shock fades, I know it’s something else that has her riled up. I am shocked, not by her name-calling, but by her honesty. The look in her eyes is one of pure envy. She steps aside, and there he is. Sitting beside Ginny, he is as beautiful as I remember. When he sees me, he jumps to his feet, his eyes as wide as my own.
“It’s you.”
“It’s you,” I repeat.
“Jennifer!” Ginny squeals.
His face pales. “Jennifer?”
I slowly nod, and Ginny looks back and forth between us. Understanding flashes across her face.
“Oh my God. Jennifer is the girl from the boat?” Her look of shock tells me he’s shared our secret.
“And that makes you Matt.” The words leave my mouth, but I don’t recall vocalizing the thought. It all makes sense now. The reason I was so drawn to him, how I felt I knew him, the way I feared he’d hurt me.
“Oh, this is just too cool,” Ginny giggles. “Matt, you probably don’t remember Jennifer’s little sister, Carla. She was pretty little back then, but as of a few weeks ago, she’s a high school graduate.” Carla glares at him as he greets her.
With a nervous cough, Matt pulls out the chair beside his and waits. I’m in a fog as I sit and he pushes me in. I am flushed, sweating, unsure what to make of all this. Someone hands me a glass of wine, and I down it without hesitation. Matt is staring at me, but I can’t look at him. I’m so confused, and it feels like I’m suffocating. His hand grasps mine under the table, but I am looking for more wine. The place-setting beside mine is empty, but has a full glass. I down it, too. Ginny is looking at me expectantly. Has she been talking to me? The only sound I hear is the loud hum singing through my brain. It started when I realized who he was.
My chair flips over when I spring to my feet. I need air. “I need air.”
“But you’re outside,” Ginny reminds me.
I look up at the twinkly lights and vine covered avli, but move for the doors. Once outside, I am panting and pacing the whitewashed flagstones. Matt bursts into the street, and I turn up the narrow alley alongside the restaurant. Long ago, this path led to an outdoor discotheque, but now, it is rarely used as the old hotspot is boarded up and dark.
I flinch away from the hand on my shoulder and begin to sob.
“Jennifer, what’s wrong?” he asks in alarm.