Nicolai's Daughters (21 page)

Achilles ran his hands up and down her arms, then hugged her.

Her arms stayed by her side.

“Yes?” The buttons of his shirt bored into her chest.

She pushed herself away. “How about that drink?”

“Anything for you.”

She ordered a glass of white wine and the bartender brought her a bottle of
retsina
and a glass and placed both in front of her. Achilles poured. Sipping his beer, he straddled the stool beside her. He stroked her hand and gently pressed his knee against hers. She didn't shift away. She watched the outline of his stomach, the way it moved under his shirt as he breathed, wondered what it would feel like against her. He'd be a distraction. No different than the married lovers she'd been with. He was charming. She had to give him that. And a free spirit. She could stand to be around a bit of that right now.

“You no happy. Yes?”

Alexia laughed. “You could say that.”

“Tell me,” he said. His black pupils burrowed into hers, until she turned away. “You mad at Achilles. Yes?”

“It's family stuff,” she said. “This would not interest you.”

“How you know what interests Achilles?”

“Those women back there.” Alexia nodded towards their table.

“Women like when men see.”

The raw, smoky pine flavour of the wine burned her throat, making her wince. She put the glass down, pushed it away, sat on her hands, feeling the cold through her pants. He rubbed her back. Goose bumps lifted on her arms. She sneezed. It was his cologne. She sneezed again. He grabbed a napkin from the pile on the bar and offered it to her. She turned to him and took the napkin from him.

“My family isn't happy with me right now,” she said and faced her glass. She took another sip, and again pushed it away. The bartender refilled it, even though she shook her head and tried to put her hand over the glass.

“Then I be family for you. We work on my promenade by the sea.”

“It doesn't look like much has been done for a long time.”

“We run out of money,” he said. “One day it will be beautiful.”

He told her about his vision for Diakofto, how it would be a destination for tourists, even without the train. The town could be so much more.

We could all be so much more, she thought. I'm always pissing someone off, doing things someone doesn't like.

He kissed her. She liked the sweet smell of his mouth and the way his lips covered hers. What was she doing? She didn't need this right now. It wouldn't solve a thing. She pulled away.

“We go to the beach now,” he asked. “Or you prefer privacy?” He pointed to the ceiling. “There are rooms upstairs also.”

He moved in and tried to kiss her again.

This was crazy. She had to get home. As much as she craved something that would blast apart these damn thoughts, a Greek lover was not what she needed right now. And particularly someone like him. He was a taker and she was too tired to give anything of herself right now. She left a peck on his cheek, felt his stubbles against her lips.

Christina and Solon were pacing in the living room when she walked in. Alexia peered down at her watch. It was after ten. “I'm sorry I'm so late.” And I'm sorry I hurt you, she thought. My father asked me to do a job. I've met Theodora. I have to follow through and decide what I'm going to do now. I don't have a choice.

“We talk when you go out. Solon and me think it is you to decide what you do.” Christina held Solon's forearm. “No?”

Solon shrugged. “I do not want to bother her or her family.” He didn't look at Alexia. “You have to think of her, too. What is best for her.”

“But why would it be a bother?” Alexia asked. “Aren't we all family?”

“You hungry, no?” Christina said. “Eat.” She opened her arms to direct her towards the kitchen.

“Yes, we family,” Solon said. “But everyone has his own life. We live this way, each to his own side. Do you understand? This is how we do things.”

“When I was little,” Alexia said, “I wanted to meet you all more than anything in the world. You were my family. Why would it be any different for her?”

“She might not want to know about us,” Christina said.

“Why not?”

“If she does not know we are here, it could be like a shock to her.”

“But then we'd get to know each other and in time…”

“In time,” Christina said. “We say this, no? Things will change, be better in time. But life is not so simple. There are many things you do not understand.”

And I never will if you don't tell me, Alexia thought.

Solon pointed to the stairs. “I go to bed now,” he said. “I am too tired for this.” He shuffled up the stairs.

“Come eat,” Christina said.

She'd find out what they were hiding and why and once she knew, she'd decide what to do about Theodora. Someone had to put a stop to these stupid secrets. Alexia followed Christina into the kitchen. “Just a small plate, please,
Thia
,” Alexia said.

1986

Nicolai lurched out onto the freeway, his foot hard on the gas pedal. The tires kicked up gravel. A horn boomed. He glared into his rear-view mirror and saw the front grille of a semi bearing down on him. He hunched his shoulders and tightened his hands on the steering wheel.

The semi barrelled past, cut back in front of Nicolai's car, and hit the brakes. Nicolai pumped his, punching the horn. The truck driver sped off.

“Asshole,” Nicolai yelled. He thought about chasing the driver, doing the same goddamn thing to him. Instead, he slowed down. You're one to talk. You screw up everything you touch. Who's the asshole?

He thought about Alexia, the day they moved out of their house. When she asked him what's next, why didn't he say, “I don't know, sweetie, we'll work it out, together.”

He should have stayed in Vancouver, with her. Here he was homeless, his clothes all over the back seat and nowhere to go. Nicolai drove into Aigio and down the main street. The bakeries were busy. Women stood inside, talking. He slowed down and thought about getting a dozen chocolate éclairs for his mother. When he was a kid and she got mad at him for not finishing his chores, he'd spend the last of the money he saved from his part-time job on two éclairs for her. After that, she'd forgive him anything. But he wasn't a kid anymore.

There was nothing for him in Aigio. He turned around and drove back to Diakofto. He needed time to think. What would he do next? He passed his favourite café, but when he saw some of the men he'd gotten to know in the last few weeks sitting outside, smoking and gossiping, he knew he didn't want to stop.

At the next corner, a man flagged him down. Nicolai slammed on his brakes. The seat belt tightened, cinching him against the back of the seat.

Achilles jumped into the car.

Before Achilles could close the door, Nicolai drove on.

“What's wrong with you?”

“You want a ride or not?”

“I'm headed home. I don't know why I go to that
taverna
. Those farmers don't have a clue about what I'm trying to do for this town. They are not like you. You are a man of the world, someone who understands what the boardwalk development could bring.” Achilles slapped him on the shoulder, turned on the radio.

Nicolai took the next left. Achilles said he had a cousin in Athens who had committed to partnering with him on the development.

Nicolai turned up the radio.

Achilles raised his voice. “He knows what an opportunity looks like.”

Nicolai turned the volume up again.

Achilles clicked the radio off. “What's with you?”

He lurched to a stop in front of Achilles's house.

Nicolai stared into his side mirror at the narrow, deserted road behind him. Achilles turned to face him.

“Why are your clothes in the back seat?”

“I've got to get going.”

Achilles gripped Nicolai's shoulder. “Did the old man kick you out?”

“It wasn't exactly the best place for me.”

Achilles got out of the car, closed the door and leaned in the window. “So now what?”

“I'll think of something.”

“If I didn't live with my parents, you could stay with me,” Achilles said. “But I don't think they'd approve. You know how people talk.”

“I said, I'll think of something.”

“You will.” Achilles tapped the roof of the car. He slipped into the house without glancing back.

Nicolai drove to the stretch of beach where he used to meet Dimitria. He checked his watch. She wasn't there, though she usually was at this time of the morning. A woman and her two children tossed a ball around. He parked the car and watched them. Thank God he hadn't brought Alexia to Greece. She didn't need to see his father's rage, all this family drama. At least he'd saved her that much. She was probably having dinner with Mavis and Stuart right now, her homework done, maybe getting ready to watch TV.

He checked his rear-view mirror and his side mirrors. Dimitria had always been here before. He could talk to her. She'd encouraged him to do more of it. He couldn't. And now that he needed someone to talk to, he'd pissed her off. She might never speak to him again. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, except that day in Kalavryta she'd become like the old woman in the museum, like all the rest of the small-minded villagers. He didn't want to hear any of their gossip. There are some things that people should keep to themselves. It made life easier for everybody. She was supposed to be a friend. She said she didn't like secrets either, she just wanted to help. Maybe. He checked his mirrors again.

The woman and her children were walking back towards their car. If only he could find Dimitria. She'd help him sort out what to do next.

He drove to the bakery and picked up a sandwich and some water. He returned to that spot on the beach and ate, then walked up and down the beach. He waited in his car, listening to music and dozing off. His head drooped and yanked him awake. The sun made the car into an oven, leaving the sky hazy. He rubbed his eyes. This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to show. He turned the key in the ignition and drove back to Aigio.

He found a motel on the beach that rented rooms by the week. It had a double bed that sagged in the middle with an ugly floral bedspread, a kitchen with a hot plate, a bar fridge and a spartan bathroom. He didn't need much. There was a postcard view of the ocean out the stamp-sized window. This would be home for now. The room smelled of disinfectant, but at least it was his. He wouldn't have to wait for his father to leave the house before he got up in the morning or look at his mother and think about what she'd done.

He got up each day with a plan to go out and explore, get some exercise and call Alexia. Instead, he went to the café a few blocks away, bought a coffee and read the four newspapers he picked up at the stand across the street. This took most of the morning. Lunch and a long walk through the shops ate up the rest of the day. When he finally connected with Alexia days later she asked him how his work was going.

“It's not easy right now.” Sitting at the kitchen table in the motel room, he tugged at the cord and wondered how far it might stretch. He leaned his elbow on the table, holding the phone. Her voice sounded so close, it was as if she was just outside the door.

“Things get better,” she said. “You told me that.”

“How is school?” He jerked at the cord harder than he intended.

She didn't say anything. Had he pulled the thing out of the wall? “Are you still there,
paidi mou
?”

She cleared her throat. “You must be working too hard, Daddy. It's summer now. I'm going to camp for ten days. Auntie Mavis signed me up. You won't be able to call me.”

“Okay.” She wasn't close at all, he thought. She was far away and had already started with things, left him behind. That was what he'd wanted. Wasn't it?

“Um, you're busy anyway, right? I mean, I don't have to go. I could stay home. We could talk on the phone. Or maybe you're almost done. When are you coming home?”

Even now, after all he'd done to her, she was worried about him. “The camp sounds like fun. Go. Don't worry about anything. How about if I talk to Mavis now?”

“Okay, see you soon, Daddy.”

She was so eager to please him.

He heard the knock of the phone being put down, the muffled voices. She hadn't heard him say it, but the word slipped out anyway. “Maybe.”

Mavis reassured him that Alexia had brought home an excellent report card and was excited about the camp. They'd picked it out together. “She misses you.”

“I'm still sorting through stuff.”

“She never complains.” There it was. Mavis's friendly and accepting tone, as if it was perfectly natural for a father to abandon his little girl. Goddamn you, Mavis. Get mad at me. Tell me I'm a shit. You know it and I know it. Let's not pretend. Next time, I'll call Stuart. He'd tell me the truth. I'm a shit.

“I'm so glad you're not alone with all this,” Mavis said. “Being with family helps.”

“It's supposed to.”

He told Mavis he'd call again, gave her his number if she needed to reach him.

After she had hung up, he kept the phone against his ear, listening to the hum. It became a nagging beep and then, a recorded message ordered him to hang up. He smacked his temple with the phone and punched the wall. He was no better than his father. He shook his head. How could he be like him? He wasn't. He rubbed his hand. His knuckles were scraped and dotted with tiny pinpricks of blood where skin had torn away.

He hung up the phone, dropped onto the bed, curled up against the pillow and wrapped himself in the bedspread.
Sara.

She gave him an exasperated look. She was trying to explain, but he refused to see her point. “You're not being rational,” he said. “Stop being so emotional.”

“I feel it. Why don't you?” She turned away as if she'd heard enough. “I can't talk to you.”

“I'll do better,” he said and woke up. Against his cheek, his pillow was wet. The room was dark, and the light through his window was fading. “Don't know if I know how to do any better.”

Nicolai wiped his face against the bedspread, got up and brushed his teeth. The mint flavour masked the foul taste in his mouth. He pressed the wrinkles out of his shirt and pants with a damp face cloth, then wiped his armpits with the same cloth. He threw it into the sink and left his room. He had to get out of here, go for a walk, find a quiet café. Get a drink. Eat. Get away.

He peered through the front window of the candle-lit café. Two men sat at a table by the cash register and smoked. One was reading the paper and the other was picking at his plate between drags on his cigarette. A bell clanged as Nicolai entered. The man in a waiter's uniform jumped up, leaving his cigarette in the ashtray. He welcomed Nicolai with a wide-toothed grin, slipped one arm into Nicolai's and swept his hand across the room. “The best seat in the house for you, my friend. You have your pick.”

Nicolai chose a table at the back near the kitchen.

“Good choice, my friend. Close to the kitchen. Please come with me and you can choose what you want yourself.”

The other man butted his cigarette, put on a hair net and followed.

In the kitchen, the men raised one lid, then another. Nicolai leaned in to smell each pot. Garlic, rosemary, oregano. The place smelled like his mother's kitchen. Why wouldn't they just let him order from a lousy menu?

They opened the oven, lifted the tin foil from the pans of
moussaka
and
pasticcio
. Nicolai pointed at the
pasticcio
. “Come see the rest,” the cook said.

“I can see.” Soup spilled down the sides of one of the large pots on the stove, the walls were stained with red and brown spots, and the floor felt slippery under his feet. His mother's kitchen was clean all the time. She'd insisted on it. “We're not pigs,” his mother would say whenever he tracked dirt into the kitchen. Stop thinking about her, Nicolai told himself. It doesn't solve a thing. Stop thinking. Period.

Nicolai returned to his table and found a full jug of white wine. A glass had been poured for him. The waiter grinned.

He ate half the
pasticcio
and sat back to sip the wine. Despite the many business trips he'd taken for clients, he'd never gotten used to eating alone. “Take a book,” Sara had said, but he'd forget her advice until he was sitting at a table, the only one in the place sitting alone.

The bell clanged over the door. Dimitria and Achilles walked in. Damn it. I don't need any company tonight, he thought. There had to be a back door, another way out of this place. Maybe through the kitchen. He stood, then thought better of it and sat down. Maybe they'd leave. Achilles liked places that were fancy, had more noise and people he could charm.

Achilles pulled the chair out for Dimitria and when she sat down, he kissed the back of her neck. She slouched forward, pointed to the chair across from her.

Great! A perfect view. He tapped his fingers against his wine glass. He heard the faint sound and stopped. He held the glass with both hands.

Achilles stroked Dimitria's cheek, then pulled in closer and kissed her. She turned her head. His lips met her cheek.

Nicolai bit at the skin around his thumb.

Dimitria turned towards the window.

“What's wrong?” Achilles said. “We're alone.”

“You know I don't like to do this in front of other people,” she said.

Achilles looked around the café. “But there is no one here.”

Thank God, he was sitting close to the kitchen. He could see the entire place, but no one could see him, hidden behind a jut in the wall.

As though he'd been summoned, the waiter stood at their table. “Would you like to see what we have tonight, my friend?”

Nicolai threw some money on the table, started to get up.

“Tonight, you choose for us,” Achilles said.

Nicolai sat down, took a sip of wine. He could outwait them.

Achilles stroked Dimitria's face, then her hand. She smiled without looking at him and picked up her glass, forcing his hand to drop. Nicolai caught most of the conversation. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. Achilles talked about the boardwalk. Wasn't she tired of all that? he wondered. Dimitria sipped wine, didn't say much. When their salad,
moussaka
and fish came, she thanked the waiter. “More wine,” Achilles said. “My lady needs more.”

She shook her head. “I'm fine.”

Achilles held his hand up when the waiter asked whether he should bring anything else. “We're very good,” he said.

Dimitria's smile was timid, but it was different than the ones she gave Nicolai. When she smiled at him, her eyes came alive, her face softened, relaxed. There was no shyness.