Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1) (28 page)

V
ivi is glowing
in
the dark.

That’s how happy the woman is.

In this moment her world is perfect.

Makes a nice change.

C
ome on, you already
know that won’t last.

V
ivi says
, “Did you
hear that?”

Fun and games over (and over and over), Max is flat on his back in the sexual recovery position, Vivi draped over his bare chest. His fingers are doing this delicious thing where they dance up and down her back.

Capital B-L-I-S-S.

The shutters are wide open, the windows, too. And now every little noise is a huge deal. Cicadas and their monotonous friction sound multilayered, complex.

“No. I’m dead.”

“That came on fast,” she says.

“You should know. You killed me.”

Yeah, not that dead. He rolls toward her, hands up, up, up her arms until they’re pinned above her head.

“It’s a miracle,” he says.

“Zombie. I should cut off your head.”

Then she hears it again, an undercurrent below the cicada symphony. A small, sharp noise. The sound of dying.

Vivi is out of the bed and into her dress.

“It sounds like something’s hurt.”

Max pulls on his jeans. “If it was trouble Biff would be all over it.”

Louder now.

“I hear it,” Max says. “Let me go first.” He points to the side of the house.

Outside, the dark is too stubborn to let the porch light creep far, so all they see is night. But there’s something inside the darkness, on the house’s right side.

Vivi squints, and soon her eyes get the message.

“Jesus,” she whispers. “Turn Melissa’s bedroom light on, and open the shutters!”

He does it – and fast.

That doesn’t stop an eternity passing while she waits.

The shape in the dark is Melissa, crouching and sobbing and scrub, scrub, scrubbing something under the outside faucet. Biff is at her side, lapping water.

The girl jerks at the sudden light spilling from the room, staining her with its aura. Vivi can see her daughter’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed. She looks surprised – no, horrified – to see Vivi.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“I live here?”

Mama bear runs to her daughter. She’s all over the girl with her eyes, making sure, making doubly sure she’s physically okay.

She’s okay. Her shell’s not cracked.

But her face tells a horror story. Black makeup flows downhill from her eyes, and Vivi knows Melissa wasn’t wearing a river’s worth of makeup when they all the left the house together. In her hands is something wet and twisted.

“What’s this? Melissa, what’s wrong?”

Then the picture soaks in another inch, and Vivi realizes her daughter is crouching there in her underwear.

“Is that your skirt?”

“Yeah.”

Melissa’s bottom lip is shaking the way it did when she was little. It never happened unless she was hurt – and hurt big – which is why Vivi’s insides are freaking the hell out.

“Mel!” She grabs the girl’s shoulders. “What's wrong? Why are you washing your skirt?”

“It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing. Show me.”

She’s gentle about it – easing, not prying Melissa’s fingers away from the sodden fabric. When she holds it up to the light she sees the monochromatic rainbow.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

Vivi can’t help glancing at her daughter’s wrists, but they’re unbroken. There’s nothing but scars, and they’re not much more than the memory of bad times.

Another light comes on. Then another. Max is giving her all the light the house can give. Then he’s back at Melissa’s window, looking out.

“Is she hurt?”

No. Yes. Maybe? She can’t tell and it’s driving her crazy.

“I don't know. I don't know anything right now. Mel, is someone else hurt?”

“No.”

Vivi tries doing the math, but the numbers keep changing.

N
ot Max
, though. He’s
adding things up just right.

“Were you out with a boy?”

M
ax – ” Vivi starts
, but
her mouth snaps shut when Melissa nods.

“What were you doing?” he asks.

Vivi groans. “Was it Thanasi?”

Melissa pauses. The pause turns into a nod.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Did he hurt you?” Max asks.

“Yes. No.” Melissa’s crying, making big snot bubbles. “I didn’t say ‘No.’ I wanted to, but I never said it. Olivia told me – ”

“I’m going to kill her,” Vivi says. “I knew she was trouble. I could see it in that little bitch’s eyes. She won’t be smirking when I tell the police she facilitated a rape.”

She’s boiling over, pacing back and forth like a madwoman.

Same way Eleni does.

But Melissa eyes are wide and haunted. Something else is wrong or Vivi doesn’t know her daughter.

“Vivi,” Max says softly. He’s behind her now, touching her shoulder. “She said this was consensual. Maybe we should believe her, eh?”

“What, am I supposed to believe my baby has been flat on her back with some boy? She's fifteen.
Fifteen
. She barely has boobs yet.”

“Mom!”

“Vivi,” Max says, “don't overreact.”

“I'm not overreacting! I'm freaking out because my baby is having sex. You don’t have children – you don’t know. It’s bad enough that people are talking about her and that boy, but now her reputation is ruined.”

Shutting up sounds great, but the secondhand words keep strutting out, every last one of them puffed up with indignation and anger. On the upside, she’s digging herself a nice, deep pit. Good place to bury herself later.

“Ever since I got here everybody has been telling me how to raise my daughter. I just want her to be a child for a while longer. I don't want her putting out for some asshole – ”

“Like you, you mean?” Melissa says, the question all ugly and malformed.

Whoosh! Say goodbye to Vivi’s steam. She doesn’t look at Max. She knows when she’s on her own.

“Your father didn't touch me for months at a time. Just how long am I supposed to stay celibate? Until my vagina has cobwebs?”

“You and dad could have – ”

“Honey, your dad is gay. He's just not interested in what I've got to offer. He never really was.”

“So?”

“So, he likes penis. Something we all apparently have in common,” Vivi mutters.

“Mom . . .”

“Are you hurt at all? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s something.” Vivi rubs the new crease on her forehead, but it’s sticking around. “This isn't over. For starters, you're grounded until I decide what to do.”

“But, Mom . . .”

“But nothing. I have to put that skirt in the washing machine before the stain sets.”

Max follows her inside. “You want me to take her to the hospital for a physical?”

“Why? So they can tell me what I already know?”

“Melissa is a good girl, Vivi. She just made a bad choice she's not ready for emotionally.”

“She could have said ‘No.’ She could have chosen not to sneak away. Clearly I can't trust her, and I hate that most of all.”

“If I was her father – ”

“Well, you're not.”

Insta-regret. But there’s no backspace on the spoken word.

“I have to go,” he says stiffly. “Work in the morning. Unless you guys need me.”

Vivi shakes her head. “Max . . .”

“Is it true what Melissa said about your ex?”

“That's he's gay? Yeah.”

“Idiot.”

“Him or me?”

But it’s too late. Max is gone.

V
ivi makes coffee
, then
she makes more coffee. Somewhere along the way she realizes she’s made three cups and finished exactly zero.

Lights switch on and off in her head.

She gets up, goes to Melissa’s room. Her daughter’s not even pretending to sleep.

“Melissa,” she says. “Where is your grandmother?”

M
elissa doesn’t know
.

Vivi doesn’t know.

“You want to talk about what happened?” Vivi asks.

No, Melissa doesn’t.

I
t’s
by design that
the two women meet, but not Eleni’s.

“Eleni?”

Eleni looks around. “Who is there?”

The woman steps out from behind the tree at the bottom of Dora’s street.

“Sofia? Is what you? What do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I said
I
want to talk. All you need to do is listen.”

Eleni does not want to listen. She has never had time for Sofia’s foolishness. Not all those years ago, not now.

“I am dying. It is cancer.”

“So?”

“I thought you would be glad.”

“Sofia,” Eleni says. “All this time you think I care? I have never cared if you live, if you die. You were nothing to me. You are still nothing—a mosquito buzzing around my head.”

“You took everything from me. But I took something from you, too.”

“What did you take from me?” Eleni sounds bored, tired, too old for cryptic conversations. “Say what you mean to say, then go away.”

Sofia tells her.

V
ivi knows
a lost
cause when she sees one. She gathers up her fury, her anxiety, her worry, and dumps the lot on the couch. No point going to bed. May as well sit there and pretend to read.

Once again, her life is taking the fast train to Bedlam.

Melissa is out of (her) control.

Eleni is currently AWOL.

Max is gone – and by the way, thanks for the sex.

Biff . . . Well, Biff’s cool. So there’s that.

Stew, stew, stew. Marinating in misery.

Melissa is alive, but almost lost to her. Vivi knew Olivia was a problem (sometimes you just know) but she wanted to give the girl a chance. The way . . . Well, the way Greece is giving her a chance.

Now Olivia is all out of chances. So is that kid, Thanasi. But she can’t ruin him without ruining Melissa, too.

She thinks about killing him, about hiding the body deep down. It’s a nice idea, a fun fantasy, but he’s someone else’s kid. Someone else’s beloved problem child.

What’s wrong with this family?

Better question: Is there anything wrong with this family?

Maybe this is how families are, how life is. Every day is a minefield, and the goal is to get to the other side without blowing up the people who matter most.

God, the smell of Max won’t go away. It’s sticking around when he’s long gone. Spicy citrus all over her, around her, in her. Her bedroom reeks of him.

She can’t be with him. They argue too easily, too passionately, and about things that matter. He’s entangled in every disaster she’s stepped in since they got here. And his engagement is barely broken.

An engagement of his mother’s design. Where’s the spine in that?

But. . .

She’s in love with him. She wants him back here, now – not just for the sex, but also to have a wall to flail against and hold.

And she wants him to stay the hell away.

N
ight does its thing – slowly
.

Sometime after three, the front door opens and Eleni skulks in.

Vivi slaps the book shut.

“Go to bed, Vivi. It is only me.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Do not be so needy. I was at Dora's house, celebrating the festival.”

Oh really? “Did you forget something?”

Eleni pulls the silk scarf from her neck, drops it on the kitchen table. “No. I forget nothing.”

“Like, maybe your granddaughter.”

Silence. Eleni does a lot of things before she speaks. Dumps two teaspoons of Greek coffee in the
briki
. Sugar, water, lights the gas. Doesn’t say a word until the coffee is in her cup.

“The world does not revolve around you, Vivi. It is time you realize that.”

Say what?

“Excuse me? One time I ask you to look out for your grandchild and you screw it up. Do you know what happened tonight?”

“Is she alive?”

“Yes.”

“In one piece?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I left her in your care.”

“Vivi, Melissa is your daughter. It is your job to look after her. You let her run wild, and now you complain about it? I raised you to be smarter than that.”

Vivi laughs, cruelly. “I raised myself. You were too busy looking out for your own interests.”

“You see what you want to see, my doll. Look at John. I have my own problems right now. My past is bleeding into my present, just like Dora saw in the coffee grounds.”

“Is it that woman?”

Eleni finishes her coffee. “You take care of your business and I will take care of mine. What did I tell you, Vivi? Coming to Greece was a bad idea. Now we are all suffering because of your foolishness.”

“In that case,” Vivi says, “suffer on your own.”