When the Cypress Whispers (28 page)

Thirty-nine

Daphne took Popi up on her offer to spend the night with Evie so Stephen and Daphne could have some much-needed time alone. Everyone imagined the couple would want a little quiet time together after the whirlwind of the past few days. They all figured the wedding would be postponed for at least the forty official days of mourning, No one yet knew it was Daphne’s intention to call it off altogether.

“Here, Daphne
mou
,
ella etho
,” Nitsa summoned her from the sofa in the lobby area where she had been convalescing since her knee gave out earlier that afternoon. It was not quite eleven. All the guests had stumbled off into the night, their bellies filled with Nitsa’s food and wine and their minds filled with their favorite Yia-yia stories, which they had all taken turns sharing and toasting to.

“Come, my Daphne. Come sit with me for a moment.” Nitsa patted the tiny space beside her on the couch, the only space not taken up by her ample assets. “You need to know something. Daphne
mou
, your
yia-yia
knew she didn’t have much longer on this earth. She knew I would do anything for her, but there was only one thing she asked me to do. One thing I promised her I would do when she was gone.”

Daphne straightened her back. “What was it? What did you promise?”

“I promised her I would remind you to keep living. We both saw the difference in you since you arrived. When you came, it was as if the light had gone out of you. But then we saw the change. After just a few days here, you were once again filled with life, with color and light. I know you think that we don’t understand these things. How could we, old widows dressed in our black, know about color? How could we know about life when we never leave this tiny island of ours. But we do know these things, Daphne. We do know how precious it all is. Every moment is a gift, Daphne
mou
. Every moment, every breath, even every tear, is a gift. Without our tears, how can we truly appreciate the laughter? Women like your
yia-yia
and me, we shed many, many tears, Daphne. And all of that sadness, all of that sorrow, all of those scars and difficult times—they only help to make our time here, surrounded by the ones we love, so much sweeter. Your
yia-yia
and I lost the men we loved, but we still had love in our lives, Daphne. We still found happiness. And now it is your turn to find your happiness. Whatever that means for you.”

Nitsa stopped and took a long, hard drag. Never at a loss for words, she exhaled before finding just the right ones to finish her thought.

“Find your happiness, Daphne. This is something you must do for yourself. This is something you must bring to a marriage, not something you take from a marriage. Your own happiness. Your
yia-yia
and I both learned this lesson, and now you must too. You owe that to yourself . . . and to my friend.”

Nitsa looked up to the heavens and waved her short, fat fingers toward the ceiling as if saying hello to Evangelia. Still smiling, she leaned in and pulled Daphne to her humongous bosom.

“Daphne
mou
, sometimes the loneliest people are the ones who never know a moment’s solitude, and the most fulfilled are those who stand alone but can say that they were loved. That at least once in their lives, they knew what it was to be truly loved.”

It was the one certainty in her life right now. Daphne knew beyond a doubt that she was indeed loved. She hugged Nitsa back with all of her might.

“Thank you. Nitsa, thank you.” She kissed Nitsa good night and headed to the room where Stephen was waiting.

She entered unnoticed as he sat on the bed, typing on his computer. She had no idea what she would say or how she would say it. All she knew was that she wanted out. Finally, he looked up.

“Daphne. How long have you been standing there?” He walked toward her. “Honey, I know how hard this is for you. I know how much you loved her. The stress has been too much for you . . . and now, now this . . .”

He took one more step toward her, but she did not move.

“We just need to get back home, and everything will be back to normal. Once we get home you’ll see. All of this will be like a distant memory. We’ll go to Santorini like we planned. Let’s get away, just the two of us. We’ll move forward, we’ll get married in New York—and everything will be like we planned it. We just need to get home.”

But this is home.

His voice had lost its anesthetic effect. That deep whisky rasp did nothing to dull the memory of their impasse on the beach. It did nothing to soften the frustration of having her faith questioned and the reality of knowing that he would never understand the depth of her bond with Yia-yia, this island, or her people. And without that, she knew he could never truly understand her or love her for who she really was.

He took two more steps toward her, pleading. “I want you to forget about it. Let’s just forget all of this. We’ll put it in the past and just focus on the future.”

“Stephen, there is no future without my past.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I am my past.”

As the words left her lips, the sea breeze charged into the room through the open window. As if bestowed the gift of breath, the white curtains filled with air, inhaling and exhaling up and out. Daphne watched as the two lace panels performed their frenzied
sirtaki
side by side, dipping, jumping, and spinning in unison, as gorgeous and as graceful as Daphne and Popi’s dance had been on the flower-filled patio just below.

She stood taller now, knowing the breeze had bestowed a gift upon her as well. She smiled as she spoke, the zephyr’s kiss upon her cheek confirming again what she already knew to be true.

“I am my past.”

He sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

She watched her fiancé sitting there, confused, deflated, and defeated. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with him either.

She had meant well; she had entered into this relationship with the best intentions. She knew he truly was a good man, but she now realized that he was not her man. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t understand her. Like Daphne, he couldn’t erase who he was or how he was raised. It is an unspoken rule that one should never ask a woman to choose between her child and her lover. Daphne now knew she could never and would never be made to choose between her past and her future either.

She had enjoyed their talks, his company, and the idea of no longer being alone. But Daphne didn’t want just a companion, a business partner, or someone to take care of her. She wanted a husband—a friend, a lover. She wanted a man who was willing to open his heart and believe, as she had once upon a time and so long ago believed, that love can defy the laws of man and that angels can be summoned by the power of a kiss.

“I’m not in love with you,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Stephen. But I’m not in love with you.”

She slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the bureau before turning and walking out the door.

Forty

Her voice came from across the darkened lobby, as if from the shadows. “So it’s finished, then.”

“Nitsa?”

“Yes, Daphne
mou
. I’m still here.”

Daphne squinted into the darkness. All she could see was the glowing red tip of a burning cigarette. She pressed her hands along the wall until she felt the light switch. The lights flickered on to reveal Nitsa, right where Daphne had left her, lying on the couch in the middle of the lobby. “What are you still doing down here?”

“I was waiting for you.”

Daphne walked over to Nitsa and once again sat on the small space at the edge of the sofa. “Me—why?”

“Because I promised your
yia-yia
I would look after you. And I knew when you went up to that room that you would be coming back down, alone.”

Daphne was silent for a moment. There were a million things she could say, a million things she could ask, but right now there was only one that mattered. “How did you know?”

“I had my suspicions when I met him, Daphne, just like Evangelia did. He can’t ever be what you need him to be. And you are so much more than he wants you to be.”

“More than he wants me to be.” Daphne laughed, repeating the words.

“But then I saw you tonight, at the dinner. Your heart was heavy with the loss of your
yia-yia
, and there has been nothing that anyone could do or say to lift this blackness from you, Daphne. But then, tonight, I saw your face. I watched you, and in an instant I saw the spark, the life come back in you, just as I saw it that morning when you showed up wet and out of breath at the hotel. Something or someone changed you, Daphne, changed everything about you in an instant.”

“Yianni.” His name rolled off her tongue before she could will it back. She knew the answer was Yianni.

Nitsa smiled and remained silent for a moment, allowing Daphne to digest what was happening, what she was saying—what she was finally admitting to.

“I saw you, Daphne. I saw what a man’s touch can do to you, how it changes you. There was no mistaking it, even with these tired old eyes. I prayed you would see it yourself and not sacrifice yourself to a life spent living with the wrong man’s touch.”

Daphne felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She never expected these words from Nitsa, never. How was it that Yia-yia and Nitsa, the two women Daphne never imagined to have had much passion in their lives, seemed to be the ones who understood it best?

“Daphne
mou
, listen to this old woman. There is so little in life that really matters. Look around you. Think about what you need in your life—it’s all right here at your fingertips. You’ve been searching for something, for a reason to smile—and it has been in front of you the whole time.”

“What are you saying?”

“
Ella
, Daphne—an educated
Amerikanida
like you—how can you be so stupid, eh?” Nitsa again looked up toward the heavens. “Evangelia, what happened to our girl? Too many books, don’t you think?” She put her hands down on her lap and spoke directly at Daphne this time, deadly serious. “It’s time for you to stop thinking about your life and start living it. Don’t think—just live. Do what your heart tells you to do for once.”

Daphne knew there was only one place that would lead—right to the man whose touch made her feel alive again, the man she felt she could talk with for hours and hours and never run out of things to say. The man who for the first time in a long time had asked her to believe that magic could indeed exist.

It was as if Nitsa could read her mind, and at this point, Daphne thought, she probably could. “Go to him, Daphne. Find him and talk to him. Find him before it’s too late.”

She looked at Nitsa and knew that once again, her old friend was right. Yianni had said that he was leaving the island, that with Yia-yia gone he had nothing left to stay here for. She had to show him that he was wrong, that she was here and he needed to stay for her, for each other, at least a little bit longer.

“Nitsa—” Daphne began to speak but the old woman cut her off.

“Save your words, Daphne. Just go.” Nitsa swatted at Daphne’s behind with her hand, shooing her away from the couch and toward her new life.

“Thank you, Nitsa. Thank you.”

She ran all the way to the port. It was pitch-black outside. She raced down the concrete causeway, the moonlight shimmering on the sea’s surface providing just enough light to guide her way. She scanned each of the boats moored in the port and spotted Yianni’s tethered at the far end of the dock. Daphne jumped onboard and unlatched the doorway that led belowdecks. She lurched down the stairs, trying not to think about what she would say to him.
No more thinking, just living.

He looked up at her. “Daphne, what are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. This was not a time for stories. She dove into his arms.

He held her face in his hands, just as he had in the kitchen. “What about Stephen?” he asked.

“He’s gone. Forget about Stephen.” She lunged at his lips, inhaling his breath.

He kissed her back, deep and hard. His whiskers dug into her cheeks, like the spikes of a thousand sea urchins. But she liked the way they hurt.

They made love all over the boat, all night. There was nothing safe or quiet about their lovemaking, as it had been with Stephen. The sex was raw and primal—and she was ravenous. Daphne had forgotten what it was like to give in to lust, to let it take her away and consume her. She had forgotten what it was to be guided by emotions and pleasure instead of duty and pragmatism. And it felt wonderful.

Daphne woke up with the rooster’s first call. She lay facedown in the bed, her back exposed to the early-morning air. The faintest breeze kissed her skin. She didn’t move or even open her eyes, not wanting to wake him. She didn’t want to talk, not just yet. She just wanted to lie quietly, to breathe in the stillness. She lifted her chin ever so slightly and listened, wondering if she would be there.

It was soft and distant, but she could hear it. There was no mistaking the voice, or the story.

He will bring such great joy and love back into your life. And you will walk side by side with him for all the rest of your days.

Forty-one

B
ROOKLYN

O
NE YEAR LATER

She knew she should be sleeping. It was four a.m., and the alarm was set to go off again at six. But she didn’t care. As tired as she was, she just lay in bed watching him sleep. She loved how his chest bobbed up and down with each breath, how his black hair shone like silk, and how his lashes fluttered as he dreamed. But she loved nothing more than to reach her hand out across the bed and feel his heart beating beneath her fingers.

She inched closer to him. His drool smelling sweet on the pillow. She inhaled his scent, feeling as if her heart would burst with love. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to touch him.

Daphne reached her arms out and scooped him up. “Come here, my love,” she whispered. It was amazing how fast he was growing. It had only been three months since she had given birth, but already he seemed much heavier, so much bigger.

She covered him with the crochet blanket Nitsa had sent as a gift and carried him into the living room, stopping only to peek at Evie, sleeping peacefully in her bed, and Popi, snoring loudly in hers. Daphne knew Popi would be up soon; it was her turn to prepare for the lunch rush at Koukla while Daphne took Evie to school.

“We’re just like Yia-yia and Dora, aren’t we?” Each night the cousins would look at each other and laugh at how history was indeed repeating itself. They never imagined they would be living together here in an old Brooklyn town house, working and raising the children together. But Daphne knew Popi would be the perfect business partner, as well as a surrogate parent for Evie and Johnny. For Popi, moving to New York had been the fresh start she had always craved. But above all, the cousins knew they would love each other, take care of each other and the children, like no others would or ever could.

She settled into the cozy chair by the big bay window. Nuzzling Johnny closer, she kissed his forehead and gazed out across the yard. The cypress trees swayed ever so slightly in the cool fall air. She closed her eyes and listened, waiting for Yia-yia’s morning lullaby.

I love you like no other . . .

I have no gifts to shower upon you

No gold or jewels or riches

But still, I give you all I have

And that, my sweet child, is all my love

I promise you this,

You will always have my love

She never imagined when she had the cypress trees planted in the yard that they would sing for her here in Brooklyn. She had simply wanted the comfort of watching them dance on the wind in the garden of their new home. But then she heard Yia-yia’s soft serenade, and she knew that everything was going to be all right. Yia-yia continued to watch over them, even here.

She looked down at little Johnny’s face as he slept cradled in her arms. He was the image of his father, handsome and dark. She lifted his soft, tiny fingers with her own—and wondered if one day they, like his, would be callused and hardened by his love of the sea.

“Maybe you’ll meet him one day,” she whispered to her son. She wondered if she too would ever see him again. She thought back, as she often did, to their time together on Erikousa. After that first night on the boat, they spent every moment together as days spilled into weeks. They swam, fished, and explored the island with Evie, who finally learned to swim by jumping off Yianni’s boat into the sea and into Daphne’s waiting arms below. Every evening they feasted on fresh fish captured in Yianni’s nets and stayed up talking well into the night after Evie had fallen asleep and the fire died down to mere embers that would float between them on the breeze. Yia-yia’s house once again came to life with the sound of their laughter, their soft lovers’ whispers blending with the murmurs of the cypresses rustling on the wind. For the first time in a long time Daphne felt that when she spoke, she was heard, and when she was touched, she was alive.

And then it happened.

As summer gave way to fall, there was no mistaking the difference in the air or the one in Yianni’s eyes. Just as she had trained herself to sense the subtleties in the change of seasons, so too did she sense the one in him, or perhaps this time it was a change in her, she couldn’t be sure. She noticed how the light illuminated his face when she walked into the room and how he stood taller when she was near. She could feel his eyes lingering and following each time she walked away again. And then she realized why it all seemed and felt so familiar. It was the way Alex had looked at her. It was the way she had looked at Alex.

Yianni began to speak of the future, of we and us and family. He asked what she thought of London and Athens and said he would consider moving to New York again for her, for them. He used the word
forever
. He used the word
love
.

At first she embraced it, relished what was happening, what he was proposing. But then she began to realize that it was all moving so fast. There was so much she loved about Yianni. It was as if he had woken her from a long sleep and opened her eyes to a new appreciation, a new clarity. But with that new clarity, she now realized that loving someone is not the same as truly being in love. To be certain of that, she needed more time.

She tried to tell him once, as they lay in bed listening to the distant sound of the incoming tide. “We should strongly consider London,” he said. “You would fit in beautifully with the culinary scene, Evie’s school would be English, and perhaps I will give Oxford a chance.”

“I’m not ready to think about that yet.” She turned to face him; but before she could continue speaking, he placed his fingertips on her lips.

“Shhhhhh,” he said. “Daphne, I will come with you wherever you lead.” And then he kissed her, and she said no more.

Again and again Popi told her how lucky she was, how wonderful that all her dreams were coming true. Again and again she agreed and told herself the same, but the gnawing in her stomach began to tell her otherwise. And then finally, so did the cup.

It happened one afternoon, as Yianni knelt under the lemon tree, mending his nets, and Evie sat nearby, teasing her kitten with his leftover twine. Popi and Daphne sat by the garden wall, sipping their coffee just as they had countless times before. Only this time was different. This time as they turned their cups over, laughing in anticipation of the usual muddied mess Daphne assumed she would see, she was greeted instead by something unexpected. The picture in the grounds was clear and cloudless, just as the sky above had been that beautiful mid-September afternoon.

“What do you see?” Popi asked, leaning in closer.

“I see two figures,” Daphne replied, turning the cup this way and that. “I can’t tell what they are, men or women, but I see two people clear as day. The first one is flying, soaring high with big, wide wings. But the one on the ground doesn’t have wings. It looks like this one has both arms raised up toward the sky, holding on to the one that’s flying.”

Popi leaned in closer to get a better look. “I wonder what that means,” she said as they both contemplated the picture.

Daphne sat back in her seat. She looked up at the bright blue sky and then again at Popi. “I think it means that sometimes when you love someone so much, you can be terrified of losing them. Of being left alone.”

But as he listened from across the patio, Yianni realized Daphne was wrong. He could translate the cup’s meaning without even a glance. The picture Daphne described spoke clearly to Yianni, just as the cypress whispers had to Daphne and Yia-yia. This was an image not of someone being held down, but of someone being released.

The next morning, as Daphne woke and pulled a blanket around her body to ward off the morning chill, she turned over in bed and found that he was gone. Once again, he had slipped out the door and into the night. In that moment Daphne realized that Yianni had not been blind to her hesitation and growing uncertainty. That morning, as she pulled the blanket tighter around her body, Daphne realized what Yianni had done, what he had sacrificed by saving her the pain of walking away first.

He loved her enough to let go.

She was grateful then, as she was grateful now. Grateful they had shared a beautiful summer together and that he had given her the gift of a son. She had tried to find him, first when she returned to New York and learned she was pregnant and then again when Johnny was born. She knew that one day she would try again, that he deserved to know he had a son and maybe, together, even a second chance. But when that day would be, she still wasn’t certain. There was still so much for her to digest, to contemplate and comprehend. For now it was enough to know that Evangelia and Dora were united again, this time eternally, by the sweet baby boy asleep in her arms.

She kissed Johnny’s head and inhaled his baby scent. “Let me tell you a story, little man,” she whispered.

“A long, long time ago lived a young wood nymph named Daphne. She lived in the forest with her friends, and they spent their days climbing trees, singing, swimming in the streams, and playing. She loved her life among the trees and animals and her other wood nymph friends. Every day she prayed to her father, the river god, and asked that he protect her and always keep her safe. Well, one day the god Apollo was walking in the woods, and he spotted Daphne playing with her friends. He instantly fell in love with the young nymph and vowed to marry her. But Daphne had other ideas. She didn’t want to be the wife of a god, stuck up on Mount Olympus with all the other fancy gods and goddesses. She wanted to be left alone, to stay where she was happiest, in the grotto with her friends, the ones who understood her and loved her best. But the god Apollo refused to take no for an answer. He ran after poor Daphne. He chased the terrified young nymph across the woods, through the streams, and over mountains. Finally, when she was so exhausted that she could run no more, Daphne prayed again to her father, the river god. She asked that he save her from a fate that she was not meant for, from a life not meant to be hers. Suddenly the young nymph stopped running. Just as Apollo caught up with her and reached out to grab her, her feet sprang roots that burrowed deep into the ground; her legs became dark and rough, like bark. Daphne stretched her arms up toward the sky. Branches and leaves sprang from her fingers. Apollo held her tight, but the god would not have his way. Daphne was no longer a beautiful young wood nymph. Her father had turned her into a tree. From that moment on, Daphne stayed rooted in the place that she loved, surrounded by those who loved her most.”

Daphne nuzzled Johnny closer and kissed his chubby pink cheek. She gazed out the window as the cypresses danced on the breeze, their dense leaves shivering in the predawn quiet.