by Sharon Ihle
"Look. Look," cried Ari, who'd been staring across the bay at the castle-like turrets and red roofs of the magnificent Coronado Hotel. "I see smokestacks. The steamer will be arriving soon."
Following his gaze, Shylo scanned the horizon and glimpsed a small ship slipping between Coronado Island and the tip of Point Loma. Her breath caught in her throat. The moment was almost upon her. From over her shoulder she heard Ari and Dimitri muttering to each other in Greek, and a couple of other voices joined them as well, but she paid them no mind. Her stomach was churning wildly, and her pulse was pounding in her head so hard and fast that it drowned out the cries of the scavenging seagulls above. A few moments later she did manage to hear Dimitri say something about his wife just before he took her by the hand and pulled her up beside him.
"You've already met Mr. Earp, Shylo. This is his wife, Josephine."
"Josie," the woman said, her nose set about one degree higher than even the most haughty New York matron. "Nice to meet you. I understand you've come down to the wharf with us to welcome Niko and Colleen back to town. Have you known them long?"
With us? "I—I knew Colleen when I was a young girl. I've never met her new husband."
Josie gave her the once-over, and then, as if exchanging pleasantries with Shylo were the only courtesy required of her, she turned away and listened in on the conversation among the men.
Shylo had taken an instant dislike to Earp's wife even before her obvious snub. Josie's big brown eyes and voluptuous beauty would have been reason enough to draw out any woman's fighting side. That, combined with the fashionable way Josie had dressed her slender frame, conjured up feelings of envy and self-doubt in Shylo and made her want to push the woman into the bay. Her elegant walking suit, made of gorgeous aquamarine silk and royal blue velvet, looked as if it had come straight off the pages of Harper's Bazaar. Standing beside her, Shylo felt insignificant, as if she were still wearing the rags and hand-me-downs of her youth. How would she ever be able to impress her mother in her common sateen suit with this picture of perfection alongside her?
Unaware that his wife was thinking of kicking Josie off the dock, Dimitri studied the affable exchange between his uncle and the former lawman. "I didn't realize you'd met Mr. Earp before, Ari. When did this happen?"
The old man grinned. "Since I discovered that my friend Wyatt owns three gambling halls that feature twenty-one games of chance—backgammon among them."
Dimitri groaned, and then quickly chided his uncle in Greek. "Did you learn nothing of Americans and their gambling ways back in Winslow?"
"We are not in Winslow," Ari muttered in his native language, "and this man runs an honest house. Do you forget who he is, my son?" Then, in English, he faced the Earps and loosely translated his conversation with Dimitri. "It seems my nephew fears that I will lose my entire life savings in your parlors should I venture into one of them again."
Earp let out a rare chuckle. "That's not likely to happen. You're an exceptional backgammon player, Ari. Better than any I've seen. If you ever need a job, you've got one with me."
Shylo, whose nerves were stretched tighter than the laces on her corset, couldn't bear any more idle chatter or disdainful glances from Josie. She edged away from the group of gamblers and began pacing along the wooden dock, which was shared with the railroad. Just what she needed—Wyatt Earp and his wife to come along and spoil her private reunion. How would she ever manage to get Colleen off by herself with this arrogant woman intent on welcoming her back to town? Maybe she should trip the stylish Mrs. Earp and "accidentally" bump her into the bay. It would serve the woman right after snubbing her so rudely.
She closed her eyes against the bright sunlight, and her mind against her wicked thoughts, and let the fresh aroma of tangy salt water soothe her jangled nerves. By the time the steamer finally hissed its way alongside the dock and lowered its gangplank, Shylo's concentration was back on the imminent reunion, but her stomach was still twisted in knots. So intent was she on the purser as he lowered the rope, allowing the first passenger to debark, that when Dimitri came up behind her and slipped his arm around her waist, she let out a yelp of surprise and lurched forward, nearly falling into the bay herself.
"Take it easy, kouklitsa," said Dimitri as he hauled her back a safe distance. "Why are you so nervous? If I didn't know better, I'd think this meeting was between you and your own mother."
When she heard Dimitri's astute observation, Shylo nearly broke down and spilled the truth—all of it. After forcing herself to take several deep breaths, she managed to calm her jittery nerves as the passengers began to file down the gangplank.
It took a full twenty minutes for the packet to clear her decks of voyagers and another ten before Shylo could even begin to accept the obvious. Her mother had not returned to San Diego aboard this ship. As she finally acknowledged that her reunion had been postponed again, a horrible ache seized her chest, leaving her short of breath and slightly dizzy. She thought she'd grown used to the "empty" sensation that always accompanied thoughts of her mother, that hollowed-out part of her that started in her breastbone and reached the pit of her stomach, but now it had grown in proportion, as if it had expanded into a bottomless well.
Shylo swayed and might even have fainted then if not for Dimitri, who pulled her away from the ship. "Come on, kouklitsa," he said quietly. "You've done the best you can for your friend. Ari and the Earps have gone back to town, and so must we."
She glanced up at him with unseeing eyes, and then went along with him wordlessly. Dimitri didn't care in the least for Shylo's white, pinched expression or blank look in her eyes. Again trying to console her or at least get her to snap out of this trancelike state, he said, "Do not trouble yourself further with Cassie's affairs. Think instead of the adventures before you—and the challenge you'll encounter when we get back to our room."
Confused, she glanced at him. "Challenge? I don't understand."
"I was just thinking how tricky it might be for you to pack my clothing and yours into the small traveling bag we'll have to share for our trip to New York today."
Later that night—much later than Dimitri had anticipated—they still hadn't gotten around to packing so much as a pair of drawers. And he knew the precise reason why. Shylo, his formerly innocent little bride, had spent the better part of the day seducing him. The minute he began to stir after each encounter and the brief nap that followed, she was all over him again, kissing and fondling him to complete and utter distraction. He had a pretty good idea that this suddenly insatiable wife of his had ulterior motives for her amorous behavior.
Testing her, Dimitri yawned and stretched his arms high over his head. Shylo slipped her hand beneath the covers, and then brushed his body with her fingertips.
"I know what you're doing," he said, surprised to find he still had a flicker of desire left in him. "But I'm not carved of marble, you know. I'm just a man—and a very tired one at that."
"That's funny." Shylo gave him a sidelong look as she increased the pressure in her fingers from feathery caresses to bolder strokes. "It seems that at least part of you is made of marble."
Drawing in a sharp breath, Dimitri reached down and tore her hand from his body—while he still could. "We're leaving San Diego first thing in the morning, Shylo, and all of your considerable... talents won't prevent our departure."
She threw herself down on her pillow. "I can't leave, Dimitri, and I won't."
"Yes, you will. You promised you would go today if I agreed to stay until the steamer arrived. Even if I wanted to remain here another week—which I don't, since I must get back to my work immediately—you know we don't have the funds to support us that long. We simply have no choice but to go."
A brilliant idea suddenly hit her. "What if we come up with the extra money we need for our rooms? Cassie can sew like the wind, so she could pay her own way from now on."
Although he had no intention of staying another night in San Diego no matter what schemes his wif
e thought of, Dimitri said, "That's a lovely plan, Shylo, but we still would have to pay for two rooms and meals for an entire week."
"We'll cut back on expenses." Shylo sat bolt upright.
She and Cassie had literally survived on bread and water for weeks on end during their rougher years. They could do it again if it meant buying the time they needed for their mother to return to San Diego. She pushed out her stomach to make it appear bloated. "I've been eating like a pig since we got married. Doing without some of that rich food ought to do me some good."
"It won't do you any good at all." Dimitri had to admit that he loved the glimmer of excitement in his wife's eyes, but this little game of "do we stay or do we go" had gotten completely out of hand. "Even if you starved yourself for the rest of the week—which I would never allow—it still wouldn't be help enough. We're leaving and that's all there is to it."
"But we can do more than cut down on food to save money. I'll move back in with Cassie, and you and Ari can share a room like before in Winslow. You'd only have to pay for your one room."
"No way in hell, Mrs. Adonis."
In spite of the fact that she was thinking frantically of ways to persuade him, Dimitri's comment and the glimmer of desire she saw shining in his eyes gave her pause enough to make her feel all warm and cuddly inside—and more adored, if not loved, than she'd ever felt in her entire life.
Feeling ridiculously coy, Shylo grinned. Then she said, "All right. We'll keep three rooms, but you and I don't need a suite. We can take a less expensive room, and maybe even go to a cheaper hotel. What do you say to that?"
Hardly able to believe that he was even considering her request, Dimitri studied her long and hard before he answered. It was that crooked little smile, the one that made her look like a naughty little girl and a sensuous woman all at the same time. That had to be it, the reason for his hesitation. But he wasn't ready to cave in over just an expression, no matter how irresistible. Not quite, anyway.
"I cannot understand why this reunion is so damned important that it takes precedence over my wishes. Does it really mean so much to you?"
"Oh, God, yes." She leaned across Dimitri's chest, pressing her breasts flat against his nipples, and looked directly into his eyes. "I don't know exactly how else to put it, and I can't really explain it, but this... meeting Colleen next Saturday means more to me than anything has in my entire life. You've got to believe that, and to try, if you can, to understand how strongly I feel about it."
"If you're talking about an obsession, I believe that I do understand."
"An obsession?" Shylo tasted the word, likening it to a child's craving for chocolates and sweet cakes, and found that the flavor fit. "I suppose you could say that I'm obsessed by the idea of bringing about a reunion between... a mother and her daughter. Can you understand that?"
Dimitri slid down until his head was on his pillow, then tucked Shylo into the crook of his arm and gently kissed the top of her head. "Yes, kouklitsa, I would say that I do. I am, as many would say, obsessed with my work. Namely, my chief goal of soliciting the return of the Parthenon frieze, which is a series of marble sculptures, and the caryatid Lord Elgin stole along with them."
"Carry a—what's that?"
He chuckled softly and kissed her again. "You have heard of the Acropolis in Athens and its great temple, the Parthenon?" She nodded, brushing her hair against his lips, and he breathed deeply of it, loving its fresh, unspoiled scent. Then he returned his mind to the subject.
"There is a lesser temple to the west of the Parthenon called the Erechtheion. This temple features a porch comprising marble statues. The models for these sculptures were six of the most beautiful women who lived in Greece over two thousand years ago. These are the caryatids. Today only five of the statues remain on the Acropolis. The sixth is in the British Museum of London."
"Where Lord Elgin took her?"
"Correct. You are an excellent student, Mrs. Adonis. I can't wait to see how you perform in a real classroom."
"Me neither." She toyed with the curls on his chest. "So now the museum won't give the sculpture back to Greece?"
"Correct again. Different groups have tried to reclaim it over the years, but to no avail. I am in charge of the newest committee assigned to the task."
"Wow. That sounds like quite an honor." Shylo raised her head to look up at her husband. "I'm very impressed."
"And well you should be." Playfully he ruffled her hair, and then tucked her head back down on his chest. "Reclaiming that caryatid is far more significant than the simple return of a marble statue. She represents the heart and soul of my countrymen, and has even spawned a legend for herself during her absence from the Acropolis."
"A legend? How exciting—tell me about it."
Dimitri supposed that's what he'd intended to do all along, since he'd brought the subject up, but he usually didn't like to perpetuate the myth. It was a silly story, completely illogical. But for some absurd reason it touched him in a place he'd rather not have acknowledged, even to himself. In any case, he found himself telling the tale.
"Many think the caryatids are sisters. It has been said that each day around dusk, as the British Museum closes its doors for the night, this stolen statue, who is dreadfully lonely for her five sisters, begins to cry for them. These teardrops, or whatever they are, splash down upon her marble bosom and leave visible stains for the next day's tourists to see." He paused, giving Shylo a moment to absorb this and himself the opportunity to shake off the emotions the story always roused in him.
"This phenomenon, the crying caryatid, has supposedly been observed by respectable scholars of impeccable reputations, but I have never been able to learn their names or substantiate their claims."
"Oh, but Dimitri, why should you?" Again Shylo raised her head, revealing damp lashes and glistening blue eyes. Reminded of the nights her own sister had been missing in the desert, and the lifetime of nights she'd wept for her mother, she felt an instant kinship with that lonely statue—and believed in it. "It's an absolutely beautiful legend, the kind of story that asks not for proof that it exists, but for blind faith."
With those words Dimitri knew exactly why he'd brought up the subject and told his wife the tale in the first place. As he'd hoped deep inside, she understood—both his obsession and a little part of him he'd always kept entirely to himself. How could he possibly offer her anything less than what she'd given him?
Taking Shylo's sweet face between his hands, he said, "I would say that we've come to understand each other a little better through our obsessions. Because of that"—and only that, he convinced himself—"I intend to have a little talk with Ari in the morning. Wyatt Earp offered him a job in his gambling hall, and I believe my uncle would enjoy that line of work very much. If he's as good as everyone says, perhaps what he makes there will be enough to stretch our funds through to next Saturday."
"You mean..." Shylo could hardly say the words, so afraid was she that she'd heard him wrong. "We can stay?"
"If that is your wish, of course we can."
"But what about getting the lonely sister back? I understand now why you have to return to Greece as quickly as possible."
Dimitri had been watching her expressions, loving her enthusiasm over the things that mattered most to him, and suddenly he couldn't wait to feel the satiny texture of Shylo's soft mouth beneath his. He pulled her closer, then kissed her with a tenderness he hadn't known he was capable of before. When he released her, he wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb and said, "That lonely sister has been weeping for almost eighty-seven years. I suppose if your friend can wait another week for her reunion with her mother, so can my marble lady."
Tears ran freely down her face after that, and Shylo seemed helpless to stop the flow. Dimitri understood this, too, he thought, and cradled her in his arms long after she'd cried herself dry.
* * *
The following morning Shylo awakened as something hit the mattress beside her. She crac
ked her lids and saw a large package lying next her.
"Wake up, my little kumquat. The honeymoon is over."
Shylo stretched, rolled onto her back, and glanced up at her husband. He was freshly shaved and dressed from toe to head, including the black cowboy hat he'd purchased in Winslow. "Why are you up so early?" she asked.
"I can't just lie around here day after day—even though you are a very tempting reason to do just that. I don't know when, or if, I'll ever come back to San Diego again, and I don't want to miss the opportunity to study the area a little. I was hoping you'd like to accompany me to what promises to be some very interesting tide pools." He opened the package and pulled out a riding skirt with divided trouser-like legs. "I thought you'd be more comfortable in these since we'll be climbing around on some pretty slippery rocks."
"Why, thank you." Would he never cease to amaze her and surprise her? Filled with a new kind of excitement, Shylo snatched the garment from his hands, then tore back the covers and climbed out of bed. "I didn't know the study of sea life was part of archaeology."
"I suppose it isn't, not really, but I'm interested in all things old."
As she slipped into her drawers, Shylo gave him a sly grin and said without thinking, "Does that mean you'll still be interested in me when I'm old and gray?"
"What do you think?"
That was all Dimitri had to say. His look gave her the answer she needed—his expression was incendiary enough to set fire to her from across the room. It was then Shylo realized, with a jolt, that after this week he would never be interested in her again, never more to look at her the way he was now. Gazing upon each other when they were old and gray was never, ever going to happen to them.
All at once she wanted to scream, to cry, to tear open her chest and rip out the pieces that hurt so much. This was not supposed to happen, not a part of her plan. All the hurt and pain she'd endured through the years was to have been behind her by now. Damn it all, she thought, she deserved a little happiness. When would it ever come?