by Alex A King
“But you have time to see your brother? Why can't you work now and see me later instead?”
“It doesn't work that way.”
“Fine. I'll make plans with my friends.” Her voice is an off-key violin.
He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t wait to hear it. Doesn’t want her to use those three words he doesn’t feel. Doesn’t want to lie.
Plain and simple: End Call.
* * *
He’s staring at nothing when a brown blur catches his attention. Some kind of animal.
Max whistles.
The Jeep shakes when a massive dog leaps into the car.
“Get out of here,” he says, but his hands are busy contradicting his words. He can’t help patting the big brown beast.
He jumps out of the Jeep, calls the dog to him. If Max knows his brother, the man’s got room at his table for a hungry dog.
37
VIVI
THE PRIEST MAKES FRAPPE.
“Did Max tell you anything about our family?”
“No – why would he?”
The view is amazing. Every time she tilts her head, the water morphs to a new blue-green.
“Max is the best of men. He has a good heart. And our mother is taking advantage of that.”
That conversation on the drive here. He talked about strings, and she laughed because his mother sounds like Eleni’s twin. Now Vivi is doing the math.
“How so?”
“She has nobody, since our father died, except Max. And she pulls his strings and makes him dance and dance. And he does it because he knows she needs one good son.”
“She’s a Greek mother,” Vivi says. “I think they’re all crazy.”
“Our mother is special. She’s a crazy, manipulative witch.”
“I told Max we might be related.”
Kostas laughs. “If your mother is like ours, you have my condolences. She is the reason my brother looks like a haunted man. I rarely see him, and our mother never writes, never calls. Not that I'm complaining.” There goes the Andreou twinkle again. “Now tell me about you. What brings you to our country, American?”
His tone is kind, easy.
“My marriage broke down after fifteen years. My home dissolved along with it. At the time I felt we had nowhere else to go.”
“How do you feel now?”
“It's only been a few days.” The damp glass squeaks between her fingers. She hasn’t answered his question, so she gives it another shot. “It changes. Sometimes I hate it here. Other times I feel that this place is so much a part of me that it flows through me like blood. To go would be to destroy myself; to stay would be the end of me. And that's just week one.”
Kostas nods like he knows. “That’s how I felt when I left the army and had to choose between the priesthood and law school. Hard choices, but better to have hard choices than none.”
“Did you make the right decision?”
Nothing moves except his hand and the frappe’s foam.
“I made the only choice that could give me inner peace. It was not without sacrifices, but it was the correct path. Tell me, your marriage, why did it fail?”
“The real reason or the reason I give people?”
“God will know that you're lying, and I will too.” He smiles. “Truth. Let us always be honest with each other, Vivi Tyler.”
So she tells him. About John, about Ian, about all of it.
Kostas listens with his impartial ear and serene composure. “And he concealed this from you for all those years?”
“Maybe I suspected. I’m not really sure. Psychologists say we rewrite history in the light of new experiences and information.”
“I believe it,” he says. “We’re all deluded, in our own way. It makes life more bearable.”
“Melissa – our daughter – discovered his secret. In her mind, I think, John cheated on her, too. Now . . . now she's in the hospital with a self-inflicted injury and I don't know what to do. Should I stay here and make a home, or take her back where all our demons are at least familiar?”
She looks down at an empty glass. Kostas smiles and makes it full again – with the shaker, not divine intervention.
Wouldn’t that be something?
“In time, she will be happy where you are. It is up to you to decide where it will be best for you both to live. But don't make any major decisions until you give Greece a chance. She might just surprise you. Are you staying with friends or family?”
“Family. My aunt.”
“Look for your own place. The world is different when you have space to call your own.”
“I'm both ridiculous and pathetic. Look at me.”
“Vivi, you are neither pathetic nor ridiculous. You've been through many things, and now you've faced a parent's worst nightmare. Do what makes you happy now, and the rest will follow.” He pauses. “I hear my brother coming. It's time to speak of happier things.”
Good idea. They’ve shared too much. Now Vivi’s thinking about houses and money and wondering if it’s smarter to rent or buy.
“Do you know a good real estate agent? Preferably one who can find me a house with a proper toilet.”
Max’s laugh shows up first, followed by the rest of him.
“Old fashioned Greek plumbing. The newer houses have proper toilets, but the pipes are still last century. It's your lucky day, we do have the name of a very good real estate agent.” He clicks his fingers at the top of the stairs. “Come on.”
Max has a new friend. No purebred, but the mutt is cute. He slinks across the room, all bones and ragged fur, zeroes in on Vivi.
Love at first sight.
“It's true, the Lord does work in mysterious ways. You have a new friend,” Max says
“He's homeless?”
“Just like you,” Kostas says.
Vivi looks into those big, brown eyes. “I can't keep the dog.”
38
MAX
OH YEAH, SHE’S KEEPING the dog.
Animals know. They know how a soul is stitched together. They know what it’s made of before anyone else gets a clue. Dog doesn’t take a shine to someone, it’s a good idea to show that person the wrong side of your front door.
“Looks like he has other plans,” Max says.
On the way up, he thought about keeping the dog himself. But Vivi and Melissa need the dog as much as he needs them.
“What am I going to do with a dog? I've never had one.”
“Not even when you were a kid?”
She gives him a look. “With my mother? Eleni would never have a dog in her house. Children were bad enough, and we didn't shed.”
“Did you jump on the furniture?”
She laughs. “Only when she wasn't home. The armchair had a sweet spot. Extra lift when you're wearing sneakers.”
Kostas cuts a chunk of bread, offers it to the bag of bones. It’s obvious the poor thing is starving, but he takes it like he’s at afternoon tea.
Vivi carries her glass into the kitchen. Her shadow follows, chewing while she washes and dries the glass.
Max tells her she doesn’t have to do dishes.
“I'm sorry,” she says after a moment. “I can't help myself.”
“You're welcome to do my dishes any time you like,” Kostas calls out. “I hate housework.”
Watching her be normal turns Max on. She moves about the kitchen like she cares.
Max checks out the view – he checks it out hard.
“If you don't mind, I think I'll go downstairs and . . .” Her hands make a steeple.
The dog goes with her.
Max sits in her vacant seat. He doesn’t look at his brother. “The dog will be okay with her. Her daughter will love him.”
“She's a good woman, but not undamaged,” Kostas says cryptically.
“I’m not going to ask.”
“And I won't tell.” The chair creaks. “So tell me, Brother, how are our mother's plans for your marriage coming along? Did she set a date?”
&n
bsp; “Did you say anything to Vivi?”
“I know you and women, Brother,” Kostas says. “Don’t toy with this one.”
“Did you say anything?”
“No. I only told her Mama is insane. You don’t sound happy, Max. And you look like shit.”
Good old Kostas, reading between the sordid lines. “Anastasia is beautiful on the outside, not so beautiful on the inside. She can be selfish and manipulative. She has no empathy and she’s demanding.”
There is silence, for a time.
“She sounds like someone else we know.”
“Mama?”
Kostas shrugs.
Ouch. Right where it hurts.
“Anastasia is nothing like Mama.”
Except, that’s not true – is it?
“Shit,” Max swears. “You’re right. She’s jealous of my patients. She flares up every time I mention patients, or when the hospital calls.” His laugh is painful. No humor in the sound. “The other night she said hated my patients for needing me.”
“Hate’s a strong emotion.”
“She's just so ungenerous. I don't know. Maybe I need to spend more time with her. Problem is, there is no more time.”
“Are these obstacles you can overcome as husband and wife? Do you believe she can and will change and grow?”
“Anything is possible.”
“Wrong. Anything is possible in the right union.”
Max leans on the table. “What are you saying?”
“Walk carefully, Max. There are some things that cannot be undone, and some things that even you cannot fix.”
39
MELISSA
SHRINK. THE WOMAN DOESN’T say it, but that’s what she is. Melissa knows it.
Dr Triantafillou (that's what she called herself) doesn't seem a whole lot older than Melissa. She looks like she fell out of Seventeen, with her trendy jeans, ponytail riding high on her head. Plus she has an awesome tan – the kind you only get if you spend, like, a zillion years in the sun.
Melissa knows why she’s here. Mom and Dr Andreou think she tried to kill herself.
Which is bullshit.
It’s not true. She would know if it was. It’s her brain.
“You're a shrink, aren't you?”
The shrink is sitting in the same chair Mom sat in while she did her hovering vulture impersonation. It’s fake brown leather and it farts if you move the wrong way.
“I'm a therapist.” Look at that smile. Perfect teeth. Years of braces – or just super lucky.
“Do you give out pills?”
“No, but I can refer you to someone who does if I think it's necessary. Do you want pills, Melissa?”
Melissa flops back into her nest of pillows.
“No, I was just checking to see if you're a psychiatrist or a psychologist. There's no point talking to someone who wants to dope me up or zap me in the head. You know, like in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
“That's an interesting choice for a young girl. Did you read it in school?”
“No. Have you read it?” The shrink nods. “I found it at a swap meet. Most of the books were about weird crap like lawnmower repair or Jell-O salad. Cuckoos Nest was between Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus and a Weight Watchers recipe book.”
“Did you enjoy the story?”
Melissa shrugs. “It was okay. Do you think if you're crazy you actually know it? Or do you walk around thinking you're normal and the reason people look at you funny is because they don't understand you?”
Dr Triantafillou’s smile is broken, stuck in the ON position. “I think we're all crazy in our own way. Is that what you think, that you're crazy?”
Melissa likes her answer, but she won’t show it. “I don't know. Maybe.”
“What else do you like to read?”
“Most things, really.”
“Except old recipe books and relationship advice?”
“I like stories.”
The shrink doesn’t pull out a file and scribble like Melissa thought she would. She crosses her legs, says, “What would you like to talk about today?” Really casual, like she’s asking if Melissa wants Coke or Pepsi.
(The answer is: Either. They taste the same to her.)
Nothing. Everything. “I don't know.”
“How are you enjoying our country?”
“It's okay. I've been in hospital for a year now.”
Her brows shoot up. “But you were only admitted last night.”
“Yeah, but it feels like a year.” Melissa picks at the blue blanket draped over her legs. “The beach is nice. Do you go much?” Dumb question, Mel, Where do you think she got that tan?
But the shrink doesn’t seem to think it’s so dumb. “Whenever I can. My parents have a house on the beach in Platanidia. It's not far from here.”
“Lucky.”
She thinks about their old house with its jellybean-shaped pool and the tire swing Grampy made for her third birthday. “We used to have a nice house.”
“Did your parents sell it to come here?”
“I think Dad wanted to keep it, but his . . . friend said no. They're getting a divorce. Mom hasn't told me yet, but I know it's going to happen.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I don't know.”
“Pick one word to describe how you feel about your parents separation. Any word you like.”
She thinks about it for a moment. “Annoyed, I guess.”
“Annoyed?”
“Yeah. I mean no one asked me what I thought, if it was okay with me. No one ever cares what I think. I'm just the kid.”
“And if they'd asked?”
Melissa shrugs.
“Do you understand that your parents’ relationship has nothing to do with you?”
Another shrug. “I guess.”
“Anything else you want to talk about?”
Everything. She wants to tell her about Josh Cartwright and how he saw Dad in the park, and how Josh was right and that sucked, sucked, sucked. How Dad left them to be with a man. How much she hates being here, hates being at home, hates . . . being. But what comes out is: “Not really.”
“Does your mother drink often?”
“Duh, everyone needs to drink to stay alive. Otherwise we'd dehydrate.”
She’s still smiling. “No, I mean alcohol. Does she drink to excess regularly?”
Melissa thinks about it, shakes her head. “I've never seen her drunk. Sometimes she has a glass of wine, but that's all. And that’s, like, only twice a year.”
“You don't have to protect her. You can tell me the truth. It's confidential.”
What’s her problem? “I'm not lying. I've never seen Mom or Dad drunk.”
“So she wasn't drunk last night?”
Was she? Melissa can’t remember. Everything about last night is hazy. Why is the shrink spoiling things? They were getting along just fine.
“It's very common for children to protect their parents,” the shrink continues.
“I'm not protecting my parents.” There’s a panicky feeling growing inside her, like the time they went to Six Flags and she ate too much popcorn before going on the roller coaster. She puked at the top of the lift hill. Splat! All over the guy behind her.
“Melissa – ”
“Don't call me a liar. I'm not a liar!”
“No one is saying you're lying. But maybe you're misremembering. Everybody has a tendency to remember things as they choose, not as they really are. Even me. It's possible that your mother was drinking and maybe she'd had enough that she didn’t realize you were in trouble.”
“That's not how it happened.”
“Would you like to tell me how it happened?”
“It was an accident. I only wanted to get the sand out.”
No more smile. Her eyes are all sad like she doesn’t believe Melissa. “Melissa, this is confidential. You can tell me anything. Lots of young people hurt themselves when they're facing challenges. Someti
mes they want to die and sometimes they simply want to choose the type of pain they’re experiencing. Physical pain can overshadow the emotional.”
“I wasn't trying to hurt myself.”
The shrink picks up Melissa’s hand, the one that isn’t bandaged, and turns it over so that the sunlight hits the other scars. Melissa snatches her hand away. She doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t want to be investigated. She wants the shrink to GTFO.
Get The Fuck Out.
“You're wrong,” Melissa says. “You're wrong about everything.”
The shrink pushes back the chair and stands. It farts, but Melissa doesn’t laugh.
“I have another patient to see now, but I'll be back later and we'll set up a schedule for you. In the meantime I want you to think about the things we discussed.”
“But I don't want to see a shrink all the time.”
The shrink is smiling again. Doesn’t look friendly now. “Melissa, we don't always know what's best for ourselves.”
“How would you know? You don’t even know me.”
Under the blanket, Melissa flips her off.
Real brave, Tyler.
40
VIVI
COURTESY OF MAX, VIVI has a dog and the name of a real estate agent. Thing is, she’s not really sure what to do with either of them.
She leaves the dog in the Jeep and goes to check on Melissa, who is busy playing board games with a couple of other kids. She seems fine enough – busy but bright.
“Yeah okay,” she says when Vivi tells her she’ll be back later.
Vivi stops at the hospital cafeteria, buys two tiropitas. One for her, one for the dog. She eats the feta pie slowly. The dog doesn’t. He gulps his then gives hers a hopeful glance. So Vivi takes another bite, gives him the rest.
“What are we going to call you?”
He looks up from the pastry crumbs. Got a call-me-anything-just-keep-feeding-me star in his eye.
“You look like a Biff.”
He doesn’t complain, so Biff it is.
“I don't really know what to do with a dog, Biff. So you're going to have to give me some pointers.”
Biff wags his tail. Seems like a good omen.