Aris and Spiros stepped out of the first with their wives, their loud, boisterous voices spilled out in front of them. Thanos stepped out of the next with his mother, a tall elegant woman with wide, blue eyes and curly grey hair. Out of the last car stepped Alexandros and Shayma Savva. Aris glared and rolled his eyes, and walked up the stairs. Everyone had passed through when the Savvas reached Davonna.
"I am so happy you came," Davonna said, and shook Alexandros's outstretched hand.
"I don't think your friends agree."
Shayma dug her elbow into his side. "Will you stop?"
"We haven't had the pleasure, Mrs. Savva, it's an honor to meet you."
"You were too kind to invite us."
"I hope I'm not keeping you from your good work, Alexandros told me what you do."
"Oh, no," Shayma said, waving her hand dismissively. "They can mange one night without me. Besides when do I have the chance to dress like this?" she said, sweeping her hand along the length of her long black dress.
Davonna smiled. Shayma Savva was not at all what she had imagined. Alexandros seemed to shrink a little in her presence, as though he cared too much what she thought and never wanted to disappoint her.
"It's lovely, Mrs. Savva."
"Shayma, please."
"Shayma …”
"Okay … let's get in and get food," Alexandros growled.
The two women rolled their eyes, and Davonna led them through the house. Shayma looked around her with pleasure, her eyes taking in the breadth of the house and all it's finery.
"I thought we'd eat outside tonight," Davonna said.
She led them through the house and out the open patio doors. The rest of the party gathered around seven tall tables covered in white silk, all holding glasses of wine and chatting merrily. They looked askance at the Savva's, but Thanos stepped forward and shook Alexandros's hand. Aris deliberately hung back, his face a mask of anger.
"Thank you so much for coming," Davonna said, after they all had drinks in hand, and the music lulled.
The small company turned toward her. There were tears in many eyes and Theodora frowned in concentration.
"I wanted to say thank you to all of you who have stood by me through this horrible summer. I never imagined my life would become so public, but I also never imagined how many friends I would gather in the process. I'm in your debt," Davonna said, and raised her glass to them. She took a deep breath and turned her gaze on Alexandros who stood by himself, closest to the terrace doors.
"But most of all, I am indebted to you, Alexandros. Thank you for not giving up."
Even Aris raised his glass and toasted the Captain. Shayma looked at Alexandros with a quiet, ferocious pride. Davonna motioned for the quintet to continue and asked everyone to start eating. As the sun began to set, lights sprang into being across the garden. It looked like a picture out of a children's fairy tale, an enchanted garden lit by magic and fireflies.
"I'm sorry your sister couldn't make it," Thanos said.
Davonna was sitting alone on a bench in the garden under a canopy of delicate lights and wisteria.
"I didn't tell her."
"Why not?"
"I'm not sure. Perhaps, I wanted to have my friends with me."
"Have you decided what you're going to do?"
"No, not yet."
"Will you leave?"
"Is that what you'd do?"
"Maybe," Thanos said.
"Do you regret staying here and not working in Athens?"
Thanos hesitated, "No, well, not as much as I used to."
"Thank you for being so kind to me."
Thanos' eyes widened and he reached his hand tentatively out to her. "It wasn't kindness. It was … I … I care about you, Davonna."
She smiled and placed her hand over his. "I wish I wasn't such a wreck, Thanos. You deserve someone whole, not someone you have to carry."
With that, she walked slowly away to the far edge of the garden where the wall separated the Dukas' property from her own.
"Did you turn him down?" Ioannis' voice rose quietly from behind her.
"I suppose I did. Will he be alright?"
"Do you mean ‘will he give up?’ No, I don't think so. But I suppose that's to be expected."
"Oh," Davonna said, prodding a loose stone with her foot.
"What are your plans?"
"It's everyone's favorite question today."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's alright. I understand."
"We all care about you," Ioannis said. "Have you considered a psychiatrist?"
"Yes, I've been going to one my attorney suggested. She's quite good."
"Theodora used to practice. Even widows whose husbands die natural, unexciting deaths go for help, and under your circumstances …”
Davonna smiled and patted Ioannis' arm. "Perhaps we could talk next week?"
"Of course."
"I'm off to get another," Davonna said, motioning to her empty glass.
She walked through the garden, past Alexandros and Spiros who were deep in conversation, and into the house and the solitude of the library. Only it wasn't empty, Shayma whirled around, her cheeks coloring.
"Oh Davonna, I'm so sorry. Alexandros told me about the library, and well, I couldn't pass up a quick look."
"It's alright," Davonna said, with a knowing smile, "I saw you come in. I wanted to have a quick word with you in private."
"Oh?" Shayma said. Davonna motioned for her to sit.
"I want to get involved with the refugees." Shayma blinked. A strange silence fell. "I want to help."
"Well, we'd love to have you," Shayma managed to say. "Lord, knows we can use it. When do you want to come?"
"No, you don't understand me. I want to do more than just coming to the camp. I have so much extra room here. At least three rooms could be converted into a sort of headquarters. We could organize the relief effort from this house. It's so empty, so big, and it's useless.” Davonna said, trailing off, in front of Shayma's blank, incredulous face.
"You're serious?"
"Everyone deserves security and help when they're desperate … and I'm in desperate need of purpose. Please say you'll have me."
"I hope you know we aren't in the position to turn down any help," Shayma said, thickly. "I don't think Alexandros will believe me when I tell him."
"You don't give me much credit, do you, Woman," Alexandros said, as he walked into the room.
"Didn't your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?" Shayma barked.
"The police breed that rule out of you," he said, with a grin. "We'd love to have your help," he said, and stretched out his hand toward her.
Davonna took it. She looked back and forth between them; between Shayma’s unshed tears and Alexandros’ proud smile and their eyes that sparkling in the dim light.
"I want to be useful."
If you enjoyed Mrs. Fitzroy, please take a moment to leave a review on Amazon.com Want to Read More? Go to authorrachaelwright.com to download her first novel, The Clouds Aren’t White, and to sign up for her mailing list.
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The first chapter of the next installment of the Savva series, A Solitary Reaper, to be published in October 2018, begins below.
Captain Savva Book Two: A Solitary Reaper
I
Adam Harris found the body on the 57th minute of his hike up Mount Lepetimnos.
All he'd eaten that morning was an orange, so it was no surprise that he slipped, cursed the shifting rocks, and plunged his hand into a cactus. He bounced on the balls of his feet, with cries of "damn-it," bit back tears, sucked the fleshy pad of his thumb, and pulled out the spines with his teeth. He shivered, his uninjured arm flailing in a Tourette-like tick, he peered over the ravine, across the grass bent sideways like a balding man's comb-over, across the smear of orange roofs flung like errant paint splotches, out to the blue carpet of the Aegean.
In the middle of the trail, exhaustion settled in an
d he collapsed onto a rock. It dug into his left leg. He sneered at God who happened to be in the direction of Mitilini. Down there, a thirty-minute drive away, was his wife. The thought of her, her claw-like hand rooting around his crotch, sent a rumble through his nauseated stomach. He jumped to his feet, climbing with abandon, to forget her, and the thirteen cacti needles embedded between his fingers.
"Agghhh ..."
A scream tore its way out of his throat. He stood on the side of a mountain, mouth gaping, screaming at the island, imagining the rocks were his slut of a wife, or her limp cock state senator lover, or the twenty-year-old American Airlines representative who wouldn't refund the tickets to Greece, or the old women at the capitol with their simpering honey stares--desperate for a new piece of drama to take back to their friends to devour over afternoon tea at The Brown Palace.
"Screw you all!" he screamed. "You! And You! And YOU!"
He wheeled around and landed a well-aimed kick at the nearest boulder.
"Damn it!"
With stinging cheeks, a throbbing hand, a now a sprained ankle, Adam picked up a softball-sized rock and hurled it at the town of Mitilini. It fell ... about forty miles short, but clanged merrily on its half-mile journey back to the ground.
"That limp-ass cock," Adam muttered. He leaned against a knotted, wind twisted olive tree for support. "I'll destroy him. I'll go to the press. He can't ... do ... my wife and get away with it ..."
Adam kept up a string of insults, of wild, half-formed plans to decimate his rival. But in the back of his mind, he knew these were weak protestations. He hadn't done anything for four months. He'd taken her to Greece. If he was that sort of man--the punch and ask questions later--he'd be halfway to a divorce and the senator (with his disgusting pomaded hipster haircut) would have resigned in the flood of accusations of adultery.
"It's still illegal in Colorado," he told a stony faced rock.
When it didn't respond he kicked at a trembling tuft of grass. Its little fingers waved in the dry, early morning breeze. What was he doing on Lesvos hiking a miserable mountain? He should've been enjoying the pool. He plucked his new, grey, neoprene shirt off his sweating back, pulled down the polyester black shorts, and re-tied the lace on the left, dusty, shock-absorbing hiking boot.
The trail wound up the side of the mountain like a snake sunning itself on a rock. Adam followed it as though it lead to answers ... or would somehow disgorge him ... a different man. Why wasn't he a jerk? Why didn't he bulldoze? Why wasn't he a man with a deep tan and hard eyes? A man who knocked out the man who was screwing his wife. A man who walked with a swagger and didn't stumble.
"Didn't stumble," he shouted and tripped over a rock no bigger than his iPhone.
He shimmied his way the last few feet to the summit. With a massive grunt, he scrambled over a boulder, and found level ground. He wiped his forehead with his shirt, guzzled water from his camelback, and turned to face the view. The sea was a heartbreaking blue, and in every direction Lesvos produced dark fields of green.
The thrill of silence birthed curiosity, and he set out to explore. Worries scattered with the sea breeze. What he'd imagined as a flat space on top was another small hill, with three olive trees flung there by an errant hand, but with no real hope of their survival. For this was not a place where people often came. There was no water. No shade. Only the far off twinkling calls of birds. The soft moan of the sea. The gurgling sounds of the wind as it tore like a flash flood over the forgotten hills. The clear sharp scent of olives on the wind. He walked, scuffing his boots in the loose dirt, hugging the edge, sending rocks spinning down the sheer face, but his mind turned inexorably back to humanity.
Adam sunk to the ground, moaned as his needle filled hand brushed across his thigh. Blinked. Blinked. A blue shoe with a reddish-white sole poked out under a rhododendron bush. He cocked his head like an overbred Labrador, and scuttled around on his knees to peer into it. A rock skittered. A plaid shirt, attached to arms and a torso, snapped as a sea breeze tore across the hilltop.
Adam leapt back and screamed; a high-pitched screech lost on the wind.
* * *
Sergeant Stelios Booras of the Hellenic Police--based out of Mitilini, was snoring on the couch; his long thin legs trailed over the edge, a wool-appliqué pillow stuck to his morning stubble. The sun shone through the front windows, across his body, onto the trailing quilt, to a circle of silver on the floor. The diamond cast a rainbow onto his face. One hooded eye propped open. A diamond on a wooden floor that hadn't been swept in a week.
His hand went automatically to his phone, propped on the arm of the couch, in case it rang. He pressed her name, his mind whirring. Was there an argument he hadn't made last night?
"Theia?"
"What do you want?"
He lurched up, as though she could see him slouching on the couch. "I thought we could talk."
"What about?"
"Why you left."
"I left because we're done."
"If it's about your mother, I'm sorry I called her a ..."
"Stelios," Theia sighed. "It's not my mother."
"Let's go out tonight, we can talk ..." Stelios stopped and pulled the phone away from his ear. It vibrated. Dispatch's number flashed on the screen.
"What, Stelios?" She spat out his name like a profanity.
"Can I call you right back?"
"You called me!"
"I know, just a minute, it's …”
"Work," Theia finished. "Don't bother. We're over."
Stelios growled at the ceiling and switched calls. "What?" he hissed.
"We got a call about a body on top of Mt Lepetimnos. Private Kaikas will pick you up in twenty minutes, Sergeant."
Stelios hung up, stepped over the ring, stripped off yesterday's shirt, and flung himself into the shower.
Eighteen minutes later, Private Eleni Kaikas, bright white smile, curly hair pointing in all directions, one hand clutching a steel coffee tumbler, pulled up. The police SUV gleamed in the sun. He folded himself into the passenger seat. Kaikas said good morning, as he buckled, but Stelios ignored her and her bright cheerfulness, choosing instead to stare moodily out the window. Theia's last words coated his mind. Could a five-year relationship end in a single night?
They drove for a half hour in silence before turning on to what looked like an old game trail. The dirt road ended at a small lot. It held one other car: an aging blue Ford with a cracking 'I love Greece' bumper sticker. Stelios unraveled his legs from the confines of the car and melted under the sun. Heat waves rippled off the rocks and the undulating grasses cracked in the parched air. Even as sweat pooled in the small of his back, and his armpits began to itch, the thermometer rose higher and the hypnotic heat ripples grew until they consumed the mountain in front of him.
"Coming, Sergeant?"
Private Kaikas stuck her hands under the straps of her camelback and pulled her blue uniform cap down over her frizzy brown hair. She stood straight; one hand hooked on her duty belt the other adjusted the neckline of her shirt. She looked like she'd been born in the uniform, so well did it fit her. The small breasts helped.
Stelios heaved a withering sigh. "Let's get this over with."
"Will you call the Captain?"
"If I deem it necessary."
"A body at the top of Mt Lepetimnos isn't necessary?"
"Depends on who it is," Stelios mumbled.
"What's that?"
"Nothing. Let's go."
Kaikas set off down the trail, her thick mass of pinned curls swung and bounced across her back. Her legs flew out underneath her like a deer's and Stelios, even with his long gait, struggled to keep up. She was probably one of those people--the outdoorsy types. Meanwhile, his wine soaked stomach heaved at the sight of the towering mound in front of them.
Kaikas vaulted over a boulder the size of Stelios' desk. "My boyfriend and I hiked this last week!"
"Brilliant." She'd probably slept in her own bed, eaten a full breakf
ast, and consumed four of her eight recommended glasses of water. Stelios groaned--of course he'd forgotten to eat.
"How was your weekend?" Kaikas asked, emboldened by the intimacy of the forced march.
Could the damn woman read minds? To avoid her searching gaze, Stelios plopped into a large patch of shade, and guzzled water. Such blessed relief. "Fine."
She oscillated from foot to foot. "How are your wedding preparations coming? October, isn't it?"
Stelios peered around the corner, down the trail, and then up, squinting at the curved mound of rock at the top. It was dizzyingly far away.
"Sergeant?"
"What?"
"The wedding?"
"Fine. Let's keep going. I want to get this done."
A half hour later Stelios' fingers curled around the lip. The red face that materialized a second later had to be American.
The man offered a smooth pale hand. "Kalimera, I'm so glad you're here."
"Sergeant Booras and Private Kaikas, Hellenic Police," Stelios said in English.
"I'm Adam Harris ... he's over there," Adam said, pointing to the rhododendron bush.
Stelios walked over to the corpse, picking his way over potential evidence. The body sat upright against a wide, flat boulder. Eleni turned to Adam Harris, pulled out a notebook and pen, and took his statement.
Stelios dropped to his knees, leaned left, and followed a horizontal trail of blood from nose to the back of the head. Or what should have been the back of a head. It was now a mass of dried blood, shattered bone, and pale bits of brain matter.
"Gamóto," he swore. "Have you touched anything Mr. Harris?"
Adam Harris and Kaikas turned to him; both faces blank. "I checked for a pulse, Sergeant, on the left side of his neck."
Stelios' eyes narrowed; blood seeped out of the American's face and sweat beaded on his temples. "You didn't touch anything else?"
He frowned from Booras to the flapping plaid shirt. "No. Why?"
"I'm calling Savva," Stelios said to the wind.
* * *
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