by Ellie Hall
“That’s because you decided to take art classes and become the next Monet and I stayed in boring orchestra.”
“Right…art,” Kora said, wishing she’d brought her acrylic paints with her. The stunning spring scenery rivaled any landscape she’d ever painted. She spotted a twenty-five mile per hour road sign. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled out.
“I know,” said Lilly, taking the opportunity to vent. “You sacrificed your amazing art talent to be an anthropologist, simply because Charlotte asked you to. I’ll never understand that.”
Kora’s skin itched, an annoying physical response to participating in an uncomfortable conversation. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, scratching her arm. “The speed limit is bouncing all over the place. Charlotte has been so good to me. She’s always been interested in me studying about my heritage. She’s paid all my expenses for my undergrad, and now that I’m in graduate school, she’s got a secret project for me to work on.”
“Project? I thought you were working on your thesis?”
Visions of failure bombarded Kora’s mind, causing her to nearly run a red light. She slammed on her brakes, throwing herself forward in her seat. A man in a sporty SUV scowled at her as he drove through the intersection. “I’m stumped, Lilly. I don’t know if I should research the agricultural practices of the Cora Indians, or their burial customs, or cultural appropriation. The list goes on forever. I’m muddled and I only have two weeks to get my thoughts together or I’m out of the program.”
“You’re not embracing a thesis because this graduate program isn’t for you. I’ve seen you slowly lose your artistic spirit over the past few years. You haven’t been doing what you love. You’re not being true to yourself, Kora. You shouldn’t have ever allowed Charlotte to talk you into anthropology in the first place. And what’s up with this secret project of hers? Is that why you hopped in your car and drove to Sun Valley on a whim? What Charlotte is offering you isn’t a real job. Just like driving hitchhikers around for extra cash isn’t either.”
“How many cappuccino shots have you had today?” Kora said to silence the incessant negative dialogue.
“You’re avoiding the subject. Please tell me you’re not driving strangers through dark alleyways.”
“I get to know interesting people and being a driver has paid for my gas and food all the way from San Fran to here.”
Lilly gasped. “You’ve been picking up hitchhikers from California to Idaho?” she said as if Kora had committed a federal offence. “Have you completely lost your mind? You could be killed. You have no idea what kind of psychopaths you’re transporting.”
A man’s deep cough emanated from Kora’s back seat, a jarring reminder that she was on the clock. Her attention shot to her rearview mirror. Her eyes locked with the balding, middle-aged man as he shifted nervously in his seat.
Earbuds, Kora, she chastised herself. What were you thinking, not putting in your earbuds?
The man looked away nervously, his attention straying to the street. “My stop is up here on the left. At the pub.”
Kora played off her embarrassment with a cheery smile as she pulled up to the curb.
The man reciprocated with a nod. “Thanks,” he said, jumping out of the car the moment she’d shifted her car into Park.
The back passenger door slammed shut. Kora huffed out her disappointment before speaking. “Lilly, you just cost me a good tip. So much for a nice room at the lodge. I guess I’ll be staying in Ketchum tonight at a cheap motel.”
“You shouldn’t be in Sun Valley at all. Will you please come home?” Lilly begged.
Her best friend meant well. Having an attentive roommate to watch out for her had been a blessing, most of the time. Growing up an orphan in San Francisco, Kora had learned that not everyone was to be trusted; but, unlike Lilly, she chose to give a man at least one chance. Like Lilly, most people meant well. She wasn’t ready to give up on humanity, not yet. There were some good men still in the world, men like Johnny.
“Did I tell you that Charlotte arranged for Johnny and me to work together on her project? I’m meeting up with him in thirty minutes.”
Silence.
“Lilly, did I lose you?”
“Did you lose your mind?” Lilly said in a patronizing tone. “Every time you’ve gotten your hopes up about Johnny…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“What hopes?” said Kora. “That crush ended forever ago.” Lying to Lilly never came easy, but she’d had lots of practice when their conversations turned to her favorite crush. A notification popped up on her phone: a new fare, two streets over. “Gotta go. I have a hot date to get ready for,” she said with a chuckle as she wove her way through the tiny, upscale mining town.
“Walk away, Kora. You’ll thank me later.”
“I’ll thank you now. Thanks, Lilly! Love you,” she said, ending the call. She adored Lilly, but there was only so much negativity and well-meaning advice she could handle in one day.
A minute later, she parked in front of an antique bookstore with a baroque-styled facade, something she would have imagined seeing in Europe, not in an old western mining town. A small man with dark, fluffy hair stepped out of the bookstore and walked toward her. Around his neck hung several gold necklaces which matched his Elvis-inspired sunglasses with gold rims and smoky lenses.
Kora tilted her head to the side and stared at the man with intrigue. She’d seen a lot of strange things in San Francisco, but this eccentric man, walking out of a vintage bookstore in a mountainous village had beat them all. He pointed at her and cocked a smile as if he were about to tell her something that would change her life. He slid into her backseat. The car filled with the scent of cedarwood and jasmine.
“Hello,” he said with an accent she couldn’t place. “I’m Hector.”
“Hector,” she repeated but with a Spanish accent, dropping the H.
“No. Hector with an H.”
“Kora with a K,” she said with a teasing smile as she pulled out into the street.
His forehead wrinkled. “Kora, you are Greek?”
Greek? She’d never heard that one before. Was this another bad pick-up line, or was this guy for real? “No. Do I look Greek?”
“Yes,” he said, staring at her through the rearview mirror. “You do. That raven hair. Those big green eyes. But your name, that’s what gives you away.”
“My name?”
His hand made a circle in the air. “Kora is an ancient Greek name. Kora was the daughter of Zeus. After being abducted by Hades, she changed her name to Persephone.”
Thunder cracked in the distance, followed by instant showers that beat down on Kora’s windshield, making it near impossible to see the road. She leaned forward in her seat and channeled her focus to driving.
“Kora, the goddess of spring…and spring brings rain,” Hector said, smacking the headrest in front of him.
Kora became startled and jumped in her seat, causing her arm to inadvertently jerk the wheel. The car flew into a spin. Bracing the wheel, Kora kicked down the brake pedal, closed her eyes tight, and held her breath. The tires squealed as they skidded along the wet cement, then continued onto a bumpy surface. When the horrifying sounds ceased, she breathed again. Then she remembered Hector.
“I’m so sorry, Hector,” she said, slowly opening her eyes as she angled her body to the back seat to check on her passenger. They’d ended up just off the road in a farmer’s field, on the edge of town between the quaint city streets and farmland. The fields were damp, but at least it had stopped raining. “Are you okay?”
He looked past her with an expression of terror, as if he were staring death straight in the face. He slowly raised his arm and pointed over her shoulder. She turned her head to face her windshield. The end of a metal rod from an irrigation wheel rested within an inch of the glass, extending back the length of a football field. If the rod had come through the windshield, it would have punctured her upper chest. She pressed
her hand into her breast and said a silent prayer of gratitude.
“I was almost impaled,” Kora said in a shaky voice.
“Speared,” Hector coughed out.
“Speared sounds more noble,” she said with a nervous laugh.
He met her eyes through the rearview mirror and nodded. “The Greeks are the most noble,” he said, opening his car door. “Persephone or Kora, she is the goddess of grain,” he said, pointing to the recently plowed field. A light breeze from the open car door brought in the scent of fresh rain and mud.
Kora’s arms shook from her adrenaline rush. Could there be a connection between her people and the Greeks? She’d never encountered that in her studies. “Did you say grain? Like corn stalks?”
“To ancient Greeks, corn was barley or wheat. Demeter was known in ancient texts as Corn-Mother. The seeds were planted in October and harvested in April or May. As the myth goes, Persephone rose from the underworld to plant and harvest with her mother every year. She ascended from the underworld as the crops also rose from their once buried state, bringing new life. After the spring, she returned down again, as in death, with red poppies. The bright scarlet color promising future resurrection. Sound familiar?”
More than he could ever imagine. “Yes,” she said in a breathy voice, wanting him to continue. “Red flowers?” She visualized the Cora princess’ crown. “Do poppies grow in bunches?”
He shrugged. “I think they grow amongst the barley. I’ll walk from here, Kora,” he said, climbing out of the car.
She threw open her car door and jumped out. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to ride with her after her spinout, but the clouds looked ominous, as if they’d shower down again without warning, and she really wanted to continue their conversation. “Are you sure I can’t give you a ride? I’ll be more careful.”
He smacked his chest. “It’s my fault you were almost speared. I won’t risk it again.”
She wrinkled her nose, trying to understand how he could take the blame for her blunder.
“And my hotel is across the street.” He placed his bag of books under his arm. “It’s a good day to be Greek, no?”
He started to walk away, but she called out, “One more thing. Did Kora, I mean, did Persephone own snakes?” It sounded ridiculous saying it out loud.
“No.”
Of course not, she said to herself with a sigh of relief. How did I get so drawn in?
“That was Persephone’s mother Demeter.” He lifted his chin and motioned to her car with his face. “I left you books to read on the back seat. One is a Greek tragedy, the other a Greek comedy. You must decide what your life’s story will be. Will your life move from sadness to joy, or joy to sadness?”
“Is that something I can decide?” she asked as she watched the eccentric man walk away with a twinkle in his eye as he glanced up at the sky. She’d responded as best she could to the good and bad that had happened in her life. She’d never thought she could choose her stars.
“That all depends on how you feel about the rain,” he said, pointing up at the ever-darkening clouds.
Normally, she said to herself, I would cuddle up inside with a blanket and paint. But we’re not dealing with normal today. Standing next to her car, she closed her door, relaxed her arms at her sides, and angled her face toward the sky. I can do this. I can find joy in the rain.
She didn’t have to wait long before the first rain droplets fell, softly streaming down her face and saturating her lightweight, summer dress. Her skin erupted into goosebumps. I can choose to love the rain, she told herself to reaffirm her dedication to living a life full of joy, creating her own comedic life story. The rain intensified, reminding her of when she would fall asleep to heavy rain hitting her bedroom window during a tempestuous spring storm. Those stormy nights had provided her with deep, meditative slumber.
As she stood looking up at the sky, her body shook from the cold. Cooling, refreshing even, she told herself words of affirmation. Showers pounded her face until her ears filled with water. Liquid sunshine. She coughed. On the other hand, there can be too much of a good thing, she admitted. She shook the water from her ears, jumped into her car, and blasted the heat.
The alarm on her phone chimed. In ten minutes, she needed to meet up with Johnny at a quiet restaurant. Charlotte had recommended a quaint local restaurant “to allow for thought and discussion.”
Kora glanced down at her drenched dress and sighed; she’d planned on looking cute and fit tonight by showing off her arms and a little leg. She grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and riffled through it until she’d located a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted, green activewear shirt. Ketchum was an old miner’s town, known for its outdoor adventures. She should be okay dressing sporty-casual.
Once out of her wet dress, Kora slowly backed her car out of the field, being careful to avoid getting stuck in the mud. The moment she was free and back on the road, her first impulse was to pull over to research Greek Persephone and Kora, and if there were any similarities with ancient Greek customs and ideology and the Cora Indians’ beliefs, but she didn’t have time. She needed to meet up with Johnny. Her face flushed and her temperature rose thinking about being face to face with her teenage crush again.
Five minutes later, she entered the dimly lit French restaurant. Her heart sped. She hadn’t expected it to be super posh. The tables were draped in white linen tablecloths and lit with real candles. To top it off, a pianist sat at a baby grand in the center of the room playing French tunes. She normally steered clear of expensive restaurants like this in San Francisco. She felt more comfortable standing outside a taco truck in the less affluent parts of town than in stuffy restaurants. She clicked her tongue, feeling completely out of place in her sweatpants and dripping wet hair.
“Can I help you?” a hostess in her late teens asked with a full smile. If the girl had noticed how unkempt and uncomfortable Kora was, she didn’t let on.
Kora swallowed down her unease and lifted her chin. “I’m here to meet a friend.”
“Kora?” a man’s deep voice tickled her ears from behind.
Her anxiety peaked as she slowly turned around. Johnny opened his arms wide and smiled at her as if she’d caused his heart to skip a beat. “Hi,” she managed to squeak out, melting into his arms. She snuggled her face into his chest.
“Kora, I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, hugging her tight. He took a step back while his eyes scanned her. “You look exactly like you did the day we pulled you out of the ocean.” He reached out and gently twisted a lock of her wet hair in his fingers. “Wet and wild.”
“Exactly?” she asked in a flirtatious tone. “I hope I don’t look exactly like I did,” she said, reaching up onto her tippy toes and giving him a light kiss on the lips, their normal greeting, at least the two times he’d visited her in San Francisco, once in high school and once in college.
Johnny placed his hand to her cheek with apprehension. She smiled at him, letting him know it was okay to touch her. With fire in his eyes, he pulled her close and kissed her deep, something he’d never done before. Her respirations quickened. Did this mean he was finally making his move? Professing his love to her? He pulled back and blinked. “Let me rephrase that. You’ve matured into a stunning woman. How are you?”
Dizzy and warm, but only from your kiss. “Never better. I’m glad Charlotte brought us together. I haven’t seen you in forever, Johnny.”
His jaw tightened and he stared at her for a second as if she’d said something odd. “About that,” he said, waving two manilla envelopes in the air. “And the other thing,” he said, patting his chest. He glanced around the room as if someone might overhear their private conversation. “Let’s sit,” he said, pointing to a table in the far corner of the restaurant. He took her by the arm and led her through the center of the room. She sat in her seat, but he remained standing. “You look cold. I’ll grab you a bowl of soup.”
“Ahh…” she stuttered
out to stop him, but he’d already started walking away. She wasn’t a pro at restaurant etiquette, but something told her that you don’t strut into the kitchen and demand food. Then it all came together; this was the Grant family restaurant that Johnny had told her about.
A minute later, he emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands. A man dressed in a chef’s hat and white dress coat followed behind him, mouthing something while he shook his hand high in the air at Johnny, and he didn’t look happy. Johnny motioned to Kora. The chef nodded, blew a breath out the side of his mouth, then returned to the kitchen.
Johnny set the soup bowl down on the table in front of her. “I hope you like French onion soup.”
“Love it,” she said, picking up her spoon. “But the chef seemed upset.” She scooped up a spoonful of cheesy bread, causing strands of gooey cheese to stretch from the bowl to her mouth. She bit down, savoring the brothy toast with caramelized onions. Warm cheese coated the insides of her mouth. She released a happy moan while she scooped up another spoonful. “Are you sure this is okay? It looked like the chef was yelling at you.”
“That’s how he shows me he cares,” he said with a clever smile. He pointed at her bowl. “That…and the chef’s French onion soup takes hours to make. It’s for paying customers; he doesn’t like me stealing it.”
Her face wrinkled with worry. “Johnny,” she whined, feeling remorse as she swallowed down the salty goodness.
“It’s alright,” he said, laughing at her pained expression. “He’ll be fine. He knows now that I’m not the one eating it. From time to time, I’ll bring in someone from off the street and offer them a hot meal.”
Kora gasped. “He thinks I’m homeless?”
A waiter walked up to the table, set down two glasses of water and said, “We’ve all been there.” His facial expression demonstrated sympathy and understanding. “Well, everyone except for Mr. Tom Grant here.” He motioned to Johnny. “Can I get you something to drink besides water?”