by kc dyer
The other night, when our sweat-slicked bodies were glued together. When things got so hot, I bit his neck in pure lust.
I tear my eyes away from the blue bruise above his shirt collar, my face flushing at the memory, and when the three men burst into laughter, it’s a welcome distraction.
My dad slides his plate away. “Excuse me a moment. I’m just going . . .” He makes a vague gesture with one hand.
“Good idea.” Paulo jumps up, and the two of them quickly disappear along a path leading into the scrubby underbrush.
The panic I felt earlier surges like a wave through me again. My fingers suddenly go so numb, I drop my pen.
Scooping it up, Raj Malik hands it back to me. “I—ah—like your hat,” he says, his voice low.
I realize I am staring at him with my mouth open. “Thanks,” I reply, at last.
“I almost didn’t recognize you earlier,” he adds, giving me a sideways glance. He touches the bruise on his throat, almost involuntarily.
“I’m really sorry about that,” I begin. “I didn’t mean . . .” but before I can finish, Paulo suddenly reappears with my father. Both of them are sporting that look of relief common to men of a certain age everywhere.
I set down my own plate and edge closer to my dad. “Is the latrine nearby?”
He points in the direction he just returned from, and sure enough, now that I’m standing, I can see the roofline in an unmistakable color of green.
“It’s a composting toilet,” whispers my dad. “Not too bad.”
The three men are all standing now, so I take the opportunity to flee. The facilities, indeed, are not the worst I’ve ever been in, but not exactly the kind of place a person wants to linger. Finally, after fifteen full minutes of stalling, I squirt my hands with liquid sanitizer from the bottle attached to the outside wall and head up the path.
Still smoothing the cool alcohol rub onto my hands, I pause to stare out over the vast, blue, perfect Mediterranean. From the site, I hear a distant roar of laughter—Paulo still telling stories no doubt. But I need to face reality. The writing—my writing for NOSH, at least—is on the wall. There’s no way Charlotte will agree to my pitch. And in any case, my dad is being responsible. He even winked at me earlier as he swallowed a pill with his meal. He’s an adult, he doesn’t need me, and I’ve more than done my part. My fiancé wants me with him, and that’s where I should be. The last thing I need is to be reminded of the mistakes I made that night in the club when I should be focusing on my wedding.
I need to go home.
Mentally practicing the wording to let my dad down easy, I trudge back along the path. I’m still shaking the cool alcohol rub off my hands as I walk onto the site only to discover my dad has, once again, disappeared. And standing alone by the remains of the feast is Raj Malik.
Maybe Paulo is right.
Maybe I am cursed.
chapter thirteen
STILL, MORTIFYINGLY, TUESDAY
Rosemary Roasters
Gia Kostas, special correspondent to no one, outside Makri, Greece
These potatoes—hot, creamy, and incredibly flavorful—are a standard with many Greek meals, but when served with a fully spitted roasted lamb, there is no comparison. The secret, of course, is . . .
I return to find Raj standing beside the table, neatly scraping plates into a paper bag. “Everything goes into the compost,” he says as I walk up.
Not knowing what else to do, I pick up a plate and begin to scrape it off.
“I can do that,” Raj says shortly.
I glance at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He seems suddenly—almost formal.
“My dad is—ah—very good at getting other people to clean up after him.” I finish scraping the first plate and pick up a second. “Also at disappearing.”
Raj pauses and then gently sets his scraped plate down inside one of the storage tubs. “Paulo took him for a tour of the cave.” His voice sounds carefully neutral as he points at a path through the scrubby bushes. “It’s just down the hill a bit. I’m sure they’ll be back in a minute, but I can take you down there, if you like.”
What I really want to do is flee down the cliff path after them, but I suppress the urge.
“No, I can give you a hand here first.” Using a stray spoon, I scoop the last few tomato seeds into his compost bag. Stacking my freshly scraped plate on top of Raj’s in the bin, I grab the nearly empty tzatziki bowl.
“Sorry to be so snappy about my dad. But honestly, it’s like looking after a toddler. He gets interested in something and wanders off, and the next thing I know, he’s on the other side of the world. He not only refuses to look after himself; he neglects to inform those of us who care about him.”
“I can see where that might be a problem,” Raj says and then reaches over and takes the bowl out of my hand.
“I—uh—I think we should just clear the air a little, while we have a minute,” he adds quietly. For the first time, he meets my eyes, and it’s plain that all the earlier lightness in his expression has vanished.
I shoot a quick glance at the path down the hill, but it remains deserted. “Right. Okay. Good. Fine,” I blurt before I am finally able to shut myself up. “Let’s do that.”
He’s silent again, and around us, the only noise is the rustle of the wind in the grass and the distant cry of a bird.
“The other night was a mistake,” I blurt right at the same moment he says, “I think we just need to forget about . . .”
We both stop suddenly, and the silence stretches out again, uncomfortably long.
“I’ll go first,” I manage, at last. I have to take a deep breath in order to continue. “What happened the other night—well, I was in sort of a bad place, and . . .”
“I should let you know”—he cuts me off—“that while you were gone, your father filled me in on your whole background. He’s very proud of you.”
“He is?”
“Indeed. The job with the newspaper, your recent engagement—everything.”
I stare up at him, suddenly speechless. “My—ah—engagement was . . .”
He lifts a hand. “We don’t need to talk about it,” he says stiffly. “Honestly, let’s just treat the thing in the club like it didn’t happen.”
“Okay,” I manage. But any sense of relief I have is laced heavily with something else, leaving my stomach feeling sick and sour.
“Good. Good. We’re in agreement, then,” he says, still not looking at me.
He wipes his hands on a piece of burlap and glances at his watch. “I have an appointment this evening, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to head out shortly. Perhaps we should go find your father.”
“Contrary to my dad’s opinion, I don’t actually require any looking after.” I can feel my shoulders stiffen. “I’m okay to wait here for him. When he gets back, I’ll tell him you’ve been called away.”
“It’s just, I suspect you’ve likely had a bit too much sun today,” he says quietly. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you on your own out here. I’m sure your dad has just lost track of time prowling around in the cave with Paulo. It’s not far, and it’ll provide a little relief from the sun.”
I had the sense to throw a light linen top over my dress this morning, so between that and my big hat, my shoulders and back have been safely covered all afternoon. But there is no denying that my forearms, in spite of liberally applied sunscreen, have taken on a shade of pink that might well come back to haunt me later. I nod stiffly and follow Raj down a winding, dusty path along the hillside.
The path is too narrow to walk side by side and almost immediately becomes fairly steep—a thin, grey line separated from the precipice by only the occasional prickly bush clinging to the scanty soil. But as we progress downward, it’s less dry underfoot, and more greenery appears on either side of the path. Th
ick, wiry grasses that smell of sage are studded with tiny white and yellow wildflowers. As the path continues, we pass a patch of wild, white daffodils bobbing their heads in the late afternoon sun.
Raj walks with an easy, loping stride, but it takes all my concentration to keep up and not to skid on the slippery gravel surface. After a couple of quick turns along the cliff face, the path is little more than a narrow indentation in the dusty rock below our feet.
I’ve forgotten to refill my water bottle from the big plastic container up at the dig, and I’m suddenly deeply thirsty. Also? I’m regretting my earlier inability to articulate my actual thoughts regarding our—ah—first contact.
Yes, I feel guilty about what happened. I should never have gone out that night, let alone followed Sikka into a situation where I could get into such a mess. But I should be able to stand up for myself—at least enough to tell him what was really going on. That I don’t make a practice of being a cheating, one-night-stand-having sleazebag.
Not as a rule, anyway.
Just as I reach this conclusion, we come to another switchback in the path. I take an unwisely large step, and my foot skids right off the edge of the cliff face.
There’s time for a shot of raw adrenaline to rocket through me before I feel Raj’s hands on my arms, and suddenly, both my feet are securely back on the path.
“Careful,” he says mildly and turns to head back down. I try to follow, to pretend my heart isn’t doing a full-out drum solo, but it’s no use.
Raj only carries on a step or two farther before turning back. The path is steep enough here that he is looking up at me, shading his eyes against the lowering sun.
“You didn’t turn an ankle, did you?” he asks and lifts his sunglasses to squint up at me.
“Ah—I—no.” I scramble for something—anything—I can use as an excuse for my unwillingness to move any further. “It’s just—look, I need you to know I had a huge fight with my fiancé the other night and that he dumped me.”
Glancing pointedly at my left hand, he says, “So—you’re not together anymore?”
He’s shading his eyes from the sun, so I can’t read his expression.
“No—I mean—yes. Yes, we’re together. We patched things up.”
“Ah.”
“But not until—later. After. After everything that happened. Between us—you and I—that is.”
My voice trails off, and neither one of us says a word for a long moment.
When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “Look. We’re both adults. I’m not sure we could have designed a more awkward situation if we tried, obviously, since I work with your dad. But I actually really admire what he’s trying to do here. And your life is your own. You’re getting married. It was one night—it didn’t mean anything. Let’s—let’s just get through this, okay?”
“It’s only . . .” I begin but am interrupted by a roar of laughter rising up from directly below us.
“Okay,” I say, at last.
Raj reaches up to guide me down the final, steep section. I clutch his waiting hand, and it feels so good, I don’t want to let go. But as soon as the ground flattens out a bit, he releases his hold on me immediately.
And then we are standing outside a cave, and my father is sitting on the ground, leaning against a large smooth rock. Paulo is perched on a flat boulder beside him, and they are passing another green bottle back and forth. Beyond Paulo, two more bottles lie empty on their sides in the dust.
“Gia—darling!” calls my dad when he spots us. “Come join us! Paulo has been sharing family stories.”
My dad’s face is red, and his hair is sticking out from his head like tufts of grey steel wool.
“Not only stories.” I gaze pointedly down at the dead bottles. “Pops, how much have you had to drink?”
With a grunt, Paulo lurches to his feet. He collects the empties and waves one of them at me. “Local grapes. We share bounty with gods.”
Without another word, he turns and disappears inside the cave. My dad, still clutching his own bottle, smiles absently out at the sea.
Raj flicks a glance at me and then, pulling a flashlight from his pocket, starts into the cave after Paulo.
Embarrassed, I offer a hand to my dad, who takes it, and I haul him to his feet.
“Raj—I mean, Dr. Malik needs to go,” I hiss under my breath.
He gives me a goofy grin. “Now that I’m on my feet, I also need to go.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I mean, obviously. He has an appointment, and he’s likely going to be late because we’ve had to come down here to rescue you.”
My dad burps gently. “Darling, I’m doing research. I don’t need rescuing.”
He takes a couple of wobbly steps before sinking down onto the boulder that Paulo had been sitting on. “See? No problem at all.”
“Right.” I give him another glare and then step around him to peer into the cave. The sky is taking on the deep gold of late afternoon, and the jagged mouth of the cave is dark against its brilliance. My eyes don’t easily adjust to the blackness, but the cool shade is intoxicating when I walk inside. I turn back to look at my dad, who is tilting dangerously atop his stone perch. “Is Paulo coming back out?”
He shrugs. “The man does what he wants.” My dad’s accent always thickens when he drinks, and the slur in his voice stokes my annoyance.
“He has been telling me stories of Cyclops’s cave.” His voice drops to a stage whisper. “It never really belonged to the Cyclopes. It’s called that for the tourists only.”
“Okay, whatever. We need to go, and you’re sitting down here getting sloshed. You know you shouldn’t be drinking when you’re on medication. It’s so frustrating, Pops—it’s like you go out of your way to ignore everything the doctor said.”
He shakes his head at me. “Ah, koritsi, I’m sorry. I just got caught up in his stories. And a man could sit in the sun and look at this view all day, yes?” He hauls himself to his feet.
“I get that. I just wish you would listen to me—or at least to what your doctor told you.”
“I do, my darling. I will. It’s just—to be back here . . .”
He pauses and caresses the boulder by the doorway gently with one hand. To my horror, I see his eyes have welled with tears.
“It means so much to me, Gianitsa. To be here, at last, and to be able to show it all to my beautiful girl . . .”
A sort of scuffling sound comes from behind us, and I whirl to see the glow of a flashlight bobbing toward the cave entrance. I’m suddenly awash in embarrassment that the men inside will see my dad maudlin from day-drinking.
“We’ve got to get going.” Scooping up my dad’s sunglasses from a patch of grass near the cave entrance, I hand them over, and he slips them on. “Dr. Malik needs to leave, and I’ve somehow got to get you up that hill to meet Taki.”
“It’s not a problem,” says Raj, emerging from the darkness of the cave behind us. He flicks off the flashlight and shoots his broad, white smile at my dad. “Ready to head back?”
Ari grins blearily and swings his arm to clap Raj on the shoulder but misses and takes a few wobbling steps forward in a way that makes my earlier stumbles look sure-footed. Raj places a steadying hand on my dad’s arm, and I catch sight of him peeking at his watch.
“Maybe we can call Taki from here,” I suggest hurriedly. “He can come down and give us a hand.”
“No need,” Raj begins, but then Paulo shambles out of the cave and presses a fresh bottle into my dad’s hands.
“A gift,” he bellows, clapping him on the back. My dad stumbles, and the only reason he doesn’t fall is that Raj is still holding his arm.
Instead, he reaches out to wring Paulo’s giant hand. “No one can tell a story like you, Paulo,” he says, fervently. “Your generosity will not be forgotten.”
&n
bsp; Raj grins up at Paulo and, without a word, swings his head under one of my dad’s arms and sets off up the hill. The path is barely wide enough for one, so I follow along, awash in embarrassment. At the first bend, I look back to see Paulo pulling the cork out of a fresh bottle. He holds it up to me in salute and hollers, “To Nobody!” before tilting it back.
I turn and follow them at what almost qualifies as a run.
While this speed doesn’t last long, I find going up is a piece of cake compared to the journey down. I never do catch up to Raj and my dad, but I arrive at the top a scant moment or two behind them, only slightly out of breath. And miracle of miracles, Taki is already waiting for us with Herman on one shoulder and the car doors open to catch the breeze.
I hurry over just in time to see Raj carefully arranging my dad into the back of Taki’s car.
Feeling mortified, I whisper, “He’s never like this. He probably shouldn’t have had wine with the medication he’s on.”
Raj stands up and shrugs it off. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about a thing.”
As I climb in through my own door, Raj leans down beside my dad’s window.
“I’ve got to head off now, but I’ll meet you at the next site, Dr. Kostas,” he says.
Raj steps back from the car, but in the end, he can’t get away without a round of handshakes with the men present. Herman does them all one better by jumping onto Raj’s shoulder and rubbing a cheek against his ear.
When at last Taki and Herman take their seats, I slam my door closed and watch Raj swing a leg over his bike. He catches me looking and shoots me a grin before pulling on his helmet and gunning his bike to life.
I think he is as happy as I am that this day is almost over.
The drive to the guesthouse is as noisy and bumpy as this morning’s had been, but my dad just leans back, eyes closed and a gentle smile on his face. Herman sidles along the back seat and begins crooning into my dad’s ear.