“Athena says that beach is where the goddess Aphrodite first came ashore. That’s why the island is named after her.”
“Amazing.” Emma’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “A whole island named after the Greek goddess of love? I can hardly wait to find out what kind of men must live here.”
Cara could. She had things to do other than cruise around Aphrodisias for Greek men. Visit Athena, for one. She sighed quietly but Emma heard her anyway.
“Oh, hey, here I am blabbing about guys like we’re on spring break in Florida and you must be worrying about your friend. What did her daughter-in-law tell you when you called from Athens?”
Cara shrugged. “Oh, Demetria says Athena is still having complications since they brought her home from the hospital. It wasn’t so much the broken hip, but the pulmonary embolism she got after the surgery. They’re having trouble making sure she doesn’t get another clot. Athena refuses to go back to the hospital, so they’re limited in what they can do for her.”
Emma patted her back. “Nasty stuff. But I’m sure she’ll recover quickly now that she’s home.” Emma stared out at the island. “There’s something about this place…but I don’t know what.”
Cara stared at Aphrodisias. The island was something, all right. Home to the only person in the world who could get her to return to Greece.
“IS SHE HERE? Is she here?” Athena Kefalas pulled herself to her feet using the aluminum-frame walker her doctor insisted on. Walkers were for old ladies, bah! And Athena Kefalas was not an old lady at seventy. Hadn’t her own dear mother lived to ninety-five and just passed away last year, God rest her soul, O Theos na tin anapafsi. She shook out her long black skirt and clumped over to the kitchen, where Demetria was hanging up the phone.
Her daughter-in-law pursed her lips and blinked a couple times, no doubt to get some patience with her mother-in-law. As far as Athena was concerned, she was a model mother-in-law compared to her own Giorgy’s mother. Now she had been a mother-in-law straight from the Evil One himself. She had also lived to a ripe old age, probably because the daimones were afraid to have her in Hell. They had eventually relented, though, and no doubt welcomed her as one of their own.
Ah, but perhaps Athena was getting old, reminiscing about long ago and not focusing on the present. And more importantly, the future. “Demetria, did Karoleena arrive?”
“Yes, Mother, she and her friend arrived at the villa you arranged for them and will come to see you this afternoon. But remember, Karoleena wants us to call her Cara, her American name.”
“Of course, of course.” Athena nibbled at a dish of pickled olives on the sturdy kitchen table. “And when Cara and her friend come, they must think I am still sick.”
Demetria snorted. “You may need that walker for a couple more weeks, but you look as healthy as a lamb in springtime.”
“Hmm.” Athena frowned. “I need to be pale and sickly. Demetria, bring me the flour.”
“Flour? Why? Are we baking kourabiethes for Cara?”
Athena paused for a second. Karoleena did love the sugared almond cookies, but no time for baking now. “To powder my face, of course. If Karoleena knows I am well, she will leave quickly and she needs to be here on Aphrodisias.”
Demetria didn’t bother to ask why again but brought the flour.
Athena looked up from where she was patting the white powder into her overly healthy-looking cheeks. “Thank you, Demetria. You are a good daughter.”
“Now, Mother, you only say that when you want me to do something.”
“Actually, if you could loan me your gray eye makeup to put circles under my eyes…”
Demetria blew out a breath strong enough to rival the ocean breeze but left to fetch the eye shadow.
Athena stared out the kitchen window overlooking the beach from where the Goddess of Love had appeared. So little love in this world anymore. But Athena had always known best, especially since her own dear mother had named her after the Goddess of Wisdom. She would do anything to help Karoleena, her poor girl who was so unhappy. And if Athena needed to wear enough flour on her face to make kourabiethes for the whole island, then by Aphrodite, she would!
CARA FINISHED UNPACKING her clothes into the dresser and took a deep breath. Athena, or probably Demetria, had chosen well in their vacation villa. The apartment was large and airy with whitewashed walls and pale gray marble floor tiles throughout. The furniture was solid dark walnut and would take a team of strapping Greek youths to move.
She walked into the big living room with a long, burnt-orange, L-shaped sectional couch and stared at the large weaving hanging on the wall. She’d seen Athena’s work often enough to know it was either hers or someone whom she’d taught. It had the look of an ancient Greek textile with its black figures on a red background, but the subject matter was typical of Athena—Artemis, the goddess of the hunt chasing down some man who had offended her. There was even a tiny arrow sticking out of the offender’s butt.
Cara giggled, her first laugh since landing in Athens. Emma, coming out of her own room, saw her smiling at the weaving. “Now that’s more like it. Isn’t this place great? That breeze blowing through the windows—and look, a balcony.” Emma hurried to the French doors and threw them open. “The flowers are amazing, and the sea beyond.”
Cara followed her onto the balcony. It held a small tiled table and two chairs overlooking bright blue–painted window boxes. Masses of bougainvillea trailed from the boxes down the side of the building, their ruffled fuchsia flowers soft and delicate against the spiky dark green leaves. Prim pink geraniums stood upright as if to reprimand their lazy sisters for falling over. She inhaled a deep breath of their sweet fragrance mixed with the salty air. The startlingly blue Aegean glittered in front of them.
“I’m getting my camera.” Emma rushed back to her room and returned with her small digital camera. “Say cheese, Cara.”
Something loosened in her stomach. This was what she loved about Greece—the open sea; the flowers; the crisp, pure air, where the sun shone differently than it did anywhere else. Cara grinned at the camera and Emma took her picture.
“Now take mine.” They switched places and then Emma took several more photos of the harbor view.
Cara wandered back into the villa’s kitchen to pull two mineral waters from the small fridge. “Here, be sure to drink something. We haven’t had much chance since we got into Athens, and the long plane ride dries you out.”
“Thanks. Cheers.” Emma clinked her bottle against Cara’s. “Or should I say ‘Opa!’ and fling my bottle against the wall?”
“I don’t think the maid would like that. But if you want, we can find a tourist restaurant where they fling plates and dance around like Anthony Quinn in Zorba the Greek.”
“And of course that’s a terrible stereotype since Greeks don’t like to dance?” Emma lifted a blond eyebrow.
Cara grinned. “Of course they do.” She drank her metaleekó neró and stared at the ocean. She loved the sea—ironic, since she now lived in Michigan, a thousand miles from the nearest salt water. She spotted a sail on the horizon and her heart quickened. “Look, Emma, a sailboat.”
“That’s right, you used to crew on sailboats before you moved to Michigan. Getting paid to sail the ocean blue must have been a great gig.”
“I did travel all over—California, Mexico, the Caribbean, even once around Corfu—that’s one of the western Greek islands more influenced by Italy.” She changed the subject hurriedly. “Anyway, we should go sailing if we have time. Maybe Athena has a cousin who can take us out on the water.”
“Great! Speaking of Athena, isn’t she expecting us