by Lisa Freed
I smiled back for a few seconds, then he cleared his throat.
Oh! Duh! He was waiting for his fare. I dug around in my purse then hesitated. He hadn’t told me how much. With a mental shrug, I handed him two twenties figuring that would cover the fare and tip, we had only been driving for maybe fifteen minutes or so.
Lukas continued to smile and stare at me.
After a few more seconds he finally seemed to grasp that I wasn’t about to give him more. “The fare is thirty-five euros,” he supplied.
“I didn’t exchange any money, what’s that in dollars?”
“Forty dollars and seventy cents.”
So, we were standing here looking at each other over seventy cents. And a tip. I dug back in my bag again, somehow my wallet always manages to fall to the bottom and disappear so it took me a few long seconds to find it while it felt like everyone in the hotel’s lobby watched me. I pulled out a ten, handing it to Lukas who tipped me a wink then went on his way.
CHAPTER THREE
Tempting though it was to leave my bags where they sat, I did the right thing and picked them up before making my way to the front desk. The gentleman behind the gray marble counter was dressed casually in a loose-fitting black silk shirt that had large green olives the size of golf balls all over it. He gave me a hesitant smile, apparently, my exchange with Lukas had concerned him, though not as much as his loud shirt did me. Then my eyes were caught by the tiny black cubbies behind him, each one with a hook where a key would be. And all of them empty.
“Hello, I’m Teresa Ashford, I have a reservation,” I stated calmly, or so I hoped.
He consulted a few pieces of paper behind the counter where I couldn’t see, despite me leaning forward slightly. He looked up, a slight frown pulling his large lips down like a deflated balloon, as his brown eyes darted around. “Ms. Ashford, we were expecting you yesterday,” his voice slightly accusatory.
That’s what I had forgotten! When I had missed my original flight, it had completely slipped my mind to call the hotel in Greece. Instead, I had been more concerned with finding a hotel for that night in Baltimore so I didn’t have to sleep in my car or drive further away and deal with traffic again.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized, not feeling truly worried yet despite all those empty hooks. “I missed my flight,” I added in an appeal for some sympathy and understanding.
“Let me get my manager,” the man said bluntly.
“But I have the room booked for two weeks so this doesn’t affect anything does it?” I wailed to his back before he disappeared behind a door to the left of the key cubbies.
Staring hard at the door, I willed it to open and the front desk clerk to return with excellent news. He did have a slight smile back on his face when he edged around the door but the taller older man following closely behind him didn’t. That gentleman closed the office door quietly before he approached the desk, laying large palms flat on it and leaning closer to me. Drawn in, I found myself moving in until only a few inches separated our faces.
“Ms. Ashford, I am sorry about the delay but you must still pay for yesterday.” His quiet voice with a heavy accent took a few moments for me to decipher.
“You still have a room for me?”
He frowned, his head jerking away from me as if I had been rude. “You reserved your room, we have it for you. We also have the credit card information you provided and it has been charged.”
I laughed as relief released the tension in my shoulders. “No problem, great, thanks! Can I please have my room key now?”
“Of course,” he waved his left hand at the front desk clerk who stood less than a foot away almost smacking an overripe looking olive on the man’s shirt. The key with a large dangling plastic green olive key fob materialized from under the desk and was pressed into the manager’s extended hand, which he then passed over to me. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Ms. Ashford. Free WIFI in the hotel, the password you will find up in your room. Also, we serve a delightful breakfast buffet for only eight euros every morning, six until ten thirty.”
“Thank you,” I said feeling too tired to even attempt a smile and then made my way to the elevator. My room, on the fourth of seven floors, was a pleasant surprise. It looked exactly as advertised and even better, sparkled with cleanness. The setup, similar to hotels in the US, had a few noticeable differences. The most noticeable was the lack of an entertainment center, instead, the flat screen was mounted high up on the wall opposite the bed. Also missing was a coffee maker, the staple of all rooms I had ever been in. Interesting. I didn’t need a daily coffee but I liked having the option for an instant caffeine hit if it was required. Whatever, the manager had mentioned a breakfast for an extra fee, there was certain to be coffee downstairs.
Kicking off my shoes, I let my bags drop then flopped face first onto the bed. The flight, time difference, stress, worry, all of it combined to make me exhausted. But I mustered the strength to scoot backward until my feet touched the bare wooden floor. With a series of toe-taps I located my purse and by inserting my foot into the strap I dragged it close enough for my hand to reach. I discarded it again after claiming my phone from its bottomless depths.
Pulling my feet once more onto the bed, I curled into a ball, the phone wedged up to my face. Swiping across the screen I croaked out, “Call John.”
The phone rang and rang causing me to wonder if he was out on a fire call.
“Hello!” a rough voice snarled into the phone.
“John, it’s Teresa. How are you and the cats doing?”
There was a long moment of silence then in a more reasonable tone of voice, “T, bugger off and call back at a decent hour.” The call disconnected.
Glancing at the phone’s screen, I saw it was nearly eleven in the afternoon. Why was John still sleeping and getting nasty over a decent hour? It was a decent one! Blah, maybe he had just come off a shift but I thought he was twelve on then off for a day or so, I couldn’t keep up with his odd schedule. He had been a firefighter at Station Ten full-time for six years now, but things changed and truth be told, I hadn’t been the best of friends in regards to remembering things lately.
Then it hit me, I was in Greece and my phone had changed over to their time once it hooked up to the WIFI in the airport. My eyes squeezed closed as I attempted to recall the difference in time zones, something like six hours maybe. Which made it around five am there, early but not dreadful. Unless it was a seven- or eight-hour difference then major oops, I owed John an apology.
I also owed my stomach some food. The bag of chips was in my purse, still half-full. I hadn’t eaten any more on the ride to the hotel like I had planned thanks to Lukas’s lead foot driving. I had taken a few hasty gulps of soda because I needed the sugar and caffeine to keep me going. And now my body had just about run out of steam. I couldn’t even summon up the energy to get the soda from my carry-on where I had stuck it nor grab my purse from the floor near the bed. Nope, too much effort. My vision dimmed as my eyelids lowered, fluttered open, then stayed closed.
Lance sat on the edge of the bed, his hand rubbing small gentle circles on my back. When I turned my head and smiled up at him, his eyes crinkled into those sexy laugh lines that I loved. “Hey, girl,” he said before giving my rump a rather rough slap.
When I leaped up to yell, I found Lance had changed into Victor. He stood grinning in that devil-may-care way I adored, his arms crossed over his chest, biceps pushing against the thin Aerosmith t-shirt he wore. I could feel confusion fill me, Victor didn’t wear t-shirts and definitely not Aerosmith ones. “Teresa, it’s okay, all will be as it should be. Dying was the best thing that ever happened to me, I met you. We were meant to be together, remember that and soon everything will be as it should.” He held out his hand, his long fingers beckoning me…
Taking a step forward, his motioning hand got smacked away by …Aunt Prudy?!
“Aunt Prudy? What are you doing here?”
“Teresa, you’re
dreaming, girl. But before you wake up, I want you to remember, stay the course don’t give in to wannabe lover boy,” she jerked a thumb at Victor standing off in the distance with a smirk on his handsome face. “Or even Mr. Hot Buns,” she continued, moving a hand to gesture at a grinning and waving Lance. “You know what needs to be done. Don’t complicate things, what feels right is right.” Prudy stopped then reached over and gripped my arm pulling me to her for a fierce hug. I could feel her arms around me and the old familiar smell of cigarette smoke and perfume that she had carried with her in life drifted to my nose. I squeezed her hard. I missed her.
“I miss you too. We’re fortunate to still be able to visit each other despite my passing but oh how I longed to hug you and Megan again. Give her a hard squeeze for me the next time you see her, please?” Prudy’s green eyes shined brightly as she pulled away. She rubbed at them with trembling hands before straightening up. “Okay, enough of this. Time to wake up.”
My eyes popped open and I sat up. Looking around the brightly lit hotel room I saw the sun, still high in the sky, bright beams coming through the opened curtains around the sliding glass door leading out to the minuscule balcony. Sniffing the air, I could almost swear I smelt Aunt Prudy’s lingering scent. My arms went around my middle, my head bowing slightly as I closed my eyes. Her hug had felt so real, so solid in my dream.
But that message, stay the course and what feels right is right? My decision-making skills had been sorely lacking lately. I could only pray that Aunt Prudy was correct and somehow, I wouldn’t screw things up even worse than whatever Victor had planned.
First stretching to relieve the kink in my neck and back, I leaned over nabbing the bag of chips out of my purse and grabbing the soda from my carry-on on my way out to the balcony. Yes, it was tiny but it had a little metal oval table and two chairs around it and the view was marvelous. Sitting in a chair munching on the slightly crushed chips and licking the orange powdered seasoning off my fingers between bites, I breathed in a big lungful of air and just reveled in the moment.
Then I chugged some soda, my mind shifting into brainstorming mode. I had adored that word when my eighth grade English teacher first used it and even now just thinking of it brought a smile to my lips. I could almost envision storm clouds circling my brain just waiting to zap an idea lightning bolt down. So where would Victor go? Here, his homeland, and maybe attempt his old house? Check on a few bank accounts, would they remain open after his passing? I hadn’t the foggiest. He wanted a body, had taken Lance to get one similar to his own no doubt. But that could be anywhere in the country.
So very frustrating! I rubbed at my temples hoping to ease the tension and get a few storm clouds brewing but my brainstorms were blowing away leaving me with only clear, beautiful skies.
And an empty chip bag. I balled it up, grabbed my soda, and went back into the room getting another shock as I entered the bathroom. Right above the toilet was a printed sign tacked to the wall telling me to toss all toilet tissue into the bin provided. Do not flush. Sure enough, there was a small trash bin directly next to the commode. Still not over that unexpected surprise, my eyes went to the shower next. Instead of a standard tub or even an enclosed stall, the shower was a thin tray on the ground with a curtain around it. I set my soda bottle on the sink, tossed the empty chip bag in the trash can, then got into the shower to check it out further. I was tempted to strip and take a shower right now but my grumbling stomach vetoed that idea.
CHAPTER FOUR
The guy in the loud olive plastered shirt was still at the front desk when I came down to the lobby but this time there was no hesitation on his part in greeting me warmly. “Ms. Ashford, your room is to your satisfaction? Everything good?”
“It’s wonderful, thank you. I was curious about any restaurant recommendations you could give, the closer the better.”
He plucked a flyer from a wire display rack on the edge of the front desk. “We are so close to the Central Market, lots of restaurants there, very easy walk.” He placed the flyer down and circled the hotel on the map area then circled the central market area. He passed it to me with another smile.
“Thank you.”
“You are very welcome. Enjoy your meal.” He said with a parting wave, or what I assumed was a wave meant for me since his palm faced inward not outwards. Then his smile dimmed and he raised his voice. “Ms. Ashford, please do not forget to change your money over. There are several ATM’s around the market, I’m afraid we don’t have one at the hotel yet.” Then with a parting nod, he reopened his crossword puzzle book which he must have closed when I approached.
The walk was very easy, which I was thankful for. And I was able to find an ATM pretty easily and withdrew a decent amount of cash to see me through the next several days. The Euros were very colorful and much wider than US dollars, they also felt rather slippery in my hands. People were everywhere and my eyes flew around taking it all in. Living in Rehoboth, Delaware, a tourist destination and super popular beach community, I was accustomed to crowds, mostly families in swimwear and all various shades of sunburn red and tan, but here! Oh my, people were sharply dressed in a multitude of colors and all looked healthy and fit. No exposed potbellies or whale guts in sight, which was a nice change of pace, I had to admit. I saw several dogs trotting around looking like tourists out on a stroll which made my mouth quirk up in a grin. And the smells, my poor stomach insisted I stop at the first restaurant I came to.
Multiple tiny white tables were in rows in front of the building, with brightly colors chairs of orange and green placed two to a table. I weaved my way between the diners to a counter where I could see the cook grilling meats, while another chopped up vegetables and arranged sizzling platters.
I’m embarrassed to say English is my only spoken language. I tried Spanish and French while in high school and failed miserably at both. But I could mime pretty decently and hoped some well-placed jabs of my finger at the listed menu on the wall to the right of the counter would suffice. The cook not flipping and dicing the meats looked up and gave me a grin, holding up a finger. He finished the plates placing them on the counter where a waiter appeared and grabbed them before they had even sat there for a minute.
“American?” the cook asked.
“Yes,” I said, so relieved that he spoke English.
“Great! What will you have?”
I ordered a gyro wrap and a bottle of water and after the higher than expected taxi fare was pleasantly surprised at how little my meal came to. Four euros so just under five dollars.
Scouting the area, I found several unoccupied tables and claimed one near the street to observe the market. The seats weren’t the most comfortable, no doubt to encourage people to eat and move along. But after sitting for only a few minutes I picked up a very fishy smell that had my nose crinkling and me eyeing free tables further away from the street which is where I assumed the odor was coming from.
I got up, moving to a table closer to the grill area hoping to only be inhaling the mouth-watering fragrance of sizzling lamb and beef. Only after sitting down at my new seat did I see the waiter, a young man with a red apron tied around his middle, following me with a plate in hand and a bottle of water tucked into his apron’s large front pockets.
“Sorry about that,” I said accepting the heavy plate from him and then the folded napkin containing fork and knife. The water bottle he placed on the table for me. As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help asking, “Where is that fishy smell coming from?”
“Fresh fish,” he answered simply, an amused half-smirk on his face. Then he crouched down until our shoulders were almost level, his arm held straight out pointing at something behind me.
Turning in the seat, I saw the crates of fruits, vegetables, and nuts at the store across from the restaurant. But it wasn’t only fruit on display, I also made out mounds of white ice with fish heads and tails, the sun shining brightly off their slick scales. “Oh, yes, that explains it,” I said feeling a tad
overwhelmed.
But that quickly faded as I began eating my heavily loaded down gyro. It came wrapped in plain paper and I needed two hands to hold it. Not only did it have still sizzling lamb meat, bunches of lettuce, big chunks of tomato, and delicious tzatziki sauce that I adored, but there were fries half sticking out of the pita wrap as well. Those I pulled out and placed on my plate. Then I took a huge bite, closed my eyes in bliss while chewing contently.
“May I sit with you?” a low male voice asked.
I knew it was the man from the airport before I even opened my eyes. The air crackled like a lit fourth of July sparkler, the sound low but filling my ears. He would be important, I didn’t know how yet, but all the signs were there.
My gyro went back on my plate then I opened my eyes.
Up close his dark eyes were almost black. That wild shock of hair had been concealed under a faded, navy blue ballcap but it was him.
“Of course,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the napkin.
He smiled at me, revealing very white teeth and a pronounced overbite, and placed a bottle of water down on the table close to mine before he sat. “Thank you, I’m Mateo.”
“Hi, Mateo, have you been following me?” I asked though I certainly had my suspicions.
His smile widened. “Yes and no,” he said carefully. “I did see you at the airport. You saw me?” His large hand picked up his water, balanced it carefully on his palm for a moment then unscrewed the cap.
“I did indeed. Your hat isn’t fooling me.”
He had just taken a sip of water as I said that, thankfully a small sip as he sprayed it all over the table when he burst out laughing. He ran a hand over his mouth to wipe away the dripping water then gestured toward an unused napkin. “May I?”
