Spring in Skiathos

by Holly Greene

  Nick looked at her and nodded seriously. “Yes, Miss Joanna. Nai. The old gods.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but he gave no sign that he wasn’t.

  The crystal blue expanse of the Aegean sea dominated the horizon, and it was an easy thing to see how such epics as The Odyssey had been written.

  Looking past the undulating waves, there was mystery, a manifestation of the infinite.

  And the water was so clean-looking. In New York, the water had a grayish-white hue. Maybe it was the light, maybe it was the state of the Hudson River, but here, looking west, it was nothing but blue.

  Dark blue ocean, clean blue sky. No contrails dispersing into a foggy white-haze.

  This was the world as it was. As it should be.

  Joanna chuckled quietly to herself as the thought struck her.

  Maybe the gods of old were protecting Skiathos.

  They stopped after about an hour of driving. Joanna’s stomach was growling, but she was more than happy to wait.

  The island was intoxicatingly beautiful, and her senses were devouring it.

  They pulled past a beach and started coming upon civilization again.

  A teenage boy and girl on a mango-colored moped zipped past, and boats with their sails drawn dotted the waters lazily to the south.

  “Joanna, do you mind if we visit someone quickly before I show you to your room?” Nick asked.

  “OK, sure,” she agreed, somewhat hesitantly, wondering what he was up to.

  “It’s a woman I know will want to meet you. She loved your father more than anything his last few years.”

  Joanna looked at him, interested. “Were they an item - together, I mean?”

  “Who’s to say?” he replied, shrugging. “I’m not even sure what they’d say.”

  They pulled onto a brick paved roundabout that didn’t really seem to go anywhere except a flight of stone stairs.

  Nick turned off the engine.

  “Where are we?” Joanna asked, getting out with him. A park? Maybe a public garden?

  She couldn’t tell what was at the top, but tall, conical cypress trees intermixed with solid, white marble columns flanked both sides of the path all the way up the steep hill.

  It was all so incredibly …. Greek.

  “Come on,” Nick said jogging up. “She’s up here.”

  Joanna followed, glad to loosen up a bit and move her limbs.

  “Oh, but before we get too far, just turn around and see this,” Nick said, grabbing Joanna by her shoulders and gently turning her around. “Isn’t this a spectacular view?” he asked. “I think it’s the best in all of Skiathos.”

  Uninhabited, small green mountainous islands rose from the waters for as far as the eye could see. It was indeed breathtaking.

  “Come on,” Nick said, playfully. He reminded Joanna of Peter Pan trying to show Wendy all of the wonders of Neverland before nightfall.

  Were mermaids next?

  They climbed to the top and weren’t at a public garden, but were instead at…someone’s estate? A large hotel entryway in dire need of power-washing?

  “Eínai aftó tis? Eínai aftó i kóri Georges?” a shapely older woman said coming to the front door.

  She was dressed in an all white figure hugging gown, and had short, cropped black hair. She appeared to be in her late fifties, but had the body of a toned, voluptuous younger woman.

  “Nai,” Nick said. “Aftí eínai i Joanna Nélson. Kóri tou Georges.”

  The woman startled Joanna and placed both of her hands on her face to gaze into her eyes. “Nai, you are his daughter,” she said and smiled, displaying straight white teeth and healthy pink gums.

  She kissed Joanna on both cheeks and pulled her in for a hug.

  Joanna kept her hands to the side, overwhelmed by this strange woman’s onslaught of affection.

  The Greek woman squeezed her hard one more time and let her go.

  “You are a gem to us,” she said. “Efcharistó! Thank you for coming!”

  Joanna looked at Nick and asked, “What did I do?”

  “You are George’s daughter,” Nick explained. “It is enough.”

  “What time did your plane land?” the woman asked, taking one of Joanna’s hands and clasping it with both of her own.

  “Around four,” she replied.

  The woman then looked sternly at Nick who promptly snickered and put his arms up to defend himself.

  “That was hours ago and I’m sure she’s tired and hungry,” the woman scolded Nick, raining down playful blows upon him. “Romance her after she’s rested! I’m so sorry, Miss Nelson. If you weren’t pretty he wouldn’t have bothered you. You would have been here at four twenty. Come, come. Come inside your new abode.”

  “This is…”

  “Nai, nai,” the woman said, shaking her head. “This is your inheritance, all of it. The best hotel in Skiathos. Parádeisos tou Iródi— Herod’s Paradise.”

  8

  Nick brought her luggage in while Joanna walked around the lobby of the hotel, slightly dazed.

  The walls were cracking and peeling paint, and the air smelled like a muggy enclosed swimming pool.

  “I didn’t properly introduce myself,” the Greek woman said then. “I’m Crisanta Lekas, but you can call me Chris.”

  “How did you know my father?” Joanna asked, wandering around in circles, her mind spinning.

  “I worked for him the last four years of his life. He was a great man.”

  Joanna stopped and leaned before a picture of an old man standing between the columns that lined the staircase.

  “Is this him?” she asked, pointing.

  “Your father? No, but that is your grandfather. Priam. He’s the man who built this place. Would you like to see a picture of your father?”

  Joanna nodded.

  “Nick,” she hollered and the younger Greek shrugged and set Joanna’s luggage on the floor.

  Chris seemed to think for a moment. “He wasn’t a vain man, you see, Miss Joanna. I don’t think he had anything like that in his room. We’re still going through his things and belongings, and it’s hard. None of us really have the strength or time to do it. I don’t think I’ve seen any pictures of him in there. Eímai ilíthios!” Chris suddenly slapped her head. “My phone. Let me find my phone. Just a minute, dear.”

  She walked behind the check-in desk, dug into her handbag, and came back with a white iPhone.

  “I forget about how much these things do.” Chris pulled up her photos and scrolled to one of her sitting next to a man with both hands resting atop a carved cane. “On the night of his last birthday I got someone to take my picture with him. This is him. This is your father.”

  Joanna snatched Chris’s phone from her hand and went and sat down on one of the old, leather couches. She zoomed in on his face. Unlike most older American men, her father was fit and thin before he died.

  His teeth were slightly crooked, but they were still his own. No dentures for him. He had a pen behind his ear. Was he a writer? His shirt was pressed clean. His tie was tight and…

  Suddenly overcome with emotion, Joanna broke down.

  “Miss Joanna,” Chris cried. “What’s wrong? Is it just seeing your father? Nick, get her a glass of wine.” She then ran to the check-in counter for a box of tissues and held the box for Joanna as she pulled some out.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just … I feeling a lot of emotions right now,” Joanna sniffed, distraught at this unexpected show of feeling for a man she never knew. “I’m confused. If he was so wonderful why did I never have a chance to meet him? I don’t understand. Why the distance? I think we would have liked each other perhaps.”

  Nick reappeared with a glass of wine and Chris took it from him, holding it out to Joanna. “Here, please. Take a sip. They don’t call it spirits for no reason.”

  Joanna laughed sheepishly and drank it quickly.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you this but … you have me feelin
g bad for you now,” Chris said, and playfully slapped Joanna’s knee. “Tomorrow, I will show you his room. I found a box of letters before that I couldn’t bring myself to throw out. Now I know why. Your father must have been on the other side, encouraging me to keep them.”

  “Who were the letters from?”

  “Your mother, Miss Joanna. So many of them.”

  “What?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “From when? What are they about?”

  Chris patted her hand. “You’ll just have to read them and find out for yourself.”

  9

  They showed Joanna to her room only after Chris had forced olives and hard cheese upon her. “You need to eat. You look pale.”

  It was the master suite - the only room on the fourth floor.

  Its balcony and outdoor patio covered almost the entire area and length of the third floor below. There was a large king bed in a separate bedroom, living room, and kitchen. It was three times larger than her apartment in New York.

  “No, please, it’s too much. Give it to some of the wedding guests. I don’t need this much. I promise.”

  “Óchi, óchi. Enjoy, Miss Joanna,” Chris persuaded gently. “It’s already done. Relax.”

  Nick placed Joanna’s luggage on the bed for her and said, “After you take a shower and rest up, come down to the lobby. I’ll take you to town for dinner and show you around some more.”

  “OK,” Joanna said, her heart fluttering a little at the idea of going to dinner with the handsome Greek.

  Chris smirked and shook her head at Nick.

  “Keep your eye on him, Miss Joanna,” she joked, as if reading her mind. “Greek men aren’t usually this polite to women. Even if they’re the daughters of Georges Herod.”

  They left Joanna alone, and she walked out onto the patio to call Peter.

  To the right, the sun was setting and casting the clouds in a wonderful peach-pink glow. The water rippled and shimmered in quiet ecstasy.

  Were they any bad views in Skiathos? She loved how everything was mountainous and wild. Poseidon and Apollo were putting up a great show and if she had to prove her devotion to one of them, she’d be hard pressed.

  She calculated the time difference between Greece and New York. It was only eleven in the morning back there. She dug her phone out and dialled Peter. It went straight to voicemail.

  “Hi honey. I’ve arrived safely in Skiathos. You’re never going to guess what he left me. It’s beyond belief. Give me a call when you can. I’ll probably be in bed before too long, so give me a call if you’re not too busy.”

  She hung up. He was probably already at work showing some Wall Street investor a new high rise apartment. She decided to take a hot shower and get ready for the evening.

  Inside, the bathroom was direly in need of remodeling. The paint, the towel rack, the shower rod all looked like they were probably dated even in the seventies.

  She turned the hot water on, half expecting to see brown, muddy water seep out, but to her surprise it was clear and immediately hot. So hot, in fact, she wouldn’t be able to shower at full temperature.

  “At least something’s going right,” she muttered.

  She really wanted to talk to Peter about what her father had left her.

  Was this place a goldmine like Peter assumed? The land maybe, but not the building. It needed so much work.

  But the bones of it seemed strong. Perhaps it just needed to be spruced up a bit. Once upon a time, she could imagine it had been quite regal. Whenever that ‘time’ was, was open to debate, but it could be brought back.

  But it really couldn’t be on a better piece of land. The views were spectacular. She tried to keep her brain occupied with the logistics of owning an internationally visited hotel, but soon her brain went back to her parents, and to the letters they had written to one another.

  Ruth had never really loved anyone, Joanna thought. Not from what she had seen. Hell, it was debatable if her mother even really loved her.

  Over the years when she was a child, she had watched Ruth try to date men. Everyone she dated, no matter who it was, always ended badly.

  She never went out with anyone for more than a couple of weeks. Joanna had just assumed at the time that her mother wasn’t able to find anyone with whom she connected. That all of the men she dated were jerks of some kind.

  Had she just been comparing them all to her father? Had they all failed to impress and had Ruth lived her whole life hoping to find another George Herod?

  She’d never even mentioned him. The most Joanna ever got was that one comment: “It was a mistake.”

  Was she the mistake? And what were all of the letters about?

  10

  Joanna turned got out of the shower and dried off. She opened up her suitcase and contemplated what to wear. She had brought a long, black flowing gown, but was it too sexy? She wasn’t concerned about that factor so much as she was about comfort.

  A little voice in her head, one that sounded surprisingly a lot like Donna said, Yeah, you tell yourself that’s why you’re wearing it. Nick isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, is he?

  He’s not, Joanna thought to herself. And I bet he’d answer the phone if I called him from another country.

  A little while later she went back down the lobby where she found Nick reading the paper and Chris talking with a guest.

  “Joanna,” she waved. “Come, come! This is Mr. Balis. Mr. Balis, this is the new owner, George’s daughter. You’re going to bring this place back to its former glory, aren’t you, Miss Joanna?”

  She coloured. “Oh, I have no idea what I’m going to do yet. ”

  Mr. Balis took Joanna’s hand and kissed it. He had white hair shooting out the sides of his old golfer’s hat, and was maybe in his mid eighties. His eyes looked a little confused, and Joanna couldn’t tell if he knew what was going on. Then he surprised her by speaking English.

  “Your father,” he began, and shook his head. “Your father was the best friend anyone could ever have, but he didn’t give a shit about this place. He let Chris here worry about everything. But he always made sure we had whatever we needed. Before I married my wife, I wanted to buy her some flowers as a surprise. I wasn’t the only guy interested in her, you see. He lent me the money when I jokingly said I was going to lose her to Janus down the street. Janus’s father had money, just like George’s father did, but George didn’t walk around trying to look better than everyone. I tried to pay him back, and he wouldn’t let me. Told me to buy her another bouquet. He said the trick is not just buying a girl flowers, but buying her flowers more than once. I took that to heart. Been buying her flowers ever since.”

  “Your English is very good,” Joanna commented, smiling.

  Balis gave a curt nod. “Deal with tourists most of the year. We all speak some English here. Learn some Greek if you’re going to stay, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll talk to you even if you don’t. Skiathons are talkers.”

  Then he walked out the back to the outdoor pool and bar.

  “Is he here for the bar?” Joanna asked.

  “No,” Chris replied. “He got in trouble with his wife. Shouldn’t have given her so many flowers. Now when he makes her angry he’s got nothing to give her.”

  Nick had been so involved in his paper that he hadn’t realised Joanna had come down. Right then he noticed her (as well as what she was wearing) and tossing the paper to the side he bounced over.

  “Joanna,” he exclaimed. “Ready for dinner?”

  “I am. Where are you taking me?”

  “What do you like?” he asked charmingly.

  “Something fresh,” she said.

  This confused him a little. “Something fresh?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side.

  “You know, a nice salad or something with vegetables. Nothing greasy or fried.”

  “I see,” Nick said and laughed. “I think you mean Greek food.”

  She smiled. “Then lead the way.”

  “Are you goi
ng to take me the long way again?” she asked, when seated in Nick’s old Volkswagen.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No, I just want to eat,” Joanna sighed. “You’ve been promising me food all afternoon.”

  He grinned. “We’re going to a restaurant that only Skiathan natives know of. No tourist, to my knowledge has ever gone there.”

  “They won’t throw me out then, will they?”

  “No, because you are part Skiathan too. One who can’t speak any Greek perhaps, but you are Skiathan.”

  Nick looked at her and saw her face. “Miss Joanna, no, I’m teasing. If you knew me you’d know I only tease people I like.”

  Joanna thought they were going to drive straight along the coast and into town, but soon he turned left where the road suddenly became a dirt path and curved and wound its way up one of the many mountains on the island.

  “What are you doing?” she urged, becoming a little irritated now. “Don’t drive me all over this island because you’ve got nothing better to do. Feed me!”

  Nick grinned. “We should have brought a donkey, but I think we’re going to make it. How strong are your American legs? You might have to push. My car is old.”

  Joanna bit her lip and stifled a laugh. She hadn’t bantered with a guy like this in a long time. Peter was serious and so literal. He didn’t really know how to banter.

  Nick stopped at the peak of the hill in front of a modern, glass walled building. There were no signs that it was a public place other than the fact that there were parking spaces.

  “This is a restaurant?” Joanna asked dubiously.

  “It is. Not the typical tourist taverna you were expecting no?” he joked.

  Inside, Nick spoke Greek to the waitress who smiled warmly at Joanna and then took them outside to a terrace.

  “Look,” Nick said, pointing. “Both coasts of Skiathos. That’s the southern end, and behind me is the northern coast. Great view, still not as good as the one your father’s hotel provides. But I like it here. I feel like I’m at the top of the world.”

  It was a stunning view but gray clouds had begun to form, and it was looking like it was going to rain any minute. The sky rumbled and the wind picked up.