No Longer Needed

by Brenda Grate

  “Oh, Con, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “Well, I haven’t told you, so it’s not your fault. I didn’t even really know what was wrong until lately. I dread coming in to prep for the evening. I used to have to hold myself back from coming in too early, you know? It didn’t matter what I happened to be doing, I could only seem to think about Il Giardino. Now that it’s such a success, I just want to hand it off to someone else and go do it again, or maybe just open a small, more intimate place. This is all just so big and impersonal. It’s nothing like the trattorias I fell in love with in Rome.”

  Emma sipped her wine. She’d had no idea that Connie hadn’t been perfectly happy with her life. It rocked Emma to think that her best friend’s life—which she had always envied in her heart—wasn’t everything Connie wanted. Sure, she could sell Il Giardino for a pretty sum, but Emma worried Connie would regret it. And what about a family? It wasn’t like you could just conjure one up out of the air.

  “Well …” Emma paused, still unsure.

  “It’s okay, Em, you don’t have the answers any more than I do. Who knows what I should do. For now I’ll carry on, just as you’ll carry on and we’ll see what life brings us.” She smiled and reached across the table to pat Emma’s hand. “Enjoy your pasta. I’d better get back to the kitchen. Oh, and this is on me, so don’t even try to get around it. My staff have strict instructions.”

  Emma made a helpless gesture. She knew better than to argue.

  Connie dropped a quick kiss on top of Emma’s head and hurried back to the kitchen.

  Emma finished her meal and reluctantly left the restaurant. She had nothing but an empty house filled with the empty boxes she’d purchased that day. They were waiting for her things, but Emma still didn’t know what she wanted to take with her. She’d called Alan to find out the schedule for the house being put on the market. The pregnant girlfriend didn’t come up in their conversation.

  “Take whatever you want from the house and leave the rest,” Alan had said in his clipped tones. “I’ll go through it when you’re done and then a cleaning company will come in. They have instructions to give whatever’s left to the thrift store and make everything shine. The Realtor has a company that will fill it with furniture, stage it, and then she’ll begin showing it.”

  And that was that. Emma had nothing left to say. She’d agreed and hung up. Jen and Connie’s words came back to her. But what would be the point of standing up to Alan when there was nothing to salvage?

  She would move on and perhaps if she had another relationship one day, she’d try to do better.

  Chapter 8

  Emma stood in front of the dozen or so boxes, her stomach uncomfortably full, her head a little light from the wine, and tried to bring her thoughts into some sort of order.

  Pictures of the now fractured family sat in pewter frames on the mantel over the fireplace.

  Do I take them to be reminded of what I’ve lost?

  They had bought the sofa in their fifth year of marriage. She’d been excited to own such a special piece of furniture and made plans for when they could purchase the rest of the set. Now the sofa would most likely be sent to a thrift store. It felt as if she had been told to pack up all her bright dreams for the future, along with her memories, and give them away like discarded furniture.

  A tear slid down Emma’s cheek and dropped onto the beige carpet.

  I don’t think I can do this.

  Emma decided she would start in Alan’s office. There at least she’d be happy to throw everything away. She was surprised he hadn’t gotten to it first. Maybe he’d moved things out on the sly before informing her of his intentions. That would be like him.

  She flung the door open and his smell assailed her, knocking her back a step. He’d always worn Polo cologne. He had worn nothing else after he found out it was the choice of many Ivy leaguers. She’d always loved his smell. Tears prickled her eyes again, but she swiped them away with force. This had to be done, and dissolving into tears only delayed the inevitable.

  Emma started with the nearest bookshelf. Alan never read, so it was the biggest sham in the house. He’d filled it with all the popular books on the New York Times Bestseller List. He also bought every book on Oprah’s book club list. He’d never cracked open a single one. Emma didn’t know how he got away with it as many people came into his office and commented on all the books. He must have read the synopsis and reviews to get enough information to discuss them.

  Alan hadn’t gotten successful by being stupid. But she felt annoyed all the same. Mostly with herself. How had she not seen that if he could be so willingly deceitful about the books that it had to be an integral part of his personality? She mentally slapped herself on the back of the head.

  Stupid, stupid Emma.

  She went to the sitting room and picked up a few of the flattened boxes and a roll of tape. She put them together and arranged them in front of the bookshelf. Emma tried not to look at the titles as she pulled the books off the shelf. She’d often wanted to read one of the new books, but Alan wouldn’t let her. He wanted them in pristine condition, missing the obvious fact that if they weren’t creased and dog-eared, he obviously hadn’t read them.

  She smiled when she saw the book at the top of the stack. It was a full-color book about Santorini Greece, one of the most popular islands in Greece. Emma allowed herself to be pulled into the daydream that always seemed to come when gazing at the startling contrast of stark white houses in the craggy hills overlooking the stunning blue of the Aegean Sea.

  What if I lived there? Would I be able to escape?

  Emma opened the book and turned the pages filled with photographs of idyllic days spent on the Mediterranean. Her grandfather had given her the book just before he passed away. She hadn’t looked at it since that day. She wondered why it sat on the shelf in Alan’s office. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t grasp the thought before it slipped away.

  She closed the book with a snap, guilty that she still hadn’t fulfilled her Papous’ wishes. Connie had been right when she said that now was the perfect opportunity. She would have no house to live in soon. She could either go on the hunt to find one, or head to Greece for a while, decide what to do with the little house, and maybe find a new lease on life. She would be fulfilling Papous’ wishes as well as giving herself a much-needed holiday somewhere far from the present life. Maybe Jen would even be willing to come along.

  Emma wasn’t excited about the idea of traveling alone. She’d never done it and even broke out in a sweat at the thought of everything she’d have to cope with in a foreign country. But it would be better than staying here and coping with the divorce. She could deal with it from a distance. It had all been pretty much settled anyway. She hadn’t signed the final paperwork on the divorce agreement, but could do that via fax.

  Emma put the book on the edge of Alan’s desk and sat down in front of the iMac. He had a laptop that he used most of the time. The one at the desk had often been used as the children’s homework computer.

  The browser opened to Google. Emma typed Expedia.com on the slightly sticky keyboard. She did a search for plane tickets to Athens. They were reasonably priced so, before she could think about it, she went to the living room, grabbed her purse and booked three tickets for three weeks away. She made sure they were refundable in case Jen or Brad, or both, didn’t want to go with her. They probably needed a vacation as much as she did. She hoped they would take her up on the offer and maybe they’d find a new relationship together, one that didn’t include their father. If one of them didn’t go, she’d offer the other ticket to Connie.

  Emma pushed back the chair when she was finished with the online purchase, her eyes coming to rest on the book that started what felt a little like madness. Again, that niggling feeling bothered her.

  Why would Alan have put that book in his office?

  He’d known Papous had given it to her in order to tempt her to Greece.
Maybe he wanted to impress his guests with his eclectic taste, the book even suggesting he had spent time in Greece. Alan wasn’t a traveler though, and anyone who knew him would know that. Emma couldn’t even remember the last vacation they’d taken as a family or as a couple. She figured it was probably the one where she and the kids had all but forced Alan to drive to Ottawa, protesting all the way. Jen, who’d always been the best at debating, had come up with the argument that Ottawa was where the Parliament buildings were and they wouldn’t be good Canadians if they didn’t visit at least once.

  Alan had finally agreed and they’d all had a surprisingly good time. After the first few hours of grumbling, he’d started to enjoy himself. Emma hadn’t remarked on it, not wanting to draw his attention to it, but she’d been happy for the week they’d toured.

  She’d hoped it would be the beginning of a family tradition of going for holidays every year, but when the next year came around, he’d refused again. No matter what arguments Jen had used, he’d remained firm. Finally, Emma took the kids to Disneyland herself.

  Was that the beginning of the end?

  Emma picked up the book and carried it into her bedroom. She placed it on her bedside table and kept glancing at it while she readied herself for sleep.

  She imagined the little house her Papous …

  Then she realized what was bothering her. Emma sucked in a breath and a thrill of fear shot through her. She looked at her bedside clock. It was much too late to call the law office. Lawyers were usually there at all hours, but they wouldn’t answer the phone so late unless she had the direct line to Alan’s lawyer, which she didn’t. Her stomach churned at the thought that it might be too late. Then she remembered she hadn’t signed the final divorce agreement, although she’d agreed to it verbally. As far as she knew, it wasn’t legal until she put her signature to it. And she wouldn’t, no matter how much pressure Alan exerted.

  The little house. It was hers as Papous intended. He’d loved his oldest granddaughter with a love that made her feel like she always had a safety net. He told her many stories of life in Greece. He loved to describe the salty air that filled his lungs to depths like no other air on Earth. As a young girl, Emma would imagine living in Greece and getting away from her responsibilities.

  Emma’s father had passed away when her youngest sister had only been a baby. Her mother had never recovered. So Emma, at only ten years old, had to become the mother of the household. She’d rushed home after school every day to make sure her three sisters were cared for and her mother comfortable. Emma’s mother didn’t have a specific ailment, just a general weakness that Emma figured would now be diagnosed as fibromyalgia. Even as a young child, though, Emma knew it to be overwhelming grief.

  Emma’s father had been a seriously handsome man. In their wedding picture, mom had never looked so happy or proud. She had loved her husband with every part of her being, as she’d said many times. Daddy had strong Greek features. An aquiline nose, dark hair, piercing black eyes that somehow sparkled despite their depth. He was of average height, but more than made up for it in personality. Emma had loved her father blindingly.

  He had been Papous’ only son. Emma’s grandmother, yiayia in Greek, had died giving birth to him. Papous had been so overwhelmed with grief that he left Greece to find a new life with his baby son. He had friends in Greece with family members in Toronto, so had traveled there with letters of introduction. The Canadian Greeks had immediately welcomed him as part of their community.

  Papous had been a fisherman in Greece just like his father and grandfather before him. Since there was no sea in Toronto, he’d found work in a factory and worked his way up to foreman. He’d gone to work every day, leaving his son with a neighbor woman who likely hoped to become the new Mrs. Stavros. But Papous had never re-married.

  Emma had always wondered what her yiayia had been like. She must have been beautiful because Daddy didn’t look anything like Papous. Papous wouldn’t talk about her, though, unlike Mom who talked constantly of her Nicholas.

  It had been a lonely childhood made a little softer by Papous’ attention. He’d often complained that Mom made a mule of Emma. He had never gotten along with Mom. She wasn’t Greek, Papous’ main complaint, but he would have accepted her if she’d been a little better as a wife. Papous felt a wife should cook daily and take care of her children. Mom hadn’t cooked even once a week. She and Daddy took them out to eat or he brought food home from a fast-food joint most of the week. If they were lucky, they got a home-cooked meal on Sundays, usually because Papous had been coming for dinner.

  Emma mused that eating a regular diet of fast food, with Papous exclaiming about the benefits of home-grown food, was what had started her desire to learn to cook.

  Or it could be that Yiayia’s blood runs in my veins.

  According to Papous, she had been the most famous cook in their little village. And for Greek women, that was saying something.

  Emma’s mother passed away soon after Emma left for university. Her three sisters were in high school, so Papous took them in for their final years. He’d always loved his granddaughters, but Emma held the biggest part of his heart. She knew it even though he never said so aloud. But he’d often told her she looked just like his Maria. Emma had always realized it for the compliment it was.

  Emma climbed under the covers. She picked up the book and continued leafing through the pages. The pictures were almost overwhelming in their bright colors. There were photos of the Acropolis in Athens and some of the island of Hydra. Emma’s childhood longing to visit Papous’ country rose up.

  He’d always said, “It’s your country, too, Koukla Mou.” Tears welled up as Emma remembered his old name for her, “my doll.” Papous had never liked her English name. He’d wished for his son to name his children good Greek names, but Mom had insisted on her first daughter being named after her mother. Emma’s sisters all had Greek names; Katerina, Maria, and Korina.

  Emma’s sisters were all she had left of her family, but they had moved away, and she seldom saw them. The divide only got larger when Papous left the house to her. She knew it was her right as the oldest daughter, and he’d left money and other possessions to them, but her sisters had always been selfish that way. They ganged up against Emma and refused to speak to her for several years. The ice had thawed a little a few years back, and they spoke at Christmas and a few times a year, but she hadn’t seen them in far too long.

  I wonder what they would think about me going to Greece.

  Emma set the book aside. She settled back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She made a mental list of the people she needed to call in the morning, starting with Alan’s lawyer. There was no way she’d let Alan put the little house in the divorce agreement. Once she’d realized the possibility, she felt positive he’d slipped it in, confident she wouldn’t notice.

  Emma felt sick at the thought of almost signing away Papous’ inheritance. She would never have forgiven herself. One thing she could be sure of, however, Alan wouldn’t give up without a long hard fight.

  Emma’s fist clenched on the duvet. This was one thing she would never give in on. The one thing she’d always had in her back pocket was Papous’ house. It was hers, her safety net, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to take it from her, especially her hard-nosed husband who never even went on vacations.

  She would never allow Papous’ house to become a status symbol.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as Emma poured her morning coffee, she sat at the desk in Alan’s office—her office now until she moved out.

  Emma’s heart raced as she contemplated fighting with Alan over the little house. She’d always hated fighting with him. He was forceful and she had a natural instinct to give him whatever he wanted. Had he gotten so used to her compliance that he’d gotten bored with her? Doesn’t a man want a challenge, even in his marriage? It seemed to her she’d seen that in one of those marriage books she’d read over the years when she’d wanted to spice th
ings up a little. She’d passed that advice off as silly. What man wanted conflict in his home? But maybe she’d been wrong. Whatever she’d done or not done, it hadn’t worked.

  Emma’s hand shook and she clenched her fist around the pen, trying to calm herself. She didn’t understand her nerves now. She’d kept calm over the last few weeks as she dealt with the divorce, but now that she’d made the decision to go to Greece, her nerves began to fray.

  Emma reached for the desk phone and paused. She let her hand drop to the desk and took a deep breath. She wished there were something she could do to calm herself. Connie had often talked about meditation and yoga, how it helped her to cope with the stress from her busy life, but Emma had dismissed that as well. She hadn’t had much stress in her life. Now it seemed like stress had moved right in to her house, even crowded into her bed.

  Phone Connie and ask about meditation and yoga, Emma wrote at the end of her list.

  She forced herself to pick up the phone and dial the lawyer’s office. He was in and the secretary put her right through. By the time she hung up, Emma’s hands shook so hard she could barely hang onto the phone. Her stomach churned so much she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink.

  Alan had slipped her Greek house into the divorce contract. He must have had his lawyer do it after she’d given her verbal agreement. He banked on her getting the final draft and not reading it since she’d already read the first copy. He knew her.

  Emma had always done her best to avoid unpleasant things, so she would have probably done just that. She felt lightheaded at the thought of signing the house away. Alan would have crowed with victory.

  She’d demanded the lawyer remove the house, saying she would never sign it if it were left in. Since he was Alan’s lawyer, he said he’d have to consult his client before doing something “so drastic.”