by Brenda Grate
A red dress caught Emma’s eye and she held it up to her body, wondering when she’d ever have a chance to wear such a pretty outfit. But, unwilling to mar even a second of Jen’s great mood, she decided to buy a dress, too.
Jen flounced out of the change room.
“Look Mom.” She spun in the dress, something Emma didn’t remember her unfeminine daughter ever doing.
“You look gorgeous,” Emma called out. “Try on another one. I think you should get a few. My treat.”
“Really? Are you sure, Mom?”
“Of course,” Emma said. “Here try this one.”
She walked over to Jen with a soft pink linen dress that would perfectly suit Jen’s long frame.
Jen sighed when she saw it. “Why don’t we have clothing like this in Canada?”
Emma laughed. “It wouldn’t work very well in the snow, would it?”
Jen smiled. “I know, but it’s just so … I don’t know …”
“Feminine?”
“Yeah, feminine,” Jen answered and swung back behind the curtain with a few dresses in her arms.
Emma enjoyed basking in the glow of Jen’s good mood. One of Jen’s smiles felt like the benediction of a queen. Emma only hoped she would keep it up all day.
They left the shop an hour later with several bags between them. Jen gave a little skip as they exited into the tiny street full of other shoppers.
“Wasn’t that fun? I never saw the draw before, but now I get how much fun shopping can be.”
“Connie is a crazy shopper. She hasn’t dragged you out on one of her mad rampages yet?”
“She’s tried a few times, but I think she finally gave up in disgust,” Jen chuckled.
They walked past a few interesting shops and then Jen stepped inside a shoe store.
“Come on, let’s check this out. Look at those sandals.”
Emma followed her daughter. She couldn’t wait to tell Connie about their trip and how good it had been for the both of them. She’d stood up to Jen and won her daughter’s respect. Emma puffed out her chest and moved through the tiny aisles, looking for her daughter.
She was excited about their trip to Nafplio the next day where they’d see her grandfather’s village. But, today was for shopping.
“Mom, look at this,” Jen called.
“Coming,” Emma said.
The bus rumbled along roads lined with orange groves and trees covered in bright green shiny leaves. The oranges had been picked in February or even as late as March.
Emma hoped to stay long enough to see the small green buds turn into large sunny globes. She’d waited a long time for a holiday and didn’t plan on cutting it short. The highway was wide and modern like those back home.
The houses and buildings along the way looked very different, however. The homes seemed to be built out of concrete and on concrete pillars which would be cooler in the heat. Some of them were fully finished on the top floor, but were empty on the bottom, as though they’d either run out of material or decided to stop building.
The bus was modern and luxurious, like those used for expensive tours in Canada. At thirteen Euros each, public transit between cities as far away as a two-hour drive, was cheap and easy. Emma’s trepidation about getting around Greece eased, and she thought about renting a car once they were in Nafplio so they would be more mobile.
Jen’s irritated expression had returned overnight. She sat with her arms crossed and stared straight ahead. It was as if the two days of fun in Athens had been nothing but a nice dream.
Emma watched out the window for the city to appear. After all the stories she’d heard as a child about the beautiful city of Nafplio, she hoped it lived up to her expectations. So far, Greece had been much more than her imagination could conjure. They’d enjoyed touring The Acropolis and the National Archeological Museum along with a myriad of shops lining the streets of the Monastiraki and Plaka districts.
Once in Nafplio, they collected their luggage silently. Emma waved toward the line of taxis across the street and Jen gave her a brisk nod. Emma wanted to explore Nafplio, but was determined to get to their destination. It wouldn’t be any fun trying to see sights with Jen not speaking.
They climbed into another pristine cab—she was now sure it was normal for Greece to have BMWs as cabs—and asked the driver to take them to Agios Adrianos. He spoke little English, but at least understood their destination.
The scenery passing by the windows was magnificent. Nafplio was everything Papous said and more. It was lush and green, palm trees everywhere, and had many beautiful old buildings. It also had a few run down areas, but that didn’t detract from her impression. It didn’t seem real, that she had actually arrived in Nafplio, the city of all her childhood stories.
“What do you think, Jen? Isn’t it amazing?”
Jen gave a small shrug. “It’s nice.”
Emma controlled her anger. She wasn’t going to blow up at Jen in the cab, but she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it in. She refused to allow her spoiled daughter to ruin this trip for her. She’d put up with Jen’s attitude for far too long. It reminded her of Alan, and that made her sick to her stomach.
Soon the cab left the Nafplio area and drove down a small road lined with orange groves, broken by the occasional small house, usually with a barking dog or two. Stray cats lingered on overflowing dumpsters.
The taxi drove up a hill and turned a corner, and they entered the edge of the village. The houses were cement and painted bright colors, like burnt orange and yellow. Most of them were built on pillars, some of them only finished on one floor with either the bottom or top floors empty.
Emma wondered why so many houses were still under construction. The gardens of most of the houses were a riot of colors with many different flowers and fruit trees. The contrast between the lovely gardens and half-finished houses gave Emma an off-kilter sensation.
They passed a school near the edge of the village. Greek music played on a speaker while the children played in the yard. It seemed a great way to ensure the children knew the music of their heritage. A couple of them waved as the taxi drove by and Emma waved back, although she didn’t think they could see her in the dim interior of the cab.
Before long they arrived at the center of the village. The driver asked her where to go, and Emma waved to the sidewalk outside a butcher shop. She wanted to look around before she called the caretaker.
When they’d emptied the cab of their luggage and paid the driver, Jen turned to her.
“What now?” she asked. “Do you know where the house is?”
“No, but I’m going to call the woman after we’ve looked around.”
“Why didn’t you call her from Nafplio to tell her we were coming? I’d rather look around once we’ve gotten rid of our luggage.”
“I’d rather look around now and since I’m the one who asked you to come, you can do it my way without complaining for once.”
Jen’s eyes widened then narrowed.
“Fine.” She waved at the sidewalk sarcastically. “Lead on.”
Emma fumed, but stepped in front of Jen, pulling her suitcase. She let her gaze roam the small square. There were a few shops as well as the butcher. A café, a pharmacy, a bakery with almost bare shelves, a couple of smaller shops and a larger one that looked like a grocery. In the main part of the square, a row of taverns across from the open area set up with tables and chairs were filled with men of all sorts. Not a single woman was in sight.
All the faces turned toward them as they approached, but no one smiled. Emma felt itchy in her own skin and wanted to flee. She’d never experienced such obvious stares with no shame of being caught. It was unnerving.
She turned and pulled her suitcase toward the grocery shop, crossed the road and lugged it up the steps. Then pulled her suitcase to a covered area lined with coolers and a small table.
Jen lugged her case up behind her. “Why are we here?”
“Didn’t those me
n freak you out?”
“Not really, no.”
“You must be used to being stared at like that.”
“No, but I’m also not afraid to look people in the eye even if they’re being rude.”
“That makes sense,” Emma mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
Emma didn’t answer. She left her suitcase with Jen and entered the little shop.
“Kalispera,” she greeted the woman behind the counter.
She was slightly shorter than Emma, with a pleasant smile and large brown eyes. She had short hair and looked to be in her early sixties.
“Kalispera,” she woman answered back. “Ti kánis?”
“Kalá,” Emma responded. She didn’t want to say more and have to then try and explain she didn’t know Greek. One thing she knew from her Papous: Greeks always want everyone to speak Greek. She loved that they were so proud of their language. Emma only wished she had learned more than a few phrases.
She looked around the shop to orientate herself to what was available, but soon admitted she was putting off the inevitable. At the back of the shop, near the toiletries and cat food, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number of the caretaker, Georgia, pronounced Yoryia in Greek.
“Ella?”
“Yassas, Georgia, it’s Emma. Emma Jenkins. We spoke on the phone a few days ago.”
“Yes, Mrs. Emma. I’m happy to hear you. You in village now?”
“Yes, I’m in the little shop. Can you tell me how to find you?”
“Not necessary. I come see you. You wait.”
Georgia hung up.
Emma waved at the woman behind the counter and went outside to wait with Jen.
“Did you call?” Jen asked.
“Yes, she’s coming to get us.”
“Did she prepare the house or are we staying in a hotel?”
“She said she’d prepare the house for us. Of course we’ll need to get groceries and necessities, but she had been maintaining the house for years and making sure it was kept in good repair, so I’m sure we’ll be comfortable.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes until Georgia arrived on foot.
About four foot nine, not fat but with a pleasantly rounded figure, she looked like the perfect Greek grandmother, including sparkling eyes and big smile. She was just what Emma always imagined her grandmother must have looked like.
Emma, followed by Jen, pulled her suitcase down the steps and crossed the street to meet up with Georgia in front of the first in the row of taverns. All the eyes in the square watched their every move. Emma did her best to ignore them.
“Emma!” Georgia threw her arms around Emma as though she were a long-lost relative. “Welcome home at last.” She stepped back and peered into Emma’s face. “You look so like your yiayia.”
“Really?” Emma asked.
“Yes, so like.” She turned toward Jen. “And she your daughter?”
“Yes, her name is Jennifer.”
Georgia stretched up on her toes and patted Jen’s face. “Such a beautiful, strong kukla.” Georgia smiled and tugged Emma’s arm. “Come my house. I make coffee.”
“What does kukla mean?” Jen asked Emma.
“It means doll,” Emma said. “It’s a compliment.”
“And yiayia?”
Emma smiled through watery eyes. “Grandmother. I guess I look like my grandmother.”
Jen smiled back.
They soon turned down a cross street. Georgia led them past a garbage bin surrounded by skinny cats, and Emma averted her eyes. So many in need and nothing could be done.
A small lane, barely wide enough for a car, led up a sharp hill. It was framed by a concrete graffiti-covered wall and houses on the other side.
“Here, my house,” Georgia said, pointing to the gate at the end of the lane.
Extensive gardens, vegetables and flowers stood in perfectly ordered rows. Emma sniffed a fragrant rose as they passed by. Georgia pulled a pair of sheers out of her apron pocket and snipped off the rose with a small stem. She handed it to Emma after kissing her on the cheek.
“For you, Kukla,” she said, eyes misty.
Emma wondered what Georgia’s relationship with Emma’s grandparents had been. She didn’t seem nearly old enough to have known them well.
Georgia welcomed them inside her tiny house. The interior was cool and smelled of garlic and onions. Just inside the entrance sat a rather large table, which took up most of the room. There were framed photographs on the walls and a chest stood against the back wall filled with what looked like the special family dishes.
Georgia motioned for them to sit and she left the room.
“I make Greek coffee,” she called from the tiny kitchen, just out of their sight.
Before long Georgia brought tiny cups of coffee. Emma’d loved the smell of the coffee brewing over the tiny propane flame in her grandfather’s kitchen. Papous had also loved Greek coffee and made it at home. Emma had never tried it and was surprised at how strong it was.
Jen took a few sips then pushed it away slightly.
When Georgia went to the kitchen to fetch some goodies, Emma whispered, “You need to drink it all or you will insult her.”
Jen lifted her cup with a grimace and downed the rest in one swallow.
Emma shook her head slightly, but couldn’t hold back the smile.
Jen had never been one to do things in half measures.
Chapter 28
As Connie looked around the restaurant, she couldn’t wait to get on a plane and join Emma in Greece. The little restaurant had an old-world charm. The smells emanating from the kitchen were so different from the smells at Il Giardino. The decor also. The tables were covered in bright blue cloths, the walls painted pure white. There were pillars covered in ivy in between sections, and the sound system played Greek music rather than romantic Italian. It had a different sort of charm, playful and happy.
Rick smiled across the table at her, then pulled her hand into his.
“What do you think? Cute, no?”
“Yes, very. I love it. How did you find this place?”
“I asked one of my Greek friends where all the Greeks eat. Since Emma’s gone to Greece, I thought this might bring you a little closer to her. You must be missing her.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I know.”
Connie pulled her hand from his and picked up her wine.
“You’re also incorrigible.”
“I know that, too,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Now, what do we drink to?”
“To the future?”
“No, that’s too hazy. Let’s drink to right now. To this moment. It’s perfect.”
Connie’s eyes misted over.
“I’ll drink to that,” she said and tapped her glass against his.
They sipped while staring into each other’s eyes, then Connie looked away, unable to bear the love in Rick’s.
She glanced around at the decor. She tapped her foot to the music and smiled. “Do you know this music?”
“No, it’s very catchy, though. Makes me want to dance.”
Connie laughed at the image of Rick trying to do Greek dancing.
“It’s the soundtrack to Zorba the Greek, I’m pretty sure,” she told Rick. “I watched the movie many years ago, but I’ll never forget it.”
The waiter came to take their orders. Connie decided on a traditional Greek meal of Moussaka and Rick got a steak.
“So what did you need to talk to me about?” Rick asked.
He looked like he was bracing himself and Connie smiled to help him relax.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I had an idea for Il Giardino and I wanted to run it by you.”
Rick visibly relaxed and set his glass down. He propped his chin up with his clasped hands and fixed his eyes on her. It sometimes unnerved Connie how Rick listened with every part of his body, but she also appreciated his ability to give her all his attention. She always felt that
her words mattered to him to the exclusion of all else.
She decided to jump right in. “I’d like to sell you the restaurant.”
Emotions flitted across Rick’s face while he took in her words.
Zorba’s Dance came onto the sound system and Connie had to fight back the urge to dance with the ever-increasing tempo of the bouzouki. She felt light for finally putting voice to the thought that had begun to take shape in her mind.
Rick said nothing. A commotion came from the kitchen as one of the wait staff emerged through the swinging door with a diner’s order. She imagined they were back there dancing in a circle, celebrating life and good food. Connie wished she and Rick were with Emma at a taverna where they could explode into dancing and no one would stare at them.
“Why?” Rick said finally.
She brought her attention back to Rick. “Why? Well, because I want to do something new, I need a new challenge, but I also don’t want to sell my baby to just anyone. You’re the only one I trust.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, as though trying to decide if her words had a double meaning.
“What will you be doing while I’m running the restaurant?”
“First, I’m going to take a holiday.”
Rick smiled. “That’s a very good idea. You’ve needed one for over five years.”
“True.”
Connie and Rick sat back in their chairs while their waiter set the food on their table. As the dinner hour progressed, the restaurant filled up. Connie was interested in how popular the place was. Most of the diners were Greek. Rick had made a good call in asking a Greek where to eat.
As she took her first bite, she was even more sure.
“Great choice.” Connie saluted Rick with her glass.
He took a drink, but didn’t smile.
“What’s bothering you, Rick? This is supposed to be fun.”
“It would be fun if I didn’t feel like you were patronizing me.”
“What? How can you say that? I just told you there’s no one I trust more than you. You know how I feel about Il Giardino.”
