by Kate Hewitt
“Here we are.” Helena led her into a small classroom with a few tables and chairs, and an old metal desk in the corner. “I’m sorry, it is very basic.”
“It’s perfect,” Ava assured her. “I don’t need much.” In actuality, she wasn’t even sure how the lesson would go. She’d taught art, not English, and she felt a flutter of nerves in her middle as she smiled at Helena. She’d spent some time planning a first lesson, but her head already felt as it if it were emptying out of all she’d planned.
A bell rang, and Ava heard the uneven troop of feet as the children all jostled and pushed their way back into the building. “This weekend I will take you out for a drink,” Helena said. “There is no taverna in Iousidous any more, but we can go to Lamia.”
“I’d love it,” Ava said, and then turned to the line of children being led by a harried-looking teacher into her classroom. She decided to forgo the tables and chairs, and instead gestured for them to gather around her on the rug on the floor. They did so obediently, their faces alight with curiosity.
“Hello,” Ava said, smiling. “My name is Ava Lancet, and I’m meant to teach you some English.” By their blank looks, Ava knew the children probably hadn’t understood a word of what she was saying. She thumped her chest caveman style. “Ava.” Then she pointed to the child nearest her, a solemn-eyed girl with silky plaits. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and waited until the girl offered, in no more than a whisper, “Maria.”
“Maria,” Ava repeated, and then pointed to the next pupil. She knew she wouldn’t remember all their names, but she soon had them in giggles with all the chest thumping, and that went a long way towards gaining their trust. Or so she hoped. It took ten minutes for the children to tell her their names, and then there were still thirty minutes left. Now what? Her lesson, she realized, had been planned for children who knew at least a tiny bit of English. These children, it seemed, knew not a word. She gazed at them for a moment, smiling rather helplessly, realizing how out of her depth she was, when a bright-eyed boy pointed insistently at her shoe.
“Podi?” he asked, and it took Ava a moment for to her understand.
“Foot,” she said, wiggling her toes in her sandal. The children giggled. Another child, braver now, pointed to her head.
“Kefali.”
“Head.”
They pointed to various parts of her body and Ava obliged them with the English names, which she made them repeat a couple of times each. They did so obediently, their young voices ringing out, each of them stumbling a bit over the pronunciations before gaining in confidence, and their wide smiles reached right inside her, felt like a fist squeezing her heart. She’d forgotten what joy children found in simple things, how much she loved being with them.
Then Maria, the shy little girl who had inched closer to her as the lesson went on, pointed to her finger.
“Finger,” Ava said, but Maria shook her head and pointed to one of the two rings on Ava’s finger. Her engagement ring.
Ava stared at the little cluster of emeralds, momentarily silenced. It had been a long time since she’d actually looked at the ring Simon had given her thirteen years ago. She’d become so used to having it on her finger, she’d taken it for granted.
Now suddenly she could remember how he’d bent down on one knee, joking that his joints creaked, as he’d presented the ring he’d designed himself because he knew emeralds were her favorite gemstone. She’d felt so happy and in love and sure of their future.
What had happened to that? What had happened to her? Was it really all ruined and lost, gone forever, just because of what they’d endured? Because no matter what Simon’s reaction had been, they’d both endured it.
Maria tugged on the hem of her skirt, her eyes solemn as she gazed up at Ava, seeming to sense her teacher’s disquiet.
“Ring,” Ava finally said, managing to smile. “It’s a very beautiful ring.”
The bell rang then, thankfully, and the children trooped out. Ava was just gathering her things together when Helena came into the room.
“Was it all right?”
“I think so.” Ava straightened, smiling as she tried to banish the ache that remembering Simon had caused within her. “They’re new to this, but then so am I.”
“You’ll both learn, then,” Helena answered. “Which is good. How about Friday for a drink? We can go in my car.”
“That would be lovely,” Ava said, and with a final goodbye she walked out of the school, waving to the children as she went.
The village was quiet in the heat of the afternoon sun, and Ava walked slowly down the winding street, past the village square with its fountain, to her grandmother’s house. Her house.
She stood for a moment in front of the weathered door, the sky a bright, nearly blinding blue above the terracotta roof tiles. Slowly she walked inside.
Her heart felt full, yet in a different way than before, when all it seemed she could feel was grief and sorrow, when those emotions overwhelmed everything else.
Now, Ava thought as she stood inside this new home of hers, she felt a stirring of hope. Hope of what, she wasn’t even sure. But she was tired of swimming in sorrow, drowning in grief. She didn’t want to forget her daughter, but she felt, for the first time, a tiny, true flicker of desire to move on.
She spent the rest of the afternoon tidying up and working in her little garden; the cat came and stood at the edge of a flower bed, tail swishing as it watched her silently. Ava sat back on her heels and gazed back.
“You’re getting used to me,” she told it. “Even if you’re still not sure about me. Even if you don’t want to.”
The cat swished its tail a few times more and then retreated haughtily back into the weeds. Ava couldn’t keep from giving a little laugh as she called after it, “You don’t fool me. I’ve got your number.”
She was still smiling at the funny little interaction when she went inside to start making dinner. She’d been trying some recipes Eleni had given her and tonight was orzo with tomatoes and feta. As her meal cooked, she watched the setting sun turn the sky to flame and, with a sudden burst of determination, she reached for her phone and pressed Simon’s number. It rang several times before he finally answered, sounding breathless and just a little bit harassed.
“Ava? Are you OK?”
Discomfited by how rushed he sounded, she retorted without thinking, “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
Simon let out a tiny little sigh, but Ava knew the sound well. It was his I-need-to-be-patient sigh. “I was just worried,” he answered in that oh-so-even tone. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
“Everything’s fine,” Ava said, and heard how brittle she sounded. It was going all wrong already, she thought, and that little flare of hope wavered alarmingly. How could they be arguing when they hadn’t even started a conversation?
She took a deep breath. “Now that we’ve established that I’m fine,” she said as lightly as she could, “how are you?”
“Fine.”
So they were both fine. Ava closed her eyes. This was worse than their last conversation. “I just wanted to call you,” she said in a rush, her eyes still squeezed shut. “To say—to say that I miss you, Simon. I wanted to say it before, but—”
“But you didn’t,” Simon finished when she’d trailed off rather miserably.
“No, I didn’t. But I do. Miss you, that is.”
Simon was silent for a long moment, long enough to make Ava wonder whether he’d regretted telling her he missed her. Maybe he’d got over it—her—already. Maybe he didn’t miss her any more at all.
“Simon?” she prompted when she really couldn’t stand the silence any more.
“Thank you for calling,” he finally said, and he sounded regretful. “And for telling me that. But—”
But? There was a but? Ava opened her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. “But?” she prompted because he’d lapsed back into silence.
“But now’s not a good time to tal
k. I’m going out and I’m running a bit late—”
And Simon was never late. “Where are you going?” Ava asked, and when Simon didn’t answer she felt an icy panic drench her. Was he going out on a date?
“Just dinner with Julie,” he finally said, and he sounded as if he were reluctant to tell her that much.
Icy panic turned to sudden, scalding jealousy. Dinner with Julie. They were friends, she knew that; they’d been mates in the university’s sailing club before she’d joined. Even so, the very fact that Simon hadn’t wanted to tell her made tears prick Ava’s lids. “I see,” she said quietly, and Simon didn’t say anything. So clearly she did see. He wasn’t jumping in and telling her it was just a friendly thing, or that Julie could wait if Ava needed to talk, or he wished she was there.
No, he was just silent. Stoic, silent Simon, giving her the message loud and clear.
He didn’t miss her any more.
“Well,” Ava finally said, and her voice felt as if it had to be squeezed from her throat, “maybe another time.”
“Yes,” Simon agreed quietly. “Maybe another time, Ava.” And then he hung up before she could say goodbye.
Ava stood there for a moment, the phone still held in her hand. The silence all around her made her ears ring. So much for hope, then. So much for wanting to move past her grief, to make amends. She knew then what she’d been wanting to say, trying to say, in her own fumbling, useless way.
I miss you, Simon. I love you. I love being with you, and when I looked at my ring today, it made me realize I want another chance. I don’t want to throw away everything we had together.
Too bad it seemed as if Simon already had.
She stood there another moment, a kind of comforting numbness spreading through her like Novocain. And then, again without thinking too much, she dialed another number on her phone.
“Ava?” Julie picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Just felt like chatting.” Ava heard her voice as if it were coming from another person, airy and light, almost careless. “Is now a good time?”
“Well…” She heard Julie fumbling with something, maybe her keys or a lipstick. “Actually, I’m just on my way out.”
“Oh?” She sounded so interested, Ava thought distantly. So innocent. “Going anywhere nice?”
The slightest of pauses. “Just out with a couple of friends from work,” Julie said, and then Ava’s heart sank like a stone and all her airy lightness left her, so she felt both heavy and flat, and unable to speak a word. So Julie was lying about Simon. It really was a date. Something was going on between them, started, Ava supposed, by her own departure. Had Julie swooped in to comfort Simon when Ava had gone? Had her friend had a crush on her husband all along?
“Well, have fun,” she said, and her voice sounded toneless. “Call me when you can.”
“I will—”
Ava disconnected the call without saying goodbye, just as Simon had with her. She couldn’t stand to lie any more, not with Julie, not with herself.
It’s over. Your marriage is over.
In one violent movement she hurled her phone towards the huge fireplace; it bounced off the grate and lay silent and dark on the tile floor. Had she broken it? She hoped she had. She didn’t want to call anyone any more: not Simon, not Julie, not even her mother, who had called several times to check in, always lightly concerned. Ava hadn’t even told her about what she’d learned about Sophia or Angelika. She’d wanted to wait until she had some more definitive information, but suddenly it all seemed pointless.
Who cared what had happened to her grandmother seventy years ago? She was dead, and no doubt her sister was, as well. Who cared what had happened to anyone, anywhere, ever?
She let out a cry of despair and then whirled away towards the kitchen, ending up outside on the smooth stone stoop, her head in her hands.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, the evening air cooling around her, everything in her aching. Eventually she heard the dry rustle of grass, and then felt something silky brush against her legs.
She jerked back in surprise, lifting her head to see the feral cat blinking up at her. It meowed once and then twined itself through her legs, its tail swishing against them. Amazed, near tears, Ava stroked its head, felt the fragile bones of its skull beneath her fingers.
“A feast for you tonight, I think,” she said in a shaky voice, and her new friend meowed again.
15
October 1942
Three weeks after she met with Perseus, Sophia woke up to a stranger’s hand pressed over her mouth. She went completely rigid, her pulse thundering in her ears, her mind blanking, as she felt another hand on her shoulder. Her sister’s hand, soft and small.
“Don’t scream, Sophia. It’s all right.”
Her eyes widened as panic raced through her veins. What on earth was going on? And how was Angelika involved?
“Promise you won’t scream?” Angelika asked, her voice almost playful, as if this were a child’s game. “We need your help, but you mustn’t make any noise.”
Her jaw bunching so hard her teeth ached, Sophia nodded, and the hand was lifted from her mouth.
She scrambled to a sitting position, swiping her tangled hair away from her face, and nearly forgot her resolution to scream when she saw Dimitrios Atrikes lounging nonchalantly on the end of her bed, hefting his rifle.
“What…” Sophia lowered her voice to a hiss. “What is he doing here? In our bedroom, Angelika!”
“I told you, we need your help.”
Sophia turned to stare at Angelika, who was smiling at her, her eyes glinting with excitement. Mother of God, was this all just a game to her sister? Was she too young, too naïve, to understand? “My help with what?” she whispered, aiming her words at Angelika. She was determined to ignore Dimitrios, to pretend he was not sitting on the end of her bed, his insolent gaze wandering over her body, clad as she was only in a thin nightdress. How could her sister have brought this arrogant lout into their bedroom?
“With finding the soldiers, Sophia,” Dimitrios interjected. “You know who we are talking about.” His voice was a low growl, reminding Sophia of a thundercloud, and just as threatening.
Her tongue felt thick and swollen in her dry mouth. “What soldiers?” she managed and Dimitrios’s face darkened.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Dimitri—” Angelika began, pouting a little, and he waved a hand to silence her.
“Shut up, Angelika. Your sister is going to pretend she doesn’t know she’s been meeting with the republican army for weeks now, but I’m sure I can convince her to admit the truth.” He smiled, and Sophia’s skin crawled. What could her sister possibly see in this man? Oh, she knew he could be charming when he chose, but right now he looked ugly and menacing and mean. His breath stank of cigarettes and onions, and there was thick black dirt underneath his fingernails. He thrust his face close to hers, close enough so his beard brushed her face, and she could see the wildness in his eyes.
“You have been meeting with them, haven’t you, Sophia? In the Lethikos’s grove, if I’m not mistaken.”
Her mind and heart raced and she could not think what to say. She had no idea what to do; she wished Perseus had given her instructions about what to do if someone confronted her. Dimitrios wasn’t a Nazi or a blackshirt, but he was, in his own way, just as dangerous. More so, because he clearly knew what she’d been doing and he was in her bedroom, his sneering face thrust up close to hers, while the Nazis and Italians were kilometers away, with no idea of who she even was. Angelika stood at the end of the bed, her hands fluttering at her sides as a new, unwelcome uncertainty shadowed her childish face. Was she now beginning to realize the dangers?
“I have been meeting with them,” Sophia finally said, and was thankful that her voice didn’t tremble. “But it’s been weeks since I’ve seen anyone. And as for the soldiers—I know less than you do. They are meant to arrive, but when or where no one h
as seen fit to tell me.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” Dimitrios answered with a smile that looked and felt more like a leer. “They arrive tonight, by parachute, and you and I are going to take them to Zervas.”
For a second Sophia’s vision swam. She felt Dimitrios’s fingers dig hard into her arm. “Is that understood, Sophia?”
“Why do you need me?” she whispered, trying not to wince at the pain of his hand heavy on her arm.
“Because you are my contact with Zervas, and Velouchiotis will thank me if I find these soldiers and bring them all together.”
“You think I know the head of the republican army? I spoke with one man, and he never even gave me his name—”
“Even so. You’re part of them. They’ll recognize you.”
“No, they won’t—”
“Enough.” He shook her arm, hard enough for her to gasp aloud. Angelika nibbled her lip in anxiety.
“Dimitrios, be gentle,” she said, her voice sounding small, and he brushed her away as if she were no more than an annoying fly.
“Gentle? We are talking about a war, Angelika, although you’ve never bothered your head about it, have you? Never mind. You can stay here. Sophia comes with me.”
“But where are you going? I thought you just wanted to ask her some questions. You didn’t tell me—”
“She’s coming with me to find these men,” Dimitrios said grimly, his hand still gripping Sophia’s arm. “And then leading us to Zervas.”
“I don’t know where Zervas is,” Sophia cried, her voice rising in her panic. She couldn’t go with Dimitrios. The thought of struggling through the forest on such a cold, dark night with this violent and ignorant man made everything inside her lurch with terror. Her stomach heaved and for a second she thought she might vomit.
“You’ll find him,” Dimitrios answered. “Or he’ll find you. Don’t you think they are watching you, Sophia? Or are you so stupid you don’t realize even that?”
