Memories of Santorini, page 10
For the first time, she felt like her mother understood her goals.
11
Despite the day on the boat, the sun, and the alcohol, Angela once again woke before dawn. She got ready quietly, so she didn’t wake Sienna. The sun was just rising above the ridge as she closed the blue gate and headed to the Fira trail. The café was her destination, no detours, no sightseeing today.
Last night’s conversation with Sienna occupied her thoughts. Though it wasn’t necessary, she appreciated her daughter’s apology. It was nice to know that Sienna had no ulterior motive for turning her down yesterday. Her daughter had never explained her actions before, at least not to Angela. She wanted to be the confidante Sienna had never allowed her to be, but she accepted she had a long way to go to make up for all the distance between them.
At the café, the same table was available, and she relished the view of the blue Aegean, the red bougainvillea hanging overhead. With only half the tables filled, the waitress attended to her almost immediately, bringing her the same café au lait she’d ordered yesterday. “Would you like bougatsa?”
“Absolutely.” Having the young woman recognize her made her feel like a regular, the way she’d been with Xandros.
There were other regulars, the man behind his newspaper, the photographer. She sipped the sweet coffee brew, inhaling its scent, tripping once more down memory lane.
Xandros would have left Santorini years ago, when he tired of being a tour guide. Just the way she was sure the young man captaining the catamaran today would eventually leave. He’d reminded her of Xandros at that age, the curly black hair, the aquiline nose, the Mediterranean complexion deepened by the sun.
That’s what she wanted from this trip, to remember how she felt, to remember how good they’d been together, even if it had been only three weeks.
She wasn’t stupid, even though her mother thought she was. She’d long since outgrown that pregnant young woman’s fantasies, wanting to believe he’d welcome her and her baby. He wouldn’t have wanted to be tied down by a child he’d known nothing about. He would have moved on to better things. Maybe he was a businessman in Athens now. He would have married and had children.
And she would be a distant memory, if he even thought of her at all.
Her mother was right.
But she was wrong about Donald. Donald wanted a pretty doll he could dress up and impress people with. He’d picked out her clothes, told her what to wear, sent her down to the salon to get her hair and makeup done. But he’d never loved her.
He was relentless, always telling her what to say, how to act, how to make an impression that looked good on him. He might have gone on like that for years. And she might have been fine because the children made up for everything.
Until the truth came out with Sienna’s accident.
The most chilling thing was that he’d only mentioned it once. I know what you did. His threats were oblique. You wouldn’t want the children to know what you’re really like. He relentlessly turned them against her. Everything Sienna wanted to do, he refused, saying Mother wouldn’t allow it. Every time he went off with Matthew in tow, he told her son that his mother couldn’t be bothered. And there was nothing Angela could do about it. The threat hung over her, that he would tell the children the truth. And she’d lived knowing that he would make sure they hated her for what she’d done.
But that wasn’t the trip down memory lane she wanted to take now.
Her bougatsa arrived, and she relished the flaky pastry, the sugary sweetness of the custard and the powdered sugar making her taste bugs twang. Her marriage was done, that part of her life over. Now she wanted to indulge in memories of her three weeks with Xandros, the touch of his hands on her, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hair beneath her fingertips.
When she raised her cup to soften the sweetness of the cream with the delicious bite of coffee, she noticed the man had lowered his newspaper and was looking at her.
A little older than her, he was still extremely attractive, his black hair salted with silver, his mustache thick, his face a little weather-beaten as if he spent much of his time outdoors.
She imagined this was the kind of man Xandros would have become.
He stood then, a tall man, maybe close to Xandros’s six foot three. Folding his paper, he laid it on the table and reached in the pocket of his cargo shorts for some coins to throw down. His trim, muscular body spoke of hard physical work, his calves corded as if he did a lot of walking or hiking. His chest was broad and his stomach flat beneath his T-shirt.
This man could have worked a fishing boat, or hauled rocks up the steep slopes to make the paths and stairways that allowed tourists to walk so easily in Santorini villages.
When he looked at her again, she turned away, not wanting him to catch her ogling.
The waitress breezed onto the terrace again, calling out to him in Greek. He replied in a deep, toe-tingling voice. It had been a long time since she’d felt the magic of a man’s attention, and it was natural that she’d be so aware of a handsome man who reminded her of Xandros.
She sipped her coffee, dipping her index finger in the crumbs of flaky pastry and sugar and licking it off. Then a shadow fell across her table, and she looked up.
The sun behind him created a corona around his head as he spoke in a rich, seductive voice. “I believe you’re thirty years late, Angelika.”
Her heart stopped, her ears roared, and her hands went numb. Her cup slipped from her fingers, hitting the saucer, and splashing coffee over the table as the cup fell on its side and rolled to the edge, where he deftly caught it.
It couldn’t be him.
But she looked into those penetrating blue eyes and knew this was no lookalike.
This was Xandros, the man who’d occupied every dream she’d had for the last thirty years.
He hadn’t meant to startle her. He’d seen her watching him and thought she knew. But when he spoke, it was obvious she didn’t. To her, he’d been a nameless man sitting in the corner of the kafeneío terrace.
It wounded him. Yesterday he’d watched her from behind his newspaper, but today he’d put the paper down and let her examine him. Yet the shock was obvious. Until he’d said her name, she hadn’t recognized him at all.
“May I sit?” He waved at the seat opposite her.
She choked out a reply which might have been yes. He would have taken the seat anyway.
“Why are you here, Angelika?” It was what he’d called her, a variation of her name, but she’d always basked in its glow. “It’s not the fifteenth until tomorrow.” Thirty years to the day when they were supposed to meet again. “You were here yesterday as well. Just scoping out the clientele?” he asked, using the American colloquialism.
Eleni rushed from the cool interior of the kafeneío, a cloth in her hand to mop up the mess. “I am so sorry,” she said, as if it was her fault.
Finally, Angelika spoke. “I was clumsy. I’m sorry. At least I didn’t break the cup.”
She’d avoided the drips off the table, which would have stained her white knee-length pants.
“It is no problem,” Eleni said. “I will bring you a new cup.” She rushed off again, leaving him alone with Angelika even as tourists began filling the kafeneío.
“Why have you come?” he murmured.
She blurted out, “I envisioned you moving to Athens and becoming a businessman. I didn’t expect you to be here.”
He laughed, a big sound that echoed across the terrace. “You should know I would never leave my Santorini.”
She dipped her head, as if she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, I should have known that.”
He had so many questions. What had she been doing for thirty years? There was no ring on her finger, so she wasn’t married. Divorced maybe. She would be fifty-three now, three years younger than him. And those years had been good to her, her figure lush and curvy, exactly the way he remembered. The lines at her eyes and her mouth only added to her beauty, and her skin was still peaches and cream the way it had been all those years ago. He’d seen older American women here, sunblock gathering in the lines of their leathery faces, hats with floppy brims on their heads. Her hat was now sitting on the table beside her, splatters of coffee on its khaki rim. But there was nothing leathery about her.
He said what was in his heart. “You are still beautiful, Angelika,”
Her skin flushed, so very visible on her peaches-and-cream cheeks. “I’m just old.”
He laughed, softly this time. “You think only the young can be beautiful?”
Her gaze roamed his face for long moments in which it felt as if her fingers were on him. “No. Beauty isn’t only for the young.” She blinked, looked down. “But age suits men better than women.”
He bowed his head slightly. “If that is a compliment, I thank you.”
What to say now? Should he ask her all the questions running through his mind? What she’d been doing, if she had lovers, if she had children, was she a career woman? There were so many things he wanted to know about her.
And so many things he was afraid to know.
He was so beautiful. She wanted to run her fingers through his thick hair, feel the silkiness against her skin. She wanted to stroke his full lips, put her mouth to his, feel the soft tickle of his mustache, taste him again.
She hadn’t known what she truly wanted when she came here. Was it a pilgrimage and a place to discover a closeness with Sienna where she could finally reveal the truth?
Or had she been hoping to find him again?
As she looked at him now, his strong, handsome face, the lips she wanted to feel against her skin, she admitted this was what she’d prayed for, hoped for, wanted, needed.
For him to find her again.
Her gaze dropped to his hand. He saw the look and answered her question. “Divorced.”
She couldn’t help the sigh that whispered from her heart. “I’m also divorced.”
“But do you have another man back in the States, Angelika?”
She loved the way he said her name, but she laughed, softly and a little bitterly. “There’s only been my husband. He divorced me a year ago. I haven’t wanted anyone else.” Except Xandros.
“I’ve been divorced for ten years.”
She didn’t want to know, yet it was the only thing she could ask. “In ten years, you must have had other women in your life. Is there one now?”
It was a yes or no answer. She didn’t want to know all the women he’d been with since his divorce. She wanted only to know about this moment.
“There is no other woman.”
It was all she needed to hear.
But it wasn’t all she needed to say. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here that day.” She didn’t ask if he’d come. There would be too much pain, too much loss either way.
Their pretty young waitress arrived then, bringing her a second café au lait and a deep black coffee for him.
He smiled. “Thank you, Eleni.” Then he said, “I came here that day.”
Angela closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see the pain in his or feel the sorrow in her own heart for what she’d done.
“But I was engaged to another woman.”
Her world crashed and burned, her heart squeezing tight until she was afraid tears would leak out. She’d dreamed of a joyous reunion that day even as she’d told herself it could never have happened. Her mother was right. He had a girl in every port. And he’d come to this café already engaged to another woman. Oh, but she’d dreamed.
“Why did you come then?” she asked.
He smiled gently, his eyes closing in a slow blink. “I was hoping you’d save me from a marriage I didn’t truly want. It was a business deal.” He shrugged. “Her parents, my parents. If you were here, I thought I’d find the courage to break my engagement.”
“But I wasn’t here,” she whispered, wrapping her numb fingers around her hot coffee.
“But you weren’t here,” he echoed. “And I married her.” Then he added softly, “I have no regrets about that. I have four beautiful children I adore.”
“I have two children. I love them with everything in me.” Even if they didn’t feel the same way. But she didn’t tell him about Sienna. She wondered if he would hate her. She wondered if in telling him, she would hate herself.
“Did you marry him?”
She hadn’t lied to Xandros back then. She’d told him about the engagement, about Donald, that she’d realized she wasn’t in love with him, but that her mother was a forceful personality with high hopes. “I married him. I couldn’t stand up to my mother.”
He nodded, a slow, knowing move of his head. “It seems that neither of us could stand up to our parents. I suppose that is the way of things. But because I did not have courage, I have four children I love, a business I enjoy, and after twenty years of marriage, I have my freedom.” He reached out, didn’t touch her, and finally withdrew. “That’s when I started coming back here every June fifteenth.” His chuckle was soft music. “Though I come here often for my morning coffee. It is the most relaxing way to begin the day.” His smile faded. “But every fifteenth of June, I look for you.” He held her gaze a long moment. “And finally, you are here.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to come back.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to fly to the States and find you.” Then he grinned, his mustache twitching. “I once saw an old American movie called The Graduate. I imagined running up the aisle on your wedding day, just like Dustin Hoffman.”
“But what would your life have been like, cut off from your family?”
He shrugged, very Greek, very nonchalant, what will be will be. “Neither of us will ever know.”
“I only know what my life is like now. Even though I’ve been divorced for only a year, I’ve been alone for thirty-one.” She’d never learned to love Donald, not even before he’d learned about Sienna.
“But you are here now.” This time when he reached out, he pulled her fingers from her coffee cup, linked them with his. “Do you think thirty years have changed us completely?”
“Absolutely.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Yet you came back.”
“Yes.” The problem was the same as it had been all those years ago. Sienna. She couldn’t tell him he had another daughter before she’d even told Sienna.
But once Sienna knew, Angela would have to tell Xandros too.
And that was the second problem. Could he ever forgive the fact that she’d stolen his child from him? That she was pregnant and still hadn’t come back, that she’d let another man raise his child? If the tables were turned, she didn’t know if she could forgive.
But he was smiling, unaware. “I am not that twenty-five-year-old boy anymore. I am a man. I run a corporation. And I have learned courage.”
“Before I saw you, I thought I was a woman with courage. Now I’m afraid I’m lacking any at all.”
“I have courage for both of us.”
She was afraid it wouldn’t be enough.
As if still blaming herself for the spilled coffee, Eleni wouldn’t bring a bill when he asked so Xandros left a pile of euros on the table.
He looked at Angelika. “May I walk you to your hotel?”
She had come a year after her divorce. She’d changed her life to get here. And even if she claimed she lacked courage, it took courage to return to the place where they’d lost each other.
He had no intention of losing her again.
She looked at her watch. “Don’t you need to get to work?”
He understood it for the stalling tactic it was. “I am my own boss. I make my own hours. And I would very much like to walk with you.”
She stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs off her pants. “I’m with my daughter.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to explain who you are.”
He put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head, making her look at him. “I’ve been coming here for ten years. I am a very patient man. But now that I’ve found you again, I cannot let you walk away.”
He leaned down to touch his lips to hers. It was barely a kiss, but somehow it made him dizzy in a way he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d held her in his arms. He asked the all-important question. “Do you want me to walk away?”
She put her fingers to her lips, as if she could still feel his warmth. “I don’t think I could bear it if you did.” She paused, looking down, eyelids shuttering her gaze. “I just need to adjust and consider how to deal with this.”
He slid his hand down her arm, laced her fingers in his, and led her from the terrace. Walking the cobbled streets, which were filling with cruise ship tourists, he said, “You came here after thirty years. You and I both know that means something. This town, this date, our kafeneío.”
“It’s the day before,” she said.
God, he wanted to kiss her, deeply, thoroughly. She wasn’t as easy as she’d been all those years ago. He didn’t mean easy in the demeaning American colloquial sense. It was just that she had known almost from the moment he had that they were meant to be together.
But thirty years had taught her wariness.
He compromised. “I promise not to invite myself into your hotel. I will only walk you there and give you my number. And I will wait for your call.”
For her, he didn’t use contractions the way the Americans did. Though in his business dealings with English speakers, he spoke as they did. But for this moment, he wanted her to understand the importance of his words.
“I’m not staying in a hotel. We rented a small villa.”
He smiled then. “Even better.” He stopped, stroked a hand down her cheek, savoring her soft skin. “I will see you again.” There was certainty in the way he emphasized the words. He would see her again, without a doubt.
They stood in the street overrun with tourists from the cable car and the intrepid souls who’d walked the stairs or ridden a donkey.
