Memories of Santorini, page 8
“They actually have bigger grocery stores here?”
Angela smiled indulgently, the way Xandros would have when she’d sounded as if Santorini had no amenities. “Yes, they have supermarkets where we can get whatever we need. In fact, I passed one on my walk. It’s not that far. Or we can take a bus.” She hadn’t rented a car, primarily because of the parking issue, and she figured they could take taxis or the bus wherever they wanted to go. Santorini wasn’t that big.
“What about all the groceries we’ll have to carry back?” Sienna looked at her with skepticism.
“Not to worry.” She winked at her daughter. “I found a wheelie basket in the kitchen.”
Sienna pretended to choke on her coffee. “A wheelie basket, like we’re little old ladies?” She grimaced.
“I am an old lady.”
Sienna waved her hand. “You’re not that old. Old is over sixty.”
Heh. To Angela, the cutoff was now seventy-five. When she turned fifty-five, that would climb to eighty.
“Let’s walk to Fira this afternoon,” she said. “It’s only a mile and a half. We can take the cable car down to the old port before all the tourists start back down to their ships. Then we’ll walk back up the Karavolades Stairs. There’s only 588 of them. And by that time, most of the tourists will already be up top.”
Sienna stared at her for fifteen seconds, her expression one of pure horror. “You want to walk up 588 steps in the heat of the day? Are you crazy?”
“It’s only supposed to be eighty-two degrees today. Not that bad.” Angela smiled, one eyebrow peaked. “We could take a donkey ride up.”
Sienna snorted. “That’s even crazier than walking. Can’t we just take the cable car down and then back up?”
“It’s no worse than hiking some of the steep hills in San Francisco.”
“I don’t walk hills, Mother.” Sienna rolled her eyes. “I work out in the gym.”
Angela let her smile sparkle in her eyes. “This will use all new muscles then. It’ll be perfect. You’ll love it. Hills are my favorite hikes.”
Sienna gazed at her in awe. “You hike?”
“Every day. It’s not called the Los Altos Hills for nothing.” She snorted softly. “There’s lots of trails back there, some of them only locals know about.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I belong to a hiking group. We sometimes go to the Fremont Hills or the Santa Cruz Mountains. Even down to Pinnacles National Monument. It’s amazing the number of places to hike in the Bay Area.”
Sienna said, “Oh,” as if she had no clue who or even what her mother was. “No wonder you can climb 588 steps.”
Angela laughed. “I plan to rest at each switchback.”
“Thank God for that.” Then all signs of horror and humor faded from Sienna’s face. “I’d really like to stay here today, catch some sun. My legs are pasty.” She looked at Angela. “Is that okay with you?”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind doing the shopping.” Truly, she didn’t.
But she wondered if this was how the whole vacation would go, with Sienna turning her nose up at anything Angela suggested.
Would they spend any time together at all?
Her mother wore capri pants, a blowsy tank top, sunhat, and oceans of sunblock. The wheelie cart was foldable, and she left with it tucked under her arm.
Sienna lay on the lounger in her bikini, soaking up the sun’s rays. It was only eighty degrees, just as her mother said it would be, and yet it seemed hotter, as if the sun shining on all the white walls increased its intensity.
She couldn’t imagine walking up all those steps. Going balls to the wall for the last two months completely exhausted her. Her elderly clients needed more handholding, and she’d met with each one, making sure she’d prepared them for her vacation. Mother didn’t work, so she couldn’t understand how hard it was planning for vacation.
She hated being a bitch, sending her mom out to do the shopping. She felt bad about refusing to climb 588 steps, but she certainly wasn’t riding on the back of a donkey. That was even crazier than walking. But she had a newfound respect for her mother. A hiker, who knew? Sienna would work up the energy for those steps in a couple of days. Or maybe a week. For now, she wanted to lay on this lounger, her sunglasses blocking the sun, her visor shading her face.
She didn’t want to think about her father either. Yet the moment the thought hit, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Did he really believe the only place she could make it was at his company? Maybe he was afraid she’d make it big somewhere else and show him up. Her blood started to boil again, but she didn’t want to work herself up, not while this gorgeous sun was leeching the aches and pains from her body.
There was absolutely no way she’d tell her father that Mr. Smithfield had called her for another interview. He had a new position, but he didn’t want any leaks and didn’t want to say too much until he saw her. As if she would tell anyone. Not this time. Mr. Smithfield hadn’t balked when she said she’d have to meet him in two weeks, once she’d returned from vacation. His amazing response had been, “It’ll give me a chance to get my ducks in a row.”
What the heck did that mean?
But she’d probably say yes to whatever he wanted. As long as it was a win-win for both of them.
A blast of music snapped her out of a doze, followed by loud voices and laughter, some even louder than the music. The thumping began as if they were all dancing on the terrace above.
When had she last been to a good party? Even her birthday party had been a whirl for her, making sure everything went well. She’d barely gotten a chance to enjoy it. She shouldn’t have to host her own birthday bash. Someone else toasted you, someone else celebrated you, someone else cleaned up the mess. How perfect that would be.
Her mind drifted with the music. The thumping, the laughter, the voices, and even the occasional shrieks of young women didn’t dampen her vacation mood.
She was here to relax and regain her equilibrium so that when she interviewed with Mr. Smithfield, she’d know exactly what to do with any offer he made.
Maybe she needed to think about her mother too. Was there any way they could end up being friends the way she was with Aunt Teresa? Sienna didn’t have a lot of friends. There were work acquaintances and the girls from her sorority, but somehow, she’d always felt guarded. She hadn’t even told Aunt Teresa about the interview with Mr. Smithfield. And she admitted why. She didn’t want her aunt telling her mother. She didn’t want this vacation to turn into a question-and-answer game.
All she wanted was to lie here and enjoy the sun.
From above, a female voice screeched, “Carter, this drink sucks.”
Then freezing liquid and chips of ice rained down on Sienna’s chest, splattered her face, plastered her hair, and slid down her arms.
She shrieked as if someone was murdering her.
Sienna opened her eyes, glaring at the next-door balcony one level up.
The man leaned over his railing. “Holy hell,” he called down in a voice of abject misery. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were down there.”
A pretty young woman with a straight brunette bob leaned over with him. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled, which turned into hysterical laughter.
“Shut up, Tamryn, or she’ll think we’re not sorry at all.”
Sienna sat up, brushing off the ice cubes. After the first shock, the ice actually felt good on her overheated skin.
Tamryn laughed, then wobbled, forcing the man to grab her arm to steady her. “Get a soda instead of a margarita,” he said in a harsh undertone Sienna heard.
Alone now, he turned back. “I really am sorry.” He leaned with both arms on the terrace railing. “I had no idea she’d throw it over the side like that.”
Sienna thought about scolding him, but with his surfer blond hair, blue eyes reflecting the Santorini sea, and a beautiful mouth, he made her think about kissing.
She hadn’t thought about kissing in months.
“That’s all right,” she called up. “I was getting a little hot in the sun, and the ice cubes cooled me down.” She put her hands together. “But the margarita is sticky.”
“Don’t move,” he said, waving a hand. “I’ll be right down.”
After what seemed like forever, he stepped through her bright blue gate carrying a tray, a steaming cloth folded on it like something old-time barbers used on men’s whiskers. There was also a glass along with a plate filled with something emitting delicious odors.
Close-up, his eyes were almost turquoise, his hair short and pleasantly rumpled, his face made up of strong lines and a chiseled jaw. He was clean-shaven, none of the scruff that, in her opinion, looked messy.
“Again, I’m so sorry.” His accent was a flat American that didn’t give away what part of the country he was from. “I brought you a drink.” He pointed at the blended margarita, salt around the rim, then he laughed. “I know we should drink something very Greek like ouzo or retsina, but this bunch—” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “—they love their margaritas.” Then he nudged the plate. “And I brought a few appetizers too.”
Setting the tray on the table beside her, he lifted the cloth. “And a steamed towel to wipe away the stickiness.”
She stood, leaning over the lounger, finding the cloth still hot to the touch. Looking at him, she wiped down her shoulders and arms, her chest and stomach, the swipes of the cloth sexy in a way she hadn’t felt in a long while. Obviously, work was taking up too much of her time.
Patting her face, she said, “Thank you. It really wasn’t necessary.”
“I assure you it was. I’m afraid Tamryn was a little drunk.” Then he laughed. “Actually, I think most of my friends are drunk.”
She tossed the cloth on the tray. “They start early.”
He laughed again. “We’re doing a cruise this afternoon, and I thought we’d have something to eat and drink before we go down to the dock.” He rolled his eyes and raised his hands. “That was a mistake.” Just as quickly, he smiled, completely sober. “Why don’t you come with us?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. He was handsome and polite, and she hadn’t been on a party boat since college. But there was her mother. “Thank you for the offer, but my mom’s doing the shopping. It’s our first full day here, and I can’t leave her alone.”
He spread his hands expansively. “She’s more than welcome too.”
“That’s really nice of you.” Did she want her mother along?
She realized immediately what a horrible question it was. Her mother had paid for the entire trip, and this morning Sienna had refused to climb the Karavolades Stairs or go shopping.
She decided for both of them. If her mother didn’t want to go, then that was on her. “That’s really generous. I’m sure my mom would love it.” She waved a hand toward his terrace. “If your guests don’t mind having someone older with them.”
“My guests are so tipsy they won’t even notice a couple of extras. Let alone that one of them is your mother. The bus is picking us up at one o’clock.” He smiled again, deliciously sweet and hot too. “I’ll lean over the balcony and call down to you.”
“Thank you.” It could be the best way to spend their first day here, a party boat. As long as her mother brought a lot of sunblock.
Before he left, the man stuck out his hand. “Carter Ellis.” His grip was firm.
“Sienna Walker. Nice to meet you.”
He smiled, deep enough that dimples peeped out at the edges of his mouth. “Even though we doused you with ice cubes?”
“You’re making up for it with a margarita and food.”
He pointed at the plate. “There’s spanakopita. And that’s tzatziki, a creamy yogurt-and-cucumber sauce for the veggies.” He’d added carrot, cucumber, and red pepper sticks. “And these are tomatokeftedes.”
“What exactly is that?”
“A Santorini specialty, tomato fritters. Hopefully they’re still warm. There’s nothing like them. Dip them in the tzatziki.” He backed toward the gate. “I better get back up there to make sure nobody else dumps a drink on you.”
She called after him, “Make sure you don’t step on the church roof either.”
His laughter floated to her even when he was out of sight. “I would never step on a church roof.”
She collapsed on the lounger. More sunblock, Greek appetizers, or a margarita?
The choice was easy. She went for the fritters.
Held together by bread crumbs, or maybe flour, then fried, they melted on her tongue with the sweetness of tomato complemented by feta cheese and spearmint. So good. The spanakopita dipped in the creamy yogurt sauce brought out all its flavors. Licking her fingers, she sipped the margarita. It was just to her taste, not overly sugary, a little tart, the blended concoction giving her a momentary brain freeze.
Carter Ellis seemed nice enough. Even if his friends were huge partiers. Was Tamryn his girlfriend? Not that it mattered. Sienna wasn’t interested in a holiday fling, even if he had pretty blue eyes. But she would enjoy the party boat.
A noise on the stairs leading up from the cobblestone road announced her mother’s return, and her short curly hair appeared. The cut suited her, making her look at least five years younger. She wasn’t even winded as she opened the gate, pulling the wheelie basket behind her, smile radiant as if she was happy for the first time in years.
Obviously, Santorini was good for her.
“You should’ve come with me. I went totally crazy.” Mother held up her hand, palm out, sounding like a teenager. “We’ve got champagne and ice cream and—” She paused when she saw the margarita on the table beside Sienna, along with the appetizers Carter Ellis had brought.
Sienna felt completely magnanimous. “I’ve got some appetizers too. And a margarita. We can share.”
The offer seemed to delight her mother, her smile growing. “Wonderful. I’m famished after the walk. Let me just put the perishables in the fridge.” She wheeled away, not the least embarrassed about looking like an old lady with a wheelie cart. Not that her mother actually looked old. She seemed almost young right now, with a bounce in her step.
Sienna gulped the margarita and gave herself another brain freeze. She plowed down a fritter to counteract the sensation. There were still plenty for her mother, who was back in less than five minutes.
Sienna fluttered her fingers at the plate. “You absolutely have to try these tomato fritters. They have an unpronounceable Greek name. But they’re delicious.”
Her mother sat down on the lounger, the table between them. “Where did you get all this?”
Sienna pointed to the terrace above. “Someone doused me with a margarita, and the host brought this down as an apology.”
“He can throw a margarita on me anytime if that’s what we get.” Her mother bit into the fritter, chewing, her eyes closed, a beatific smile on her lips. “I haven’t had tomatokeftedes since before you were born.” The Greek name rolled off her tongue.
“Why didn’t you ever make them at home?”
Her mother’s expression shifted subtly, as if a wistful memory had crossed her mind.
“It was too difficult. And you really need Santorini tomatoes. There’s something in the volcanic soil they grow in that makes them extra special.”
Her mother was an amazing cook. They’d had money for a maid, a cook, and a nanny. But Angela Walker had always made their meals, most of them gourmet, and never had help around the house, certainly not a nanny.
“Maybe I’ll try again when we get home,” she said, the reminiscent look fading.
“I have another surprise.” Sienna pointed once again up to the neighbor’s terrace. “Our benefactor has offered to take us on a cruise this afternoon. He’s got a party boat.”
Frowning, her mother put a finger to her lips. “I’m sure it’s a young person’s party. They don’t want an old lady hanging around.”
A twinge of guilt twisted Sienna’s stomach. She’d said exactly the same thing, and it was Carter who’d said he’d loved to have her mother. “His name is Carter Ellis. He sounds American, and he said he’d adore having you along.” She leaned forward to tap her mother’s knee. “It’ll be fun.”
She didn’t know why she was pushing. Her mother’s presence might make her feel inhibited. And yet it was rude not to ask her. “Come on. You haven’t sailed on the Aegean in thirty years.”
Her mother laughed with her hand over her mouth, covering the bite of spanakopita she’d just taken. “All right. You’re on.”
“And you have to bring a bathing suit,” Sienna told her. “I don’t want you hanging around in capri pants.”
“You know me so well.”
She didn’t know her mother at all. Her smiles always seemed a bit forced and her laughter a second too late, as if she wasn’t sure she should laugh. Her mom always let her dominate their conversations. Sienna hadn’t even known she was a hiker, for God’s sake.
This vacation was a chance for them to become closer than mere acquaintances.
10
The catamaran loped over the surface of the Aegean beneath a glorious sun. The music was loud for Angela’s taste, with a beat she couldn’t get into. But then she was older, and it was tradition to hate the music of the younger generation. It had been happening since the Beatles, or maybe far longer. It seemed as if everyone on the boat, even the crew, was thirty or younger. The captain, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, reminded her of Xandros, the height, the smile, the dark hair, the olive skin.
She sat under an awning shading half the boat, while the three women in Carter Ellis’s group had climbed up top to sunbathe. The men, four including Carter, clustered around the back of the boat, talking, laughing, drinking, eating. Angela had been out there for a while, but despite her sunblock, her skin had started to sizzle. Sienna had joined her in the shade.
The food and drink were excellent. They’d indulged in spanakopita and tomatokeftedes, Greek meatballs, fried goat cheese, tzatziki with toasted pitas, and on and on. Margaritas weren’t a Greek drink, but they were delicious.
