“A hike?” Maura’s smile grows tight. “What kind of a hike? Is it hard?”
“They told me the terrain is uneven. It’ll be moderately difficult.” It’s impossible to miss the flicker of concern across Maura’s face. Shit, I just assumed the hike wouldn’t be a problem. I should have asked her—I have no idea if Maura evenlikeshiking. Her pale skin suggests she’d rather spend time inside. “Are you up for it?”
There’s a flash of white teeth as Maura nips her lower lip. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not exactly athletic,husband.”
She laughs hollowly. “But I’m sure I can handle it as long as you don’t mind going a little slow for me.”
“Of course, I don’t. We can go at whatever pace you’re most comfortable.”
Worry settles in my stomach. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. It’s supposed to be pretty hot out and if she isn’t used to longer periods of exertion…
“I can call it off, if you prefer.” I try to make my tone sound casual. “I’m sure the supplier can bring samples to the villa or give us a tour over Zoom. We could relax by the pool all day instead.”
Say yes.
She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not. There's no way I'm missing seeing the quarry in person. We’re going.”
My stomach twists and I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so nervous about this. I try to shake it off.
“You’re sure?”
“Definitely. In fact, I'm going to get changed right now. Good thing you reminded me to pack those comfy shoes, huh?” She winks playfully before striding back inside the villa.
I sigh. I'm probably just worrying about nothing. I'll keep a close eye on her during the hike, and hopefully, the whole day will go according to plan.
32
MAURA
Isquint into the bright sun as we emerge from under a copse of knotted olive trees. I didn’t wear sunglasses on our hike, not wanting to compromise my view of the colors of the landscape. Now, with the sun bearing down on me, I'm starting to think that was a mistake.
“This way!” Kostos, our guide, says cheerily, pointing down a dirt path.
A thin, vital man in his fifties, Kostos greeted us with hugs instead of handshakes, to James’s mild horror. His family owns the quarry we’re visiting and has for several generations. He obviously knows the islands like the back of his hand, pointing out tiny details I would've missed otherwise.
At my side, James glances down at me. “You doing okay?”
I nod. “More than okay. I mean, look at this!”
I gesture at the view before us. We’re far from any buildings, left with rocks and cliffs, shaded with occasional gnarled olive trees. Above us, the sky stretches out in a vivid, endless blue. I catch sight of a small copse of purple wildflowers.
“Hold on a sec.” I kneel near the flowers, picking up the camera hanging around my neck to snap some photos. I've neverpainted this kind of brilliant purple with shades of brown and tan, and it’s so striking, I want to remember it exactly.
“Mallow flowers,” Kostos says from behind us. “Very pretty. You will see more just up the hill.”
I nod, making a mental note. The men patiently stop for me a dozen more times over the next few minutes. There's almost too much to take in. I’m hypnotized by the way the rocks change, getting more ragged and extreme the closer we get to the coast. Occasionally, the entire path will bend around a massive boulder. The wildlife is perfectly adapted to the climate, the wildflowers bursting from the sandy soil while the trees sink twisting, determined roots in crevices between rocks.
As I build my mental catalogue of images, I have a sudden burst of inspiration—my next solo show, built around the hard lines between land and sea. The drama of sweeping cliffs thrusting from the water, or the organic, shifting border between the beach and the waves.
I’m not sure if the idea will stick. Sometimes when I’m painting, a different idea will take prominence. Either way, I know this trip will influence my next paintings.
We reached a thinner part of the path which forces us to walk in single file. At first, James moves behind me. When I stop to snap photos of a strange black rock, he falls into conversation with Kostos. I don't mind. His broad, muscled back rather improves the view.
James walks a few paces ahead with a long, easy stride. It reminds me of just how much weaker and more fragile my body is. Daily gym visits have built his body into a machine. Unfortunately for me, Dr. Markovic has forbidden most activities besides walking, yoga, and gentle, low-impact calisthenics.
Normally, I wouldn’t be bothered. If I obsessed about everything Icouldn’tdo, I’d be consumed with self-pity. Afterabout half an hour of walking, though, the path rises up ahead of me. I swallow over a lump in my throat. So far, I’ve been able to keep up. I'm not so sure I can manage it on a steeper incline.
I curl my fingers around the straps of my backpack. There's no way I'm turning back now, not when the stones I’ve been dreaming about are so close. I may just have to go a little slower, that's all.
