Lee parked in Regan’s driveway. Inside, she paced the length of the apartment and then went into the cramped kitchen and pushed the button to raise the metal shades. She found a very small apple and sliced it into perfect, symmetrical wedges. She spooned some grainy Greek peanut butter onto the plate and drizzled it with honey, then brought the plate to her niece.
Flora looked up from her computer. She had changed from her uniform into shorts and the faded pink T-shirt. “What is this?” she said.
“An after-school snack,” said Lee brightly. Lee perched on Flora’s bed. She took an apple slice and munched. “I’m calling Markos every day,” she said. “He’s committed to finding your mom, Flora, and I am too.”
Flora’s fingers paused on her keyboard. She turned slowly, something hard in her expression. “Really?” She gestured to her screen. “Then what’s this?”
Lee stood and crossed to look at the computer, where she saw a photo of herself and Markos, walking in Anafiotika. The gossip website or whatever it was had made a video close-up of Lee’s hand holding Markos’s hand. The headline read:
MY BIG FAT GREEK POLICE OFFICER!
Lee Perkins’s Mystery Lover REVEALED: He’s a COP!
“Oh no,” said Lee.
“Why would you get involved with the man trying to find Mom?” said Flora. “It’s just like Mom always said—you only care about yourself!”
The words hit Lee like a slap, though the accusation was one Regan had lobbed at her countless times…during late-night phone calls when Regan caught her not really listening (she was scrolling Instagram); when Lee had cut visits home short for auditions; the day, long ago, when Lee had ditched her younger siblings to escape to California.
“Flora, no,” said Lee. But even as she denied it, she wondered: Was she here to save Regan, or to play the role of saving Regan?
“Can you please get out of my room?” said Flora.
“Wait,” said Lee. Her mind spun.
“GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” yelled Flora.
“I need my medication refills,” said Lee.
“Then get your refills!” said Flora. “You’re an adult!” She wheeled her chair back around to her computer, using the back of her hand to wipe tears from her cheeks.
You hurt everyone you love,said Depression.
The front door of the apartment banged open. “Yoo-hoo!” called Charlotte.
Flora stood and ran away from Lee, to her grandmother.
49
Charlotte
Charlotte sipped her coffee. Itwas nice to feel needed in Athens, Greece, though at times she felt as if she was running a two-star bed-and-breakfast, just cooking and cleaning like a scullery maid. With the girls situated at their fancy school and Lee sleeping late (as usual), Charlotte was at loose ends. She decided to head to the local market, which was more like a Gas Mart than a real store. No grocery carts! Brown eggs with bits of straw and feathers clinging to them! Charlotte bought a dozen, and, as usual, the shopkeeper wrapped the eggs in dirty newspaper.
There was no actual fresh milk, just some foil-box “long-life” milk, which tasted downright weird. No sliced cheddar, just icebergs of feta floating in oceanic brine, scooped out by hand. Instead of an appealing wheel of Brie, Charlotte sampled hard cheeses called graviera, kasseri, and kefalotyri. They were revolting, too salty; the word that came to mind was “fetid.”
The butcher shop down the street reeked and featured hanging legs of spiced beef and air-dried pork. When Charlotte asked for thin-sliced honey ham—her preference for a sandwich—the fat man with blood on his apron told her they only sold “full cuts, real meat, like for boiling.” Beneath the fatty bits of meat,Charlotte spied an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette. She supposed she should have been glad he put his cigarette out to serve her!
And woe to the American who yearned for a bag of uniformly sliced sandwich bread! There were none of the snacks that made packing lunches simple, the Go-Gurts and Fruit Roll-Ups, the cute and salty Goldfish crackers. Charlotte could not bring herself to buy dried prunes. She got the weensy bags of potato chips, and—for dinner—fresh pasta, a can (not a bottle) of olive oil, lemons with the leaves attached.
No Mallomars! Charlotte bought some cheap-looking cookies called Gemista.
After unpacking her groceries mid-morning, Charlotte ran out of things to do. Outside seemed overwhelming, but not going out felt worse. She put on her sunglasses and a floppy hat that readIt’s All Greek to Me,and walked.
She checked her phone for messages. Paros still hadn’t called.
At last, she reached the Acropolis Museum, a sleek monument of glass and steel. Blessedly cool inside, the museum floated above an ancient excavation site. Charlotte saw broken walls and sunken hearths beneath the glass floor. People had lived here thousands of years ago.
She wandered through the Archaic Gallery. Blank-eyed statues stared into eternity. She picked up a magnifier and peered through it to see fossilized seashells embedded in the marble. Charlotte tried to feel enchanted.
