Chapter 7 – Serena
By the time noon came around, my stomach ached.
Dorothea brought us a tray of meats, cheeses, and veggies.
Everything was fresh, and despite the wholesome simplicity, it was scrumptious.
Say what I would, these Greeks knew how to eat.
Leaning back against the patio chair, I winced at my soiled clothing.
It would take soaking and gentle scrubbing to remove the dirt from my bare feet.
The bruises, scrapes, and small abrasions would likely swallow microscopic bits of filth.
Hopefully it didn’t make me sick or something.
But the clothes I wore—there would be no saving them.
“Is there anywhere to shop around here?” I sighed, twisting my ankles back and forth. There was a scrape in the faux leather pants that was going to open in a tear.
“Not in the village, but in town,” Evangelia said hesitantly. She looked toward the door and leaned forward. “I don’t think you’re allowed to leave here.”
A sigh whispered past my lips. I guessed as much.
“But, if you need something to wear, I have lots of clothes!” the woman added brightly.
I was proud of how I hid my reaction. Dressing like a traditional peasant girl was not something I would have contemplated outside of a costume party.
“Will they fit?” I hedged.
Evangelia was a head taller than me, but whereas I was willowy and slight, she was curvy and generous.
“I have regular clothes, if that’s what you mean,” Evangelia giggled. “Jeans, shorts, tanks—swimwear. Whatever you want, my closet is yours.”
Sharing something as intimate as swimwear was an even stranger idea than the cultural costuming. But it made me wonder. “Are we near the ocean?”
There was that reaction I was becoming quite familiar with on this woman’s face. She looked at me as though I suddenly sprouted three heads. It would be comical if it didn’t make me feel utterly silly every time I asked a question that produced the effect.
“Don’t you hear it?” she laughed.
That sound....
The rhythmic crashing haunting my bedroom at night.
“The beach is on the other side of those trees.” Evangelia pointed her finger to the side of the patio.
Peering past the trunks, just beyond the flowing grass, was the sparkle of blue.
Whatever she was saying was lost on me. I didn’t remember rising from the chair. My feet seemed to be in control of their own agency. I simply answered the call, letting the harsh whisper of the water beckon me forward.
Breaking through the last grouping of trees, the first sight of the ocean hit like a punch.
Not to the gut, but to the soul. It stretched endlessly before me, a dazzling expanse of blue so vivid it seemed unreal, as though someone had painted the horizon with colors too pure for this world.
The sunlight bounced off the waves, turning the water into a shimmering field of liquid diamonds that seemed to ripple and dance, pulling my eyes and my heart further in.
I stood there, frozen, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.
The salty sting of the sea air filled my lungs, sharp and clean, like nothing I had ever breathed before.
It clung to my skin, carried by the breeze that whipped my hair into my face.
I tasted salt on my lips, as if the ocean were already claiming me as its own.
The first step I took was hesitant, almost reverent.
The sand gave way under my feet, soft and warm, molding to me like it had been waiting for me to arrive.
I walked closer, each step pulling me toward the water like a magnet, until the waves finally reached out and licked at my toes.
The water was cooler than I expected, a sudden shock that sent shivers up my legs, but it felt like an invitation.
A delirious laugh clawed from my throat.
This was nothing like Lake Michigan, green and tangy.
This beautiful, living body of water seemed.
..sacred. My chest ached with a strange mix of joy and awe.
I had never seen anything so vast, so alive, so untouchable yet welcoming.
I didn’t just see the ocean—I felt it. It was in my ears, my nose, my skin, my very breath.
What the hell is this strange magic?
The moment broke when heavy pants sounded behind me.
Not wanting Evangelia to see the emotional reaction to the sublime beauty of nature, I bent and began scrubbing saltwater over stinging, sensitive feet, ignoring the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
I was just overwhelmed and didn’t need a stranger commenting on the tangled state of my thoughts.
“Yep, so um, this is the ocean,” she said by way of introducing us.
I wanted to cackle. What kind of dismissive welcome was that? Such a thing of wonder, power, and beauty shouldn’t be encapsulated in such a short blurting of words.
“You’ve never been, have you?” she asked softly.
Her observation was damn near prophetic.
“How did you guess?”
She shrugged. “The way you’re looking at it just now is like someone coming home. Like you were always meant to be here.”
I’m a prisoner. That harsh reality helped to sap some of the dominating sparkle from the moment.
“What is that over there?” I changed the topic as I stood and pointed.
“Oh, the marina,” she explained. “Sometimes tourists come to take chartered fishing trips out into the water, but it’s mostly our fishing grounds.
The docking stations we mainly use to haul the catch of the day onto.
It gets ripped up every storm season—that’s the fall time—but the boys have a system to pull it down and set it back up without disrupting the business too much. ”
As she explained enthusiastically, we walked toward the docks. The natural landscape changed as we moved, shifting from grasses and sand to a precise slope made of cut stone. It wasn’t as pretty, but the little sea critters and shells decorated the stone as if to defy the efforts of engineering.
Evangelia stopped short before the path turned to cracked pavement. “This is as far as we should go.”
I wondered if it was because of me, or if she really wasn’t allowed up there. It was hard to believe they would be so misogynistic and old-fashioned as not to let a woman near the ships.
But what did I know?
Wooden docks stretched out on the water.
A variety of boats, some big and some little, bobbed on the water.
Several were even turned upside down. I couldn’t begin to name or describe all the parts, but they were different than the speedy little trappings we used on Lake Michigan.
Mainly, these seemed to use the wind with big sails rather than motors.
I wish I paid attention when Leonardo talked about water vessels. What was the point of knowing a yachting enthusiast if I didn’t pick up on some useful information?
“What are they doing?” I asked, jerking my chin to the men in loose, linen pants throwing things into a ship.
“Oh, um, getting ready to fish when the tide turns.”
I shot Evangelia a side look and noticed her chewing on her thumb. The question was, what was fishing short for with this Greek mob? Because there was no doubt in my mind that they were up to no good.
“That’s my dad’s old boat,” Evangelia jabbered, pointing at the soft yellow vessel. “Iosif has been navigating her since he was a boy.”
Blinking, I looked at the men. “Is Markos there?”
My question stopped her commentary on the trip her brother took around the Gulf.
“He’s the one without a shirt,” she said, tone hushed. “Can’t you tell?”
Did I really want to admit I hadn’t seen him outside of a drug-induced haze and a candlelit dinner? “It’s hard to tell from here.”
“Oh, well, yeah, he works beside the men. He might be as rich as Creusus and rule one of the biggest criminal organizations in the Southeast, but you’d never know by his work ethic that he’s not a Regular Joe as the Yanks say.”
I tucked away each piece of information. Wealthy, powerful, and...humble? No, that didn’t fit the man in the kitchen last night. The monster stalking through the dark. Just because he brought dinner didn’t make him a saint.
He was my captor, even if I hadn’t been the target. There was nothing else apart from that simple truth.