Chapter 5 Charlotte
Charlotte
Charlotte sat next to her eldest daughter, gazed at the Savannah moon, and sipped her chardonnay. Her mind wandered to her last good kiss, or honestly her last kiss period. It was, of course, her goodbye kiss with Paros, her Greek love.
Her Greek lover.
Was it possible that Paros was still alive when her own bones were so fragile that Dr. Maloney’s nurse compared them to paper chopsticks?
(“Like the ones you get at Panda Express, you know?” she had added, unnecessarily.
Rude!) The memory of Charlotte’s goodbye kiss with Paros was clear in her mind, unlike many things these days.
Charlotte had fallen for Paros during a Mediterranean cruise.
She’d hoped to keep the romance going, but Paros visited the US just once.
He had worn his farmer-ish clothing—jeans and dark button-downs—and she took him to the Hilton Head outlet mall to buy him pastel pants and a collared shirt from the Ralph Lauren outlet.
The next day, Paros requested a walk in downtown Savannah.
Charlotte drove him to Chippewa Square, her favorite.
It was surrounded by several large oak trees that provided a bit of shade.
She found a parking spot on Abercorn and they wandered across the wide square, dodging tourists, to a bench.
“What is that called?” said Paros, pointing to the Spanish moss that hung from the branches of old oak trees, draping them like tattered gray shawls.
Charlotte told him, explaining that the bromeliads used the trees to get closer to the sun.
Paros took this in, then went to read the placard on the statue of James Oglethorpe.
Paros was much more interested in history than Charlotte—why dwell on the past?
Yet here she was—dwelling!—remembering Paros turning from the statue toward Charlotte, then shocking her by kneeling down and asking Charlotte to marry him, to return with him to his Greek farm on an island she couldn’t remember the name of.
“I can’t move to America,” said Paros. “You understand? I can’t leave my land.
” His land? Charlotte was sure it was lovely, but Paros had told her that his nearest grocery store was a ten-minute drive away.
As for golf courses? Outlet malls? Nope.
“I can take care of you on my island, Charlotte,” he had said, his voice tender.
She said yes, but very quietly, and he fitted a chintzy ring with a diamond chip on her finger.
The next day, Paros was due to fly home.
On the way to the airport, he chatted gaily about how he would prepare the farm for her arrival.
But the more Paros spoke about getting a new oven and something about a bed made of horsehair, the more Charlotte acknowledged internally that there was just no way in H-E-double hockey sticks.
After she told him she’d changed her mind and handed him back the sparkly little ring, he’d kissed her passionately, then said, “Don’t call me ever again.”
“But why?”
“My heart is fully broken,” said Paros.
At the time, this had seemed a bit dramatic. A decade later, Charlotte was forced to acknowledge that she, too, was heartbroken. She’d tried to be numb, move on, but honestly, it hadn’t worked.
Had Paros married again? Charlotte imagined the olive groves he’d described to her, the way (he’d said) the air smelled of sea, the taste of the thyme honey from his beehives. “Oh, Paros,” she murmured. Was he alive? Did he think of her?
“What, Mom?” said Lee.
“Nothing,” said Charlotte.
The past could not be changed.