Chapter 5 #2
Luna beamed, leading Athena down the hallway.
“Just wait until you see your room. I gave it the full Poseidon’s-palace treatment.
I hope you like seahorses because there may or may not be an entire seahorse rodeo happening on your ceiling.
” She swung open the door with a flourish.
“Ta-da! Welcome to your underwater boudoir!”
Athena stepped inside and opened her eyes wide to take it all in.
The room was lush with blues and greens, colors that caught the light like fish scales in the sun.
A four-poster bed draped in diaphanous sea-foam-colored curtains dominated one wall, while a writing desk that looked made from driftwood sat beneath a porthole-shaped window.
“Wow.” Athena exhaled, craning her neck. “It’s like sleeping in a mermaid’s guest room.”
“Well, I’ll let you settle in.” Luna left the room key on the bedside table and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
Athena stood motionless, overwhelmed by the room. She wandered to the window and pushed it open wider. The scent of salt and jasmine wafted in, along with the distant sound of waves lapping at the shore.
How peaceful.
Then she remembered her mother’s memorial.
The estranged mother lost to her long ago.
She thought of Demetra and Calista. How had it come to this?
Five years of silence, and now they were supposed to what?
Mourn together? Heal together? The task felt as impossible as breathing underwater without scuba gear.
With a deep sigh, Athena sank onto the bed, flopped back, and stared at the ceiling. True to Luna’s word, a whimsical scene of seahorses engaged in an underwater rodeo. It must have taken the innkeeper forever to paint it.
Athena fingered the delicate gold bracelet at her wrist. From it dangled a tiny golf club charm—a gift from her father after her first junior championship win. She’d worn it every day since, a talisman of sorts. Now it felt heavy, like an anchor dragging her down.
Memories flooded in, unbidden and unwelcome.
Calista, age twelve, eyes bright with unshed tears as their father berated her for a missed shot on their backyard putting green.
“You’re an embarrassment.” He yelled it loud enough for Athena to hear from the golfing cage where she was improving her driving skills.
Calista, four years later, at her first major junior tournament win. Their father’s gloating smile as he draped an arm around Athena’s shoulders. “You see that? That’s why I push her so hard. She’s finally living up to her potential.”
Athena had nodded then, ignoring the twist in her gut.
Why didn’t he push her the same way he pushed Calista?
Did he not want Athena to be as good? She always told herself that Dad knew what he was doing, that he was just being fair, but old guilt wrapped around her now like a suffocating, weighted blanket.
Calista on the eighteenth green at Chevron. The sudden hush, the weight of expectation heavy in the air. Athena watching, heart in her throat . . .
And then . . .
No. Athena squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories away. She had tried to reach out after that, she really had, but Calista vanished, cutting off all contact—with her, with their father, with the entire golfing world.
And Athena . . . well, she just let her go. She didn’t try harder, didn’t push back. Daddy had told her that Calista needed to learn a lesson, and Athena believed him because, well, wasn’t he always right? It was easier that way, more manageable than facing the truth.
The shrill ring of the seashell-shaped landline phone on the bedside table jerked her upright, heart racing. Who could that be?
Don’t be so hypervigilant. Most likely, it was Luna with some cheery bit of information she neglected to deliver.
For a moment, Athena considered ignoring it, pretending she’d left the room. But curiosity—and years of conditioning to always answer when called—won out. She curled her fist around the receiver. “Hello?”
“What the hell?” Her father’s grumpy voice rankled the phone line. “You don’t have cell service on that godforsaken island?”
“Hey, Daddy.” She sank back down on the mattress, held her breath, and glanced at the door as if he might come busting through it at any moment.
He’s a thousand miles away. Relax.
“Have you seen her?” Brusque. Overbearing.
Athena held the receiver away from her ear as a knot fisted in her belly, a Pavlovian response to his tone. “I just got to my room, I haven’t—”
“But you’ve seen her? Talked to her?” The questions came rapid-fire, leaving no room for complete answers.
“Well, yes, but—”
“How does she look? Is she still in shape?” He was the one who’d driven Calista away, yet he seemed obsessed with her younger sister.
“Why do you care, Daddy?” She brushed a piece of lint from her skirt.
“Just answer my questions, Athena.”
She shifted, uncomfortable. Her father had always been intense about their golfing careers, but this felt different, more wrong than usual, somehow. “She looks . . . fine. Good . . .”
“Has she mentioned golf at all?”
“What? No, we didn’t talk for long.” Athena got up to pace the room. Her bare feet sank into the plush rug, which she now realized looked like a sandy ocean floor, complete with tiny seashells.
“Guess who else is on the island,” she said, deflecting. “Reid Thornton.”
“What’s he doing there?” Her father’s tone darkened.
“They’re holding a charity golf tournament in Demetra’s honor.” Around her father, she never referred to Demetra as Mom, or Mother, or the Greek version Mamá as Calista did.
“Focus, Athena,” he snapped, the sound like a whipcrack through the phone. “I need you to convince Calista to come home.”
Athena’s stomach dropped, and she stopped pacing. “What? Why?”
“Can’t a father be concerned about his daughters?” Now his voice softened, taking on a wounded quality Athena knew all too well. “I worry about her, you know . . . about both of you.”
Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know, Daddy, but we’re here to remember Demetra, that’s all.”
“Of course, of course. It’s just . . . well, I’ve been thinking.”
The knot in Athena’s stomach hardened to concrete. “About what?”
“Family and second chances.” He paused.
What was he getting at? He hadn’t tried to get Calista back when she left. In fact, he seemed happy she was gone and threw all his efforts into promoting Athena’s career.
Yet when Athena thought back to the days right after Calista’s departure, she could still hear him rampaging around the house, cursing Demetra and Calista as if he could scare them back into his clutches.
And for what? To tear them down again?
No. He just wants his family back. That’s all it was. He’s not a bad guy. He just . . . He just gets angry sometimes. Expression of emotions trumped suppressing them, right?
“Hear me out,” he wheedled. “You two were strongest together. Think of the publicity if you two reunited.”
Ah, there it was. The man’s true motivation. She didn’t know the story behind it, but she knew how he operated, and Benjamin Dempsey always had an ulterior motive.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing. Demetra’s death has got me thinking about the importance of family, that’s all.”
That was not all, and Athena knew it, but she ignored the gnawing suspicion and clung to the hope that he really did care. “And . . . ?”
He sighed, a sound filled with exaggerated patience. “I’m just saying, there are opportunities out there. Big ones. For you both.”
Athena gripped the phone hard. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing concrete yet, but people are interested in Calista’s comeback.”
“What people?”
“Just feel her out, would you? See if she’s open to returning.”
“Daddy, no,” Athena said, firmer than she felt. “We’re here to mourn our mother, not to . . . to what? Plan some kind of reunion tour?”
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m thinking of your future, both of you. Just talk to your sister, Athena. You’ve always been able to get through to her when no one else could.”
Athena closed her eyes, recognizing the manipulation for what it was.
The same tactic he used for years, pitting them against each other while simultaneously forcing them together.
A toxic dance that left them both scarred, but could this time be different?
Perhaps he meant it. Maybe he really wanted them to heal.
“Dad—”
“Come on, Sugar Baby, do it for your aged father. It tears me up to see you two at odds. I’m counting on you,” he said and then, without another word, hung up.
Hands shaking, she set the receiver back in its cradle. For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at the whimsical phone as if it might bite her. What game was her father playing now? And, more importantly, how could she keep Calista from getting caught in his cross fire again?
The cheerful underwater decor she’d appreciated before now felt stifling. The painted fish on the walls watched Athena with accusing eyes. How was she supposed to reconnect with Calista with their father playing puppet master from afar?
She sank her face into her palms. She came here with such hope that she and Calista could mend the chasm between them, that in mourning their mother, they might find a way back to being sisters again.
But now? Now she was a pawn in whatever game their father was playing, same as always.
What could she do? If she told Calista about their father’s scheme, it would only drive her further away, but keeping it quiet would just add to the pile of secrets they’d kept from each other.
And what about this memorial golf tournament their mother had requested?
Was that somehow tied to their father? It seemed impossible their mother had asked for such a thing.
Demetra hated golf, but then again, Athena realized with a pang that she knew nothing about who their mother had become in the last twenty years.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. The woman who stared back looked tired and conflicted. She barely recognized herself without the polished veneer she usually presented to the world.
A soft knock at the door startled her.
“Athena?”
Athena took a deep breath, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. She opened the door and found Luna standing there holding an old golf bag filled with clubs. She recognized the set at once, and an overwhelming urge to vomit pushed bile up her throat, but she fought it back.
“Wh-where did you get those?”
“Demetra wanted you to have them for the tournament.” Luna extended the clubs.
Mom had kept Athena’s first set of golf clubs? Hands trembling, she took the golf bag. “Thank you.”
Luna turned to go.
“Wait.”
Luna paused. “Yes?”
“Has Calista arrived yet?”
“She hasn’t.” Luna shook her head.
“Can you tell her . . .”
“Yes?” Luna leaned forward with her head cocked.
“No, never mind.” Athena forced a smile, thanked the innkeeper again, and closed her door.
Alone with the clubs, Athena took out the putter, nicked with use and time.
She wrapped her hands around the grip, the familiar weight comforting in her hands.
Almost without thinking, she pulled a pocked orange Titleist from the bag, dropped the ball onto the plush rug, and lined up a putt, aiming for the shoes she’d kicked off.
The soft thump of the ball hitting its mark was satisfying in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Golf had become so wrapped up in expectations and pressure that she’d almost forgotten the simple joy of a well-executed shot.
She bent to pick up the ball, and with her head upside down, boom, Athena tumbled into a disturbing childhood flashback.
Shouts. Shrieks. Slammed doors. Daddy grabbing Athena’s putter from her golf bag, smashing it into walls and knocking holes in the Sheetrock as he screamed Demetra’s name.
Athena’s heart rammed into her chest as icy heat suffused her body. She saw herself at seven snatching hold of Calista’s hand, dragging her to their bedroom, locking the door, and scooting under the bed. She held her sister close as they sobbed and waited for the worst.
And just like that, Athena, in the present day, passed out cold, surrounded by a corral of seahorses.