Chapter 13 #2
Calista wore high-topped sneakers for support and brought along the giraffe cane. It was all Athena could do not to rush to her sister’s side and help her from the golf cart. “The swelling is much better, Attie, I promise, and I took an anti-inflammatory, so it hardly hurts.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Athena worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
Reid broke from the crowd and rushed over to offer Calista his arm. To Athena’s surprise, Calista took it. His smile was as lively as the tropical shirt he wore, which featured a pattern of dancing flamingos.
Athena raised an eyebrow. Hmm, was something cooking beneath the surface between these two? Interesting.
Reid guided Calista toward the gathering. A twinge of something—protectiveness? jealousy?—tugged at Athena’s heart. She pushed the feeling aside and followed them, her shoes sinking into the lush grass.
The breeze off the Gulf of Mexico did little to cool her flushed skin or settle the butterflies in her stomach.
She tugged at the collar of her polo shirt, wishing she’d worn something more island-appropriate than professional golf attire.
Beside her, Calista looked effortless and cool in a breezy light-blue sundress, her curls pulled up into a messy bun atop her head.
Their eyes met.
“You ready for this?” Calista asked.
Athena nodded, not trusting her voice.
Ready? Ha. Nothing had prepared her for this island dreamscape, but here she was, about to take part in a garden groundbreaking for a mother she scarcely remembered, surrounded by people who seemed to know Demetra better than her own daughters ever had.
Life had a twisted sense of humor sometimes.
Reid and Calista moved ahead, and Athena took a moment to look around. The bare plot of earth, soon to be transformed into a garden, stood in stark contrast to meticulously groomed golf courses.
“Athena, Calista,” Paul greeted them, somehow making their names sound like Greek poetry. “Are you ready to see your mother’s vision come to life?”
“We can’t wait.” Calista rubbed her palms together, full of glee Athena couldn’t quite muster.
Paul led them to a table where the quilt lay spread out, its intricate pattern a maze of colors and shapes.
Athena blinked, trying to make sense of the design.
In person, it was even more compelling than the blueprint.
The quilt looked as if someone had taken a map, a kaleidoscope, and a geometry textbook, thrown them in a blender, and somehow created this beautiful quilt.
She knew nothing about sewing, but she could tell a quilting master had created this.
Eloisa paraded over. Today she wore a straw Panama hat with a single red rose tucked into the band and a wide-legged turquoise pantsuit. “Your mother called the quilt Life’s Labyrinth. We had such fun working on it with her during our quilting bees.”
Behind Eloisa, Dot, Clare, and Vivian nodded in unison.
Athena’s hand hovered above the quilt. She could almost feel the hours of work, the love poured into every stitch. Had her mother thought of her daughters as she sewed? Had she imagined them standing here one day, marveling at her creation?
She swallowed hard, pushing down emotions threatening to overflow. Now wasn’t the time for a breakdown. She had one goal. Get through this ceremony without making a fool of herself or disappointing Calista.
Simple, right?
Why did it feel so impossible?
Paul talked about the garden layout, his animated hands gesturing as he pointed out different sections of the blueprint.
Athena tried to focus, she really did, but her mind kept wandering to her mother and what Demetra’s life had been like on this island paradise while Benjamin raised her daughters. She caught phrases like “Zen rock garden” and “yoga gazebo,” but they floated past her like soap bubbles.
“And here in the cool shade”—Paul’s voice cut through Athena’s mental fog—“we’re including String of Tears plants.”
“No,” Calista said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Not those.”
Everyone in the gathering turned to stare at Calista. Paul leaned in, quiet curiosity in his blue eyes.
Athena blinked, surprised by her sister’s vehemence. “What? Why not? Mom loved String of Tears plants.”
Calista turned to her, disbelief etched on her face. For a moment, Athena felt like she was looking in a fun-house mirror, seeing a distorted version of herself reflected in her sister’s eyes.
“Are you serious right now?”
Athena frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Remember when Dad let Mom pick one out at that nursery near our house? She was so happy.”
The memory floated to the surface of Athena’s mind, soft-focused and golden-hued, like an old photograph. Benjamin’s indulgent smile as Demetra cooed over the sweet teardrop-shaped leaves. The rare sound of their mother’s laughter. A typical, happy family for once.
But Calista was looking at her as if she’d just announced she was quitting golf to become a professional yodeler. “You honestly don’t remember, do you?”
Then Calista turned and walked away, leaving Athena standing alone, feeling like she missed a crucial step and tumbled down the rabbit hole into some bizarre alternate reality.
“Calista, wait!”
Athena hurried after her sister, but she stumbled on the uneven terrain, catching herself before she face-planted in front of the entire community. Smooth, Dempsey, real smooth. She caught up to Calista at the edge of the proposed garden site.
“What did I say wrong?”
Calista had her arms folded over her chest, hugging herself as she had as a child self-soothing.
“Lissy?”
Calista turned, her eyes flashing with emotion. Was it anger? Disappointment? “Just leave it, Athena. You don’t understand.”
“What?” Athena raised both arms, confused.
Paul approached with two Sharpshooter spades in his hands and an Eagle Scout smile gracing his face. “Ready to break ground?”
No, right now, she was trying to connect with her sister. Be gone, Handsome Garden Man.
Calista grabbed one of the spades and marched back to where the crowd waited.
Paul gave Athena an empathic smile and passed her the other tool and Athena followed her sister.
Side by side, the Dempsey women faced the crowd. A red satin sash proclaiming “The Demetra Sarris Remembrance Garden” stretched across the two stone pillars positioned at the entrance of where the garden would be.
Paul guided them to their positions behind the pillars as people fixed them in the viewfinders of their cell phones. Eloisa appeared with a pair of giant scissors. She gave a heartfelt speech about Demetra to the crowd and then moved to cut the ribbon.
“Now,” Eloisa announced as the ribbon fell away, and she turned to Athena and Calista. “Your turn.”
“On the count of three, dig earth,” Paul said, perky as a sports coach. “One . . . two . . . three!”
In unison, Athena and Calista plunged their spades into the ground. The initial resistance of the soil, the give as it yielded to their force—it seemed significant somehow, as if they were breaking more than just ground.
As her shovel hit the dirt, something inside Athena’s brain shifted.
The world tilted on its axis, colors bleeding away until she was somewhere else entirely.
She was small again, peering around a doorframe into the living room of their childhood home. The String of Tears plant sat on a side table, its delicate leaves cascading down like a leafy waterfall. Delicate and tender.
Just like their mother.
Demetra sat on the couch, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Benjamin loomed over her, his face a mask of contempt. He reached out and plucked a leaf from the plant with deliberate slowness.
“Every tear,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “costs you. Remember that.”
And then he ate the leaf, chewing exaggeratedly and making smacking noises like it was the most delicious thing he ever ate.
The scene shifted, blurred, and re-formed. In different instances, again and again, Athena watched as her father used the plant as a weapon, stripping away leaves for every show of emotion, every perceived weakness her mother presented. The plant growing barer with each passing day.
Athena saw herself, small hands covered in dirt, digging a hole in the backyard, the plant now nothing more than naked stems. Demetra crouched beside her, silent tears falling as they buried the remnants of the once beautiful plant.
How had she forgotten this? How had she twisted this memory into something benign, even pleasant?
The spade slipped from Athena’s grasp and clattered to the ground. She staggered backward, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight. The world spun, faces blurring around her.
“Athena?” Calista’s voice cut through the fog, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Athena opened her mouth, but no sound came out. How to explain? How could she put into words the horror of what she remembered and the guilt for having forgotten in the first place?
She looked at Calista, really looked at her, and saw not the sister she’d lost touch with but the little girl who endured so much abuse. The sister who’d seen the truth, while Athena buried her head in the sand.
“I remember,” Athena said, her voice a ragged whisper. “The plant. Dad, he . . . oh god, Calista. How could I have forgotten?”
Understanding dawned in Calista’s eyes, followed by relief and then sorrow. “You finally see it.”
It wasn’t a question, but Athena nodded anyway. “I’m so sorry.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to believe it . . .”
She trailed off, unable to finish. How could she explain that she rewrote their history, painted over the dark parts with a veneer of normalcy? That she’d chosen the comfort of denial over the harsh truth because she was his golden child and enjoyed the perks?
Calista’s face softened, the angry hurt from earlier melting away. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. For a moment, Athena thought her sister might hug her, but Calista stopped just short, uncertainty written in the lines of her body.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Calista said. “Believe me, I know.”
Athena nodded, swiping at her tears with her fingers. Someone reached out a hand with a wad of tissues. Blinking, she thanked whomever it was, her vision too blurry to see, and pressed the tissues against her eyes.
Her body tensed, aware of the surrounding people, of the concerned murmurs and curious stares. This fear wasn’t how a professional acted. This breakdown wasn’t how Athena Dempsey, golf prodigy and media darling, behaved in public.
But maybe it was okay not to be brave right now. Maybe, on this weird, fantastical island, she could just be Athena—messy, confused, and finally facing the truth.
“I don’t know what to do,” Athena said, the words foreign on her tongue. When was the last time she allowed herself to be this vulnerable?
Calista’s lips quirked in a small, sad smile. “Join the club, sis. I’ve been feeling that way my whole life.”
A laugh bubbled up in Athena, surprising her. It wasn’t funny, but something about Calista’s dry delivery, about the absurdity of their situation, struck a chord. Before she knew it, she was giggling, the sound high and slightly hysterical.
Calista’s eyebrows shot up, but then she laughed too. They stood there in the middle of what was supposed to be a solemn ceremony, laughing like loons. It wasn’t elegant or dignified, but it felt authentic in a way nothing had in years.