Chapter 1
Maggie
Island of Tinos, Greece, Present Day
High pitched whistling from the wind was the only alarm clock I’d had for the past five days.
Not that it didn’t go all day and night but the air conditioner drowned it out while I slept.
And I slept well. Better than I had in months.
No hot flashes, no waking up at three a.m. with anxiety about my job, or my stalled research or inconclusive biopsy test results.
James told me the internet and cell service had been out since before I arrived, but it didn’t deter me from meeting his fiancé and her family. My work could wait and it was kind of liberating being cut off from my infuriating life at home. I was happy to be here for my son, for once.
I wasn’t always the greatest mother to James; I lacked the maternal instinct that my peers convinced me would kick in immediately when he was born.
He was fortunate enough to have his stepfather who had it in spades.
My ex-husband’s husband, Richie-tenth or twelfth Duke of Waltham (he couldn’t remember), was the better mother to James, and to me when I needed him.
I wanted to be here, no, I needed to be here and be a part of my son’s life and get to know his future family.
How could I complain about being atop a cliff overlooking the aqua waters of the Aegean Sea where ancient ruins of a port built for Poseidon sat below a blue domed mini-church nestled into the base of the cliff.
It was magical and spiritual and something about this place with its history and legends was seeping into the usually strict analytic fabric of my psyche.
The winds even had a name and their own lore.
Every place on this island had a story and the locals were all too happy to tell you about it whether you asked or not.
They called the winds “Meltemi” and they blew hot a fast through the entire Cyclades Island chain off the coast of the mainland of Greece.
A curse from the North Wind God, Boreas, sent to disrupt the islands for all of eternity.
James warned me about the winds too, I recalled, as a gust almost knocked me over leaving the pathway to my little house and onto the dirt road leading down to the main street. He said it made people a little crazy and from the characters I’d met so far on this island I didn’t repute that at all.
I’d become a fan of the rich local coffee from a cafe down at the marina and found myself craving it when I woke up.
But first I had to watch where I stepped walking on the main road because there was no sidewalk, only rocks and debris and a fifty-foot drop.
One had to be diligent to make sure there were no speeding motorbikes or cars coming too close to side of the road where dry plants grew wild and blocked my path.
I wasn’t the only one risking my life this morning.
An old woman wearing a housedress carrying shopping bags headed toward me looking like she’d fight me for the right of way as she went up.
I stepped into a thorned thicket to let her pass.
A gust blew her scarved hair and she stuttered to the side for a moment before righting herself and carried on up the hill.
Despite the choice to walk down to the marina risking life and limb, the view was spectacular. Whitewashed structures dotted the hillside down to sparkling water in so many shades of blue, I couldn’t count. The picture of inspiration for artists painting these islands for centuries.
I could see why James loved this place.
“Yasas” I sang to the now familiar man setting a butcher paper table covering before me.
“Kalimera” he responded. “Fredo-Iced-latte, sweet,” he winked at me remembering my daily order.
“Aphetiso,” I nodded to him with a big smile.
I could get used to this.
The large ferry made dock and I watched the passengers with their rolling suitcases disembark followed by cars and some delivery trucks.
I wondered, watching them disperse into to town, how many lived here and how many were here for the Easter celebration.
Several of the younger passengers came into the café and ordered in Greek.
Other newcomers waited for rides in front of moored sailboats bobbing in the waves along the marina.
No one was in a hurry, especially my waiter who had disappeared after bringing me a narrow glass. James had told me to sip my coffee slowly and let the time roll. But being an American I only thought of when I could order another one and if they could make it bigger.
My cell phone lay face up on the table with the hope of some kind of service to kick in, there was none.
After a few hours, a stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy, I made my way back up the hill.
The wind was stronger now and I fought with every bit of strength I had to go up the dangerous road.
I was feeling weaker these days. Faster to get winded, dizzy and dehydrated.
But I pushed upwards. If that old woman could do it—probably every day of her life—I could too.
The cancer was back, I knew it, I could feel it. Even if the biopsy was inconclusive.
I wasn’t ready to talk about it or give in to the possibility that I’d go home to California by myself and endure chemo all alone. I wouldn’t ruin James’ happiness of his engagement and his pure joy of having me here.
My son’s fiancé, Eleni, was from Athens, but her Yiayia (grandmother) lived on the island.
The older woman suffered from Parkinson’s Disease, so Eleni’s parents, her aunt Nancy, and her uncle, Alex, moved to Tinos to take care of her.
It seemed Eleni was related to half the island and her grandmother knew everyone.
Eleni was finishing medical school in London when she’d met my boy.
James was studying rocks, of all things, getting his PhD in Geology.
He loved science like me and his father, so I didn’t protest too much his choice to study rocks.
Fortunately, Tinos was a hotbed of sedimentary intrigues.
Especially their green marble and quizzical perfectly round meteorite boulders.
James was happy on Tinos and Eleni was lovely.
I was thrilled he’d found someone who loved him.
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other and it made me a bit envious I’d never had that kind of obvious sexual connection with either of my husbands.
All Eleni’s warm and welcoming family, most of whom grew up in the U.S., were wonderful enigmatic people, all but one. Eleni’s uncle Alex was scowling at me. Grunting when engaged to speak, only softening to James and Eleni.
Gianna, Eleni’s mother, was a year older than me, Nancy was one year younger and Alex was twelve years younger.
James gave me the breakdown on our way to dinner the first night.
They all grew up in Chicago, but Gianna moved to Greece in college, married a Greek firefighter and raised her kids in Athens.
Her Aunt Nancy moved to Athens soon after and met her husband, Andreas, a Peloponnesian policeman on holiday on Mykonos in the early 1990’s, they settled on Tinos and raised their family on the island.
Then there was her Uncle Alex, who glared at me whenever I would speak, he’d moved back recently to care for their mother, Irene. Eleni told me after her grandparents divorced, Irene moved back to the island. Now they were all here to take care of their matriarch.
“There are some very nice men here on the island,” Gianna said with her soft lovely voice to my right. I sipped my third glass of Greek grappa called Tsipouro and was about to steer her away from my love life. But her sister Nancy chimed in.
“Yes, look around,” she said. “Handsome and nice. We have nice men here, not like other places. They respect women because St. Maria always watching.” She pursed her lips and made a “Tsu, tsu, tsu” sound which I’d learned was a traditional mock-spitting to send protection in the name of their holy mother.
I grinned at the bizarre but adorable ritual.
Then I glanced around at men at the tables, and while they were some of the most stunningly beautiful creatures I’d ever seen—golden skin, soft warm eyes, thick dark hair in varying lengths and facial hair ranging from full beards to peppered stubble—were all much too young for me.
And some of them were to be my son’s future family, for Christ-sake. “Tsu, tsu, tsu”
“I could be their mother,” I replied and pouted when I brought the small glass to my lips finding it empty.
“Age doesn’t matter here, this is the Cyclades, it’s all about heat and passion.” Nancy slurred.
“Okay, mom,” Nancy’s daughter, Aleka, announced from the end of the table. “Time to go.”
The girl kissed Eleni on both cheeks and went to collect her drunk mother.
Nancy stood and took my face in her palms. “Find passion Koukla. You deserve it.” Then she kissed me on both cheeks and Tsu, tsu, tsu-ed me.
She straightened up and waved her hand in the air.
“All of you, find passion!” she declared as a humiliated Aleka tugged her arm.
She stumbled away waving a victorious hand in the air to drunken cheers and applause.
Alex rose from his chair too and stomped the opposite way into the taverna.
He came back a moment later pushing a grey haired, portly man, most likely in his sixties, and practically forced him into the seat next to me.
He waved his hand at the man, grunted at me, then went back to his seat with his deep cocoa eyes never leaving mine.
“Mum,” James chuckled.
I shot a confused glance at my son.
Alex barked at the man in Greek and he quickly poured me another shot of Tsipouro.
“Maggie, this is George,” Eleni tried to hide her laugh.
“Kalispéra,” I said to him.
He nodded and looked everywhere but my face. The whole scene became comically unnerving.
Was the grumpy uncle trying to set me up?
“What are you—” I said to Alex. “A Yenta?”