Lies That Bind Us(50)

“Because it’s fucking Greece,” said Brad darkly. “The glory days of this island civilization-wise were like five thousand years ago, right, professor?”

Marcus smiled tightly and nodded.

“Well . . . something like that.”

“In some forgotten grave,” said Brad, “King Minos is probably still waiting to recharge his bronze age iPad and leaving himself voice mails saying, ‘As soon as the lights come back on, don’t forget to feed the Minotaur.’”

“Funny,” said Marcus.

“Just trying to keep things light, professor.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“And I really wish I could turn the fucking TV on,” said Brad. “But as Mick Jagger once said, ‘You can’t always get what you want.’”

“God, I’m tired,” said Kristen.

“Me too,” said Marcus, still looking sourly at Brad. “I feel like I didn’t sleep at all, but I was totally out the moment I put my head down.”

“Me too!” said Kristen. “I don’t even remember getting into bed. But now I feel like I was run over by a truck.”

“Maybe ease off on the booze today, hon,” said Brad, looking out the window.

She shot him a quick, injured look, then gave Marcus and me an embarrassed smile.

“Might not be a bad idea,” she said. “One can have too much vacation.”

Brad snorted at that, a nasty, knowing laugh, though I wasn’t sure what—or whom—it was directed at.

“I had bad dreams,” said Gretchen. She looked distant, troubled, and I didn’t think it was about the awkwardness of last night’s spat with Brad. “People asking me questions in the dark. Monsters. It was weird. I think I was tied up or something . . .”

“Ooh,” said Brad. “Kinky.”

Gretchen shot him a look so savage and hostile that she looked, for a moment, like someone I’d never seen before.

“It was horrible,” she said. “It went on and on, and then . . . I guess I woke up. In my bed.”

“Best place to wake up,” said Brad, unmoved.

“What were they asking about?” I said.

“What?” she said, turning to me as if just realizing I was there.

“You said the monsters were asking you questions. What about?”

“Oh, I . . .” She hesitated and seemed to fade for a second, her eyes narrowing as she tried to remember, then widening suddenly, as if something unexpected had swum into view. Something unsettling. “I don’t remember,” she said, her face suddenly closed.

Now, I’ve told a lot of lies. I’m good at it, and I’m good at spotting when others tell them too. I wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted the attention, suddenly becoming the center of our glittering little circle as she had been the night before, but Gretchen was lying. If I had to guess, I’d say that it hadn’t begun as a lie but it had become one out of necessity as she blundered about in her own head, finding things and covering them up. I had done the same thing many, many times.

I watched her as she put her coffee cup down, and I thought her hand trembled slightly. I was almost sure it wasn’t the tremble of someone caught up in the thrill of misleading other people, the giddy rush of having secret knowledge no one else has. Gretchen was afraid.

Must have been one hell of a nightmare.

I must say, I didn’t feel great either. Like them, I had slept like a log, but now I felt wearier than ever. It wasn’t just physical tiredness either. I felt slow-witted and a bit out of it. Marcus had asked me what I wanted for breakfast, and I had just stared at him, knowing he was talking to me but somehow not able to process what he said, and I had already taken three Advil for a headache that rumbled in the front of my skull like a tractor trailer. Maybe Brad was right. It was time to lay off the vino and whatever-the-hell cocktails Mel kept producing.

“I need some air,” said Marcus. “This place is fantastic, but it doesn’t exactly circulate, does it?”

“Fancy a walk?” I suggested.

“Morning, people!” called Melissa, appearing from the other wing of the house and showing none of the half-awake misery that the rest of us were laboring under. “No walking off by yourselves. We’re heading into town for brunch. All of us. Won’t that be fun?”

She said it beaming and in defiance of our mood, though she couldn’t bring herself to look at Brad, who was glaring at her. But once Simon and Melissa put their minds to something, it would take an act of God—or at least a major fight—to derail it, and twenty minutes later we were boarding the Mercedes in compliant, if surly, silence. Where we were going, however, had not been determined, and our fearless leaders were not in agreement.

“Come on, Simon,” said Marcus. “For old times’ sake.”

“The Diogenes?” said Simon. “No. There’s a dozen restaurants in a two-block radius. We never thought the food was that good there. We just kept going back because it was familiar.”

“Exactly!” said Marcus. “We have to go at least once. Back me up, Kristen.”

“Absolutely,” said Kristen. “For old times’ sake.”

“Really?” said Simon. “Souvlaki and fries for brunch? Tomato salad drenched in olive oil? This is how you eat these days?”