Lies That Bind Us(54)

But it got better. Simon, knowingly, wisely, didn’t force the issue, but he guided her around, and gradually the little streets of artisan shops dotted among the souvenir T-shirts and assorted kitsch began to work their magic on her. Gretchen helped too, I was mildly annoyed to note. Having failed with the frontal attack, she tried a more tangential approach, taking her free hand and chattering girlishly as if nothing had happened, ignoring Melissa’s sourness and very gradually drawing her into talking about the clothes and jewelry in the shop windows.

Rethymno was quaint, but its narrow carless medieval streets weren’t some kind of walkable museum. It was a real town with real people living recognizably regular, modern lives, and the contents of the store windows wouldn’t have been wildly out of place in Charlotte, even if the stone facades were several hundred years older than anything there. There were stores full of artfully arranged mannequins in trendy clothes—some of them well outside my budget and others selling appliances and cell phones. There were pharmacies, banks, law offices, and everything else you would expect in a place where people actually lived all year-round, though everything was on that smaller, slightly huddled, European scale. I was mildly surprised by it, and I started to find the day-to-day stuff more interesting than the stores of faux Greek statuary and painted ceramics aimed at the tourists.

“Ooh!” cried Gretchen, pointing. “Let’s check this out.”

It was a leather goods store, nothing like as shiny as most of what we had just passed, and the heaped purses, the bins of wallets, and the hanging bags on the walls all suggested a cottage industry. The place had that unmistakable leather scent, warm and fragrant and comforting as baking bread. I drank it in, picking up a satchel and inhaling its musky, outdoor earthiness. At the back was a workbench, where an old man sat with a set of slim carving tools, shears, stacked sheets of hide, and spools of leather thong, working quietly while the woman I assumed was his wife ministered smilingly to the customers.

“These from factory,” she announced, indicating the brand names stamped into the polished leather. “These made here.”

She must have said it a million times, but her eyes still flashed with pride.

“I love this,” said Kristen, picking up a tiny boxlike purse, whose rough leather was contrasted by fine chain. She wobbled a little as she considered it, leaning back as if trying to get her eyes to focus, and I wondered how much she’d had to drink at lunch.

“What about that!” said Gretchen, pointing to one of the hanging bags.

The shopkeeper broke off her conversation with another customer—a woman in stretch pants and heavy gold jewelry—bustled over wordlessly, and reached up with a hook on a pole to lift it down.

“You have these in red?” asked Melissa.

And she was back. Whatever sadness and bewilderment had been coiled around her since the episode at the taverna fell away and was forgotten. I caught Simon’s watchful eye and gave him an appreciative look.

Well handled.

He smiled back in acknowledgment, though there was, I thought, no joy in it. Melissa considered the bag critically, then nodded and set it down on the pile to look over another, a rich teak-colored thing with heavy leather lacing. The woman in the heavy gold jewelry was at her elbow, scrutinizing the purses with a predatory air. As soon as Melissa turned away from it, the woman reached for the red one, but Melissa turned on her, all weepiness swept away by a hard and instant ferocity.

“That’s mine,” she said.

The woman snatched her hand away as if it had been scalded.



“There’s a Venetian fort by the harbor,” said Marcus. “Sixteenth century. Who’s up for it?”

Bored of shopping, he was getting antsy, walking a bit faster than everyone else, standing and looking back at the rest of us like he was leading a dim and distracted school group. I couldn’t say I blamed him. Being in retail—albeit at the unglamorous backside of it—I’ve never been much for window shopping. It starts to feel like work.

“Me,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Kristen lazily. “That might be a novelty.”

She had been quiet, insular since Brad left, and I think Gretchen’s glee was starting to wear on her nerves.

“I think I’ll stay here,” said Melissa. “Drift. Buy some stuff. Get a latte or something.”

“I’ll stick with you,” said Simon to her.

“To protect me from the Greek randoms,” said Melissa.

“Absolutely,” said Simon.

“Thanks,” she said, tipping her face up to his and kissing him quickly.

“I’ll stay too,” said Gretchen, ever the third wheel.

Melissa hugged her, then turned back to Simon.

“You know,” she said, “you should go with them. You don’t want to go traipsing around a bunch of stores while I try things on.”

Simon hesitated.

“Well,” he said, “no, but . . .”

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Gretchen and I can do a little girl talk.”

“Yay!” said Gretchen, like she’d won a prize in some low-rent sideshow.

“You sure?” said Simon.

“Positive,” said Melissa. “Go do some history.”

“OK,” he replied, giving us a wry grin. “More history. Lucky me.”