Halfway to You(19)

ANN


Mykonos, Greece

September 1984

My mother kept a magazine cutout of Jackie Kennedy and Petros the Pelican in Mykonos on her fridge. I didn’t know what to expect beyond that, but by the time I arrived on the island—after missed trains and bumpy flights and lost baggage—all I hoped was that my room in Mykonos Town was better than the sketchy airport hotel in Athens.

My cab driver from port—chatty and proud, with not a lick of English—dropped me off at the very upper edge of Old Town. A steep, narrow sidewalk descended from the road into a cluster of white stucco buildings; a half mile down the slope, small boats bobbed in a quaint bay. In the intense sun, the ocean rippled silver-white, and the town shone bright against the dusty russet land. I was on Mars, and I’d just discovered a spectacular, alien paradise.

I raised the cheap camera I’d bought in Athens and snapped a photo of the otherworldly landscape, thinking of my mother. She could have come. Rather than blowing her money on a man, she could’ve traveled with her daughter and shared in the wonder. The realization was a lead ball resting in the pit of my stomach, the size of a pea but the weight of the moon. I had never thought to invite her along with me on my travels—but then again, my mother had had years of opportunities to change her circumstances and done nothing. What was the point of having a dream if she didn’t seize it the first chance she got, like I had?

I tucked the camera back into my purse. A hot, dry wind swirled red dust around my ankles. Overlooking the town, I unfolded a map and tried to decipher the streets ahead, but Mykonos was a maze. Aside from the wide bayside square far below, the squiggly walkways were impossible to track—even on paper.

I shoved the map into my pocket, hefted my luggage, and started blindly down the hill, the steepness jolting my ankles. Beneath the intense sun, I grew damp under my arms and breasts. The path eventually angled into the labyrinthine streets by way of a narrow cobblestone alley. The pavers here were outlined with sealant, resembling a gray-and-white version of giraffe spots. Charmed, I kept trudging—then the alley opened up.

I halted.

The street before me was out of a storybook. Smooth, railless staircases led up to second-story balconies, where lush shrubbery spilled from planter boxes. Massive bougainvillea trees dazzled with magenta blooms, swaying in the Aegean breeze. Nearby, a black cat was coiled on a stoop, its eyes closed. From the freshly swept street to the clean walls to the sweet perfume of jasmine, none of it seemed real. Mykonos wasn’t Mars—it was Eden.

I raised my camera and snapped another photo.

By the time I made it to the water, my blouse was drenched in sweat and my hair clung to the back of my neck. I had indulged many dead ends, and my shoulders ached from my heavy bag, but none of that mattered in light of the beauty all around me.

A domed Orthodox church—named Agios Nikolaos, according to my map—was at the square’s center, casting a long shadow in the afternoon sunlight. A wide street followed the half moon of the small bay, where cerulean-hulled boats bobbed on crystalline water. Silver-blue schools of tiny fish shimmered like sequins on the fringes of the ocean’s skirts. The air had a fresh mineral quality, like basalt.

A few buildings down, a pair of middle-aged men chatted at an outdoor café table, tall glasses filled with a milky-looking beverage on the rocks. They glanced my way, their gazes brief and barely interested. I was sure I stood out, with my clumsy bags and pit-stained shirt, but my anonymity was my armor. It always had been.

My hotel had, at one time, probably been someone’s home. Inconspicuous, it had merely a small sign over the door in Greek lettering. The receptionist there greeted me as soon as I walked in.

“Yassas. Miss Ann?” She was a rotund older woman with thick eyebrows and a downcast mouth.

“That’s me.”

She led me up a steep, rather claustrophobic staircase. My room was tiny but very neat and smelled of citrus cleaner. Double doors—which led to a private balcony—were pinned open, and a warm breeze wafted in.

“Happy?” the woman asked, her Greek accent obscuring the word.

Had I ever been happy? I knew that wasn’t what she was asking, but still, I couldn’t bring myself to squeak out an affirmative. “Thank you,” I said instead.

Alone in the privateness of my new, temporary home, I sank to the bed, then lay back. I closed my eyes, and little tears seeped out of their seams. It’d taken two days to get here, and I still didn’t know if it’d been the right decision. Despite the beauty of Mykonos Town, I was still alone. I had no idea how I would find Todd in this place, but I wanted to know why he had left.

I wanted to know why people always left.

The next thing I knew, the room was dark, and I was ravenous.

The analog on the nightstand was set to 10:15 p.m. I doubted this quaint, sleepy town would have late-night dinner options, but I hoped I could at least find the Greek version of a 7-Eleven to satiate my need for food, any food, ASAP. I pulled a skirt over my hips, draped a shawl across my back, and hurried down the dark staircase, slipping out into the warm-breeze night.

The bay had been quiet even at midday, so I opted to start in the opposite direction. My stomach gurgled, a sound that seemed to echo down the long pathway ahead. Few people were out this late, mostly Greeks sitting on balconies and foreigners whispering in hushed tones. I tried stopping a duo of men to ask for directions, but they spoke only Spanish.