Halfway to You(27)
“Honestly, I wondered that myself, especially at the time,” Ann says. “He seemed so keen on getting laid, I kept thinking, ‘Why would he push me toward Todd?’”
“And?”
“He was nursing a broken heart on that trip—they both were. We all were.”
“What about Barbara?”
Ann tips her head, seemingly surprised that Maggie doesn’t know the story. “He and Barbara had a big fight and broke up, so Keith left for Greece, thinking he wanted a wild international guys’ trip to get over her. But really, he just wanted her back. Shortly after he returned, they got engaged.”
“I never knew that.”
The family man version of Uncle Keith had been like a second father to her. His was the home she ran away to when she fought with her parents; he was the one who helped her sharpen her college admissions essays; and he was the one who taught her the perfect cannonball technique over the many summers she spent swimming in his pool. It’s strange to realize that he was once a young professional, a matchmaker, a best friend, and a bachelor in Greece.
Maggie had thought they were close, but it’s clear now that there were versions of Keith she never learned about. By the time Maggie was old enough to hear stories from Keith’s young adulthood, her interest in Ann—a sore subject for him, by then—had eclipsed Maggie’s interest in her beloved uncle. Maggie had needled Keith relentlessly for stories about Ann, and though he conceded with bland trivia—Ann’s favorite gelato flavor, how she took her coffee—it was never enough. He had insisted that Ann’s privacy outweighed Maggie’s insatiable curiosity, but what if he’d been hurt by Maggie’s lack of interest in his role in Ann’s success? In his life story?
Did Maggie not know this story because Keith had kept it from her or because she never asked why he had been sitting in that bar in Greece? Was this a symptom of the distracted selfishness of youth, or had Maggie simply failed to take interest in Keith after she discovered his connection to a famous author, his former client and friend?
Whatever the answer, it’s clear now that she missed out on truly getting to know her uncle.
Maggie stares out the window into the gray, a wedge of sorrow lodging itself between her ribs. It’s prying bone from bone, making her side hurt. The longer Keith’s gone, the more his absence seems to expand. Is it painful or cathartic for Ann to tell her story, to remember Keith and Todd in this way? Maggie hopes it’s the latter.
“What happened next?” Maggie asks. “Were you able to change Todd’s mind?”
Ann laughs. “Not in the true sense of the word—at least, not right away.”
“But it’s a long story.”
“That it is, Maggie.”
ANN
Santorini, Greece
September 1984
We had such fun together on Mykonos that the guys invited me on the second leg of their trip: Santorini. We took a dodgy cab ride from the port, cringing as the narrow road switchbacked up the razor edge of a five-hundred-foot-high cliff. Bumping and jostling shoulders with Keith on one side and Todd on the other, I peeked through nervous fingers as motorists whizzed round us on blind curves. At one particularly stomach-lurching hairpin, Todd gripped my knee, and a thrill jolted my heart. Perhaps I should’ve been more fearful of my impending death, but I was too busy reading into Todd’s every move.
All three of us were wobbly when we arrived at a dusty dead-end street—supposedly not far from our hotel—but as soon as my feet hit dirt, I was no longer thinking about knee grabs or careening off precipitous ledges. From our vantage atop the island, red rock curved away, crusted with bright buildings that looked like square diamonds on a bronze tiara. Azure flags, fuchsia flowers, and hand-painted shop signs made colorful jewels. This high up, we could see everything—the jutting land, the placid sea, the faded lilac horizon.
We’d found rooms in a classic cave hotel, halfway between the two main towns of Fira and Oia. It was located in the middle of Santorini’s crescent and faced the center of the caldera. Far below, a ferry glided over the submerged volcanic crater, tearing a white streak through the deep-blue fabric of the ocean.
“It’s all right, I guess,” Keith said.
Todd shoved him with his elbow.
“Eh, nothing special,” I replied.
Keith winked at me.
Todd paid for the cab, and it sped off, gravel kicking up. “Ready?” he asked, grabbing my bag along with his own. I smiled to myself, tracking the lines of his shoulder muscles as he walked ahead, toward an inconspicuous blue-lettered sign announcing our hotel.
A narrow staircase led down into an open-air arrangement of balconies and walkways. We followed signs for the lobby, checked in, and were shown to our rooms. There were three levels built into the cliff—like a stadium—with a row of four rooms per level. Both our rooms were on the second level, Keith and Todd’s all the way to the left and mine to the middle right. I could see their patio from my patio. I could see the whole world from my patio, from the potted aloe plant on the railing clear out to the glittering skyline.
The guys had gone into their cave, probably to argue over who got the only bed. It was just me, and the gusty wind, and the mineral-sweet scent of the Aegean. The breeze ruffled my blouse like hot breath, an indulgent exhale.