“You doing okay?” he asks.
She tilts her head and crinkles her nose. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”
Dad touches my elbow. “I’m going to grab a sandwich and maybe do some reading. Let me know when you’re ready to go, okay? No rush.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
The tables around us are filled with reunited families, and the air is festive and chattery. Some of the visitors recognize each other from their weekly treks to the prison and call out greetings to each other. Others argue over what they perceive to be the best tables.
“Let’s go outside,” Mom suggests. “It’s quieter.”
We push through a set of double doors to a covered pavilion, stopping at a vending machine for bottles of water before finding empty spaces at one end of a picnic table. At the other end, a couple sit opposite each other, their brown-skinned fingers entwined as they talk in voices only they can hear. I feel a pang of sadness when they lean across the table to kiss, but I push it away, reminding myself that I will see Alex again.
“I like your hair,” I tell my mother.
She touches the pixie fringe at the back of her neck. “Do you? The roots were growing out so I figured—it’s hard to keep your color up in here.”
“How are you, Mom? Really.”
“It’s not like in the movies, you know?” She picks at the label on her water bottle, her fingers fidgety. I realize she hasn’t lit up a cigarette yet. That’s usually the first thing. “I’m safe and I know where I’m going to sleep at night. I mean, we’ve lived in places worse than this, and the food isn’t bad.”
“Mom.” I reach across the table and still her busy hands, looking at her until she looks at me. “I don’t want to hear about the jail conditions.”
“I’m sick, Callie, and I know that without medication I do impulsive and stupid things, like leaving you alone with Frank. Like leaving your dad. But I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s as if part of me is missing, and I hate it.”
Her jail sentence was shortened to just six months, contingent on her staying on medication and getting counseling. I worry that when she gets out on probation she’ll backslide and run away again. I worry that she’ll resent me for sending her here. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t.” She holds up a warning finger, and for a moment I see a glimpse of fire.
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here,” I say. “You’d be—”
“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead,” she interrupts. “God, Callie, if I could go back and do it all over again—”
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“I deserve it.”
“I love you, Mom.”
There are tears in her eyes when she smiles at me. “There are so many ways you could have turned out. You could be like me, with feelings my body just can’t contain. The life we’ve lived could have made you hard and unforgiving. But you’re so strong and your heart is so good … you’re just like Greg, you know? And that’s how I know you’ll always be okay.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “I hope so.”
I wish she had a better answer, but right now it’s the best she can offer. “Me, too.”
“Let’s talk about something else.” She takes a sip of water and grins. “What’s the capital of Nebraska?”
I laugh. “I’m not six anymore. I know my state capitals.”
“Prove it. Capital of Nebraska.”
“Lincoln, Mom—”
“No, it’s Omaha.”
“It’s Lincoln.”
Mom laughs and reaches across the table, brushing the backs of her fingers against my cheek. They’re soft and for a moment I am six again, with the future stretched out like a highway before us. “A girl as smart as you can do anything she wants,” she says.
This time … I believe.
Author’s Note
* Tarpon Springs is an actual Florida town, and the Greek-themed sponge docks area really exists. While Kat is only joking about Connor being a token non-Greek friend, there is a very active Greek-American population in Tarpon Springs, and names like Ekaterina, Callista, and Alexandros are not unusual.
* The Shrine of St. Michael Taxiarchis is a real thing, too. It was built in the 1940s by Marie Tsalichis after her son fell ill with—and miraculously recovered from—a mysterious disease (possibly meningitis), and there are accounts of people being cured of their ailments after visiting the shrine.
* Sponges—which are primitive animals, not plants—are a renewable resource because they grow back after they’ve been cut. Divers in Tarpon Springs have been harvesting the same beds for more than a hundred years.
* Pastitsio (pah-STEE-tsee-oh) is a dish made with pasta, meat, tomato-based sauce, and a custard-like cheese sauce. As Greg mentions, pastitsio resembles lasagna, but the addition of cinnamon and nutmeg gives it a distinctively different flavor.
* Galaktoboureko (gah-lahk-toh-BOO-reh-koh) is a dessert of custard baked in a flaky pastry called phyllo and served with honey poured on top. It’s one of my favorite Greek foods.
* Another Greek dish is dolmades (dol-MAH-thes), which is made from grape leaves stuffed with a rice filling that contains herbs and sometimes meat. Like Callie, I’m not a fan, but it’s a popular dish in Greece and most of the surrounding countries. It’s also called dolmas.
* Learn some Greek:
korítsi mou (ko-REE-tsee-MOO): my girl
yiayoúla (yah-YOU-lah): grandma (the actual word is yiayiá, but the addition of -oula makes it a little more affectionate)
matákia mou (mah-TAH-kyah-MOO): my little eyes, the apple of my eye
latría mou (lah-TREE-ah-MOO): my beloved, my adored
gorgóna (gor-GOH-nah): mermaid
seirína (see-REE-nah): siren, mermaid
yia sou (YAH SOO): hello
efharistó (EF-hah-ree-STOH): thanks
s’agapó (sah-gah-POH): I love you
Acknowledgments
I owe a world of gratitude to …
The city of Tarpon Springs for being such a cool place. Please forgive any added businesses, park benches, and trees that might not otherwise exist. Also, any inaccuracies in the world of sponges and sponge diving are solely mine.
Tumblr. Yes, tumblr, for being my happy place when I need it. And efharistó to Georgia for helping a total stranger with Greek translation.
Carla Black, Kelly Jensen, Ginger Phillips, Grace Radford, and Gail Yates for reading and cheering me along while I wrote this book. Couldn’t have done it without you. And Carla, you brainstorming star, thanks for the brilliant title.
Josh Berk, Cristin Bishara, Tara Kelly, Miranda Kenneally, Amy Spalding, and the crew of Barnes & Noble 2711 in Fort Myers, Florida, for the exact same reasons as last time. I love you guys.
Suzanne Young is the best writing partner in the world. Thanks for sticking with me all these years, Suz.
The late Charles Singler, who answered my questions about law enforcement and extradition. Uncle Charlie, you will be missed.
Kate Schafer Testerman, Victoria Wells Arms, and the team at Bloomsbury for falling in love with Callie and Alex the way I did. Special thanks to Regina Flath for a cover that makes my heart beat a little faster every time I look at it.
My family … Mom, Jack and Marilyn, Caroline, Scott, and especially, always, Phil. Because I love you best of all.