He sighed deeply and became very serious.
“Men and women ask that question for centuries,” he said. “And love is very powerful. People fall in and out of love all the time.”
“Even with the same person?”
“Of course!”
“So if my husband comes to his senses and your wife loses all that weight, we might love them again?”
“Who knows? Anything is possible.”
I had a sense that he wasn’t quite comfortable talking about the subject.
“It’s probably better if we keep the conversation focused on Greek cuisine. If I was your wife I’d be on a diet.”
“And if I was your husband I’d be on a plane!”
We laughed again, but this time it was a knowing laugh, one shared by friends who knew a dark truth about each other.
I’d been back on Corfu for only a few days, and in that short time Alexandros had taught me so much about traditional Greek cuisine. But I couldn’t seem to shake the fog of my jet lag. Maybe I hadn’t spent enough time in Charleston and I bounced back to Corfu so quickly that my brain was somewhere in between and I needed to reel it back into my head. And my clothes seemed to be looser. Maybe I just needed a full night of sleep.
Kiki and Nicholas came to the restaurant late that night, and after all the patrons were gone, Alexandros and I sat with them eating the fish stew, which was absolutely divine, and drinking local wine until the wee hours.
“Would it be so terrible just this once to lick the bowl?” I said.
“Best in the world!” Alexandros said, then threw back his head and laughed.
By the time they dropped me off at Yiayia’s house the sun was coming up.
“I think tomorrow we will start the day sometime in the afternoon,” Kiki said.
“That’s another thing that’s so wonderful about living here,” I said. “You can do that if you want to.”
I told them good night, we blew each other kisses, and it occurred to me that if I was going to stay much longer it really would be a good idea to rent a car. Or at least a scooter of some kind.
I got ready for bed and climbed into it with my cell phone, checking my e-mails. There was something from Carl.
Hey, hope you got back there in one piece. I don’t know if you knew this but Eve and I were supposed to go to Italy next week. Well, forget that. But the tickets are nonrefundable, I already have the time blocked out and doctors to cover for me, so I’m thinking of coming alone. Where exactly are you? And would it be a huge inconvenience if I came to Corfu for a few days? I can fly there from Naples, I think. Or maybe a ferry? Do you know where I might stay? Thanks.
Poor Carl, I thought. He’s floundering around. He needs a friend. I’m that friend.
Carl, No one understands how you’re feeling better than I do. Of course! Come! I’m at Dassia Beach, just north of Corfu Town . . .
I gave him my address. I told him I’d love to see him. It was true. I was excited to see him. I’d take him out to the countryside to gather horta. And I’d take him to see Saint Spyrídon and his hand. Maybe we’d visit the churches on the islet of Agios Nikolaos. And there was the architectural museum. He could stay a hundred years and never see all there was to see.
The days until his arrival flew by. During that time, I rented a precious red Vespa and got used to handling it after nearly killing myself a dozen or so times. The first morning I took it out for a spin I ran into a hedge. Scratched my face a bit. Once I stopped it too abruptly and fell off. Banged my knee. Another time I was going too slow and it fell over, taking me down with it. Black and blue hip. But I finally got the hang of it and actually loved zipping around on it. It was a strangely liberating experience.
Kiki and I arranged for Carl to stay in another charming little cottage that she managed. This one was within walking distance of the village too. It was a lot smaller than mine, but it had a clear view of the sea. It seemed that spring was coming early, as there were buds on the trees and determined purple and white crocuses pushing their way up through the earth everywhere you looked.
The day before his arrival, Kiki and Nicholas came to the taverna for dinner. By then they knew every detail of my friendship with Carl and Eve and the whole wretched business of what transpired with Adam and Eve, including the dinner at Charleston Place.
“We must be very nice to Carl,” Kiki said to Nicholas and me. “This is a difficult time for him and for all of you.”
“Except for Adam, who thinks that he’s done nothing wrong,” I said.
“I don’t know what to tell you about that,” Kiki said.
Nicholas said, “I am looking forward to meeting Carl. We need a decent pediatrician on this island. Maybe we can persuade him to stay!”
“He practically saved my son’s life,” I reminded them.
Nicholas had unknowingly planted a seed for a wild and woolly fantasy my brain could entertain. Here’s how it would go. I’d stay here and become a popular chef and then a partner in my own little restaurant with Alexandros. Carl would fall in love with Corfu and move here. The island would embrace him and all the children would love him. He’d save lives every day. My moussaka would enchant him. My baklava would drive him over the edge. We would actually fall in love and find passion we had never known before. We would live out our days together in a little stucco house with a courtyard, an olive grove and vineyard, cooking and laughing our way into our nineties together. Maybe we’d even live to be a hundred. No! Wait! Because we couldn’t live without each other, at 101 we’d hold hands and jump to our deaths from the cliffs of Lefkáda, like Sappho.
Good grief, I thought and laughed to myself. That is one huge load of feta, Eliza, I told myself. Too cheesy for it ever to happen except in a romance novel.
Kiki and I drove her car to the airport to meet Carl. I had the night off from the restaurant. Alexandros’s chef was back and the plan was for me to bake for them. I could make whatever I wanted, Alexandros said. Or I could come in and cook. It was up to me. I loved the idea of baking for the restaurant, but I’d need better equipment than what I had. There had to be a cooking supply store in Athens. I’d ask Alexandros. Maybe he had a catalog.
That’s what was rattling around in my head while we waited for Carl. We stood in the baggage claim area and after a few minutes I saw him coming. He towered over the people and walked with ease, as though the carry-on bag slung over his shoulder was filled with cotton balls.
“That’s him,” I said to Kiki.
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God,” she said with a dumbfounded expression.
“He has that effect on most people,” I said, smiling.
“Eliza!” He called my name and I giggled.
He pulled me into a bear hug and kissed me on the cheek.
“Carl! Welcome! This is Kiki, my cousin!”