Nicolai's Daughters (20 page)

2010

Alexia leaned forward on the moped. The wind pressed against her, whistled inside her helmet. She followed a half-ton truck, maintaining her speed and staying a comfortable distance behind. Her fingers tightened on the handlebars. Her legs pressed together, tender at the spot where her knees ground against each other. As cars made quick lane changes and trucks passed without warning, her eyes remained fixed on the truck's fender and the wobbly load of hay strung together with rope. She only had to follow it until she got to her exit. She'd be off the freeway, and close to home. But then what?

The bale at the top suddenly shifted and fell, bouncing towards her, scattering bits of hay and a cloud of dust as it hit the ground. She swerved into the opposite lane, cutting off a car that was already trying to pass her. A horn blared. She passed the truck and swung back into the lane. A scowling driver shook his fist at her as he sped by, his Volvo trailing diesel fumes. She stifled a cough, allowed herself to blink. Stay focused, she repeated. Her arms were spent, like the moped that sputtered when she tried to accelerate again. Finally, it kicked into gear. Another exit sign hovered above her head.

A few minutes later, Alexia left the freeway. She glanced into her rear-view mirror once and then again. Nothing behind. Olive groves on one side, the sea on the other. The moped whined over the hollow boom of the breeze, the echo of cars, trucks just behind her. She glanced into the mirror again. Nothing. The noise persisted.

She wondered how she'd made it back this far. Catching herself in the mirror, she saw Christina's hazel eyes. Christina had all but forbidden her to meet Theodora. Still she had gone. What would Christina say?

I could deny the whole thing, she thought. Say I was out exploring. It wasn't me you saw, Christina. It wasn't.

Alexia lurched around the parked cars that clogged Diakofto's narrow lanes. A man stood on the sidewalk ahead, his back turned. Don't cross that damn road. These tight turns are bad enough. I don't need any more surprises. Pay attention.

He dashed out into the street. Alexia squeezed the brakes and closed her eyes. The moped pitched and stalled. She put her feet down, felt ground. She was still upright, thank God. She clenched down on the brakes again. She opened her eyes, then slowly unlocked her fingers. She shook them out, rubbed her hands and remembered the pedestrian. She tried to get off the moped, see to him, but her legs refused to move.

He stood curled away from her. As he uncoiled, he patted himself down checking for injury, then charged towards her, shouting words and waving his hands. She recognized the streak in his whiskers. His beard had been trimmed close, but the white stripe was still there, like a scar.

He stroked the tuft on his chin with the back of his hand. Behind him, the late-day sun tinged the tips of his silver hair, giving it a fiery glow. His olive skin seemed to darken. His eyes crinkled and he grinned.

Like he doesn't have a care in the world, she thought. “What is wrong with you?” She pulled the moped up onto its kickstand, took off her helmet and pushed it into his chest. “What are you, blind? Can't you see?”

“I see you try to kill me. Yes?” He shrugged. “But I forgive.” He held her helmet in one hand and extended his other arm to pull her close.

Alexia pushed him away.

A horn blared behind her. She jumped. Achilles held her in his arms, tossing the driver a hand gesture. He smelled of lavender. Grey curls teased the narrow opening of his shirt.

She pulled away. He laced her helmet through his arm, grabbed the handlebars and pushed the moped off the road. She followed. His back and shoulders flexed underneath his shirt.

“I could have done that,” she said, as he parked the moped.

“Yes,” he said. “You strong. I like this.”

“You sold me a lemon.”

“
Oxi,”
he said. “I sell moped. Not lemon.” He opened his arms towards the moped like a salesman presenting his latest prize. “Perhaps I give you lessons. Yes?”

“It's a death trap. It can't keep up. It's junk and you know it.”

“It needs special touch.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Like a woman.”

Alexia ducked away from his arm. She pointed to her helmet. He passed it to her.

“You need drink. Yes? We talk and everything is okay.” He pointed to the crowd gathered around them. “We do not give show here.”

“You're lucky I don't sue you.”

“If your mind change, I be in
taverna
where before I give you my moped.”

“You mean where you pawned this piece of junk off on me, junk I paid for.”

“Achilles and his fine moped, we no junk. You see.”

The moped started on the first try. She shifted into gear. Alexia ignored his grin and ready wave. “Choke on my fumes,” she said, hoping he'd heard her and actually understood.

Normally at this hour, Christina would be in the kitchen preparing dinner. Alexia found a pot of steaming water on the stove and smelled a roast in the oven so she knew her aunt couldn't be far away. The kitchen seemed big and empty without Christina in it, fussing over dinner, or the dishes.

Alexia went upstairs, dropped her pack, helmet and keys on the bed and stepped out onto the terrace. She could see Christina in the distance, bent low in the field, picking beans. Solon stood beside her, holding a bowl as Christina filled it. Alexia rubbed her palms against her pants. Why am I so worried about what she thinks? It's not like she's going to ground me.

“I'm not a baby,” she'd said to her mother. They'd been arguing about what Alexia was wearing. It was a week before Sara died. Just one week.

“I don't want to wear those pants.” Alexia slapped her mother's hand and the pants fell to the floor. They both looked at each other. Alexia tucked her hands behind her back, looked away.

“The ones you've got on aren't clean,” her mother said.

“I'm not going to take them off.”

“Why won't you do this?” she said. “I'm tired. Don't you understand?”

“I'll wear what I want,” Alexia said and stormed out of her room, grabbed her pack and went to school without saying good-bye.

She'd hit her mother with her own hands. How could she? Her mother was sick. Alexia couldn't concentrate all day and when the last bell rang, she ran home as fast as she could. She snuck into her mother's room and stood at the door, holding her breath, listening. She pushed the old chair closer to the bed, plopped herself on top of her hands and watched her mother's face, logging each tiny detail: the freckles on her nose, the pale pink of her lips, the narrow face. She'd practised what she would say.
I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm a brat. I didn't mean to.

Her mother moaned and Alexia stroked her forehead. Her mother smiled. “You're so independent. It's a good thing.” When Sara touched Alexia's cheek, her hand felt cold. It didn't matter. She wanted her mother's hand to stay there forever. It fell away. Alexia held her mother's hand close to her cheek. Sara was asleep again. Over and over, Alexia pictured her mother's face. What shade of grey were her eyes? Get it right. She started it as a game to help make the time go faster until her mother woke up.

Alexia stayed with her until her father came home. Nicolai made dinner, fed Alexia, cleaned up, and put her to bed. She heard them talking later, then Nicolai humming. Alexia had fallen asleep to that sound, still trying to figure out the right word to describe the colour of her mother's eyes.

“
Thia,”
Alexia called out. Christina would like that, but so did she, the feel of the soft syllables in her mouth.

“I make supper soon,” Christina called back without looking up.

What's she thinking? There was only one way out. “We should talk,” she said, hating to say this out loud.

“After. We come in soon.” Christina stayed bent, her back to Alexia. Her apron seemed to be cinched too tight, little bits of pudginess spilled over the bow.

Alexia stepped back into the room, threw herself on the bed. Stop worrying, she told herself. It doesn't help. She sat up against a pillow and waited for the scrape of the front door, their voices in the kitchen. Christina knew. She'd probably told Solon. He was so proud of her when she started to speak Greek, put basic sentences together, his morning lessons finally paying off. She shook her head. What would he think of her now?

Alexia punched at the numbers on her cell phone as if playing a video game. She heard his voice. Surprised, she dropped the phone and lost the connection. She picked up the phone and redialled.

“Hey, kiddo. Don't hang up on me again.”

“Dan?”

“Who else have you been calling?”

“I don't usually have any reception here. Um, I'm waiting for my aunt,” Alexia said. “I need to resolve something.”

“You don't sound too happy about it.”

“I pissed her off.”

“Hard to imagine.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

She had probably interrupted him in the middle of reviewing a file. She could picture the concentration on his face as he leaned into his computer screen for some kind of direction. He's probably anxious to get back to whatever he's doing. Get off the phone, she told herself. “How's everything?”

“Not the same.”

Alexia heard the scratch of wood on wood at the front door downstairs. Over the rush of water in the kitchen sink, their voices rose, quieter than usual. “They're back. I should go face the music.”

He cleared his throat. “You want to talk?”

“I have to deal with it.” She got off the bed. She wished he could help. But no one really could.

“You don't have to do everything on your own.”

“It's the only way I know.” She paced.

“Cheer up. This may mean I'll get you back here faster.”

“And how will that help?”

“It'd make me happy.”

“I better go,” Alexia said, shaking her head.

In the kitchen, Christina stood hunched over the sink, washing beans. She leaned to one side as if she needed support. Solon sat in his spot at the table, reading the paper, his glasses part way down his nose.

“Can I help,
Thia
?”

“I fine.”

“Is your back okay?”

“It okay.”

“I'm happy to help.”

“No.”

Alexia stood in the doorway. Now what? she wondered, staring at her bare feet.

Solon put down his paper. “What go wrong with you two?”

“You know,” Alexia said.

“No.”

“She didn't tell you I had lunch with Theodora today?”

“Who?” Solon asked. “Christina, what goes on?”

Christina rubbed her hands on her apron and turned. There was a dark puffiness under her eyes.

“You didn't tell him.”

Christina shook her head. “This between us.”

“Why you look for troubles?” Solon said.

“I'm not,” Alexia said.

“Christina, did you tell her?”

Again Christina shook her head.

“Tell me what?” Alexia said.

“Why bring problems on our head?” Solon said. “We keep things separate. It works better. No one is bothered.”

“I'm the only one who has to decide what to do. Not you. And why do you care anyway? This has nothing to do with you. She's my sister.”

“You lie to me,” Christina said finally. “You see her and no tell me. Not right.”

“You didn't want me to see her,” Alexia said. “Don't you remember?”

“I did not say this. I said we think about this together. Do you remember? We only want your happiness.”

“And meeting Theodora won't make me happy?” Alexia said. “Why?”

Christina turned and leaned into the counter. She muttered, but Alexia didn't catch what Christina said.

“I can't talk to you if you won't be honest with me. You're hiding something. What is it?” Alexia said, shaking her head. “You're exactly like my father. He never trusted me either.” They want to keep their dirty little secrets to themselves, lord them over me. Tell me when I don't expect it, and watch me squirm. Then I'll be left holding the bag, dealing with one more bloody surprise. I was an idiot to let my guard down.

Alexia stalked out of the kitchen and flung open the front door. It jammed against the floor. She pulled it hard. Nothing. She yanked at it with both hands, heaving it up slightly. The door finally opened. She walked out of the yard and started up the street with no idea of where she was going. She just had to get away from the secrets, the lies, the betrayals. Before she knew it, she'd broken into a run. She told herself to slow down. Instead, she sped up. She heard the knock in her ears and ran faster.

When she couldn't catch her breath, she jogged, eventually slowing down to a walk. She felt like her legs were about to give way beneath her. She bent over and clutched her knees, gulping air. Her sides ached. When she finally stood up, she walked back and forth, massaging the spot just below her ribs. She pictured Christina bent in the field, hunched over the sink. Christina's lip-bitten smile after Alexia had blurted Theodora's name to Solon, accusing him of knowing when he didn't. Alexia shook her head. They'd been so good to her. But that didn't give them the right to tell her what to do. And it didn't give them the right to keep things from her either.

He was where he said he'd be. Dimly lit, the small
taverna
reeked of cigarette smoke. A couple sat at the table in the corner, their tongues slithering in and out of each other's mouths. Three women were crowded into the booth closest to the bar. Grinning, he tilted his head towards the three women and raised his glass in a toast, nodded as if inviting himself to their table. Alexia stood at the door. The bartender elbowed Achilles. He turned, slid off his stool, ambled towards her, as deliberate as a runway model.