Tales from an Unknown Corner

CHAPTER – 57A: Sunset

We need to talk!

GOD! I can’t believe she said that!

I stiffened momentarily before I resumed running my hands on her back. Yeah, I knew we needed to talk, but...

My mind was running a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out what the problem was, what caused her so much distress, before my thoughts swung to a darker territory...

Did I do something wrong? If I did, then what?

My hands were still working on their own, on automatic pilot as if detached from my body. As I kept pondering the various questions, I realized I needed to respond to her.

“Then we will, my love. Whenever you want to,” I whispered trying to impart some comfort, surprising myself with how calm I sounded. Gaining a modicum of normalcy I kissed the top of her head again, and held her tightly to let her know I would be there for her. Inside, I hardly felt the same self-confidence that my words and actions tried to convey to her.

To tell the truth, I was scared, when, once again, my thoughts strayed toward a gloomy direction; I just couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was as if invisible tentacles reached out from a chasm and caught me, before beginning to pull me deeper into shadowy, murky depths.

Is this the beginning of the end?

Not again. Please! Not again!

I don’t want to lose you, Dana. I need you. I love you. I just found you and...

She squirmed in my arms, and I relaxed my embrace. Pulling back, she looked up, her eyes a brilliant blue, depthless, and as she waited expectantly—for a kiss?—I was preparing myself for what might be coming up. I tried to memorize her eyes, her face, drinking in her sight, burning that image into a secluded corner of my mind.

Something from past to be treasured in the future for what it had once been, however brief... when I might need something to warm my heart on a cold night... remembering you! Remembering a friend, a lover! Remembering someone who touched my heart at one time... a short stop-over as one journeys from place to place...

My thoughts were derailed when she rose up on her tiptoes and pulled me down for a kiss. I responded, but my insides were still in turmoil. Slowly her kiss deepened, taking hold of me, enveloping me, and I went with it.

Yes, I love you, Dana. I’m glad I’ve come to know you. Whatever happens I’m glad I’ve met you.

When her soul kiss ended, we kept exchanging soft little kisses, nibbling each other’s lips, reluctant to part. At least I was reluctant to part, but in the end she extricated herself from my embrace. We stood gazing into each other’s eyes. Then, she hooked her arm to mine, and we crossed the yard, heading to the opposite side across from the restaurant, where the sun was getting ready to dip below the horizon, hidden behind the clouds, visible only as a pale disc. The horizon was misty, further dispersing the light.

There were wooden benches placed some distance away from the edge of the hill, and she steered us to one of the benches to watch the sunset. Close to the edge, the wind was stronger and colder. The few large rocks strewn around us and the short, stubby trees didn’t offer any protection from the wind and the cold. When a strong gust hit us I felt her shiver. She snuggled closer, seeking some warmth, but it didn’t help much. Leaving her seated on the bench, I went looking for a sheltered place. Although the edge had a somewhat steep slope, I knew there were several natural recesses where large boulders had broken off, or where the little bit of shrubbery failed in its fight against the erosion by wind and rain. After a quick look around, I returned when I found an easily accessible spot that was relatively protected from the wind.

“There’s a sheltered spot down there,” I said, and received a nod.

I helped her down the slope, and she sat down on a flat piece of rock. I told her I would bring the coffee, and climbed up the slope. I returned with the thermos in my hand, and the brandy and chocolate bars in the pockets of my windbreaker. Carefully, I negotiated my way down the slope. Dana stood up and took the thermos from me, indicating that she wanted me to sit. Then she plopped down on my lap. We weren’t completely sheltered from the wind, but at least it was blowing only from one direction, so I positioned myself to block most of the wind. Eventually we were comfortably settled in this little secluded spot to watch the sunset.

The view was perfect. The sea was littered with big and small islands, and the sun—now, a pale, silvery disk—was dipping lower in the horizon with the passing of each second. I knew it wasn’t going to be one of those magnificent sunsets when the sun looked like a huge round tray that served a platter of colors in shades of gold, red, and purple. Sometimes, the tiniest bit of it would flare out briefly; a glorious momentary flash of red just before it sank below the horizon and disappeared from view. A cosmic wink! And behind it, it would leave an echo, an afterimage that fought to linger, an afterglow, a pale imitation of what had once been! After an inevitable and futile battle, the shades of orange and red would begin to diffuse and surrender to the encroaching dusk. Purple would give way to a translucent blue, as if someone had lit up a small candle behind a blue lace veil. An eerie glow would linger ghostly in the distance for quite some time, slowly going faint as if the candle had grown shorter, while the distance would take on a darker tone, removing what few colors that had remained, changing them into a dark blob. Finally, eventually, the darkness would arrive.

Today, however, it wasn’t going to be one of those sunsets! The pale silvery disk looked small, too small, as if it was somehow diminished, as if it was too tired to fight the cloud cover and distant haze, or to break free and avoid being suffocated! It looked lonely and lost; a far cry from its summer time glory!

Just as well!

I was remembering the last time I had been here. Mom, Gil’s mom, Kathy, Gil, Rei, and I... I could see us—as if it was only yesterday—not far from where Dana and I were sitting now, not too far from the edge, right at the top. Mom and Gil’s mom were sitting on a bench, drinking tea, Mom with a cigarette in between her fingers. Kathy and Gil were standing a bit further away from them to their left, closer to the edge of the slope, looking down at the little islands. Rei was standing to their right and slightly behind them. I was couple of feet away from them, further to their left, with one foot on a small rock, leaning over my crossed wrists resting on my bent knee. Islands on the yard! That was what we looked like then. Close but separated from each other—not only physically.

Rei kept fighting the wind, sweeping her locks back every time the wind whipped them around her face. Kathy had shorter hair then, cut at neck-level framing her beautiful and expressive face, and Gil had a scarf tied around her head, so they didn’t have a problem. For a while, I kept watching Rei from the corner of my eye, and felt resentment slowly building up inside me. It looked and felt like she was putting on a show, trying to attract attention. I tried to ignore her and watch the sunset, but...

Slowly, the resentment I felt turned into something warm: a foretaste of things to come! Something I had forgotten about a long time ago; something I had made a brief acquaintance with, during a painful and troublesome period of my life when I had been too young. But I would come to know it again in the not so distant future, and more intimately than I could have imagined. When hurt, pain, and self-recrimination would get to be too much, when I could find nothing else to keep me going, when I needed to fill in a growing emptiness inside me, anger would be all that I would come to know. Oh, yes, I would come to know it so very well, and on rare occasions, I would come to relish its searing heat warming my insides! But right now, I didn’t know that was what was awaiting me in the near future, and this was just a little taste of it, a little sample. It filled my insides like an empty well fills after a drought when slowly seeping rainwater makes its way through the fissures and the pores. That was perhaps the first time I had begun to realize the beginnings of emptiness inside me or the growing coldness in the pit of my stomach. And it wasn’t the slightly cool breeze that made me shiver, but knowing that the summer had ended... my summer ended and I had... I had lost...

I had lost my—

It reminded me of another time, a few years back, when I heard it the first time without understanding what was meant...

This town is for the ones who lost their hearts in the Aegean!

. . . . .

“This town,” the old man wheezed, “it is for those who lost their hearts in the Aegean.” He was past 70 well on the way to his 80s, his spine slightly bent from carrying that body for decades, fighting the wind, the elements, half his life spent on a fishing boat, and the other half in this little corner of an old coffee-house that his son owned, his voice a wispy croak, yet soothing in its ageless quality. He took a long puff from his narghile, and a quiet bubbling noise rose from its glass smoke chamber filled with water. It was a peculiar sound with a soothing, hypnotic quality that served to calm the nerves.

I took in his weathered face. Wrinkles upon wrinkles, and deeply etched lines, lines that stood witness to his trials. His eyes were the only thing that looked alive, alight with a miniscule fire. He returned my quizzical, appraising look with a gentle detachment: a calm interest lacking the passion of youthful impatience that was reserved only for the old. For a brief moment, I couldn’t help but wish I had my camera with me to capture those eyes and the narghile he was smoking. They made for a classic, picture perfect moment that spoke of sleepy contentedness and of serene acknowledgment of dusk approaching, but denied any sign of surrender or resignation, especially his eyes.

“This is the place where hearts are lost,” he said after he let out a puff of smoke and used the mouthpiece in a short sweeping motion to indicate the harbor scenery.

I took a sip from my tea while mulling his words, intrigued why he had chosen me to strike a conversation, and why he talked in riddles.

“Do they ever find their hearts?” I asked curious about his answer, but unsure if I knew what I was asking or would understand his answer. I thought he was referring to the fishermen who died in bad weather and fishing accidents.

“Some,” he replied. “If they are lucky.”

When he didn’t elaborate, I prompted him. “And if they aren’t?”

He shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes briefly. A pregnant silence followed before he responded. “Then they’re lost forever.”

Lost forever? Lost where... how... why?

I tried to make some sense of his words, but I was confused. I saw him take another puff from the mouthpiece and more bubbling sounds came out from the narghile, distracting me further.

“She’s a wicked mistress... that one. Seduces the unwary... steals the hearts of the young and the innocent...” the words came out, clipped and unhurried. He continued slowly as if talking to himself. “So many she took... so many...”

I made another attempt. “I don’t understand.”

“No one understands,” he replied. “She keeps her secrets. She always has.”

I was feeling impatient and his words confounded me. I thought he was a rambling old man.

“You’re young and curious,” he said and his gaze lingered on my face. His eyes flared briefly, before the light in them faded as if a switch was thrown... “But you’re cautious. That’s good. Watch out for her,” he said as if he had read something on my face.

And that was the end of our one-sided conversation. He closed his eyes and somehow I knew I shouldn’t disturb him. So, I settled down, and watched him and the scenery. At infrequent intervals he took puffs from the mouthpiece, looking asleep, or thinking, or... I returned to my tea wondering what he had been talking about.

. . . . .

The sun was setting. A softly glowing big ball of red and orange, its bottom half already sunk beneath a faint line, blurred and made indistinct by the red glow. I caught sight of Rei again, briefly, her left arm raised holding her hair in a bundle, and watching the sunset, and yet, I had the feeling she was posing for my benefit. She had an old shirt on. It was an off-white, checkered, sleeveless shirt, the black squares faded from too many washings. She wore it frequently, and I loved to see her wearing it. Although it hugged her form, it did hide the size of her breasts, only giving a hint of the womanly curves, making you wonder what lay underneath it. Right now, as she stood sideways to me with her arm raised, I had a clear shot at her clean shaven armpit and below it the strap of her bra. Her bra encased breast was mostly hidden from view, but it stood high and proud, clearly delineated beneath the cloth.

I felt a stirring in my groin despite my growing resentment. After all, I knew only too well that they were perfectly shaped orbs, just the right size for her slender frame. Every curve, every line about her was perfectly sculpted. With some difficulty, I averted my eyes and turned back to watch the setting sun. I didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to remember how she looked, how she felt, how she smelled, how she...

With a shake of my head I tried to break free from her, from the spell she cast, and concentrate my attention on the scenery. The more I got immersed in the view the faster the sun seemed to sink. It almost felt like I could hear a soft sigh, the Aegean whispering words of endearment as she embraced her lover and prepared to put him to sleep...

A final flare, then it was gone!

“Keep them safe,” I found myself whispering, remembering the words of an old man. “Keep those hearts safe for they lost it here, seduced by your beauty,” I added softly as if saying a prayer, finally getting a glimpse of what he might have meant in that coffee-house by the harbor a few years back.

As for me... I didn’t know what or how much I lost, and to what. Inside, I felt strangely hollow. If part of me was left here, in these timeless waters that was all right with me. The rest? I didn’t know where the rest was.

Time to go!

Yes! I think it’s time to go. I better book a ticket.

“Mitch, coming?”

I turned to the voice. Kathy stood a few feet away with an expectant expression on her face while the rest of our group made their way to the restaurant. I shook my head before I turned back to stare at the sea. The sky and the sea looked like entwined lovers, the horizon aglow, but indistinct, except a minute change in the shade of reds and purple. A little twinge of envy struck me right then, but disappeared as quickly as it came. I drank in the view as if I had an endless thirst.

Nope. I’m leaving. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.

If I can find a seat in one of the buses...

. . . . .

“.... were you saying?”

I felt a hand on my cheek, and blue eyes greeted me when I turned my gaze away from the slowly sinking pale disc beneath a hazy horizon, mostly hidden behind the clouds.

“What were you saying?” the voice insisted.

“Huh?”

“You were mumbling something,” Dana said.

That brought me to present!

“Was I? I don’t recall saying anything...” I trailed off, wondering if I had—

“Yes you were. Something about losing something...”

Shit!

“I must have been quoting an old man,” I temporized trying to compose myself. I wasn’t over my short trip in memory lane.

“What did he say?” Dana inquired when I didn’t continue.

“People losing themselves to the beauty of the Aegean,” I replied, slightly changing his words. “This place always reminds me of how beautiful it really is. Unfortunately today, we’re not having much luck in regards to that beauty,” I added in an attempt to change the direction of our conversation.

How appropriate! The last time I was here, it had been golden. Now, it’s cold silver and steel gray.

The comparison made me feel melancholic.

“But it is beautiful,” she replied. “It’s amazing. All these little islands,” she said with a sweep of her hands as she turned to look at them again. Pointing at a very small one, she continued. “You can build a small house with a garden, there. It’s just the right size.”

“And bail water several times a week?” I retorted. “It’s just a little outcrop.”

“No, it’s not,” she insisted. “There’s shrubbery and plants. Nothing grows in soil if salt water attacks it.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

Yes, you’re right, Dana, and I’m wrong.

Am I wrong for you, too? Is this what it is about?

I tried to put the thoughts aside, but it felt like we were having a quiet argument, probing, testing...

I let out a sigh, suddenly feeling tired.

“Let’s have some coffee,” Dana said, reaching for the thermos.

We shared the cap of the thermos, taking sips, and Dana had a bar of chocolate, and a few swallows from the brandy. She looked like she was preoccupied, and I waited patiently, while trying to calm myself. It took quite an effort, and even then I couldn’t say I was calm; I just couldn’t find my center. I realized I hadn’t exercised in the last several days.

No jogging, no Tai Chi, no meditation.

No nothing!

In the end, I settled for getting rid of as much tension as I could and the melancholy.

As if on cue, Dana stood up, took a few steps away, and continued to watch the scenery. Although surprised, I let her have her private moment, suspecting she was trying to compose herself, before she told me whatever she had in mind. Slowly she turned around, and finally broke the silence. “I have something to tell you, Mitch.”

It wasn’t a very promising start, but I managed to clamp hard on my growing anxiety, while I wondered where she was going with that. I nodded, waiting for her to continue, but the silence grew. Eventually I had to prompt her. “It’s all right, Dana. Please, talk to me.”

I offered my hand, but she ignored it, standing her ground a few steps away from me. I almost had a déjà vu.

“I-I did something I’m not proud of,” she said.

Did? What could you do that makes you feel so uneasy?

“I find that hard to believe,” I said to encourage her, while racking my brain to figure out what could make her feel so tense, almost scared.

She winced, as she heard my words, and took a deep breath. “I... I saw your notebook.”

Notebook? What note— Oh, God! Oh shit!

But how? When?

I couldn’t speak. I felt the color drain from my face, and to tell the truth it was good that I was sitting down. There was a buzz in my ear, and I had no idea whether it was the howl of the wind or the blood in my veins. I felt... I didn’t know what I felt. I just couldn’t believe it. Then I was falling into a deep well. I tried to fight my way out of it, but the deeper I fell into that chasm, the less scared I was becoming. Everything seemed to cease: the butterflies in my stomach, the heavy pressure on my chest...

I felt her hand touching my hand, and warm lips closed on mine. Still, I could hardly respond to her. My descent into darkness slowed as I felt her lips lock harder to mine, her kiss deepening. It was as if she had thrown me a lifeline; her soul-kiss reached me through the darkness. And yet, I didn’t want to reach for it. There was comfort in that chasm, in that darkness, and safety in its depths, far away from the bright light that shone on everything, hurting the eyes, revealing ugliness in all its starkness everywhere, and yet, obscuring beauty with its intense glow. No! That dark well wasn’t the empty well of darkness that the Void was—devoid of emotion, feelings, conscious thought, alien and foreboding! On the contrary, this was an old shelter I knew very well. After all, I had known its numbing coldness for a while. Some might say, “what a strange place to call a shelter,” but a shelter it was, helping ease my pain, my hurt, yet allowing me to stoke the fires of anger to keep me warm, alive, and letting me survive, away from prying eyes and danger.

The lips left my lips, the hand withdrew.

Why did you do it?

That was the question that popped up first in my mind when I could hear myself think among the cacophony of other thoughts fighting for my attention, but I was having difficulty voicing it. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths.

“How could you?” I croaked looking up at her.

“I... I didn’t,” she replied with a flat tone. “I didn’t read it,” she insisted, and winced. Then, she knelt on her knees in front of me. “Listen to me,” she said, this time forcefully. “I came across it when I decided to unpack your suitcase. You were out of the room to get coffee or hot chocolate...”

I didn’t hear her words anymore.

How long was I away? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Was it enough time for her to—

“Listen to me!” I heard her say again, as her hand held my chin, pulling me back from my inner thoughts.

“I didn’t read it,” she repeated when our eyes met. She released my chin and stepped back.

“Then why did you say you weren’t proud of what you did?” I asked with an accusatory tone.

“I suspected what it was, as soon as I came across it. I... I opened it.” She closed her eyes briefly, took a breath, and slowly opened her eyes again. “I told myself I was just checking it, to make sure... but I knew what it was. The first page confirmed it. Then I put it back in your suitcase, and locked it.”

I was in turmoil and my feelings warred with each other. Part of me wanted to believe her, but another part was questioning how or why I should trust her. I tried to quiet both voices.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why did I do it, or...”

“Or?”

“Or why did I tell you, or...”

I glared at her, but she ignored me. “Or why did I kiss you?”

“All of them,” I replied angrily.

“Will you listen to me until I finish?” she asked.

My anger was simmering, but... “Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, you do,” she retorted sharply. Softening her tone, she continued, “You really do have choices, Mitch. It is up to you... up to us where we go... if there is an ‘us’... and how we go about ‘us’...”

Despite the soft tone, and the plea, there was steel hidden beneath that voice, and in the delivery. She waited for my response with an uncanny calm.

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re judging,” she responded with a mild, matter-of-fact tone. It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation, a remark, despite her words.

“You’ve judged yourself, and found yourself guilty,” I retorted. “I don’t need to.”

“For a person who’s keeping secrets, you were awfully careless,” she returned, and this time I could hear exasperation creeping into her tone. “Was that a test?”

I felt my face heat up at what she was implying. Of course it hadn’t been a test. I had forgotten about it. I should have known better.

I was getting ready to lash at her again, when she raised a hand and asked, “Do we keep on trying to score, or are we going to have an adult conversation, communicate with each other?”

That stopped me dead on my tracks, and I bit back another angry retort. I realized she was making a point. In fact, she had been trying to get my attention since the start of our argument, and she had been very careful and measured with her responses. The message was clear! I took a cleansing breath to control my anger, and nodded. The silence grew, and I realized she was giving me time to collect myself. Finally, feeling a bit calmer, I said, “We’d better find a more comfortable place.”

I stood up and offered my hand, and without a word she took it. I helped her up the slope, and once she was safe, I collected the thermos, and climbed up. She was waiting for me. Seeing her there, pale, cold, her hair blowing in the wind, something melted inside me. My anger started to dissolve. Yes, it still hurt, but... I took a step to her, and hesitantly pulled her under my arm, and she came willingly. As we walked to the car, my mind was busy. Part of me told me she wasn’t Rei, she wasn’t trying to hurt me or break up with me, but part of me was shouting at me not to trust her and that history would repeat itself.

They aren’t alike, are they?

That question gave me a momentary pause, and I stumbled in mid-step. To tell the truth, I wasn’t feeling myself. While we continued walking to the car the awkward silence was our only companion, and by the time we reached it, I decided I was being stupid to draw meaningless comparisons. I suspect I just didn’t know how to deal with what she had done, and how to respond.

I opened the door for her, but instead of getting in the car, she stood, and hesitantly, turned her searching gaze on my face. A few seconds later she rose up on her tip toes, and quickly brushed her lips against my cheek. Without a word, she turned and got in the car. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was both an apology and a peace offering. I gave her the thermos I had in my hand and closed the door gently, then I moved to the driver’s side and got in, too.

* * * * *

During the drive back, we were both quiet. I was preoccupied trying to find answers to some questions. I didn’t need to look at her to know she was watching me. And despite the kiss I was tense.

I guess history is repeating itself.

I didn’t want to accept that! We hardly got to know each other and now we were—

It’s not fair. I want a chance. I want a chance to get to know her. I don’t want things to end like this so abrup—

HEY!

Were you listening to what she said, pal?

Huh?

You heard her! You will both decide where you are headed from this point on!

As I played out what happened in my mind, I wondered if I was over-reacting to her, and that reminded me...

Shit! Am I?

You mean like yesterday? Like what happened with Kathy on the phone?

Maybe I was over-reacting. I knew how I lost control of myself with Kathy. I had been very harsh with her then! The scenes flashed, playing out, again... the talks I had had with Dana, with Kathy, and my reaction to them. And with each memory, I began to calm down a bit more. The final piece was a memory of Mom talking to Kathy and I about arguments, fights, and making up; one of the lessons about love and forgiveness. By then, we drove past the town square, and I knew exactly what I had to do.

I should have known!

Good! Better late than never, buddy!

It was past time to put an end to the tension between us. What’s more I needed to respond to her peace offering. I went over what I wanted to say to her, while looking for a place to pull over. I wanted to do this right and give her my full attention. Although I didn’t manage to formulate all I wanted to say, I pulled over at the first available empty spot next to the curb. The silence grew, except for the quiet purring of the engine.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to compose myself, and gather my courage, and then I reached for the key and turned off the engine.

“I’m not...” I started hesitantly.

Damn! This is hard!

I cleared my throat, and began anew. “I’m not very good with apologies,” I said to her, facing away from her yet feeling her eyes on me. I forced myself to face her, and half turned in my seat before I continued. “I’m sorry, Dana. I’ve over-reacted to—No, please. Let me finish what I want to say.”

She acquiesced to my wish, and waited.

“I was thinking about... about what you told me you did. Part of my mind was busy with the question how I felt about it. I’m not going to lie to you. I was hurt, and angry at the time, but now...” I tried to collect my thoughts. “There’s something you don’t know. If it were Kathy who had stumbled upon it I know what she would have done. She would have read it. Oh, she would feel guilty, but nevertheless, she would have gone through with it. She’s good about rationalizing some things. Then she would confess, and argue convincingly about why she did it. I know that as I know the sun will rise tomorrow. Yes, we would probably have a big fight, but eventually she would get away with it. Why? Because I love her.”

I looked at her, and saw her nod. For a brief moment she looked like she was going to say something, so I motioned her to go ahead, but she shook her head, indicating me to continue.

“Please, Dana. I’d like to hear what you want to say,” I insisted.

“She’s also your sister... your blood,” she simply stated.

“True. However, I hurt the ones I love the most, if you remember, and Kathy is... well, you know I love her. You also know... I mean, you’ve already seen how I...” I didn’t need to complete my half-formed sentences for her to understand what I was telling her. She witnessed it yesterday. “It’s... it’s just too easy to hurt the people you love.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then returned a curt nod, giving me a sympathetic look.

“And from your comment I suspect you know where I’m going with this,” I said. “I love you. Sure, it’s a different kind of love, but it’s stronger in the feelings it evokes in people. After all, that’s how a couple starts, how a new family is formed. The point is, you didn’t really do anything, Dana. At the most, it was a temporary slip up, giving in to temptation, but I would argue the point that you did something wrong.” I also remembered how Dana had responded when I told her about Sarah. “I also remember I had a bigger slip up. Not only did I give in to temptation, but I rationalized it and followed it through, even though I knew it was wrong.”

I gave her a sincere look, and said, “I’m sorry for the way I reacted, Dana. I really am! You deserve better.”

She waited to see if I was finished, and when I indicated I was, she considered her response. “I don’t believe in re-hashing old stuff, Mitch. I don’t agree if there was a slip up, or a fault, or temptation, and it really is in the past. We talked about it then, and moved on. I also don’t believe in tit-for-tat and keeping a scorecard.” She paused to see if I would raise an objection, but I didn’t. She was right. “I understand what you’re saying. I really love you for that, Mitch. But I also know I did something that hurt you. Your hurt wasn’t imaginary. When I... when I gave in to the temptation, I could hardly stop myself. I did, but... I knew better, and yet... I did what I did, and I’m sorry for that.”

I nodded. “I told you I’m not good with apologies. I didn’t mean to compare what we did. I agree with your point about scorecards. I... I know I love you, and I let you down. I’m sorry for that.” I turned to look at the street with unseeing eyes, listening to something inside me, and she let me have my private moment.

I need you, Dana.

I felt her hand on my arm, and turned to look at her, pulling myself from my inner thoughts. She had a quizzical expression on her face. I raised an eyebrow...

“Did you say... did you say ‘I need you’?” she asked.

At first her question didn’t make any sense. Then I realized I had given voice to my thoughts. I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. I didn’t want to look weak, or needy, but she had heard me. “Yes, I did,” I replied with some difficulty, finally admitting to myself and to her.

Her hand reached to my face, caressing my cheek. Then, almost in slow motion her face inched closer and closer until our lips met. Her hands moved, clutching my neck, holding me captive. When she finally pulled back, she gave me a gentle loving look.

“I need you, too, sweetheart. I love you.” She punctuated her words with another kiss.

After the kiss, we sat back our eyes still locked to each other’s. There was a delicate balance in the moment; I didn’t want to break it, but I was also anxious... anxious to fill in the silence, yet reluctant to do something about it. She must have sensed it also, but didn’t hesitate to reach out for my hand and give it a soft pat. I started the engine again, and we drove to the motel, her hand never losing contact with me, either touching my arm or hand, both of us drawing comfort from that little bit of contact.

* * * * *

At the motel, I collected the room key from the reception and we climbed the stairs arm in arm. When we were in our room, we had an awkward moment; I certainly felt very self-conscious of the body contact we had, even though I didn’t want to break the contact, but I also wanted to a little bit of space for me.

“I... I better check the water,” I said, and went into the bathroom. Yeah, you could say I made my escape, if momentarily, but I knew I needed to gather myself.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was hot. I refreshed myself before returning to the room.

“The water is hot,” I said. “Do you want to take a shower?” I asked. I didn’t know whether she wanted to take a shower to relax and compose herself, or if she wanted to sit down and sort out what happened between us.

“I just want to clean up,” she answered. “I’m feeling hungry.”

I took it as a signal to have our talk after dinner. It was a good plan. Perhaps a cozy dinner and small talk would help ease the awkwardness, and we might be able to re-establish a comfortable and calmer atmosphere for the upcoming talk. I was also glad that I had stopped on the way and apologized to her, otherwise the dinner would have been rather uncomfortable.

“Yeah, me too. It was rather cold out there, wasn’t it?” I said. The words felt strange on my tongue. Did I sound as stupid as I thought I was? Was I so transparent in my attempts at making small conversation?

“Yes, it was, and I’m starting to feel that brandy,” she replied, as she headed for the bathroom, but not before her hand brushed my arm fleetingly as she walked past me. I took it as another subtle by-play at reminding me that the connection between us was still there. That eased my mind quite a bit, and I realized that I’d been rather tense when my shoulders finally sagged.

A few minutes later, she emerged, her hair brushed and glowing, her cheeks slightly pink. This time I moved to take her into my arms and we embraced without hesitation. I kissed her forehead, and then her lips.

“God, you look beautiful,” I said.

I guess I must have laid it a bit thick, because I received a shy smile. “I don’t feel beautiful,” she replied. Before I could say a word, she said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to spoil the mood. Thank you.”

We kissed again and held each other, once again comfortable with each other and very reluctant to part. After several minutes, we disengaged. I offered my arm, but she wrapped her arm around my waist, pulled my arm around her shoulder, and snuggled under it.

We left the room, and headed to the dining room downstairs.

* * * * *

We were the only patrons in the dining room, but I expected that since it was off-season and the middle of the week. Although all the tables were covered with clean, crisp tablecloths, only three tables were set up for serving. Two were at the far corner; they stood facing a big industrial refrigerator with a glass display, which also served to separate the kitchen from the main dining room. The cashier desk was also located in that corner, to the left of the refrigerator, facing the door that opened to the terraces by the shore. To the right and away from the refrigerator, towards the middle of the room, stood a stove with a neat pile of wood stacked in a tray next to it. A kettle was off-center on top of the stove, and when I looked at it closely, I knew it was a teakettle. I figured they would have hot and strong tea readily available at all times, as was usual in places like this.

The rest of the tables were empty, covered with a clean tablecloth, sporting a vase or an ashtray, except one other table located toward the other end of the room, close to the TV stand. The TV was on but the sound was muted. Looking at the layout, I guessed that the two tables at the far end were for the staff and the family/owners’ use, and the single table away from the door and the kitchen was for the customers, namely, us.

My guess was confirmed when the owner came up and led us toward the single table. He mentioned that we would be comfortable and warm as he swept his hands indicating the stove not too far away. We thanked him for his consideration, and I seated Dana before taking my seat across from her. While he lit the single candle and fiddled with a few things—repositioning a plate here and a vase there—until he was satisfied we made small talk, assuring him that we were satisfied with everything. By unspoken agreement and since most of their menu consisted of seafood, Dana and I inquired about the day’s catch. He invited us to look for ourselves, so we followed him to the refrigerated display by the kitchen.

They had quite a selection: gilthead sea bream, blue whiting, picarel, and sea bass. I asked about the local delicacy, European sprat; a small fish similar to anchovies but available only in this area and without the strong flavor. As luck would have it, they had some from yesterday. The owner took us into the kitchen, and showed what they had; it was hardly enough for two portions. He told us that they didn’t get as much, because the demand was low. In the end, we decided that we would have the sprat as a warm starter—I really wanted Dana to have a full experience—and share a big sea bass for the main course. Then it was time for the fun part: the customary ritual of weighing the fish and haggling over price!

When the owner quoted the price, I guffawed, thinking he was joking, but Dana was more to the point. She suggested he should put on a mask and pick up a gun if he was into robbery. For the next ten minutes, there ensued a heated argument with some biting but witty repartees delivered in good humor by both parties, and eventually we settled on the price. We also ordered some fried mussels, octopus salad, calamari, cheese rolls, several small plates of vegetable dishes—mostly served as cold appetizers—and a large bowl of tossed green salad. Because we were feeling rather hungry, I asked that the salad be brought first, followed by the vegetable dishes, and then the warm appetizers.

The owner inquired about drinks. I was in the mood for a glass of Ouzo, but debating whether it would be wise to drink alcohol. Considering our upcoming talk, I wanted to keep my wits about me, to be in control of all my faculties. To my surprise, Dana didn’t share my concerns or have any reservations. With a smile gracing her lips and a loving look directed to me, she ordered a half carafe of Ouzo.

As we walked back to our table, I couldn’t help myself but ask the question.

“Is that wise?”

“A little bit of alcohol won’t hurt, Mitch, and I know how much you enjoy it. I enjoy it, too, so why not.”

“Yes, why not indeed,” I mumbled.

The rest of the dinner was a quiet but a very enjoyable affair. We finished most of the salad and had to order seconds while making short work of the small plates of vegetables, before the first warm starters arrived. As we sampled the food, Dana got me to talk about the town and my summer vacations, while she talked about her vacations in England and Wales with her grandparents. When the small fish was served, at first, she looked a bit apprehensive, and waited for me to take a bite. I just picked one and ate it whole as if I were eating French fries. She daintily picked one and very carefully chewed. When she realized she couldn’t feel any fish-bones, or taste any of the icky-stuff her mind had conjured up, her face lit up.

“Mmmm... this is... actually... very tasty,” she said in between chewing and swallowing.

“It must be,” I said, “if it makes you talk with your mouth full.”

Momentarily she looked embarrassed, but seeing me grin at her, she knew I was just teasing her.

“Aren’t you smug about it?” she retorted, hastily swallowing a last bit.

Quickly picking up another piece, she fed me, perhaps to stop me from teasing her further. After that, we kept feeding each other, enjoying the intimacy as we continued to chat. I must admit, I did wonder, for a fleeting moment, if we were making a spectacle of ourselves to the owner and the serving staff, but we were lost in a little world of our own, enjoying ourselves too much to really worry about it. The sea bass was also excellent, and not wanting to let it go cold, we concentrated on enjoying the fish and kept our conversation to a minimum. When we were finished with dinner, the waiter cleared the table unobtrusively. We decided to forgo dessert, instead ordering coffee, and an extra carafe to take up to our room. We both had an after-dinner smoke with our cups, before heading to our room. Dana carried the carafe, and I took the cups as we climbed the stairs, declining the offer of the waiter to bring them to our room. I didn’t even bother with a tray, since it was easier to carry them without.

* * * * *