A Bouquet of Love (16 page)

You might be Greek if you think that activated charcoal, garlic, and vitamin C are the solution to all medical problems—including broken bones.

I
passed off my bike to Eva, who looked terrified to get on it. Moments later, however, she took off down the Strand, all smiles, and I went inside the shop. I located my father in the kitchen, working alongside Darian. Perfect opportunity.

“Babbas, I really need to talk to you. It's important.” I drew in a deep breath, whispered a prayer for God's help, and waited for my courage to rise.

Babbas continued to work, not even looking up. “What is it, Cassia? I'm busy.”

“I know, but this is important. I want to talk to you about the situation with the Rossis.”

I noticed Darian cringe, but he said nothing.

“Rossis?” Babbas mumbled something under his breath. “I know all about it, Cassia.”

My heart went a little crazy at that proclamation. “Know about . . . what?”

“Their new sign on the trolley. Yia Yia saw it. But don't you worry. Our sign will go up in a few days.” He spread his hands as if showing me the sign. “‘Enjoy the finest Mediterranean food on the island at Super-Gyros. Now featuring a meatball sub. Buy one, get one free.'”

“Well, that's great, Babbas, but that's not really what I meant.”

“What, then?”

“I've been thinking about what a great thing it would be for our customers if you and Mr. Rossi got along. Made peace.”

“Made peace . . . with that man?” Babbas turned to face me, a large slab of lamb in his right hand. He shook it in my direction. “Over my dead body! And explain to me how conceding to the pizza lovers will help grow our customer base?”

“It will, Babbas,” I said. “They will see you as gracious and hospitable, and that will make them want to come back.”

He grunted and kept working.

“I think Cassia is right,” Darian added. “I've been researching, and Italy and Greece are like Uncle Alex's children and your children. They're both Mediterranean cousins.”

“Why did you have to bring my brother into this?” Babbas's face turned red, and he slapped the piece of meat on the counter. “Not all cousins were meant to get along!”

“But Athena is coming soon,” I said. “Surely you want me
to get along with her while she's here. Otherwise why would she want to help us?”

“That's different.” The regret in his eyes was palpable. “I know that you and Athena are close.”

I chose my next words carefully. “You and Uncle Alex could be too. For that matter, you and the Rossis could eventually be close. Did you ever think about that? We could all be friends, and honestly, Babbas, we need friends.”

He looked out the window at Parma John's, which was teeming with customers. “Italy might be our cousin, but that doesn't mean we have to get along. There's no law that says we have to.”

“Only that whole ‘love your neighbor as you love yourself' one in the Bible,” I countered.

Wow. Did
I really just say that out loud?

Judging from the scowl on my father's face, yes.

“It makes sense from a spiritual standpoint,” Darian said. “And from a cultural one. It's good to meet people who care as much about their heritage as we do.”

Another grunt followed from my father. He took the meat tenderizer and started whacking with abandon at the piece of lamb on the cutting board. Apparently this whole approach wasn't working.

“Darian is just saying that the two countries have strong cultural ties,” I explained.

“And historical ties,” my brother added. “The friendship between the two goes all the way back to ancient times.”

“You and your research.” Babbas muttered under his breath as he pounded the meat.

“Point is, Greece and Italy are brother nations.” Darian stood a little taller, his shoulders now squared. I liked that
confident look on him—a lot. “You might be surprised to learn how many Italians live in Greece, and vice versa.”

At this news my father spouted that he would rather live at the top of an active volcano than ever visit the country of Italy. “We may be cousins,” he said. “We may be distantly related. But that doesn't mean I'm living on their land . . . or eating their pizza!”

“Even if they came over here and ate our food?” I asked. “Then what?”

“You're telling me the Rossi family will come here and eat our food?” Babbas stopped pounding and stared at me. “That, I would pay money to see.”

“But if they ever did,” I said, “then you would make peace?”

“It will never happen.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed the idea as foolish. “So stop with all of this talk about Italy and Greece.” He pounded piece after piece, the only sound in the room the whacking of the tenderizer against the raw lamb.

I needed a different approach. I put my hand on my father's shoulder and felt his muscles flex as he reacted. “It's for your own good.” I lowered my voice. “We worry about you, Babbas. We all do.”

“Worry about me? Why?” He held the tenderizer but stopped pounding, his back still to me.

I squeezed his shoulder, tenderness rising in my heart as I spoke. “You're so wound up all the time. It can't be good for your health. We want you to relax.”

“Relax?”

He started pounding again and I pulled my hand away. “Yes. You work yourself to death. Never take a day off.”

“I take Sundays off. Never miss a church service.”

“Yes, but even then you're promoting the business. I hear
you talking to the choir director, the Sunday school teacher . . . anyone and everyone.”

“No harm in that. Even God approves of marketing.”

That piqued my interest. “Oh?”

“Yes. The Bible says that every tree that doesn't produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. I'm not willing to be tossed into the fire, so I must bear fruit.”

“Agreed. But sometimes I think you overproduce, Babbas, and you're too serious.”

He set the meat aside, wiped his hands on his apron, and started lifting cans of fava beans off the shelf. “If I want to feed my family, I must work. I will be found faithful in this.”

“Yes, but don't you think it would be fun to take a vacation?”

“Vacation?” He snorted and nearly lost his grip on one of the cans. “Not anytime soon. There's too much to do.”

“Then a mini vacation,” I suggested. “You and Mama should go bike riding like I do. She would love that.”

“Bike riding?” He turned my way, eyes widening. “You can picture your old Babbas on a bike, wind whipping through my—” He stopped cold and pointed to his thinning hairline. “Scalp?”

I pressed back the giggle that threatened to erupt. I still couldn't get past the fact that my father had the hairiest arms, legs, and back on the island but was showing signs of baldness on top. “Yes, I can picture it. And besides, you'll be wearing a helmet, so no one will notice your scalp.”

“Over my dead body I'll wear a helmet.”

Okay, there would be plenty of time to argue the importance of bike safety with him later. Right now I had to convince the man he could actually step away from his business for a few minutes to take a ride with Mama.

“Who would man the store if Mama and I both left at the same time?” he countered. “You're hardly ever here anymore, and Eva has her head in the clouds.”

To my right, Darian cleared his throat.

“Babbas, you have to trust Darian to take a more active role sooner or later.” I nudged my brother with my elbow. “He wants to help you more. He's loaded with ideas, in fact. Right, Darian?”

“Right.”

I nudged my brother again, but he didn't chime in further. Instead, he shook his head.

“Did he tell you his ideas about articles in the paper?” I said. “And he always wants to help research new ways to get the word out.”

“I know, I know.” Babbas waved his hand in dismissive fashion. “I hear it all the time.”

“And Eva is great with marketing. She wants to go to school to study it.”

“Go to school? There's no time for that. I need her here.”

“But she would be so good at it. She's outgoing and bubbly and gets along great with all kinds of people. She's a good writer too, Babbas. She could do an article about the shop for the local paper.”

“That last ad I put in the paper didn't bring in much business,” he said.

“No, I don't mean an ad. I'm talking about an article about the family, something more personal.”

“Personal, schmersonal. This is about business, not family.”

Ouch.

“Well, here's an idea for you,” I said. “It's time to add sweet tea to the menu.”

“Sweet tea?” My father narrowed his gaze. “And why is that?”

“Because people in the South expect it. It's part of the experience. If you want to grow your business, sweeten the pot by adding sugar to the tea.”

Babbas shut us down at this point, claiming he had heard enough. I left the kitchen and headed upstairs with Darian at my side.

“How do you think that went?” I whispered.

He shrugged. “I think you planted a lot of seeds.”

“Hope they take root.”

When I got to our apartment, Darian headed off to his bedroom. I found Mama in the living room on the laptop. She saw me coming and closed the computer quickly, her face growing red.

“Mama?” I sat down next to her. “What's going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mama.”

“You wouldn't understand, Cassia.” Her eyes glistened with tears, and my heart lurched. Maybe she was shopping for plane tickets, a way out of here. Wouldn't surprise me, to be honest.

She put a finger over her lips and glanced at the stairs as if expecting Babbas to appear at any moment. “Okay, I'll tell you, but it's top secret. Just between us, okay?”

“Okay. Sure.” I'd never known my mother to be secretive before, so this intrigued me.

“What I'm going to tell you is a terrible confession.” She clutched the laptop in her hands so hard that her knuckles turned white. “I've never betrayed your father. Never.”

“Betrayed him?” I almost lost my breath as I pictured what she might say.

“Yes. I've made a friend.”

Ack. What kind of friend? I forced myself to remain calm, knowing my mother pretty well. She'd always been the friendly sort. Lots of people had gravitated toward her in Santa Cruz, and she'd certainly won over her fair share of people since arriving on Galveston Island.

“It happened so innocently,” she said. “I was making a delivery to the opera house the other evening and met a lady. We had so much in common it was kind of funny. I think you'll appreciate the story, honey.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She has a large family, I have a large family. She's proud of her culture, I'm proud of my culture. She's got a daughter in the wedding business, I've got a daughter in the wedding business. Don't you find that ironic? I mean, as different as we are, we're still very much the same in the ways that count. So much so that I believe we could turn out to be wonderful friends.”

I'd just opened my mouth to argue that I wasn't exactly in the wedding business when it hit me. “Mama?” I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you by any chance talking about Bella's mother, Mrs. Rossi?”

Mama clamped a hand over my mouth and nodded, her eyes wide. “Don't. Let. Your. Father. Hear. You.” She whispered the words and released her hand from my mouth. “He's already beside himself about the Rossis. He would kill me if he knew I'd been cavorting with the enemy.”

I had no doubt he would flip—and not like a gymnast. And she had the cavorting part down. I'd heard him use those very words.

Mama went on to explain that she and Mrs. Rossi—whom she fondly called Imelda—spoke by email or instant messenger
nearly every day. “This puts me in an awkward spot,” she said. “Because it turns out you-know-who is really very nice. And she feels the same way about me, judging from our chummy conversation. She called me a kindred spirit.”

“Kindred spirit?” My father's voice sounded from behind us. “Who called you a kindred spirit, Helena?”

“O-oh . . .” Mama's cheeks blazed red. She glanced at the clock and then said, “Look at the time, will you? I've got to get busy on that baklava for tomorrow's lunch crowd.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” Babbas crossed his arms at his chest and glared at her.

“Monday,” she said. “I meant Monday. Better get to it.” She scurried down the stairs and into the shop below, laptop still tucked under her arm.

Babbas kicked off his shoes and settled onto the recliner. “I can never make sense out of half of what she says, but I love her. Always have, always will.”

“You're a lucky man, Babbas,” I said. “Such a wonderful wife.”

“Yes, I'm blessed, all right,” he said. “No doubt about it.”

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what he would do if—when—he found out that Mama had befriended Imelda Rossi. But maybe Mama's new friendship could work in my favor. I mean, if Babbas got distracted fretting over my mother's friendship with Imelda, he wouldn't have time or energy to worry about my relationships. Surely my friendship with Bella and Marcella would pale in comparison. Right?

Not that I planned to tell him anytime soon. One thing at a time. God would show me exactly the right time and right place. Until then, I would keep on working, keep on riding, keep on praying.

You might be Greek if you serve your guests anything you happen to have that's available. And they'd better accept it.

L
ater that afternoon, Alex surprised me by showing up at Super-Gyros with a fistful of yellow roses. Cassias, of course. My heart pitter-pattered at the sight of him and those luscious roses. Oh, how this Greek cowboy had captured my heart!

My family members gathered around me, just like the seagulls over the trash can earlier in the day, gushing over the flowers. Well, the ladies gushed. The guys shrugged off the visit as if they weren't really interested. Babbas didn't fool me, though. He was keeping a watchful eye on this situation between Alex and me.

“Do you have time to go for a ride?” Alex asked me.

“A ride?” I reached for a large plastic cup and put the roses inside. Not bad for a makeshift vase. I'd have to add water later. Nothing would stop me from spending time with Alex, not even roses.

He nodded. “Yep. I took you up on that suggestion and bought another bike to keep down here on the island. If you're okay with storing it for me, I mean. It's in the delivery van.”

“She's already been for a ride today,” Gina said.

“But I love riding,” I argued. “I don't mind going again. Not at all.” Especially with Alex.

“But I need her help with the dinner crowd,” Babbas added.

Mama slapped him on the arm. “Niko, let them go for a ride.”

My father headed behind the counter as a couple of customers entered the shop, and I followed Alex out to his van. He opened the back door and I caught my first glimpse of his bike—a gray cruiser. Basic but nice. He pulled it down, and we talked as he wheeled it around the back of the shop to our storage area. I got my bike out, and minutes later we were on our way.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“To the beach.” He pulled up next to me, and we talked as we rode. The time passed quickly. We reached the seawall just as the afternoon crowd started to thin out. Perfect!

“Want to stop?” I asked.

He nodded and pointed to a spot just east of Pleasure Pier. “Here?”

I pulled my bike over and came to a stop, then climbed off. Alex followed suit, and minutes later we descended the steps from the seawall to the sand below.

“I love coming at this time of day,” he said. “It's not as hot and you can actually find a patch of sand that's not taken up by tourists.”

I pulled off my shoes and held them in my hand as we walked along the water's edge. After a few moments of quiet reflection, I opened up and told Alex about the conversation I'd had with my dad earlier in the day.

“How did he take it?” Alex asked.

I shrugged. “About like I expected. Just acted like he didn't hear me.”

“Do you think he'll make amends with the Rossis after some time has passed?”

“I don't know. I hope so.”

We stared out at the water. Alex reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze, which caused my heart to flutter. “You'll figure out a way to let your dad know that you're working for the Rossi family. And I'm sure your mom and your brother and sister will eventually face your dad and tell him about their new friendships too. He has to get over it. He doesn't have any choice.”

“Oh, he has a choice. Problem is, he usually makes the wrong ones, at least when it comes to relationships.”

“Just because he has a history of doing that doesn't mean it has to take down your whole family.”

“Hope not.”

Alex gazed into my eyes. “Do you mind if I ask a question? It's not really my business. I'm just curious.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Why does your father hate your uncle Alex?”

“Ah.” I paused a moment to think about that. “He doesn't hate him. He envies him.”

“Why, though?”

“Because Uncle Alex has had a lot of success with his business. Babbas has always struggled to keep up, and I know it has to frustrate him. I think it goes back to when they were kids. My father is the younger brother and always had to work harder to achieve anything. It's always bugged him.”

“I guess I get that. You met my sisters. They're always competing. It's tough, feeling like you're not good enough.”

“Tell me about it.”

He gave me a winsome look. “But if I've learned anything in life, it's this: staying bitter doesn't help you on the road to success. You've got to let that go.”

“Mama has tried to tell him that, but he has a hard time letting go. I've never seen anyone so tightfisted. He's . . . well, he's Greek.”

“Aren't we all?” Alex grinned. “But our culture or heritage is no excuse for hanging on to things like that, especially when they drag us down.”

“I know. And I worry about him. He's already had one episode with his heart. It was just a scare, thank God, but I know the man's blood pressure has to be through the roof. He gets worked up so easily, and he never rests. That's a deadly combination.” A shiver ran down my spine as I thought about the possibilities.

Alex laced his fingers through mine. “Did you know that Bella's uncle Laz had a heart attack a while back?”

“No.”

“Kind of a similar scenario. He worked himself into a breakdown trying to do the show, manage the shop, and do all the other things he had going on. The doctor made him take a break. Several months off.”

I tried to picture Babbas taking a break. Nope. Couldn't do it. “I can't even imagine my father handing over the reins of our new store. You should've seen what it took to get him to trust my older brothers with our store back home.”

“So he's jealous of your uncle and will work as long and hard as it takes to prove himself an equal. Sounds kind of like he and Laz are two peas in a pod.”

“Yeah, I've said that all along. They have a lot in common.”

I seemed to lose him after that as he stared at the waves rolling in and out. After a few moments he spoke, his words sounding weightier than before. “It's the same ocean, if you really stop to think about it.”

“What do you mean?” I stared out at the murky, gray waters of the Gulf of Mexico and tried to figure out his words.

“I'm just saying all of the oceans were created by the same God, and they all run together. The Gulf of Mexico turns into the Caribbean, the Caribbean stretches into the Atlantic, the Atlantic wraps on around and connects with the Indian Ocean, which eventually hooks up with the Pacific, and so on. Eventually it all connects.” He slipped his arms around my waist.

“Hmm.” I leaned back into him, suddenly overwhelmed with the comfort of his nearness and the vastness of God. A girl could get used to this feeling. Very used to it.

“We humans always divide things up. Give them names. But when God looks down on this earth, he probably doesn't see it like that. To him, it's one beautiful ocean.” Alex paused and a holy silence rose up between us. “I guess the same is true of people too. We divide ourselves into groups. Cultures. Races. But God looks down on us and says, ‘Hey, you're one big happy family.' Kind of like the oceans. We all overlap.”

I gave a definitive sigh. “Would you mind telling my father that? To him, everything is divided. And he's not keen on the idea of merging.”

“We just need to pray that God opens his heart to the idea. We can't do that, but the Lord can.”

In that moment, I totally believed him. God could do it, and I would continue to pray to that end.

Alex held me close, wrapping me in a tender embrace. I felt so comfortable, so peaceful, I could spend the rest of my life in his arms. And when he placed little kisses along my hairline, I leaned in a bit closer. His kisses spread to cover my cheeks, then his lips found mine. There, with the waves crashing nearby, the overwhelming sense of perfection grabbed hold of my heart.

We spent the next few minutes walking hand in hand along the water's edge. Then, just about the time I felt sure my family was calling the police to report me missing, Alex suggested we ride back to the shop. The bike ride home seemed shorter. I wanted to spend every minute I could with Alex, without others looking on.

When we got back to Super-Gyros we parked our bikes outside. The dinner crowd had shown up in force, and I felt sure Babbas would give me grief for being gone so long once I got inside.

If I got inside.

Man, did we have a lot of customers.

Thank goodness my father didn't seem to notice my return. I dove right in, and Alex, in true Alex fashion, worked alongside me, stuffing pitas, mixing sauce, and serving up yummy slices of baklava. Seemed totally natural and comfortable.

Things went smoothly until about an hour later, when a
delivery van pulled up to the front of our shop and parked in one of our spots.

“Are we expecting a delivery, Niko?” Mama asked.

“No.” He walked to the front door and gazed outside.

The delivery driver opened the back of the truck and started rolling out pallets of food products. Instead of coming our way, however, he headed across the street.

“Wait one minute!” Babbas called out. “Where are you going?”

The driver looked our way. “To Parma John's. Why?”

“Because you're in my designated spot.”

“Sorry, mister,” the guy said. “I don't have any choice. They're all full over there.” He pointed to the parking spots outside of Parma John's, all of which were filled.

“You will move your truck immediately or I will report you.” Babbas clenched and then unclenched his right hand, as if ready to take this guy down. Uh-oh.

Really? You have to do
this in front of Alex?

Things got even scarier when Laz came out of Parma John's to see what all the hollering was about. I scooted back inside and watched through the window. Babbas hollered something in Greek. Laz hollered back in Italian. Seconds later my father came storming back in the shop, fuming over “those Italians across the street.”

Just as he reached for his phone to call Officer O'Reilly, the front door of Super-Gyros opened and three familiar women breezed inside. I recognized them as the trio of women from Splendora.

“Aunt Twila!” Alex came out from behind the counter and embraced his aunt. “You ladies all done with your visit with Bella?”

“Yes. We had the yummiest new pizza.” Twila rubbed her plump midsection. “Something called the Venus Flytrap.”

“No, Twila.” Bonnie Sue rolled her eyes. “It was the Venus de Milo.”

“Right, right.” Twila shrugged. “Anyway, we left your sisters over there to visit with Bella and Sophia. I'll tell you all about it later.”

I hoped she wouldn't mention Parma John's in front of Babbas, who stepped out from behind the counter with Mama at his side. They gave the three glittery guests curious looks, and I made introductions right away.

“Mama, Babbas, this is Alex's aunt Twila.” I gestured to her first. “And these are her best friends, Bonnie Sue and Jolene.”

Mama gave the ladies a broad smile, but Babbas couldn't seem to close his mouth as he took in the women with their over-the-top blouses and teased hair.

“Oh, Mr. Pappas!” Twila grabbed his hand, her eyes filling with tears. “I can't begin to tell you how much we love your daughter.”

“My daughter?”

“Oh yes.” She glanced my way but never let go of my father's hand. “For one thing, we heartily approve of the match.”

“Match?” My father's already furrowed brow seemed to contort further.

Jolene joined in. “She and Alex are perfect for each other.”

I glanced at Alex, who almost dropped the pita he happened to be stuffing.

“I always say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,” Jolene added, her voice now carrying a singsong quality. So
you and Cassia's mama must be darling people. I can tell just by looking, and I'm a good judge of character.”

At this proclamation, Babbas squared his shoulders. “Well, thank you. But back to this comment about approving of the match—”

“They are a match made in heaven,” Bonnie Sue chimed in. “And don't you think they'll make lovely babies together?”

I happened to be taking a sip of a diet soda as she delivered this line and almost choked on it. From across the room, Alex cleared his throat and then shot out of the room. Chicken.

“B-babies?” Mama's eyes widened.

Both of my parents turned to look at Alex, who had disappeared into the kitchen, the swinging door clanging behind him.

“Well, yes.” Jolene giggled. “Lovely little things they'll be, don't you think? Alex with that tall, handsome, boy-next-door look about him, and Cassia with her lovely dark hair and beautiful teeth?”

Beautiful teeth? I'd have to remember to check them in the mirror later tonight. If I lived that long. Judging from the look on Babbas's face, I might not.

“Cassia Bethesda Pappas, is there something you wish to tell me?” My father turned to me, crossing his arms at his chest. “Are you . . .” I almost thought he would say “expecting,” but thank God, he did not. Instead, he said, “M-married?”

“Me? Married?” I shook my head. Violently. “No way. I would never do that, Babbas.”

“You mean you wouldn't ever get married?” Twila pouted. “That's disappointing news. I felt sure you and Alex would be perfect for one another.”

“No, I mean I wouldn't get married without my father's
approval,” I explained. I offered Babbas what I hoped was a convincing smile. “And I would never ever consider getting married without Babbas giving me away. Never. Ever.”

From the look in his eye, he would be willing to give me away at this very second. Toss me out of the family ASAP. “So, you're not married,” he said. “But these women are talking about babies. Perhaps there is something else we should be discussing”—he glared at the women and then back at me—“privately.”