Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1) (15 page)

O
h yeah
, she’s keeping
the dog.

Animals know. They know how a soul is stitched together. They know what it’s made of before anyone else gets a clue. Dog doesn’t take a shine to someone, it’s a good idea to show that person the wrong side of your front door.

“Looks like he has other plans,” Max says.

On the way up, he thought about keeping the dog himself. But Vivi and Melissa need the dog as much as he needs them.

“What am I going to do with a dog? I've never had one.”

“Not even when you were a kid?”

She gives him a look. “With my mother? Eleni would never have a dog in her house. Children were bad enough, and we didn't shed.”

“Did you jump on the furniture?”

She laughs. “Only when she wasn't home. The armchair had a sweet spot. Extra lift when you're wearing sneakers.”

Kostas cuts a chunk of bread, offers it to the bag of bones. It’s obvious the poor thing is starving, but he takes it like he’s at afternoon tea.

Vivi carries her glass into the kitchen. Her shadow follows, chewing while she washes and dries the glass.

Max tells her she doesn’t have to do dishes.

“I'm sorry,” she says after a moment. “I can't help myself.”

“You're welcome to do my dishes any time you like,” Kostas calls out. “I hate housework.”

Watching her be normal turns Max on. She moves about the kitchen like she cares.

Max checks out the view – he checks it out hard.

“If you don't mind, I think I'll go downstairs and . . .” Her hands make a steeple.

The dog goes with her.

Max sits in her vacant seat. He doesn’t look at his brother. “The dog will be okay with her. Her daughter will love him.”

“She's a good woman, but not undamaged,” Kostas says cryptically.

“I’m not going to ask.”

“And I won't tell.” The chair creaks. “So tell me, Brother, how are our mother's plans for your marriage coming along? Did she set a date?”

“Did you say anything to Vivi?”

“I know you and women, Brother,” Kostas says. “Don’t toy with this one.”

“Did you say anything?”

“No. I only told her Mama is insane. You don’t sound happy, Max. And you look like shit.”

Good old Kostas, reading between the sordid lines. “Anastasia is beautiful on the outside, not so beautiful on the inside. She can be selfish and manipulative. She has no empathy and she’s demanding.”

There is silence, for a time.

“She sounds like someone else we know.”

“Mama?”

Kostas shrugs.

Ouch. Right where it hurts.

“Anastasia is nothing like Mama.”

Except, that’s not true – is it?

“Shit,” Max swears. “You’re right. She’s jealous of my patients. She flares up every time I mention patients, or when the hospital calls.” His laugh is painful. No humor in the sound. “The other night she said hated my patients for needing me.”

“Hate’s a strong emotion.”

“She's just so ungenerous. I don't know. Maybe I need to spend more time with her. Problem is, there is no more time.”

“Are these obstacles you can overcome as husband and wife? Do you believe she can and will change and grow?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Wrong. Anything is possible in the
right
union.”

Max leans on the table. “What are you saying?”

“Walk carefully, Max. There are some things that cannot be undone, and some things that even you cannot fix.”

S
hrink
. The woman doesn’t
say it, but that’s what she is. Melissa knows it.

Dr Triantafillou (that's what she called herself) doesn't seem a whole lot older than Melissa. She looks like she fell out of Seventeen, with her trendy jeans, ponytail riding high on her head. Plus she has an awesome tan – the kind you only get if you spend, like, a zillion years in the sun.

Melissa knows why she’s here. Mom and Dr Andreou think she tried to kill herself.

Which is bullshit.

It’s not true. She would know if it was. It’s her brain.

“You're a shrink, aren't you?”

The shrink is sitting in the same chair Mom sat in while she did her hovering vulture impersonation. It’s fake brown leather and it farts if you move the wrong way.

“I'm a therapist.” Look at that smile. Perfect teeth. Years of braces – or just super lucky.

“Do you give out pills?”

“No, but I can refer you to someone who does if I think it's necessary. Do you want pills, Melissa?”

Melissa flops back into her nest of pillows.

“No, I was just checking to see if you're a psychiatrist or a psychologist. There's no point talking to someone who wants to dope me up or zap me in the head. You know, like in
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
.

“That's an interesting choice for a young girl. Did you read it in school?”

“No. Have you read it?” The shrink nods. “I found it at a swap meet. Most of the books were about weird crap like lawnmower repair or Jell-O salad.
Cuckoos Nest
was between
Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus
and a
Weight Watchers
recipe book.”

“Did you enjoy the story?”

Melissa shrugs. “It was okay. Do you think if you're crazy you actually know it? Or do you walk around thinking you're normal and the reason people look at you funny is because they don't understand you?”

Dr Triantafillou’s smile is broken, stuck in the ON position. “I think we're all crazy in our own way. Is that what you think, that you're crazy?”

Melissa likes her answer, but she won’t show it. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“What else do you like to read?”

“Most things, really.”

“Except old recipe books and relationship advice?”

“I like stories.”

The shrink doesn’t pull out a file and scribble like Melissa thought she would. She crosses her legs, says, “What would you like to talk about today?” Really casual, like she’s asking if Melissa wants Coke or Pepsi.

(The answer is: Either. They taste the same to her.)

Nothing. Everything. “I don't know.”

“How are you enjoying our country?”

“It's okay. I've been in hospital for a year now.”

Her brows shoot up. “But you were only admitted last night.”

“Yeah, but it feels like a year.” Melissa picks at the blue blanket draped over her legs. “The beach is nice. Do you go much?” Dumb question, Mel, Where do you think she got that tan?

But the shrink doesn’t seem to think it’s so dumb. “Whenever I can. My parents have a house on the beach in Platanidia. It's not far from here.”

“Lucky.”

She thinks about their old house with its jellybean-shaped pool and the tire swing Grampy made for her third birthday. “We used to have a nice house.”

“Did your parents sell it to come here?”

“I think Dad wanted to keep it, but his . . . friend said no. They're getting a divorce. Mom hasn't told me yet, but I know it's going to happen.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I don't know.”

“Pick one word to describe how you feel about your parents separation. Any word you like.”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Annoyed, I guess.”

“Annoyed?”

“Yeah. I mean no one asked me what I thought, if it was okay with me. No one ever cares what I think. I'm just the kid.”

“And if they'd asked?”

Melissa shrugs.

“Do you understand that your parents’ relationship has nothing to do with you?”

Another shrug. “I guess.”

“Anything else you want to talk about?”

Everything. She wants to tell her about Josh Cartwright and how he saw Dad in the park, and how Josh was right and that sucked, sucked, sucked. How Dad left them to be with a man. How much she hates being here, hates being at home, hates . . .
being
. But what comes out is: “Not really.”

“Does your mother drink often?”

“Duh, everyone needs to drink to stay alive. Otherwise we'd dehydrate.”

She’s still smiling. “No, I mean alcohol. Does she drink to excess regularly?”

Melissa thinks about it, shakes her head. “I've never seen her drunk. Sometimes she has a glass of wine, but that's all. And that’s, like, only twice a year.”

“You don't have to protect her. You can tell me the truth. It's confidential.”

What’s her problem? “I'm not lying. I've never seen Mom or Dad drunk.”

“So she wasn't drunk last night?”

Was she? Melissa can’t remember. Everything about last night is hazy. Why is the shrink spoiling things? They were getting along just fine.

“It's very common for children to protect their parents,” the shrink continues.

“I'm not protecting my parents.” There’s a panicky feeling growing inside her, like the time they went to Six Flags and she ate too much popcorn before going on the roller coaster. She puked at the top of the lift hill.
Splat
! All over the guy behind her.

“Melissa – ”

“Don't call me a liar. I'm not a liar!”

“No one is saying you're lying. But maybe you're misremembering. Everybody has a tendency to remember things as they choose, not as they really are. Even me. It's possible that your mother was drinking and maybe she'd had enough that she didn’t realize you were in trouble.”

“That's not how it happened.”

“Would you like to tell me how it happened?”

“It was an accident. I only wanted to get the sand out.”

No more smile. Her eyes are all sad like she doesn’t believe Melissa. “Melissa, this is confidential. You can tell me anything. Lots of young people hurt themselves when they're facing challenges. Sometimes they want to die and sometimes they simply want to choose the type of pain they’re experiencing. Physical pain can overshadow the emotional.”

“I wasn't trying to hurt myself.”

The shrink picks up Melissa’s hand, the one that isn’t bandaged, and turns it over so that the sunlight hits the other scars. Melissa snatches her hand away. She doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t want to be investigated. She wants the shrink to GTFO.

Get The Fuck Out.

“You're wrong,” Melissa says. “You're wrong about everything.”

The shrink pushes back the chair and stands. It farts, but Melissa doesn’t laugh.

“I have another patient to see now, but I'll be back later and we'll set up a schedule for you. In the meantime I want you to think about the things we discussed.”

“But I don't want to see a shrink all the time.”

The shrink is smiling again. Doesn’t look friendly now. “Melissa, we don't always know what's best for ourselves.”

“How would you know? You don’t even know me.”

Under the blanket, Melissa flips her off.

Real brave, Tyler.

C
ourtesy of Max
, Vivi
has a dog and the name of a real estate agent. Thing is, she’s not really sure what to do with either of them.

She leaves the dog in the Jeep and goes to check on Melissa, who is busy playing board games with a couple of other kids. She seems fine enough – busy but bright.

“Yeah okay,” she says when Vivi tells her she’ll be back later.

Vivi stops at the hospital cafeteria, buys two
tiropitas
. One for her, one for the dog. She eats the feta pie slowly. The dog doesn’t. He gulps his then gives hers a hopeful glance. So Vivi takes another bite, gives him the rest.

“What are we going to call you?”

He looks up from the pastry crumbs. Got a call-me-anything-just-keep-feeding-me star in his eye.

“You look like a Biff.”

He doesn’t complain, so Biff it is.

“I don't really know what to do with a dog, Biff. So you're going to have to give me some pointers.”

Biff wags his tail. Seems like a good omen.

Vivi has a minor epiphany. If she and Melissa are staying, they need a car. Nothing fancy, just wheels to get them around.

She does the math. They can afford a car if they go simple on the house. An apartment is another option, but that’s not fair on Biff.

God, look at her, already worrying about the dog.

John has been generous. Last thing he wants is his client base to find out the truth (come on, John, it’s 2014), so he went way overboard. Vivi would never say anything anyway – he should have known that. Strangers, she thinks. That’s all they were. Two dumb kids who built a house on a bedrock of lies – well, lie.

Heat shimmers off the pavement in waves; looks like a rainstorm backing up. Siesta time. The Greeks are in their beds, sleeping off the hottest part of the day, but not Vivi and Biff. With Biff’s makeshift leash in one hand (a length of slender rope Max found in the Jeep), and a map of Volos in the other, they go walking.

For a dog that has never seen a leash, Biff is cooperative. He only stops to pee on everything. Every time he lifts his leg he looks to her for approval.

What else can she say but “Good boy”?

Six sweaty blocks later, they hit the automobile jackpot. A small used car lot blots the horizon. Beside it, a small kiosk ripples.

Mirage or the real deal?

The heat is taking its toll. Her bra is doubling as a paddling pool.

The ripple steady and solidify.

Hallelujah, not a mirage. She and Biff aren’t going to die on the streets of Volos. Silly dog wasted all his liquids spraying Biff Wuz Here over half the city.

“You should have siesta,” says the kiosk’s toothless proprietor. He takes her money, gives her two bottles of ice-cold water.

“I'm a crazy foreigner,” she says.

Biff refuels. Vivi takes a long, long drink, and boy does it taste great. Nothing is sweeter than water when you need it.

Temporarily hydrated, they trot over to the car lot.

Dozens of cars – some she’s never heard of. A metallic blue Volkswagen convertible is hanging out in the shade, chilling out until the right buyer swings its way.

An older man approaches, barrel-chested and sweaty, olive oil stain marking his white shirt.

“You want to buy the car?”

“Maybe. How much?”

“For you I give good price.” He reels off a number that makes her want to slap him.

Vivi laughs, saunters away with Biff. “I don’t think so.”

There’s a lot of huffing and puffing as the salesman catches up. “Wait, wait. What was I thinking? I got the price wrong. This never happened before, can you believe it? For you it is much less. Very affordable, I think.”

He gives her a price slightly lower than the first.

“Is that the man’s price or the woman’s price?”

He wags a finger. “You are very clever. I will give you the smart people’s price. Is special – today only!”

She stares him down. Makes him sweat a bit more. Makes his left eye twitch.

“So, do we make a deal?” he asks.

“Okay.”

“Okay! Good! Okay!”

“And I'll want to test drive it, of course.”

“Of course!” he cries. “You will not regret this, I think.”

She’s regretting it twenty minutes later when she pulls the Volkswagen back into the lot. There are road rules but they’re serving suggestions. Driving with Greeks equals swimming with sharks when you’re covered in paper cuts.

But she buys the car and drives away with Biff riding shotgun. The sleek little VW isn’t brand new, but it’s got guts.

Her first major John-free purchase.

T
he real estate
office isn’t far. She parks in the shade and leaves Biff to keep watch.

She’s barely through the door when a friendly voice says, “You must be Vivi.”

The woman is mid-twenties, polished to a brilliant shine. She’s one of those women who can wear linen during the oppressive summer regime and command it not to wrinkle.

Meanwhile, Vivi tries not to drip on the marble floor.

“Come sit, have a drink. Max told me to expect you.”

What a guy he is, helping out a pair of strangers.

“You know him well?”

“Of course, we are family. He is my cousin.”

That whole family smiles in megawatts.

Still . . . cousin is a nebulous term in Greece. Could be they’re first cousins or twenty-fifth cousins, completely removed.

“So you are Vivi and I am Soula. Together we will find you a house. The perfect house. You are looking to rent or buy?” Her perfect nails begin a fast dance across a sleek keyboard.

“I'd prefer to buy something. Nothing too fancy or too expensive. In Agria or very close by.”

“How many bedrooms?”

“Two.”

“You have a child?”

“A daughter. You?”

“I have a boyfriend. That is a little like having a child, yes?”

Vivi smiles. “I used to have a husband. He was more trouble than a kindergarten full of children.”

“What happened to him?” Her voice drops, becomes more intimate. She leans closer. “Did you shoot him?”

“Worse. He left me for a man.”

“Better a man than a woman. At least you know what he's got that you don't.” She wiggles her pinkie.

Which makes Vivi feel better.

No really, it does. With a few simple words, Soula has given her a fresh perspective. No more sitting around wondering what she could have done differently. Growing a penis is impossible.

(Although, scientists being scientists, you know there’s one growing on a mouse’s back in a lab right now.)

“At least,” Soula continues, “he is someone else’s pain in the ass, yes?”

Takes a minute for the joke to sink in. Then a whole ton of pennies rains on her head. She laughs until she’s crying, laughs so hard the chair needs a seatbelt to keep her in the upright position. People are looking, but Vivi doesn’t care.

Meanwhile, Soula is tapping on the keyboard. She waits for Vivi to stop laughing, then she nods at the screen.

“You point and we will go.”