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Show 63 In an hour the bags would be gone, she would be gone, it would be over. "You should say goodbye to Lefteris," he said. The double doors of the taxi were open and David could see people already sitting inside. "They'll wait for us." He led Darcy around to the back of the cafe, choosing not the muddy path but a route over a thick mat of silver leaves beneath storm-beaten olive trees. In the smoky kitchen the old Greek's bare torso was nearly lost in an open oven. They watched from the door as he removed two steaming trays of pistitsio and dropped them to a counter. When he turned to face them he was already smiling his best sad smile. "You are leaving?" His gray stubbled cheeks glistened with sweat. They nodded. "Perhaps the weather keeps the Oia in Crete still." His words were just for Darcy now. "Perhaps you must return to me tonight." "I hope not," David said too quickly. Then: "The sky is clear." Lefteris wiped his dark fingers on his soiled apron, studied Darcy's face. "You won't forget my Santorini?" he said, stepping forward, placing his thick hands on either side of Darcy's small face; lifting it, framing it. Darcy's eyes flashed from Lefteris to David, back to Lefteris. Her goodbye smile became smaller, rounder. She said nothing. "You won't forget?" The old man's breath, David knew, would be rich with garlic and the licorice smell of ouzo. |
