SETH LET HIMSELF into the Robinsons’ house with the key Helen had given him the night of their dinner. She’d told him that Zoe’s trunk was upstairs in the attic, waiting for him. As he climbed the stairs, he felt like a man making that last climb up to a gallows platform. He hadn’t even opened the box the military had sent him. It crossed his mind that he could just take the entire chest and hide it away somewhere in the garage. How would his in-laws ever know if he never looked inside? It wasn’t as if Zoe’s parents were going to quiz him on the contents. At least, Dave wouldn’t. But Helen? Just maybe.
Okay...probably. There might be more tears. He doubted she’d ever stop talking about the daughter she’d lost too soon and too cruelly. He had a feeling Helen’s brother and sister-in-law were in for some very long road trips as they all took off traveling together.
Despite his mother-in-law’s rosy scenario of the mother and daughter relationship, the truth was that it had always been tempestuous. During Zoe’s youth, there’d been a lot of shouting and door slamming. As she’d grown into a woman, the slamming had mostly ceased, but there had been arguments over things both large and small. Despite Helen and Zoe’s various tempests, Seth had never doubted for a moment that they loved each other. The Greeks, he’d determined, lived large, embracing life with enthusiasm. Zoe had been the same way. Despite being an all-American girl, she was proud of her heritage, taking on every challenge presented to her as if she were following instructions sent down from Mount Olympus from Zeus himself.
Most of what was in the trunk was stuff he’d expected. Like yearbooks from middle school, high school and college. Although she’d framed her college diploma, she’d left her high school one behind. He supposed in her mind, there was no point in keeping it since she’d already moved on. There was also a handwritten copy of her valedictory speech. She hadn’t let him read it before she’d given it, but he could see how hard she’d worked on getting every word right by all the red-lined cross-outs.
There were the inevitable prom photos. He still remembered when she’d walked into the living room in a strapless, floor-length gown of some floaty material she told him, as she’d twirled, was chiffon. The daffodil color showed off her olive complexion, and she looked exactly like a princess even before she’d put on that tiara when she’d been queen of the prom. He’d looked like a geek in the royal-blue tux, yellow vest and yellow bow tie. Although she hadn’t let him see the dress beforehand, she had told him the color and instructed him that he was supposed to match.
His dad, he remembered, told him he looked like a girly boy. His mom, on the other hand, had told him he looked handsome and got a little teary as she’d straightened his tie, which was one of those snap-on things because no way was he going to learn to tie a bow tie for just one night.
He found a collection of diaries and told himself that he shouldn’t look through them, but unable to resist, he picked up the first one, and leafing through it, found the movie ticket stub to My Big Fat Greek Wedding. While romantic comedies definitely weren’t his thing, he’d figured he could see Terminator 3, which was playing in the theater next door, with Burke Mannion while she was at cheerleader practice.
She’d talked nearly all the way through, pointing out over-the-top stereotypes. Later, over shakes—vanilla for him, chocolate for her—at the Big Dipper, she’d turned serious, explaining that, like the bride in the movie, although she was born in Oregon and was a red, white and blue American, she’d never be able to completely abandon her family and Greek heritage. Fortunately, loving her as he did, Seth had no problem with that idea and was more than willing to do his best to fit in.
He picked up another diary decorated with stickers of Greece and titled My Best Ever Summer Adventure. It was, he realized, the summer of her sixteenth birthday, when her mother had sent her away to camp in Greece. As she’d explained at the time, everyone in her family had gone to Ionian Village to learn about their faith and Hellenic culture. And to meet and interact with other people just like them.
To which he’d told her there wasn’t anyone else like her. Which had made her laugh and kiss him and assure him that he always knew just the right thing to say.
“Don’t read it,” he told himself. “Journals should be private.”
Yet if her mother hadn’t thought it was okay, she wouldn’t have left it in the box. Right?
He turned the pages, reading how she wished she hadn’t argued so much with her mother about going to what, apparently, campers shortened to IV. Because she’d always remember it as one of the most amazing times of her life. And she couldn’t wait to send her own children there when they got to be her age.
He rubbed his heart, which literally ached at that thought, imagining her all bright-eyed and animated, telling people about life back home, hopefully about him, and how, although he wasn’t Greek, he was a great guy, and not to worry, their kids were going to grow up to know their centuries-old heritage.
From what he read, the camp, except for the religious classes and being coed, wasn’t that different from the Scout camp he’d attended here on the peninsula at Camp Parsons. There were skits, singing, campfires. There was also swimming, though the Greek campers had done theirs in the impossibly blue Ionian Sea.
One of the photos pressed into the pages of Zoe laughing with a dark-haired boy caught his attention. The boy was wearing a pair of Hawaiian Jams, and she was in a blue one-piece swimsuit that showed off all her curves. They were lying on towels on the beach, and there was another girl with them, but there was just something about the moment that had him wondering why, when she’d come home and had been going on and on about the camp, she’d never mentioned any boys.
The brochures all state that Ionian Village is where kids from all over America learn about their faith, heritage and, just as importantly, themselves, she’d written, her loopy handwriting as large and open as she was. But I know that Mama sent me here hoping I’d meet a boy that would make me forget about Seth. Like that’s ever going to happen.
Reading that had Seth exhaling a relieved breath. He didn’t want to learn about some teenage flirtation. Or even worse, that she’d cheated on him during those weeks surrounded by hot Greek guys.
But Peter has me thinking, she wrote. Not about having sex and stuff. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me. But I think he just might if I gave him a hint I’d be interested. Which I haven’t. In fact, he’s probably getting sick and tired of hearing all about my boyfriend back in Honeymoon Harbor.
Seth liked that she’d been thinking about him and even talking about him to this Peter guy. Until he read the next line.
If I were to be perfectly honest, I think I’m boring everyone with Seth stories as a defense mechanism. Because who’d have thought Mom and all my aunts and uncles who were pushing me to come here could be right. I have learned a lot about myself.
I’m always going to be passionate. I’m always going to embrace life to the fullest. And I’m always going to push boundaries, especially when it comes to what women can do. Because, let’s face it, Greek culture will never be accused of embracing feminism. A lot of girls here worry that their Greek boyfriends might turn into their fathers. One girl’s mother doesn’t even sit down at the table to eat until her husband has finished his dinner. Can you imagine? In this day and age?
So, that’s one thing I’ll never have to worry about.
There’s also such a big focus on family unity here. Since this is all about discovering ourselves, I’ll admit, just to myself, that I’m jealous of all the stories of the big, connected families that get together for every occasion. Even if it’s a Saturday backyard barbecue. My immediate family consists of just me, my mom and dad, and except for not fully appreciating the desert whenever we visited the family in Tucson, I’m remembering how exciting and how much fun it was to be part of such a special group.
Maybe, after we get married and I’m through with my military service, Seth and I could move to Arizona. It’s not like he’s got that good a relationship with his dad anyway. And there’d be houses for him to build and work on in Tucson, right? I always thought I belonged in the Pacific Northwest, because I was born in Astoria and have always loved the green of the Olympic peninsula, but now, being here, I’m realizing how similar Greek’s dry Mediterranean climate is to Tucson’s. Which may explain why my mother’s family settled there.
So, maybe, if I wait until the time’s right, and explain all my reasons for wanting to be among more of my own, he’d understand. The same way he always seems to understand me.
Except for the huge fights we had after he learned I’d signed up for high school ROTC, because he’s worried I’ll decide to go into the Army and get myself killed, he’s always encouraged me in everything I wanted to do. Not that I gave him much choice. Because, as I’ve discovered, I’m more like my mom and my aunties than I ever could have suspected. I’m stubborn, a bit spoiled, and, to be perfectly honest, I like letting off steam with a knock-down, drag-out fight.
Peter and I had one the fifth day of camp. It was over a silly thing. About Greek men being the ones to cook the meat, while women are supposed to cook everything else. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was looking at one woman who had no intention of spending time standing over a hot stove. That’s why God had invented restaurants.
I, of course, also pointed out that his statement was not only hopelessly outdated, but misogynistic. Which, considering himself a very feminist guy (for having been raised in a traditional Greek-American family, mind you), had us shouting back and forth, right in each other’s faces, until a counselor came and told us to knock it off. Then we laughed and went back to studying about the saints. He, obviously, was named for St. Peter. I’d always known I’d been named after St. Zoe. Apparently it’s required for all Greeks to be named after saints, but I’d never bothered to wonder how Zoe of Rome had achieved sainthood. When I read that she’d been devoted to St. Peter and had been praying at his tomb when she was arrested for her faith, I had to tell Peter. I mean, like how weird a coincidence is that?
Seth felt his concern spike again at the latest mention of a guy he was starting to view as a rival. Which was stupid. Because Zoe had married him.
Reading on, he learned that according to the book of saints, St. Zoe of Rome was hung over a fire and died of smoke inhalation, after which, her body was thrown into the Tiber River. Which, Zoe continued, probably explains why Mom has never told me the story.
The story of his wife’s saintly namesake’s death caused Seth’s blood to turn to ice. His mother, even before she’d gone all New Agey, had believed in stuff like fate and destiny. But Seth, who prided himself on being a practical problem solver, never had. But still, the comparison between both Zoes’ deaths weirded him out.
He turned a few pages, which were thankfully Peter-free, until he got to the last day’s entry.
So, we’re going home and I have a lot to think about. I love Seth, with all my heart, but I know that it hurts and confuses him when we fight. While with Peter, our passion about a subject builds up and if we don’t agree, we’ll explode. But then it’s over and we continue on, because it was just an argument. Not the end of the world. It’s the same way with Mom and me. I never even minded that much that she made me take all those years of ballet. Especially since Seth always looked at me like I was a princess whenever I wore one of my sparkly tutus.
Maybe my aunties are right. Maybe I should marry a Greek boy who’d understand me better. And who’d understand how our children might inherit my temperament. Like my camp BFF, Lori, said when I told her what I was thinking, being Greek is like having a powerful virus and once you get it, you never recover. And it’ll affect everything you are and do.
But on the other hand—and isn’t there always an other hand?—look at Mom and Dad. They stood up to her family, which couldn’t have been easy, and she even moved to Oregon to be with him and that worked out. They’re still in love after all these years.
To be honest, part of me wonders if perhaps Seth should marry Brianna, who, duh, anyone with eyes can tell has a thing for him from the way she looks at him when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking. She probably wouldn’t cause him nearly as many headaches as I might, but the truth is that I’m too selfish to give him up.
I love Seth Harper. With my entire heart, mind and soul, and although he doesn’t know it yet, when I get back home to Honeymoon Harbor, I’m going to love him with my body. Because, although our life together might not be easy, it’ll never be boring. I love him. So, I’ll make it work. We’ll make it work. Together.
Seth blew out a long breath as he closed the journal. They had made it work. It hadn’t always been easy, because, he’d discovered, love wasn’t some magic potion or talisman that promised eternal bliss. They’d fought. Loudly, as she’d written they would, and more often than he would have liked. But their fights had been over as quickly as they’d flared, and he couldn’t deny that make-up sex almost made up for the arguments.
It was Zoe’s passion, her zest for life, that had turned his world upside down that long-ago day she’d walked into his classroom as if she already owned it. As if she’d been some long-awaited queen of Evergreen Middle School. It was also, he knew, what would have made her such a ferocious advocate for her patients. Like that little boy in Afghanistan.
There were two other things in the journal that had proven a surprise. That she’d been considering moving to Arizona. Had she changed her mind after they’d gotten married and started to settle down in Honeymoon Harbor? Or was she waiting for the right time to bring it up? Like maybe after they’d had their first child and she’d use all her persuasive skills to convince him that their son or daughter deserved to be among family? She was right about there being houses to build and fix up in Arizona. But his home had always been here, on the peninsula. He’d never, not once, considered moving.
And what about that part about Brianna? Had she had a thing for him? Enough that if Zoe hadn’t shown up at school from Astoria, he and Bri might have become a couple? He’d never had any doubt that he and Zoe would’ve beaten the odds, stayed together and gotten married. As they had. But what if that success had partly been because of her determination to have things turn out the way she wanted them to?
Most of their high school friends’ relationships had been lucky to last a couple weeks. Long-term wasn’t something that guys, especially, thought about.
Looking back on those days, he remembered Zoe had always been talking about how their life together was going to be. And since it sounded just fine with him, except for that day she’d told him that she’d decided to sign up for UW ROTC and let the Army pay for her college, he’d gone right with all her plans. Right down to the color in that nursery he’d never walked into again since the day that had forever changed his life.
That idea led to another. Brianna had dated, but she’d never been part of a couple. Because, in her own way, she’d been as focused as Zoe. All she’d ever talked about back in high school was of someday buying Herons Landing, then turning it into a B and B. Not believing that would ever happen, everyone had humored her. But later, around the time he and Zoe had gotten engaged, her goal had changed to leaving the peninsula and seeking her fortune in glamorous places around the world. Zoe, he remembered, had been all for that plan, encouraging her as best friends do.
Could Zoe have been worried about the possibilities of him straying later on, when their marriage would get bogged down with work, babies and everyday routine life, if Brianna had returned home? Which he never would have done. Ever.
He put the journal in the discard pile. Hell. He never should have given in to impulse and read it. Because now that Zoe had put Bri’s possible feelings in his head, he’d be wondering if she’d had a crush, if she might possibly be thinking back on those days. And how awkward could that make their working together?
“As if,” Seth muttered, causing Bandit to glance up, hopefully for another piece of pepperoni to be tossed his way, “life could get any more frigging complicated.”