Back when I didn’t believe in myself, when I thought Dad’s sad legacy was the only thing I’d inherit, I had to cling to PopPop’s confidence in me.
His acceptance for my name, my art, my troubled little existence.
I continue reading.
By now,Miss Wilkes has shown you the Hera Egg, and you’ll know the gravity of what I’ve bequeathed to you. You’ll understand why it’s vital that it doesn’t get sold off like another middling niche piece from the rest of my collection.
You must wonder how it came into my hands.
Pure happenstance.
The Hera Egg found me as a young man, on a business trip to Crete. This was decades ago, not long after the Second World War and the Greek Civil War ended. Everything was chaos, an entire continent in shambles still trying to recover.
History grabs you by the throat the second you step into a war-torn country trying to get on its feet. I can’t tell you how messy it was, how they needed fresh blood and brave money.
You’re a smart girl. I won’t bore you with details. I know you’ll look it up if you truly care.
A rumor brought me to an antiquities dealer in a small fishing town. I suppose I always had a knack for following my nose, which is exactly what I did after a long day hiking and winding through bustling markets.
The smell was a magnet. A kakavia fishermen’s stew I can still taste to this day had me breaking bread with two brothers who had a relative in the marketplace.
My gut told me I had a lead worth pursuing, and it turned out I was right. The dealer kept it in a back room, hidden in a ceramic urn.
When he laid it in front of me, I thought I’d gone blind. Even through a layer of dust, it was as bright and beautiful as a diamond from another world.
If the dealer didn’t have paperwork backing up his discovery, I would’ve believed the egg was another forgery, but I took a chance on the purchase. Intuition, you see?
I stop and smile.
It’s like he’s in the room with me, standing in front of the fire with his hands clasped, recounting his story in that slow, steady bard way he had. Like he’d carefully chosen every word in advance.
I wonder if he picked up some of that in Greece, too.
So different from my style. Gramps was calm while I word-vomit my feelings every time I tell a story. Tangents galore.
But even when he’d get distracted, he’d always lead us back to the point.
He used to say nothing replaces having a gut for business in careers or in life.
That’s why some people never make it, no matter how hard they work. Success is equal parts instinct, inspiration, and effort.
I’m sure he told Dad at some point. If only he’d taken that to heart.
His gut never led to good decisions, and it’s bitten him in the ass more times than I can count.
I don’t know if I have ‘it.’ Sometimes I think I’m scared to find out what tree this apple really falls from.
I go back to reading.
Naturally,I had to act.
At the time, I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, but years of research after the fact proved those letters were authentic. This little glory was never lost to history, just time.
It’s my most prized possession, Cleo, and I’m entrusting it to you.
Of all my grandkids, you’re the only one with a soul sensitive enough to truly appreciate its soul. However, you’re not obliged to keep it or squirrel it away from the world the same way I did.
I’m trusting you with its legacy. Whatever you decide, I believe you’ll keep it safe.
