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“Oh, oh. Now, do not cry.” It’s an order. “You will see them again. No?”
“No.” I shake my head.
She’s staring behind me. “No, I’m watching them. You will see them again.” The line moves up a little more. Another statement. “They are both very much in love with you. No?”
I’m crying, but they’re quiet, dignified tears.
“Well, I hope you are leaving for a good reason.”
Another nod. This one less certain.
“Next,” the passport official calls.
“Goodbye,” she says.
I wave.
“Next.”
I turn one last time as I put my bag on the screening belt. They’re still there. It’s hot in here, and the puffy, stylish black coat I’m wearing is suffocating me. I pick my bag up on the other side. I can’t see where they were standing anymore.
“Keep moving,” a security agent announces.
My gate isn’t too far. I see it and turn around. Coffee. I need coffee. And a burrito. Can you get a burrito in Athens? No appears to be the answer, but I bring the paper cup to my lips and take a long sip. It tastes wrong. Why does it taste wrong? I pitch it in the closest garbage can and stand there looking at the exit, wondering if they are still out there. And shouldn’t I be with them? Nico. I long for him too. Maybe I could have done something. Gone to the governors myself. Is that even a thing? Why didn’t I think to ask that? Could I have written a letter? Like, he did something wrong, but I’m okay with it.
Am I okay with it?
I hold the thought in. It’s bitter like the coffee I threw out. The thing I thought I loved that apparently I don’t love. Or maybe I don’t like the Greek version of it. Poseidon.
What was that? Poseidon. What am I doing? Am I really going to live without Holter? Without my sharks? Am I so inflexible that I have to stay a course and finish something? Maybe I can’t do my own research, but Doria is all about learning. I can spend my life learning. I could learn French. Maybe Dorian first.
I open my bag. I need... what do I need? I don’t have a phone. Or a block. How am I going to get in touch with them? Greece is nothing but coastline.
Maybe they’re still here?
Maybe.
I’ve got my hand in my bag looking for something, anything that might help, even though I know there is nothing. The ledger for the bank opens up. My eyes focus on the number, but that can’t be the right number. I pull it out, and my bag lands on the terrazzo floor with a thud. Seven hundred million dollars. They transferred seven hundred million dollars into my name? My chest is thudding. I look at my gate. And back at the exit. I pick up my bag and run.
* * *
