“Come on, you old slow poke, get a move on,” shouted Gabi Branigan to her husband Jack, as she sprinted down the side street to the beach, leading him by more than four lengths. She ran track in college and stayed in great shape all the years of their marriage.
“Okay, okay, I’ll give you a race for your money,” Jack responded. One of these times, he would like to outrun her. Just once. She was competitive by nature, and he was never able to beat her. Jack stretched his long frame and pumped his legs to the maximum. Glancing up, he noticed he was closing in on her.
When she turned her head, shock registered on her face; he was gaining distance. Running faster, she pulled somewhat ahead. She was not going to lose to anyone, not even her loving husband Jack.
He closed the distance and was soon neck and neck with his erstwhile opponent. One last push and then he passed her, making it to the beach four strides ahead of her. He’d beaten her! For once in his life he had beaten his wife Gabi in a foot race. He would never let her live this down.
“I know, I know, you were tired and out of shape. I understand,” he said to her, huffing and puffing, still out of breath.
“You don’t need to make any excuses for me.” She smiled, with a pout beginning to grow on her lips, looking for sympathy despite her protests to the contrary.
He pulled her close and leaned forward to kiss her. He could feel her pressing into him, her heart still racing from their chase, her breasts firm as his lips neared hers. It was so good to see her smile again. He went to hold her closer, to kiss her…
WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!…
The deep baritone sound of the Greek island ferry horn boomed loud overhead, startling Jack from his sleep; in an instant, his dream dissolved, and Gabi was gone.
The sound cracked the air and broke the silence on the rusting ship. It blasted a deep hello, announcing its presence: WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!…
The sound was distant, as if it did not matter to him. He was tired and glad to finally get some rest. It felt good just to lie there on the lower bunk bed of the slow-moving inter-island ferry. If he tried hard, he wondered if he could he pick up his dream where he left off—he had outraced Gabi! Probably not, he finally concluded. With half-opened eyes, he surveyed his surroundings, then remembered where he was—a small cabin onboard an old Greek ferry on his way to the island of Mykonos.
A cute, young booking agent in Piraeus persuaded him to upgrade to a “cabin suite” on the ferry. He was so tired he would have agreed to anything the pretty young thing talked him into. She smiled at him the entire time as he completed the necessary paperwork. Probably made a nice commission on the upgrade.
As it was, he just barely fit in his “upgraded” bunk bed. It was obviously made for much shorter passengers. Jack was different from the typical men on the ferryboat—tall, with broad shoulders, unruly, sandy-colored hair, and deep blue eyes, he sported an easy smile and was devilishly handsome. Although he wasn’t ever really aware of how good-looking he was, women seated near him in restaurants always strained to watch him walk past, much to Gabi’s chagrin.
Even though he hated traveling by ship, he decided it was worth the trouble to get to Mykonos early rather than stay in Athens. It turned out he was wrong. Jack hated boats, and he abhorred small ones in particular, but he had no choice except to take the ferry to reach his destination—the Greek airlines strike had crippled all air travel in the country. He loathed the water; the rolling of the boat in the choppy seas made him seasick. He could not wait for the ride to be over.
He did not relish spending any more time in the overcrowded city of Athens since the strike had immobilized the city, filling every hotel room with stranded travelers. In the narrow roads of the capital, taxis jammed the streets, bringing traffic to a standstill. In the hot, late-June sun, every restaurant had lines of patrons outside waiting to be seated.
Before he settled in his small cabin, he wiped every handle, doorknob, and surface he might touch with his ever-present cleansing anti-bacterial wipes. He brushed off the mattress of the bunk bed with his hand to clear away any lingering foreign objects. His loving wife Gabi always preached to him that you could never be too careful where germs and dirt were concerned.
Snubbing out his cigarette in the dirty Cinzano ashtray, he vowed again he would quit smoking soon. He had brought three cartons of cigarettes with him from the States, and when those were gone, he was going to quit. Promise! Yes, he would quit, soon. Gabi always detested the rank odor of his cigarette smoke.
Jack turned his sport coat inside out and used it as a pillow to try to finally get some sleep. He rolled over on the short bed, dreaming of the quiet solitude of the luxury accommodations of a suite at the Prince Edward Hotel on Mykonos. They had stayed there five years earlier and loved it. It was clean and expensive, but worth every penny. He smiled, thinking of the hotel. It was like staying at an upscale New York resort. The hotel was new, with hot showers and room service that served hamburgers. Yes, that’s the ticket, he thought.
The cabin on the ferry he rented for the six-hour journey to Mykonos was not much larger than a typical American walk-in closet. It also shared many of the same smells. The air was stale, clammy, and had other scents he cared not to think about. He turned over on the cabin’s narrow bunk bed, trying to get comfortable after his twenty-hour, three-airline journey from Chicago, before he fell back to sleep.
The ship’s horn sounded again and again. WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!… The noise caused him to sit up in the small bed, and he struggled to look out of the tiny porthole in his cabin. He could see the deep blue Aegean Sea in the distance and the crystal clear, light-blue water near the ship. The small island town was retreating in the distance.
He looked to the hills beyond the village. As an architect, he admired the architectural simplicity of the windmills high atop the hills, functional in their design and yet graceful in action, spinning ever so slowly. Jack could feel himself already starting to relax and enjoy his two-week hiatus. He only had to endure the final boat ride to his destination. He came to Greece ten days early for the annual family reunion, so he could just relax on the beach at the Prince Edward and begin writing his book. He would enjoy the peace and quiet of the islands.
His normal travel schedule was horrendous; he traveled the globe non-stop as the front man for his international design firm. After the family reunion on Mykonos, he hoped things would settle down. Then he was off to a two-month assignment in Australia for his company.
Jack would travel to Australia as an architectural/engineering liaison, to consult with the U.S. and Australian governments on a project being built out in the northern desert of Australia. Even the Aussies, who were used to the rugged outback, called the building site the “boonies.” Luckily he would be working in the city of Sydney in a comfortable, air-conditioned office, soaking up Australian hospitality for two months. What a life, he thought, but it was getting old. He lay back down.
The old ferry’s horn boomed again, rousing him, and shaking the old boat to its sixty-year-old core. WHOOOO!!!!… WHOOOO!!!!…
Jack froze. Oh, my God! Panic set in. The boat was leaving the pier—he’d overslept! The windmills. The white buildings. The blue doors. He was at Mykonos! This was his stop!
The inter-island ferryboat was pulling away from the dock. Jack panicked, grabbed his bags, jacket, sunglasses, cigarettes, cell phone, and his book from the small bedside table and made a mad dash for the gangplank. He ran down the narrow passageway, already overcrowded with passengers heading to other islands.
“Mykonos?” he asked an old woman dressed in black, standing in the hallway.
“Mykonos,” she responded with a toothy grin.
He ran as fast as he could manage, slipping on the old passageway, nearly tripping over a man in a wheelchair who was blocking his way.
“Sorry,” he said, without pausing to look back.
“Hoy, no problem, mate,” came the understanding response from the man.
WHOOOOO!!!! The horn blared again. He could see them throwing off the ropes from ashore and the ship pulling away from the old dock. Jack would have to jump for it. He strapped one bag over his head and shoulders and threw another ashore. It landed squarely on the old wooden pier. He threw his next bag. It hit the dock, bounced off and splashed into the murky waters churned up by the propellers of the rusty old ferry. He looked down as the leather bag floated by before disappearing into the waters below. His cigarettes were in that bag. No time to dwell on it now, he thought.
He leapt to the pier, landed, and teetered on the edge but made a safe landing.
The horn blasted a final time, saying farewell.
Jack waved goodbye and good riddance to the old ferryboat. He turned and watched it chug away to the next island, leaving the dock behind. Jack scoured the nearby waters for evidence of his drowning bag, but it was gone. Damn. Well, at least he’d made it. He walked down the long pier toward the town, pulling his luggage behind him. The roll-on suitcase made a clunk, clunk, clunk noise as the hard plastic wheels hit the spaces between the boards on the old wooden pier.
The island looked smaller than he remembered as he clunked down the long dock. Mykonos was his wife Gabriella’s favorite Greek island. That was probably why her sister, Joanie, suggested it for this year’s family reunion, knowing that Jack would never object to such a choice. Well, at least it was better than last year’s choice of Boise, Jack’s sister-in-law Sarah’s hometown. Next year was his turn, and his choice was going to be Sicily, where Gabriella’s parents were born. They could stay at The Sicilian Grand Resort Hotel. He smiled to himself.
Jack could feel the warmth of the island sun on his face. The breeze off the water cooled the afternoon heat. It felt good. He and Gabi always loved the Greek islands and visited them often. But now, because of his constant traveling, he preferred the bigger islands with their newer hotels. They were clean, efficient, and had twenty-four hour room service. Made him feel more at home, plus they served those American-style hamburgers.
As he made his way to the end of the pier, he was approached by a group of young boys, all in sandals and t-shirts, with dark, tanned faces, coal black hair, and brilliant white, flashing smiles.
“American? Canadian? You need bed? Place for stay? Food?” peppered the tallest one and the apparent leader of the ragtag group.
“T-shirt? You like?” interrupted the smallest one, pushing in front of the group, trying to sell his wares. He held up a t-shirt with the ubiquitous blue-and-white flag of Greece emblazoned on the front. He was soon pushed aside by the leader.
“I Stavros,” he told the weary American. “My uncle, Nicolai, he own hotel downtown, Zorbas. You follow me. You like, I guarantee.” The tall lad made an attempt to grab Jack’s bag and lead him down the small main street to his uncle’s hotel.
“No, thank you. I am with a group of family members. I’m looking for the Prince Edward Hotel. Can you tell me how to find it? I have a reservation there.”
“Prince Edward Hotel?” mocked the tall one named Stavros. His smile turned to a snicker.
“Yes, I’m looking for The Prince Edward,” Jack repeated, suddenly weary from his long trip.
Stavros said something indiscernible in Greek to the assembled group of young friends. When he finished speaking, they all laughed and then began to point at him, laughing all the while.
“What is so funny?” Jack asked. The boys reached the end of the pier, and the group parted to allow Jack to read the blue-and-white sign, which proudly proclaimed in three languages:
WELCOME TO THE ISLAND OF PETROS
Petros? What the hell? No! It couldn’t be. Jack had gotten off on the wrong island. Now what was he going to do? The town looked so small. They probably didn’t even have hot running water here. He’d have a glass a wine in town and wait for the next ferry. It couldn’t be that long of a wait.
“When is the next ferry to Mykonos?” he asked the tall one.
“No ferries for another week, my American friend. Next Friday. Welcome to Petros! Enjoy your stay. See you in town at my uncle’s hotel. Goodbye, my American friend.”