Page 35 of Footprints in the Sand
Briefly, they talked about how Eva was handling Dimitra’s social media now.
“I’m so proud of the work she’s done,” Jean-Paul said quietly. “Her husband was never proud of her art. He always wanted herto be commercial, to paint silly pictures of lighthouses or white houses or sheep. Traditional Greek things to sell to tourists. But she was always true to herself. And now, look what happened. It’s all coming up for her.”
Eva smiled nervously, surprised that Kostos had come up like this again. She thought of the photographs of the two of them, photos that showed two people very much in love.
She didn’t tell Kostos what she thought: that she was sort of jealous of the love reflected back in the images of Dimitra and Kostos. It was hard for her to fathom it.
“I don’t know Dimitra so well,” Jean-Paul said finally, without prompting, as though he could read Eva’s mind. “But I respected her from afar. And I worried about her. I had a sense of what her husband was up to. Well, I knew a few things. I’m sure I didn’t know everything.”
An alarm rang between Eva’s ears. “What was he up to?”
Jean-Paul shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gone.”
There was an announcement saying that everyone needed to get to their cars and prepare for the ferry to disembark. Eva followed Jean-Paul, feeling confused. It was clear that Kostos had either done something to enrage Jean-Paul, or else he’d really been a bad guy. She couldn’t imagine Dimitra being married to someone like that.
Then again, what was the definition of a “bad guy”? Finn had always made her coffee in the morning. He’d always remembered her birthday. He’d always talked about feminism in a way that made her think he really believed in it.
At the same time: he’d used her money without asking and lost it. How feminist was that? Did that make Finn a bad guy? Could she deal with the idea of having dated a “bad guy” for eight years of her life?
As they were waiting in line to exit the ferry, Aphrodite texted to ask if Eva wanted to go to the beach. Eva wrote that she was off the island for a couple of days. Exploring Naxos, she said, which wasn’t the whole truth. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell the full story.
Her confusion felt like a storm behind her eyes.
The marble convention was held deep in the belly of the main port city of Naxos, up a giant hill and in through a warehouse, where, already, numerous marble carvers and artisans were setting up their wares to be sold to tourists and locals and collectors. Jean-Paul parked the truck outside the warehouse and wheeled the trailer over to their designated spot, where they unloaded and unwrapped the marble statues, finding each to be in one piece. Jean-Paul breathed a noticeable sigh of relief. Eva had a strange instinct to go up on her tiptoes and kiss him.
Keep it professional, she reminded herself.
For the next half hour, Eva marked the marble sculptures with their prices and greeted incoming tourists who were a little early for the market but no less interested. Jean-Paul had to check in, greet other artists, and set up his class, which was scheduled to begin for all ten pre-sign-ups in a few hours. Eva was happy to hang back and chat. Most of the tourists were American, and they were amazed that Eva was as well.
“What are you doing here?” a woman, somewhat like Meghan, asked. “Do you live here?”
Eva laughed. “I wish! I’m here just for the summer.”
“Wow. Has it been a dream?”
“Yes and no,” Eva said. “I went through a bad breakup and ran away. You could say I’m healing? Or running away? I haven’t decided yet.” She tried to joke.
“Ah! Running away from your problems,” the woman said. “I remember doing that. Before I had kids. That’s when you can’t avoid your problems.” She winked.
Eva laughed again and began talking about Jean-Paul’s work with a sense of pride in her voice. As she spoke, Jean-Paul approached, and the woman looked at Jean-Paul with big eyes and said, after a long pause, “I think he’s a reason to stay, doll.”
The tourist bought three pieces for a whopping four hundred euros. It was the first sale of the day.
“What did she mean by that?” Jean-Paul asked about the woman after she left, carrying her marble sculptures gently in a big linen bag.
But Eva pretended not to understand what he meant. “She loves your work,” she said instead. “Everyone does.”
Jean-Paul beamed at her with confusion. “How long have you been working? You must be starving.”
Eva realized she was slightly woozy and a little disconcerted from all the moving around and talking. “I’m okay,” she tried to lie.
But Jean-Paul could see right through her. “Why don’t you head down the street? There’s a little outdoor market with really good food, right there in the square by the big church. You can’t miss it. Grab something to eat, sit in the shade, and have a drink. I’ll handle the table for an hour.”
Eva was slightly nervous about leaving Jean-Paul with the table by himself. He wasn’t exactly sensational at personal branding and sales. But the urgent kindness behind his eyes told her he wanted to take care of her.
She smiled at him and touched his shoulder, surprising herself. “I’ll see you soon.”
With that, she swept out of the warehouse and onto the glowing steps just beyond. The sun was hotter than she’d ever felt it, like an oven turned all the way up, but she felt euphoric and high with energy, slipping into the shadows en route to the market by the church.
