Page 177 of Dagger in the Sea

“Erin did. Although it’s the Italian word for ‘port’ there are a lot of Greek beach towns named Porto this or that, so it implies seafood, which is a big focus of what we’re doing here. Erin liked the idea of a harbor beckoning the weary traveler to enter, and when he does, he passes through this “portal” into a completely new and brilliant world of flavor and taste.”

My mother the romantic poet, my mother the sharp, mature businesswoman supporting her artists in the right way. A flutter of emotion streaked through me at Dean’s words, at the creamy tenderness of the shrimp filling my mouth, the perfect burst of sea fresh and sweetness. I swallowed down a crisp white wine from the island of Lemnos that Dean had poured for me earlier, and I savored the satisfying swirl of warmth it left behind.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I like the name Porto. It’s evocative multilingually. Smart.”

“Right?” Dean planted his elbows on the counter. “And how do you like my shrimp?”

“Also very evocative. What kind of salt are you using?”

His eyebrows quirked up his forehead. “What kind?”

“Yes.”

“It’s top notchfleur de sel.”

“From France?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve also got Peruvian pink on hand, have you tried it? It’s just amazing, it’s—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I was on the island of Andros recently, and their natural sea salt is very special. You need to be using Greek sea salt. Find it, order what you need. You speak Greek?”

“I get by.”

“Good.” I wiped my fingers on the napkin. “I’m heading over to the hospital in half an hour to see my mother. Make her lunch and I’ll bring it over. She must be suffering.”

Dean let out a laugh, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll bet she is.”

Sure enough, once I got to the hospital, a nurse flagged me in the hallway. “She won’t eat. She needs to eat.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I entered my mother’s room. “I hope you haven’t already eaten, because I brought lunch from your new chef.” I placed the full shopping bag on her bed.

A smile of true pleasure lit her face as I handed her the boxes and she opened them. Grilled sea bass and garlicky stewed chickpeas. A salad of baby arugula and spinach topped with a grilled soft white cheese.

She bit into the cheese. “You see? There’s more to Greek cheese than just feta.”

I laughed. “I know.” I unwrapped the silverware from the restaurant’s cloth napkin and handed it to her. “You wouldn’t believe the cheese I had over there.”

“I think I would.” She sliced into the roasted fish and ate. “So good. Have you tried? Dig in.” She handed me the fork and I ate.

I handed the fork back to her. “That’s good.”

“You didn’t happen to bring any wine, did you?”

“No wine, Erin. Not yet.”

She made a face. We ate, and I cleared the mess. I adjusted her pillows for her and she leaned back. “Tell me more about Greece. Did you see the Parthenon? Did you have a chance to go to an island?”

I told her about all the touristy things I’d managed to do.

Her eyes narrowed at me. “Did you meet someone?”

“Why?”

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