Or perhaps he was being unfair to both of them. Every father wounded his son, it was almost a duty. A man needed to make his own way, and had not Alekos done that? His cynical, aggrieved manner aside, he had found a wife, made two beautiful children, been successful in his career. The price was the rejection of his old life, his old country, his father. It was fair. It may not have been necessary, but it was fair.
The house, a modest stone structure in this town of great brick mansions, appeared behind a stand of hemlock. Alex refused the wheelchair, and with his son and daughter supporting him, walked up the front steps under his own power. Inside, Irini helped him to his study, where he would rest until he could manage the stairs. Andreas was shown to a chair near a warm radiator, but when the others retreated to the kitchen, he joined them.
“He looks good,” Mary said. “I mean, he looks happy to be home.”
“God willing, we can keep him here,” said Irini, whisking an egg furiously. She alone seemed capable of action. “Babas, do you want some water?”
“Make your soup, I will get it.”
But Mary jumped up, which was just as well, since he did not know where to find the glasses. He’d been in this house only twice before and felt as if he were visiting distant relatives. It intensified his sadness, but he attempted to shut that out and gratefully accepted the glass of water from his granddaughter. Mary still had a girl’s face, but she was twenty-seven and not yet married. Too beautiful, the old man surmised; too many choices.
“Thank you, child.”
“Can I hang up your coat?”
“In a little bit.”
“Mom, I’m putting up the heat, Papou’s cold.”
“Please, I am well,” Andreas protested. Most old men of his country expected this sort of fussing, but he found it humiliating. He could not sit like a pasha, waited upon. He asked for what he needed, or got it himself. Otherwise, he preferred to be invisible.
“See to your father.”
“There’s nothing I can do for him.” The girl looked stricken.
“Here, sit by me.”
He squeezed Mary’s hand and stroked her hair. Matthew gazed at them across the table. Trouble swirled behind that brow. They had not yet had a real talk, though Andreas had been here nearly a week. Besides long stretches at the hospital, they had not seen each other. The boy was busy, but the time must be found. There was no question that his common sense could be trusted; it was more a case of saving him the mental turmoil which the old schemer’s machinations-assuming Aleko was right about that-might cause. A steadying hand was in order.
“Maria.” Irini was pouring the frothy soup into a bowl, then squeezing lemon furiously, filling the kitchen with its sharp odor. “Get a tray table and set it up by your father.”
Mary leaped up again, and both women headed down the hall to the study. The two men were left alone in the suddenly quiet kitchen, and the distance between them was palpable.
“Listen for screams and breaking china,” said Matthew.
“I think your father will take his medicine.”
“That’s right, avgolemono soup cures cancer.”
Andreas nodded. “It’s possible.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other. This has been a crazier week than I expected.”
“I have kept myself busy, but it would be good to share some time. Alone, not here.”
“Will you stay tonight?”
“If your mother asks.”
“She doesn’t ask because she assumes you will.”
Andreas waved off the subject. “Tell me how your work is going.”
“Hectic.” Matthew put his feet up on a chair. He looked tired.
“I’m clearing rights on some paintings for a new show. And I’ve been out a couple of days, doing research and making house calls.”
“This is about the Greek icon?”
“Much of it, yes.”
“And is the museum going to buy it?”
“To tell the truth,” Matthew answered, pausing for some internal discussion, “that’s looking doubtful.”
“Really? Why should that be?”
“The seller has gotten cold feet. Also, the museum has gotten nervous. Seems the icon may be stolen property.” The boy was staring at him hard. What did he know? Something, of course, but probably not much. “I guess that doesn’t surprise you to hear.”
“You know I grew up in that village, before I went to Athens. I was there during the war.”
“It was taken by the Germans,” Matthew added pointedly.
“That’s right.”
“And someone was killed trying to stop that.”
“How much has Fotis told you?”
The younger man’s prosecutorial style faltered.
“Almost nothing. Just what I’ve said.”
Was it right to finally speak of it? Would there be relief, or just more pain? Could he do it to the boy? Could he do it, again, to himself?
“Truly, what have you been told?”
“Nothing. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you.”
There was no noise from the study. It was as if the other three had vanished. The old man looked at the framed pencil sketch on the wall behind the boy, Alekos’ face in profile, done by Matthew at age fourteen. Highly skilled work. He is fumbling in the dark, Andreas thought, he doesn’t really know anything. Someone had let a loose word slip and the boy is pressing the case. I’m not the first he has asked, which means he’s had no satisfaction elsewhere. He thought of the promise he and Fotis had made each other years before. Did he still owe that silence after all that had happened since then? Was there a way to speak to Matthew of this without breaking that bond?
“I am sorry,” he said finally. “It is one of those foolish situations where if you do not know, I cannot tell you. It is a trust between your godfather and myself.”
Voices were suddenly raised in the study. Matthew’s expression grew distracted. Either he was letting the matter go, or he was casting about in his mind for a different approach. Then footsteps in the hall, and both men looked up. A bewildered and defeated-looking Irini stood in the doorway.
“He threw me out. Do you believe that?” Matthew pulled out a chair, but she would not sit, just leaned against her son. “He can’t bear to have me help him.”
“You were probably trying too hard.”
“I just wanted to make sure he actually ate it.”
“What, were you trying to spoon-feed him?”
“He was spilling it all over.”
“You’ve got to let him do things for himself. He doesn’t want to feel like an invalid.”
She sat, shaking her head, palms placed flat on the table, eyes on the large rain-spattered window. Then her gaze shifted to Andreas.
“You’re staying with us tonight?”
He shrugged.
“No?” Her voice was hard. “You’re going to make my daughter drive you into the city in the rain and dark, you selfish old man?”
He was taken aback by her fierceness, even as he recognized the need. This was not the passive, manipulative creature who had married his son thirty years ago. She had grown tough, and he was proud of her for it.
“I would never ask such a thing. I will stay, if you will have me.”