“I was very tired,” I explain as we begin lugging the bags through the door. He clucks as he hands me a heavily loaded crate.
“I know,” he tells me. “I was here earlier and saw you sleeping through the window. I didn’t want to wake you because you seemed very tired. You will have to take care of yourself, bella,” Tomas says as he eyes me. “Your papa wants me to look after you. I promised him that I would make sure that you slept enough and that I would keep all of the boys away so that you could finish your research project.”
I laugh again. I’m still tired enough that everything seems funny, particular when he refers to men my age as ‘boys’. At twenty-nine, I’m just a minute away from thirty. If boys aren’t men by this point, they never will be.
“I’m not too worried about the boys, Tomas,” I tell him. “I’m not here to find a husband.”
I decide to get that out of the way right off the bat. Like their close neighbors, the Italians, family is very important to the Maltese. I know that I will be prodded the entire summer by well-wishing people who want to see me married off and happy.
I sigh at the thought because right now my only wish is to finish my dissertation and start my career. I’ve worked long and hard for it and I’m right at the cusp. Just this summer and I will be done with all of the academic red tape. It’s almost surreal.
Tomas shakes his head.
“You’re a pretty girl, bella. You will not have a problem finding a husband. I don’t worry about that one bit.”
I refrain from telling him that I’m not worried, either.
My stomach growls loudly, rudely interrupting our conversation, and I suddenly realize that it has been hours and hours since I have eaten. I look at Tomas.
“Tomas, where is the closest place to eat?”
“Now you’re talking,” he beams. “Your father also made me swear that I would make you eat this summer. He’s afraid you are growing too skinny.”
I self-consciously wrap my arms around my waist. It’s true. While I was finishing up my residency this year, I worked many, many twelve and sixteen hour shifts in the Psych unit at the Oregon Health and Science University in Portland. There were times that food just wasn’t that high on my priority list. Sleeping became the most important thing in the world, second only to breathing.
“If you walk down the road about one and a half kilometers, you’ll find a little bistro on the beach. You will love it. Marianne owns the place. Just tell her that I sent you and she’ll take special care of you, because she holds a special place in her heart for me.” His faded eyes are twinkling now. “Would you like for me to take you right now?”
He looks at me with kind eyes and I would love to go and eat with him because I get the feeling that he is lonely. But I’m still so tired.
“Tomas, I’ll take a rain-check on that. I still feel pretty exhausted and I want to unpack a little and shower before I eat, but I would love to have dinner with you sometime soon.”
He nods understandingly. “Of course, Eva. I’ll get out of your hair now and let you settle in. But I’ll check in on your from time to time. And of course, you will owe me a dinner date. I’ll come around to collect on that. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
I smile and agree and walk him to the door where he kisses both of my cheeks in the European fashion before he leaves.
Regardless of my rumbling tummy, I find that I am simply too tired to be of much good. The jet-lag has gotten to me. I grab a crocheted blanket from the back of the couch and curl up for a nap. To my complete surprise, I don’t wake up for six hours, when it is once again evening.
Jet lag has truly wiped me out, I decide as I sit up and stretch, then drag myself from the small couch.
I make my way into the tiny bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. Traveling around the world does tend to make a person happy for the small things in life. I have decided that clean teeth and clean underwear are two of the most important things in the world. Without them, I feel less than human.
I put my clothing away in the little dresser in the bedroom and then set up an office area in the little kitchenette. It is dark outside but my stomach is rumbling louder than ever and I find myself wondering how long the little bistro that Tomas told me about will stay open tonight. Since I am famished and don’t have any food in the house yet, I decide to find out.
Despite my long nap, I’m too weary to walk so I examine the little scooter. Figuring out how to work it is a challenging feat in the dark, especially since there isn’t a porch light. But once I figure out the various buttons, I roll down the curving road in the direction that Tomas had pointed earlier. At just around the kilometer and a half mark, just like Tomas said, I find a small path that leads down to the beach and I nose the little scooter downward.
When I get to the sand, I park it and walk since I know there is no way that the wheels would make it on the beach. As I walk along, a scream emanates from the dark.
I stop still in my tracks and glance around nervously, as the hair raises on my neck.
There’s no one here but me. The only movement is the sea sliding back and forth along the foamy lip of the shore, and the trees rustling quietly along the craggy cliffs above.
It’s quiet now. And I wonder if perhaps someone was playing. Maybe a child? It sounded like a woman, but I can’t really be sure. And it’s gone now. So it must’ve been nothing. If it were something, she’d still be screaming. And like usual, I am over-analyzing the situation. I smile to myself because that’s an occupational hazard and keep walking because I can see a little café a hundred yards or so away. Its welcoming light shines onto the beach around it like a beacon, drawing me to it.
I step inside and find that it is empty. There is not a soul seated among the little tables and cozy booths. A candle flickers at each table, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere and I am instantly in love with this place. I already know that I will spend many evenings here because I am not much one for cooking.
I walk to the front and stand by the cash register, waiting for someone to notice me. It doesn’t take long for a tiny woman to emerge from a swinging door. She can’t be any taller than five feet tall, her white hair cut into a fashionable bob. Her ice blue eyes meet mine and she smiles welcomingly.