Nicolai's Daughters by Stella Leventoyannis Harvey

under the archway. The room opened up to a drafting table her father had built for her.
    Scanning each print on the wall, he studied the details, and then stood back to get a different perspective. “You’re good.”
    â€œI just play with this and sometimes a tourist buys one.” She stood beside him, her hands behind her back.
    He moved to see one of her other sketches and brushed up against her. Both apologized and moved away. He walked over to the sketch she had on her table. “I should probably get back. I haven’t bought that roast yet and my mother must be wondering where I got to.”
    Dimitria nodded. “How long will you be staying?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    She stood a few feet away. “Take your time,” she said.
    â€œI’ll thank your mother before I leave.”
    â€œShe’d like that. Her daughter is apparently too ungrateful for that kind of thing.”
    He smiled.
    As soon as he entered the house, his mother snatched the roast from him. “I’ve been waiting for this, but I guess you were too busy having lunch with your cousin and her mother to worry about that.”
    â€œHow did you know?”
    Her back was turned to him. “My dead brother’s wife called and said she didn’t realize you were back, why hadn’t anyone told her?”
    â€œSo what’s the big deal?”
    â€œWe have our life. They have theirs. We don’t mix and disturb each other.”
    â€œIf family is all we have, as you always say, why don’t we?”
    She turned to face him. “I suppose you told them your whole life story.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” he asked.
    â€œYou need to keep some things to yourself.” She put her hands on her hips like she used to when he was a boy and she was annoyed with him.
    â€œYou don’t want me to tell anyone about Sara? About Alexia?”
    She met his eyes. “It’s only that we have to invite them here now.” She turned towards the counter again. “This is difficult.”
    â€œYou don’t have to if you don’t want to. We had lunch. So what? It just happened. There are no expectations.”
    â€œThere are always expectations,” his mother said. She rinsed the roast. Watery drops of blood leaked onto the counter and floor as she settled the lump of meat into the old dented roaster.

6
    2010
    Diakofto was a cluster of houses huddled together on a spit of land dangling into the Corinthian Sea. Alexia first saw her father’s village from the highway.
    At this distance, the village looked like the postcards her father used to Scotch-tape to the wall above his desk. The tape would give way in a corner and the pictures would bend forward. When he bothered to notice, he’d add more tape. The images became smaller and smaller as the border of tape grew wider. Dust settled and darkened the tape. No way he’d take those postcards down and throw them out. No way. She’d dreamt about going to Diakofto so many times when she was a child. But he’d waited too long. Don’t, she told herself. You’re here. He’s dead. She shook her head.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Katarina said.
    No one had said a word for the last while. Strange for them to be so quiet. They must be tired. “Nothing,” she said. “I was thinking about my father’s postcards.”
    â€œStrangers do not see our village is special.” She patted Alexia’s leg. “You will.”
    The relatives in the row behind her came to life, briefly to drone their agreement.
    So far it didn’t look very special to Alexia.
    She peered at the village through the van’s grimy window. She wished she could wash the window, so she could see more clearly.
    The van veered off the highway onto a steep, narrow road, then onto another. Alexia noticed a gas station that seemed to be an old hardware store too. On the opposite side of the road, a highway