I found my cousin Sarah in Delfino<\/em>, a small bar at the end of Kairos Street. She wore a short white dress and was barefoot, with tawny calves and thin wrists, the sort of girl you expect to see in a vacation brochure. As far as I knew, Sarah didn\u2019t drink\u2014maybe a sip of ouzo with her evening fish, or a dash of vodka in her morning orange juice. Still, she looked at home in that place, tucked into the far corner of the room, ashing her cigarette and waiting to be entertained. She reminded me a little of a character in one of my earliest stories: Isabella, the wife of a pipe-smoking Falangist named Esteban, the sort of young woman who refuses to see anything bad, looking into the bottom of her wine glass at the first sign of argument. The penultimate scene with Esteban stalking his rival\u2019s retarded older brother remains one of my favorites: picture a sun-lit park; a mother pushing a carriage with squeaking wheels; the retard (hands splayed, half-smile, wearing a yellow cap) strolling past a giant mechanical gazelle; then the slow reveal of a pistol and a hollow pop<\/em>. Half-smile still intact, yellow cap tilting insouciantly, the retard sinks to the ground, clutching his neck, believing this all to be some part of an elaborate game.<\/p>\n Anyway. My name is Teddy Wheeler, I\u2019m twenty-two, and I spent last summer in Paris studying Russian literature. This was an attempt to make my writing more serious. I figured there was nothing a few plague-ridden villages and poisoned wells couldn\u2019t fix. Was I wrong. France is a terrible place to study Russian\u2014butter and pastry and wine dispel the sort of chapped-skin disappointment necessary to appreciate Dostoyevsky. After Paris I returned to New York, with some paperbacks, my little notepad, and a shoulder bag full of Gogol homages. I was convinced my half-completed novel Of Empty Men and Cupboards <\/em>would be pecked at and fought over by numerous agents, like sparrows darting for crumbs. Six months passed; the half-finished novel remained half-finished. I took a job as a waiter at a dusty hotel in the West Seventies. I slept with three women, two of whom I\u2019ll call attractive, and suffered one heartbreak courtesy of a Jewish girl named Rebecca. Despite everything, it was, on the whole, not a bad year.<\/p>\n Some history before we return to Delfino: A month after my 22nd<\/sup> birthday, Aunt Jackie and Uncle William threw a party at their Westchester home. I suffered through the usual\u2014loud jazz, guests frantically searching for drink coasters because every piece of furniture is known by its designer\u2014until Aunt Jackie cornered me between the Rahm chair and the Hummel sofa.<\/p>\n She asked if I\u2019d heard the news about Sarah, and I said I had. Then she paused, eyes reddening, hand pressed to her chest. She looked away.<\/p>\n \u201cI never imagined Sarah would actually want to stay on Therios,\u201d she said, finally. \u201cHer teachers are beside themselves. Do you realize she\u2019s missed over three months of classes?\u201d She grabbed a glass from a passing tray. Her hair\u2014kinky, rebellious\u2014wavered in the air conditioning. \u201cYour uncle and I don\u2019t even know who our daughter is these days. I never should have let her go.\u201d<\/p>\n Idiotically, I said, \u201cWell, don\u2019t blame yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I do<\/em>.\u201d She sighed and sipped. Her lipstick left a crescent on the rim of the glass. \u201cShe was persuasive. Very <\/em>persuasive. She takes after her father, that way. No more than three weeks, she promised. Postcards every Friday, she promised. How could I have been so gullible?\u201d She cleared her throat. \u201cI have such a headache, and my foot is throbbing<\/em>. How is your mother? Is she still angry we didn\u2019t make it to your graduation? I wish we\u2019d had the time. But William committed to that benefit dinner, and I was only eight weeks out of ankle surgery. As you may have heard, there were complications. Nothing life-threatening, though I was later told it could have swung that way. Amputation <\/em>was mentioned, albeit briefly. I blame it on the stress.\u201d She grabbed my hand. \u201cDid you get the fruit basket we sent?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was wonderful.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou always loved fruit, ever since you were a child. I want some dapples<\/em>, you used to say. Oh, here comes William. Very good. We need to ask you something.\u201d<\/p>\n He tottered over, clutching a highball, ponderous, breathing heavily, the way I imagined an old bear would move. His hand enveloped mine.<\/p>\n \u201cEnjoying the party?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDelightful,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s Maine shrimp.\u201d He rattled the ice in his glass. \u201cHad it shipped this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFresh,\u201d I said. \u201cVery fresh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou working these days?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cUptown. I\u2019m waiting tables.\u201d<\/p>\n Aunt Jackie frowned.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s temporary,\u201d I added. \u201cAnd it\u2019s a French restaurant. Very chic. They allow dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. \u201cThis reminds me of the time when you and Sarah went fishing off our dock. Do you remember that summer? You had a broken wrist. Or was that Sarah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose Jackie told you the news,\u201d Uncle William said.<\/p>\n \u201cShe did,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Aunt Jackie patted my hand again. \u201cI remember\u2014we\u2019d bought that horrible trampoline. Six weeks it took Sarah\u2019s wrist to heal. Even now it still clicks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s dozens of islands,\u201d Uncle William said, \u201cbut lucky for us Sarah picked the smallest. The police chief told me he\u2019s seen her puttering about on a blue moped. No helmet. Barefoot. Wearing a bikini top. Isn\u2019t that something? One loose patch of gravel and those pretty little legs aren\u2019t so pretty anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded, tried to turn it to a shrug, then gave up and tipped back my drink. Uncle William leaned in close; he smelled of cologne and scotch, sardines and sweat.<\/p>\n He went on. \u201cWhat sort of reputation do you think a seventeen year-old girl who rides around town barefoot, wearing a bikini top, has? Do you think she\u2019s known for her cultural acumen? For her conversational skills?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s such a young seventeen,\u201d Aunt Jackie said. \u201cSome of her opinions are so absurd.\u201d<\/p>\n Uncle William lowered his voice. \u201cBetween you and me, I\u2019m not sure if she\u2019s intact. Get my point?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo you appreciate the urgency of this situation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m beginning to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA blue moped.\u201d Aunt Jackie gulped the rest of her drink. \u201cShe could at least afford one of those tiny foreign cars. Something safer. Something\u2026I don\u2019t know. Enclosed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCouldn\u2019t you cut her off?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n Aunt Jackie frowned. \u201cCut her off?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFreeze her account, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy the hell would we do that?\u201d Uncle William said.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019d be forced to come back home.\u201d<\/p>\n He breathed heavily. \u201cAre you suggesting we abandon our daughter? That we sever her lifeline?\u201d<\/p>\n His questions had the intended effect; I sipped my drink.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s bad enough we don\u2019t know the sort of medical care available in Greece,\u201d Jackie said. \u201cCash-in-hand is a matter of safety.\u201d<\/p>\n Then Uncle William said, \u201cJackie and I would like you to visit Therios, as a representative of the family. You\u2019re the ideal candidate: Sarah trusts you, we trust you, and you have experience living overseas. Where was that, again?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cParis,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Aunt Jackie smiled. \u201cParis has the most wonderful cigarettes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d provide you with a place to stay,\u201d Uncle William continued. \u201cAnd a generous per diem. You\u2019ll have plenty of time to enjoy the beach, flirt with the locals\u2014whatever it is young folks do these days. Think of it as a vacation. When was the last time you saw Sarah?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEight years. I doubt she\u2019d even recognize me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course she would. You were always her favorite cousin.\u201d He grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. \u201cI\u2019m sure your French restaurant will understand.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I only knew Sarah as a little girl, a child who existed solely during the summer: blue-eyed, blonde-haired, thin as a stick with a high voice and scabby knees. I remembered she suffered from night terrors, she was afraid of dark water, anything she couldn\u2019t see the bottom of, and her tongue was perpetually stained purple and orange, from an endless supply of popsicles that Aunt Jackie kept in a huge plastic sack in the basement freezer. But as I got older Sarah became nothing more than a name from the side of the family we rarely saw, popping into existence only long enough to provide an update. Sarah is starring as Rapunzel in her school play. Sarah broke her leg skiing. Sarah skipped two grades.<\/p>\n Teachers labeled her an artistic prodigy starting at age seven. Her sculpture Apple Impaled on Glass was acquired by the Rothberg Gallery, making its debut on Sarah\u2019s tenth birthday. The Lowe\u2019s sent us a combination birthday party\/gallery opening invitation, which my newly-widowed mother politely declined.<\/p>\n