13
Closest to the bottom of the stairs, Sienna’s mom led the way. She didn’t take off in a sprint, but climbed the stairs at a steady pace. The three guys raced past her, as if they couldn’t let an older woman outdo them. Tamryn and one of the girls followed them, but the other walked with her mother, Carter and Sienna right behind them.
The stairs were wide, especially at the switchbacks, with most of the foot traffic going up versus down. At each switchback, there was room to step aside, rest, take a drink, and to get out of the way of any donkeys.
“I’m sorry, but I forgot your name,” the girl said, a frown of embarrassment marring her forehead.
“Angela,” her mom replied. “And you are?”
“Irene.”
Now Sienna remembered.
“Irene.” Her mom smiled. “That’s an unusual name for this day and age, isn’t it?”
Irene’s laugh tinkled in the air. “It was my grandmother’s name. My mom adored her.”
Sienna eavesdropped on their conversation.
“It’s a lovely name. I bet you adored your grandmother too.”
Irene nodded, and Sienna thought that might be the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “She was the best. When I dropped out of law school to become an interior designer, she was the only one who supported me. My dad said I’d never make enough money as a decorator and that I’d probably end up working in some department store measuring people’s blinds. My grandma said I would be the next Dorothy Draper and get my designs into Architectural Digest. They don’t just do the home itself but all the furnishings, you know.”
“I’m sure your grandma was very proud you went after your dream.”
Sienna remembered her mother asking if she really wanted to go into finance, or if there was another career that stirred her heart. Sienna hadn’t even listened, thinking her mom had believed she’d never be as good as her dad. For the first time, Sienna wondered if the concern had been about making sure she loved the path she’d chosen. And she did. She loved talking with her clients, learning about their children, their grandchildren, then helping them reach their goals. Her boss said she wasted time with all the chitchat, but that proved to Sienna that she’d chosen the wrong company, not the wrong career.
She tuned into the conversation again when Irene said, “She died last year. And I miss her so much.”
Sienna’s mom squeezed Irene’s hand. “I’m so sorry.” Then she asked, “What’s your favorite memory of her?”
Irene brightened immediately. “Her house at Christmas when I helped her make her Christmas cakes.” She laughed. “It’s fruitcake and it’s god-awful. But the rest of the family loved it, so Grandma and I slaved away. She wouldn’t use a mixer because she said it needed to be hand-mixed. But she couldn’t turn the dough anymore, arthritis, so I did. We blanched the almonds to go on top. We could have bought skinned almonds, but no, we had to blanch them and peel them all ourselves because that’s how she’d always done it.”
Even a few steps behind, Sienna heard the smile in her voice.
Carter leaned in to say, “Her grandma died a few weeks before Christmas. It devastated Irene. But she had to make those Christmas cakes because it’s what her grandma would have wanted.”
Sienna felt a wave of respect and admiration for Irene, who she’d barely spoken to. She’d judged her because of the partying, but she had far more depth than Sienna credited her with.
As if by agreement, she and Carter walked side-by-side and eavesdropped.
“And when the cakes had cooled,” Irene went on. “We drilled holes into them for the sherry.” She moaned, grabbing Mother’s arm. “Angela, she more than tripled the sherry we poured in. I swear, people got drunk on her Christmas cake.” Irene’s smile grew, her memories loving. “She wrapped them in tinfoil and put them in the cupboard to sit for a month. And on Christmas Day, before we could open any presents, she brought out the Christmas cake and different cheeses. We each had a bite and had to say which cheese went best. It was a ritual.”
“I’m sure you loved it.”
“Oh, I did, even if I hated Christmas cake. And last Christmas I made the cakes, and we did the tasting as if Grandma was there.”
“I’m sure you’re going to do it every year.”
Irene nodded, her blonde ponytail swinging. “For the rest of my life. I might even start liking Christmas cake.”
The two of them giggled like little girls.
Something twisted around Sienna’s heart. She’d never been this free and easy with her mother. And somehow the story spilled out in soft words to Carter. “My mom seems so different here on Santorini.” She held his arm as they climbed. “She was always so anxious when I was growing up. I fell out of a tree when I was, like, eight. All this blood was gushing because I stabbed myself on a branch. I probably would’ve bled to death if my mother hadn’t wrapped a tourniquet around my leg. I still have the scar. They gave me a transfusion too.” She breathed in deeply, watching her mother’s camaraderie with a girl she barely knew. “After that, she never let me do anything or go anywhere. As if she was afraid I’d make another mistake.”
“It sounds like you scared the bejesus out of her that day.”
Without intention, she slowed down, her mom and Irene pushing ahead.