She’d never been to church before, only passed by the exterior of the grand Church of Agios Spyridon in Corfu Town’s center. It housed the mummified body of the island’s patron saint, whom the Christians believed to perform miracles for all inhabitants. Well, Sarah wasn’t a believer, but she certainly wouldn’t refuse miracles performed for her family.

“Who is Jesus Christ?” Milos repeated. “You can’t be serious, Sarah.”

What was so crazy about the question? She supposed she’d heard the name bandied about by Milos and his parents, but she’d always tuned out the discussion. “It’s okay. You can tell me later.”

He laughed, a surprising, uproarious sound. “Who is Jesus Christ? she asks.” He squeezed her side and laughed again, and Sarah laughed then too, for no reason at all. “I won’t soon forget that.”

After church, an entirely bizarre and disconcerting affair, the congregants spilled out toward the shore, ushered along by the island’s philharmonic choir and children waving oranges by strings tied to their stalks. The sky was blue overhead, almost eerily so—a winter sky with the powers to distract and delude.

When they reached the sea, Milos and his father and other able-bodied men swept out in trawlers for the much-hyped cross throwing. The bishop read some religious-sounding words. He was soft-spoken, tall, and thin, so different from big, booming Rabbi Nechama with his particular notes of prayer and song, Sarah’s foundation of home. A lump clogged her throat, recalling those old Sabbath days. As the bishop droned on, he inflamed her soul instead of soothing it.

Suddenly the crowd began to chant, and then, even though Milos had prepared her, Sarah watched in amazement as the bishop tossed out a cross, and in unison, about fifty men dove into the frigid January sea to fetch it. Sarah prayed fervently for it to be Milos who found it, Milos who won, because the one who did was considered blessed and fortunate. And just in case Sarah was wrong about her God and Milos’s God was the one in charge, then she wished Milos to win because he’d promised to bestow those blessings and fortune upon her family.

But eventually a man surfaced with a shriek, brandishing the cross. He was a portly fellow whom Sarah would have bet to sink rather than rise. Milos swam furiously to the shore and darted to her, shivering. Sarah wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me. I’m so sorry it wasn’t me, Sarah.” She nodded because he did sound awfully sorry, but she couldn’t access the words to console him. “Let us find the man with the cross. If you kiss it, it will bring you blessings just the same.”

“It’s okay.” Sarah felt physical revulsion at the idea of pressing her lips to that thing.