“Some of them are here on Lefkada now. But it’s just temporary. The Nazis will move them again soon.”

“What do you mean…here?”

“On the edge of town, northwest of the port, in an area barricaded by fences. My wife and I brought some food to them and are organizing more provisions. Filotimo, yes? We have to do what we can, don’t you agree, Sarah? We can’t just stand by and watch. These Jews…they are our people too. We are bound by compassion and humanity to help them.”

Sarah nodded but couldn’t bring herself to speak. When at last Costas and his grandson had finished their bobota and gone, Sarah threw up the crushed olives she’d eaten in the morning. The cheese lady had returned from outside with a pail of warm, fresh milk in hand from their last remaining cow, just in time to watch Sarah get sick. Sarah didn’t correct her misperception that it was a baby and not olives.

The cheese lady said, “Go home.”

So Sarah ran down the stone village paths still abjectly foreign, past the lemon trees wafting their horribly pleasing fumes. She arrived home to Milos, grilling fish in the dim, musty kitchen. He hadn’t yet left for the quarry.

“They’re here! My family’s here.” Sarah grabbed a sack and started gathering fruit to place inside it. “I’m going to hug them so hard. We’ll get them out, won’t we? We have to. We just have to.”

Milos tried to halt her, but she sidestepped him and kept gathering and babbling. She was a tornado, and Milos seemed to think he could pause her whirling by resting his hands on her shoulders. He could not. Sarah had tried to wait out this war, sitting on her hands. Talking to God. Stupid, useless God. Now it was time for her feet to take action.

“You can’t go see them, Sarah. It’s far too dangerous. You can’t help them.”

Sarah felt herself erupt—a volcano of emotion she’d shoved down inside in their year of blissful, ignorant house-playing. “Don’t you ever speak of my family that way. Don’t you ever! They’re here and they’re alive and I’m going to save them. It’s a miracle of miracles.”

Milos removed his cap and looked out the tiny window onto the garden, where his mother was snipping grape clusters off a vine. He said nothing. That was when Sarah realized Milos already knew her family was on Lefkada.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

Milos spoke so quietly and sadly, but it did nothing to soften her toward him. “They are behind fences at the edge of town, by the sea. They are surrounded by Germans, Sarah. I gave them food.”

“You gave my parents food?”

He nodded. “Others did too. There are good people on Lefkada.”