And they both looked anywhere but at each other. They’d been children, really, whose only crime was that they’d loved each other when the world had gone insane. If not for Milos, Sarah would have been with her family. Then, if not for him, she would have died with her family.

And if I could wave a wand and choose a past without you, Milos, would I do it? It is a question that has plagued me for seventy-some years—and I am still no closer to an answer.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Joey

Florida
2019

Joey kept reminding herself that they weren’t in Corfu anymore, but the evidence urged otherwise. There was Bea’s easel on the taupe stone patio, with an unfinished rendering of the nude backside of a woman bent over a table. There was the long wooden farm table adorned with ceramic jugs of sunflowers. There was Leo, deep in conversation with her father about barefoot ultra-marathons.

And there was Bea, emerging from inside holding a water pitcher with lemon wedges. She wore teal separates comprising a midriff-baring bustier tank and a floaty, tea-length skirt.

Grant whispered, “Bea’s abs can work it. I bet you inherit those abs, babe.”

Leo broke out of his conversation with Scott to interject, “There is no question that Bea has ageless abs, but she’s wearing a terrible shade of—”

“Green.” Joey laughed, even though the topic of ageless abs had made her remember her bingeing again. She patted her stomach—puffy, the abs buried deep. She told herself that was okay and tried to believe it. “You’re so predictable, Winn.” She explained to Grant, “Leo used to walk around Corfu with this botany book. He has a narrow concept of valid shades of gr—”

Joey was interrupted by a startling sound, like a thousand frogs croaking in unison. Bea set down the wooden thing from which she’d created the noise. She bent her knees in the way of a small curtsy. “It’s a didgeridoo.”

“A what?” asked Joey.

“A didgeridoo.” Her father went to the barbecue and lifted a burger with his tongs, checking its doneness and apparently, by its drop back onto the grill, deciding it needed more. “Lily must have left it behind.”

“Where is Lily, anyway?” asked Leo, and his nonchalance didn’t fool Joey. She shot him a look.

“Our creative Lily is at the seminal cover shoot for her magazine. She was so sad to miss this dinner, Leo, but the shoot couldn’t be shifted. She had a really interesting concept.” Scott crunched his nose, as if to summon Lily’s fashion-speak. “I think it was juxtaposing offbeat musical instruments with flower outfits.”

“Not flower outfits,” said Bea. “Victorian-era high fashion.”

“That’s some enterprising girl you have.” Leo glanced at Joey. “Two enterprising girls.”

“Leo.” Joey flushed. “You don’t have—”

“Two enterprising girls is right,” said Scott. “But truly, Leo, Joey here, she’s a brilliant lawyer.”