Alethia stared out at the harbor while Macallan paid the 34 euro for the two tickets to Delos on the 5:00 p.m. ferry. He smiled at his wife even though she was looking the other way. The Macallans journeyed to Greece every other year to visit Aletheia’s grandparents and assorted relatives, distant and otherwise. After a week of dinners, dancing, and drinking they were relieved to have a couple of days to themselves on an island, and they especially loved Mykonos because of its proximity to Delos and its famed ruins.
“Two tickets to…,” he said, handing the tickets to Aletheia, stopping mid-thought.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I thought I saw someone I know just now.” He pointed at the blond woman and the tall man strolling away from them toward the dock.
“Well, I don’t know who she is,” Aletheia said. “But the man is Yiannis Kardas.”
“Kardas?” he said. “Why do I know that name?”
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