Olivia endured several hours of gentle scolding in broken English from the older villagers. Her crime: not visiting Yia Yia, her poor grandmother, for six long years. It didn’t matter that she saw her every Christmas in Houston, where her family lived and her grandmother migrated for a few months every winter. Olivia was still guilty of breaking her poor old widowed grandmother’s heart.

At the time, her grandmother was bouncing across the dance floor with a line of young men, happily yelling “Opa!” and breaking plates, so Olivia decided this was one guilt trip she could decline. She drank more wine than usual, hoping it would help her sleep, but here she was, two hours later, wide awake.

And once again she questioned her reason for coming. Her supervisor had insisted she take time off, but part of her argued that running away from a problem never solved it. She should have faced the monster again. She should have told him the game was over. No more sick manipulation. But what if running away just proved he was still pulling the strings?

A chilly breeze swept off the sea and up the rocky bluff to the courtyard of her grandmother’s house. Olivia snuggled her white blanket tighter around her green cotton pajamas. She wouldn’t think about him anymore. He couldn’t find her here.

She breathed in crisp, salty air. It was wonderfully quiet, with just the sound of waves breaking on the beach and the breeze ruffling the tamarisk trees. So peaceful. Except that her feet were freezing on the tile floor.

She padded across the courtyard. It was much the same as she remembered. On her last visit, the summer after graduating from high school, her father had built the arbor that covered a small section on the left. The grapevines had grown, their branches curling like snakes around the wooden frame. In the dark shade of the arbor, she could barely see the familiar wooden table and four chairs.