ASTRUM

Chapter 01

I was thirty-six thousand feet up in the air when I first realized I was completely and utterly lost. I was sixteen, wild eyed and was sitting in an expensive seat on a shiny air-plane heading towards a beautiful city on a rock. Everyone I had ever known in my life were dead. 

The air host, a bronze-haired young man prowled around me as if he wasn't sure what to make of me. I couldn't blame him. I was sure I looked exactly how I felt, either about to start sobbing or ready to jump right out of the window, life and sanity be damned. 

The flight was a seventeen hour private one from San Francisco to Santorini, Greece. And since I had boarded eleven hours ago with everything I owned packed in to one sad looking suitcase, I was yet to say a single word to the poor friendly air host. 

"Would you like some bread, miss?" He was dressed in a pristine white suit that was so clean it almost creaked each time he moved. In his gloved hand was a tray giving ground to a plate of weirdly cut slices of bread along with a bowl of jam.

The world around him felt almost too clean. From the waiter to the soft clouds framing a picture perfect sunrise through the window beside me to the entire plane with it's glasses of sparkling champaign and polished leather seats, everything was top of the class and perfect.

 Had it been just a couple of weeks ago, I would have been enjoying this lap of luxury with a smile loud enough to split my face in half. I would be taking photos to show my friends and turning around to meet Tristan's eyes because he would have been there right next to me. 

My insides twisted painfully. Tristan. 

The air host waited patiently, his smile tinged with sympathy. I tried to will the words to come, but my mouth felt as if someone had stuffed a bag of sand in it. The words burned and flickered and died in my throat. I shook my head numbly at the man and his plate of bread. 

"How about some water?"

Again, my head moved of it's own accord.

"Oh, but this isn't just any American water. This is Greek water. Best water you'll ever taste, I promise." 

I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry so badly that my throat hurt and my stomach racked with swallowed sobs. But like the words, the tears wouldn't come. I had lived out the past three weeks in a numb, frozen state, physically forcing myself to move and do the things I needed to do. And there was no one to tell me that everything would be alright. 

I was alone. 

He poured a glass of water even through my weak silent protest. 

"Good Greek water to make you feel better, miss. It doesn't make miracles, but it'll help you some." The jar of water met his silver tray with a clink and he walked off, light from the windows hitting his white uniform and making him shine. I needed shades just to look at him.

He didn't even know me. He had no idea what I had gone through. And still, he was kind. But the kindness and the sympathy and the excuses for my behavior wouldn't last. I knew that from experience. 

The flight landed six hours, fourteen glasses of Greek miracle water and countless numb trips to the luxurious first class bathroom later. My first view of Santorini was through the window as the plane slowly lowered itself to the ground. It was like the sky, an enormous expense of blue tinged with white. Hundreds of glossy white buildings stacked on top and around each other like matchboxes. Swirling roads interconnected and spiraled around the buildings, making up a many layered city that was so beautiful my heart hurt. 

Santorini was, for obvious reasons, a complete tourist hub. Just at the airport I ran in to hundreds and hundreds of tourists, families and couples and groups of people of all sorts of ethnicities, sunglasses and suitcases and flowery dresses. All I could think about was how much I would have enjoyed this amazing place if only my family were there with me. 

I bit my tongue hard to stop myself from breaking down right there and scanned the crowd of people waiting. There were so many people it was hard to wrap my mind around it all. Children chattered and ran around laughing, lovers kissed and families in sun hats and colorful clothes talked with excitement so palpable their eyes lit up.

The whole place, from the cold smell of the airport to the glassy tiles to the blinding sunlight invading from the floor-to-ceiling windows reminded me of how much I had used to love travelling. With mom and dad and Tristan. We were going to go to every single country in the world one day. One fine day that would never come now.

A loudspeaker dinged and my benumbed brain cooked up a coherent thought that wasn't about my family. 

There were hundreds of people behind a leather line, holding up placards with names and numbers. So many people, talking in languages I had never even heard. I finally caught the eye of an older woman holding a sign saying MARY-KATE REYES. My name. I rush over, dragging my stroller bag behind me. 

"Mary-Kate Reyes. Are you Mary-Kate Reyes?" she said the moment I caught up with her. She was somewhere in her mid fifties, I guessed. There was grey in her hair but her eyes were steady.

The social services back in San Fransisco had told me about this woman in Greece, a Mrs Alice Vivaldi who my parents had appointed godmother even before I was born. I had never even seen her or heard of her in my life, but it was apparently how the law worked. Now that all of my family were dead, my guardianship fell over to a random woman living in Greece with whom I was expected to live the rest of my life with, at least until I turned eighteen.

Talk, Mary-Kate. Talk. I swallow hard. The words are trapped in my throat, just out of reach. I nodded at her. 

"Well, Mary-Kate Reyes. I am very sorry for your loss." the woman had kind eyes, although there was a glimmer behind which I wasn't sure how to interpret. 

I nodded again and attempted a smile that comes out more like an awful grimace of pain. 

"Still, it's a pleasure to meet you." she offered me a well-manicured hand that I shook, feeling certain my own hand was all sweaty and gross. To her credit, she didn't wipe her hand off immediately. "I'm Alice Vivaldi. Your godmother. You'll be living with me from now on. Don't worry, I'm not going to make you do housework or lock you in a dungeon or anything. I know this is highly irregular, since we've never met and all, but your parents did name me your godmother and if anything happened to them... well." 

She must have seen the expression on my face because she stopped mid-sentence and cleared her throat. "Anyway, how was your flight?" 

I managed a weird gesture, something between a shrug and a nod, and I'm sure it made me look as if I had a broken neck.

She gave me a sympathetic look, one that I was getting used to by now. She was wearing a cream dress, a sunhat and a scarf, looking a little eccentric surrounded by throngs of tourists. Why on Earth is she wearing a scarf in this heat?

"Follow me, now", she said, beckoning. 

I wordlessly trailed after her out of the airport, my eyes squinting at the intense Greek sun. Alice guided me to the open door of a cab and gestured me to get in first. I obeyed, accidentally bumping my head on the cab roof in the process but I assumed that Alice didn't notice as she gestured for me to hurry in.

"Please do be quick. We have a long day ahead of us".