As soon as he replenished his food supply, he’d be leaving again. To his chagrin, he still needed support to move around, but had traded in his crutches for a cane. He used it only when he was exceptionally tired. His right-hand man, Yannis, a seaman who’d worked for the family for over forty years, had just finished tying the ropes when Nikos’s silver-haired father approached them. “Where have you been, Nikos?” “Where I’ve been every day and night since I was released from the hospital, exercising and swimming off shore.” Battling his PTSD. Despite taking medication, he’d had two violent episodes flashing back to the explosion. According to his doctor, with the passage of time they’d start to slow down, but it might take months or even years. For the time being Nikos had made the small custom-built yacht his home, where no one except Yannis could be witness. What his family didn’t know was that some of his time had been spent with Kon’s grieving parents.
