The Great Escape (Chapter 1 - 4)

Toronto, 2022

Clara leaned forward in her seat and glanced at her phone for the thirtieth time. And for the thirty first time, she sighed and dropped it on the empty chair next to her. She had been looping through this eternal cycle for an hour now, debating whether she should press send.

I should really let him know she told herself, but her fingers refused to cooperate and her flight had begun to board. She stood up and cautiously collected her belongings, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. Glancing at her phone on the vacant chair, Clara leaned down, pressed send and walked away from her battered old iPhone, her six year relationship, and her old life.

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Toronto, 2016

Nick was an unexpected surprise for Clara, but she felt like he’d been expecting her. They met one Sunday night at the laundromat where Clara had a permanent weekly appointment since her washer broke the previous year. Being a self-proclaimed neat freak, she loved the smell and feeling of a closet full of clean clothes. But being a procrastinator, she never got around to fixing her washing machine. So there she was, sitting in her regular spot at the chipped Formica counter when he made his grand entrance.

Their love story may have never existed had Nick not tripped on a hidden step, dropped his overstuffed bag of laundry, and let out a string of expletives. Clara’s head shot up from between the pages of the dog-eared copy of her favorite seedy romance novel and she stared at the disheveled man in front of her.

“Fuck. I mean, shit. I mean …” he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders in apology.

Clara was used to the weirdos who hung around her neighborhood, and giving him a curt nod, she turned her attention back to Lady Evelyn and Pirate Smith. She was just getting to her favorite part where Smith professed his undying love for Evelyn and they …

“Sorry,” a polite voice called out behind her. “Do you happen to have any extra laundry detergent?”

Clara slowly spun around in her seat and looked at the man who had knowingly come to do his Sunday laundry without detergent, wondering what kind of person he was.

As if reading her thoughts, he jumped to defend himself.

“I’m not hopeless, I promise,” he explained. “I just didn’t know these machines only accept powder.”

He held up a jug of liquid laundry detergent as an explanation. Clara smiled politely and braced herself for small talk as she walked over with her family-size box of Spring Meadow. He gratefully accepted it with a little bow and began to scoop the dusty powder into the machine. As he was busy adding entirely too much detergent, Clara sized him up.

She realized he wasn’t one of the regular weirdos from her neighborhood. He must be new here, she thought. She took in his floppy golden hair, slightly crooked nose, and strong jawline. Cute, she thought, like a Labrador. He had nicely defined arms and she noticed part of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve. Suddenly, Clara was very aware that she had been staring and that he was now staring back, wearing a lopsided grin.

“You think I’m handsome, don’t you?” he teased. Clara, a serial blusher, turned a deep shade of pink and grabbed the detergent from his outstretched hand.

“I was just concerned about the amount of powder you put in the machine,” she answered airily.

“And you think I’m cute,” he countered, his eye twinkling with laughter. “I can tell because your cheeks are redder than this ketchup stain on my favorite jeans.”

He held up the jeans in question and Clara couldn’t help but laugh. She may be the world’s worst small-talker, but she could flirt the Pope out of priesthood if she tried hard enough. She winked and spun around, swaying her hips as she sashayed away from him.

“Clara” she told him. “That’s my name. And I come here every Sunday night. Do what you will with that information.”

She grabbed her book and headed to the door, stopping for a split second to toss her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She knew he would still be staring, and she wasn’t wrong. Flashing her most brilliant smile at the poor, hapless fool she walked out of the laundromat.

Only hours later, as she replayed the entire interaction in her head at home, did she realize her clothes were still sitting in the dryer at Quick n’ Clean.

~

She ran into Nick the following Sunday while folding her laundry. They went for coffee that Wednesday, dinner that Friday, and spent the weekend together drinking overpriced cocktails on Queen West and kissing in a sudden downpour outside of Clara’s building. Days turned into weeks, and then into years. Twenty-six weddings, three tropical vacations, countless nights planning their future, infinity bowls of ramen slurped over discussions on everything from astrology (Clara believed, Nick didn’t) to gentrification. And now, it was over.

Breakups like theirs were rarely portrayed in movies or TV shows. There was no drama, no fight, not even a real reason .. the feelings just ran out. Of course, Clara also ran out, but that’s beside the point. If there had been a breakup, it would have been amicable.

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Crete, 2022

Clara opened her eyes, slowly blinking, as the lights flipped on and the pilot began announcing their descent. She leaned her forehead on the tiny window and looked at the glittering lights below. Greece.

She had a vague recollection of a nightmare about Nick, diamond rings, and white picket fences, but she brushed it off and buckled her seat belt. Clara had never been to Greece, or had a particular interest in it, so she wasn’t sure why she chose it that fateful Tuesday morning when she scrolled through the booking app. It wasn’t the cheapest ticket, but something compelled her to do it.

Instead of flying into Athens, or even Thessaloniki, like most people did, Clara found a flight straight to Crete. She had no plan, no expectations, and no idea what she was doing here. All she knew was that this was the beginning of something new. Or a reclamation of something old - her old self.

As the plane taxied to its destination, Clara peered out the window and saw nothing but inky blackness. It was two in the morning and all she wanted was to stretch out on a soft, comfortable bed and sleep for the next 48 hours. Passengers began to gather their items as overhead bins popped open, and the air of excitement grew. For most of these people, this was the beginning of a nice vacation, a family visit, maybe even a work trip. Clara just felt tired and lost.

They trooped off the airplane, across the short runway, and into a low building like sheep being herded home. Judging by the single bored-looking customs agent seated in the booth, theirs was the only flight landing in Chania Airport tonight. She joined her fellow passengers in an orderly line and looked around.

Families with tired children, honeymooners, and excited packs of college kids surrounded her. She seemed to be the only one here solo. The line snaked slowly, and Clara grew more tired until it was finally her turn. She walked up to the booth and placed her passport down on the counter in front of the agent. He slowly flipped through it and landed on her photo page, looking up at her and back down at the unfortunate photo.

“This passport,” he said with a sigh, “is … no good.”

Clara stared at him, waiting for clarification. Not good? How could a passport be not good? He stared back at Clara expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“I got it from the government?” she ventured. Wow, brilliant. That’s absolutely not the answer the agent was looking for, but Clara had no idea how to respond to his accusations of a bad passport.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “but it is not good, you understand?”

No, she really didn’t. Clara looked around helplessly for someone, anyone, who might be able to decode the mysteries of why her passport wasn’t good. A tired-looking family stared back at her, waiting for their turn. The father shrugged and looked just as confused as she felt, while the mother tried her best to settle the crying baby.

Clara turned back to the customs agent, meeting his blank, unconcerned expression once more. Suddenly, she heard a low, deep voice over her shoulder.

“Maybe I can help?” it inquired. She saw the customs agent’s eyes light up and thanked her lucky stars that this mysterious stranger decided to appear at this very moment - either that, or she was hallucinating. She turned around and came face to face (or rather, nose to nose) with a very handsome man.

“Me and Panagiotis go way back,” he said with a sly smile, nodding his chin towards the customs agent. He side-stepped Clara and leaned over the counter, smiling and greeting the old man. They certainly did look like they went way back. After a few brief words exchanged in rapid-fire Greek, the stranger turned around and looked at Clara, raising his eyebrow in disbelief.

“He says your passport is expired. You didn’t know this?” he asked, revealing the slightest hint of a very sexy accent.

“Expired?” cried Clara. “How? Oh … " she stopped.

She had meant to renew her passport next month, before her and Nick went on their annual trip to Aruba. With the “breakup” and everything that happened before it, she had completely forgotten.

“How did they let you out of the country?” the man asked curiously.

“I .. truly have no idea,” shrugged Clara. She’d never been in this kind of situation before and her mind felt so sleep-deprived that she couldn’t think of a single helpful thing to say.

The man shook his head, looking disappointed but slightly amused. He turned back to the customs agent and slipped back into Greek as Clara hovered behind him, like a child whose parent had come to defend them at the playground.

“Let the family go through first,” he said, turning around and moving aside.

Clara stepped out of the way and waited awkwardly as the family made their way up to the counter. The mother gave her a sideways look, no doubt expecting to read about her in tomorrow’s headlines.

CANADIAN WOMAN ATTEMPTS TO ILLEGALLY SNEAK ONTO A GREEK ISLAND.

Clara blushed and glanced at the floor as she imagined what the woman was thinking. This is what she gets for being spontaneous. For leaving her apartment in the middle of the night with a single backpack and never looking back. For leaving Nick. He would have planned every second of this trip perfectly, and he absolutely would have made sure their passports weren’t expired.

The customs agent stamped the family’s stack of passports without a second look and waved them through. Clara shook off the shame and glanced around. She was alone in the customs area, other than the stranger and the agent. Both of whom were now staring at her with unreadable expressions.

“He says,” the man began, “that you can enter .. on the condition that you contact the Canadian Embassy in Athens tomorrow and sort this out.”

Clara breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at both of them.

“Absolutely! I’ll do that as soon as I wake up tomorrow, I promise” she gushed. She couldn’t believe they were letting her into the country. Clara had fully expected to go to airport jail, or whatever they do with people who attempt to sneak into countries.

“Then it’s settled,” said the man, ushering Clara through the doors and into the Arrivals hall.

“Thank you so much for your help back there,” said Clara. “I really should pay you back for this somehow. Can I buy you a coffee? Lunch?” she offered.

“It’s really not necessary,” said the man, graciously.

“Well, here ..” said Clara, searching her pockets for her phone, “let me give you my number and if you decide you want to cash in a free meal, give me a call.”

Shit. Her phone was still laying on an empty seat in Pearson Airport.

“Uh, actually,” she backtracked, “let me give you my email.”

She located a Starbucks receipt in her pocket and pulled a pen out of her backpack as the man watched her curiously. She quickly scribbled down [email protected] and passed the paper to the man. He smiled politely and folded it into his pocket, nodding his head at her.

“Good luck with everything,” he said. “No more illegal activities, okay?”

And with that, he turned and headed out the door, towards a dark car parked at the curb. Clara knew she’d never hear from him again, but she tried to be nice and that’s all that mattered. She scanned the tiny airport and located a car rental company that was miraculously open at three in the morning.

She chose a little silver Nissan Micra and headed towards her rental apartment in Rethymnon. The navigation system told her it would be an hour drive and Clara relaxed as she cruised through the windy, snake-like curves of the island. Night driving was her favorite. The roads were nearly empty and she rolled down her windows, feeling the cool breeze rush in. Life was good.

An hour and one dangerously strong coffee later, Clara pulled up to her destination and eased into a tiny parking spot. She wasn’t the strongest parallel parker, Nick had always done it for her, but she managed, thanks to the pure adrenaline from the events of the evening. She killed the engine and grabbed her backpack, ready for a nice, long coma in her new bed when a realization hit her.

She had left her phone at the airport. How did she keep forgetting this? The phone, with the host’s instructions for getting inside the apartment, was still sitting on a chair in Terminal 3. Clara groaned and smacked her head on the steering wheel, prompting her Nissan to emit a squeaky little beep. She tossed her backpack back on the passenger’s seat and climbed out of the car.

“Stupid,” she said to herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This never would have happened if Nick was here.

She stood in the middle of the road, contemplating her next move. Hoping for a miracle, Clara headed up the steps to the front door and tried it. The handle didn’t budge, but she spotted the host’s phone number etched on a plaque and searched her pockets for a scrap of paper. Remembering her long-gone Starbucks receipt, she jogged back to the car and rooted around her backpack until the came up with a notebook and a pen.

Back at the door, she jotted down the number and spun around, hoping for another kind stranger to save her from herself. The street was dark, save for a few dim streetlights, and completely empty. She sighed and walked back down the steps, scanning the road for an open business, a payphone, anything. Clara spotted a glowing sign that said Open in the distance and headed down the sidewalk.

Two minutes later, she found herself in front of a 24-hour mini market. Glancing up at the sky, she thanked the universe and hoped her host would actually answer the phone at five in the morning. Clara stepped inside and nodded at the young guy behind the counter. He glanced up from his book and flashed her a smile.

“Kalimera,” he said, lazily stretching his arms over his head.

“Good morning,” Clara called as she headed towards the cold drinks. She grabbed a canned coffee, two bottles of water, and an orange juice, for good measure. With her arms full, she returned to the counter. The smiling man was looking at her like he wanted a conversation, so Clara busied herself digging through her wallet, avoiding his eyes. Why does everyone love small talk? she thought.

“You speak Greek?” he asked as he scanned her items.

“Not even a little bit,” she said.

“Ah, then you’ll learn soon,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back politely and prayed that he would get the hint and wrap up the conversation. He did not.

“So, you’re here on vacation?” he inquired, turning her orange juice around and attempting make the scanner read the faded bar code for the third time. Damn juice, why did I even pick it up?

“You could say that,” she offered hesitantly.

“And your boyfriend? He’s here too?” he asked, glancing up at her. He had nice eyes. A deep, velvety brown, framed by thick, long lashes. His mouth quirked up in a half smile. He had a nice smile too. Clara mentally smacked herself out of it. Stop it. Stop it right now. He’s too young for you.

“Nope, no boyfriend,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t push it.

The damn orange juice finally scanned in and he lowered it into a bag. Clara was so ready to remove herself from the situation that she thrust ten euros at him, grabbed her bag, and practically ran outside.

What was wrong with her? She had always failed miserably at small talk, or even big talk, with strangers. She hated going grocery shopping because the bored cashiers always attempted to draw her into a conversation. And she despised parties and networking events.

It’s not that she was anti-social. She loved her friends, and she even liked meeting new people, albeit in safe, carefully orchestrated situations. But there was something about having a conversation with a stranger in public that didn’t sit right with her. She stood outside the mini market for a second, pondering her life choices and personality flaws. Then she promptly spun around and walked back inside.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Can I use your phone?”

The smiley guy looked up at her again and nodded wisely.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said.

“No, I just really need to call someone,” she stammered out. Breathe. In. Out. “I lost my phone and I just got here and my apartment host left me instructions on how to get inside and I lost them and I’m so tired and …”

The guy behind the counter looked at her for a beat and laughed.

“Wow,” he said. “Sounds rough. Where are you staying?”

Logical, reason, and everything she’d been taught about strangers since kindergarten went out the window.

“Sun and Sea Villa?” she answered hopefully.

“Really?” he looked surprised.

“Yeah, why?” she said, “is it terrible or something? Crawling with rats? Smells like cabbage?”

“No,” he laughed, “it’s a nice place. Tall ceilings, wooden floors, large balconies.”

“I live there too,” he offered, staring right into Clara’s gray eyes. Her very tired gray eyes. She needed a phone, and a bed, and maybe a flight back to Toronto.

He grabbed his phone from behind the counter and dialed a number she could only assume was the landlord. Clara waited and stared at him expectantly. Please pick up, please pick up. He shook his head slowly and place the phone back on the counter.

“I didn’t think Giorgos would be awake right now, but it was worth a try,” he said apologetically.

Clara sighed and reached into her plastic bag, pulling out the canned coffee. She cracked the top and took a long, sad gulp. She’d have to sleep in her car for a few hours, then try again when the sun came up.

“But …” he tapped his phone screen until it lit up, showing it was now 5:28 a.m.

“I’m done my shift in about two minutes,” he said, “I can let you in the building.”

“That would be amazing,” Clara answered.

“And if you want,” he hesitated, “you can sleep on my couch for a few hours. Nothing weird, I promise. You just look really tired.”

Clara took in his earnest face, kind eyes, and awkward smile. He seemed friendly, and if he tried anything, she could throw a mean punch.

“I would really appreciate it actually,” she answered.

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Toronto, 2019

“Again, Clara?” he said, an exasperated sigh escaping his mouth.

“Nick, I’m sorry,” she pleaded, “I really am.”

They had been dating for three years and Clara still sometimes messed up the rules. But Nick had a lot of rules - not that she would have guessed that when she met him. She thought back to the past version of Nick, the one she met at Quick n’ Clean. At the time, he seemed goofy, too relaxed for his own good, a Golden Retriever, scatterbrained like her.

She met him when he was 25 and she was 28. They say age is nothing but a number, but it felt like Nick aged like a movie version of a person. As soon as he turned 26, he decided he needed to “become serious about life.” He quit his barista job and sweet talked his way into an internship at a big advertising agency. By 27, he had a full-time position, a collection of suits, and a carefully mapped out plan for the next decade.

Sometimes, when Clara thought about Nick’s life plan, late at night as he snored softly beside her, she felt sick. Those were night she would climb out onto the fire escape with a notebook and a secret cigarette, and write until her fingers cramped and her toes froze from the chill.

“I don’t know how many times I have to remind you,” he said calmly, speaking to her like a child. “Turn off every light before you leave the house. Electricity bills are getting higher and higher these days.”

“I’ll tattoo it on my hand so I never forget again,” she muttered under her breath.

“And I found your secret pack of cigarettes … "

“What are you talking about?” she said, staring at the floor. “I quit two years ago.”

“No you didn’t. But you will. I signed you up for hypnotherapy,” he said, glaring at her, daring her to challenge him. “It’s for your own good, Clara.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that,” she retorted. But she knew she would. She would do hypnotherapy, she would quit smoking, she would remember to turn off the damn lights. Because fighting with Nick about anything wasn’t worth the mental energy. He always wore her down and got his way in the end.

“Clara, are you listening?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Hmm?”

“I said the first appointment is this Friday. And don’t forget the office party on Saturday night.”

Great. She would definitely need a cigarette after all that small talk. Although the good thing about Nick was that he could talk to anyone, about anything. When he was around, no one bothered drawing Clara into the conversation and she greatly appreciated it.

“Yes sir,” she said, stalking into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She could her him sigh as he climbed into bed and settled in. Right now, he was applying his favorite Shea butter hand cream and skimming his emails. Clara leaned back to get a clear view of the bedroom. Bingo, she thought as Nick slathered on his cream.

Around the same time the rules started creeping into Clara and Nick’s relationship, routines started popping up. First, Nick discovered the Sunday crossword. Next thing she knew, they spent three long excruciating hours in bed every Sunday while Nick guessed at words and Clara disassociated.

She tried telling him at first that it was mind numbingly boring for her and she’d rather get up and go to the farmer’s market, or a hike, but Nick could not be swayed. So, the routine continued. And it’s not like she could read or sleep while Nick did the crossword. No, she had to be an active participant in every single facet of their relationship. She had to do it too.

Clara shuddered, wishing that tomorrow morning would never come. She hated Sunday. But she hated most days. The only thing keeping her going was her monthly trip up north to visit her mother. That was a routine too.

She’d drive up to her mom’s country house, five hours north of Toronto, once a month and revel in the quiet freedom. No rules, no routines, no Nick. You should just end it already. The words echoed in her head again. That’s what her mother said every single time Clara would visit and complain about her relationship. You’ve lost yourself. Her mother knew her better than anyone else, and she was probably right. But Clara had no idea what she’d do without Nick, and she was in no rush to find out.

She sighed and padded to the bed, feeling the plush carpet between her toes. She hated carpet, always thought it was gross. But Nick said it kept the heat in, so he carpeted every inch of their apartment, except for the bathroom and kitchen. She climbed into bed and braced herself. Nick had a rule about cuddling while sleeping, which she despised. They had compromised on twenty minutes of cuddling each night, just enough time for him to fall asleep.

You’re a masochist. These words, delivered by her best friend Aline, echoed in her head as well.

“So what if I am?” she had answered.

“You realize he’s a control freak and you’re allowing him to walk all over you?” Aline countered.

“He’s not. He’s organized, prepared, and IN control. It’s different,” she tried to explain. But as always, Aline wouldn’t hear it.

Aline had gotten angry at Clara that night and dropped her off in front of her building without a word. Clara knew that her friends whispered behind her back about Nick, and that her mom worried about her, but everything was fine. Nick was just maturing and focusing on the future, something Clara had never had the ability to do. And she needed someone like him to be in control of it all.

Besides, he would never let me break up with him. And with that thought, Clara closed her eyes and tried to force sleep to come.

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