The Lovers Read Online Free PDF

she was here alone. Here she could remember how she was when she wasn’t twisted up and selfish. Here, with Peter, she had been generous and world-welcoming. Here, with Peter, everything had been lovely. The promenade was lovely. The water was lovely. The food was lovely. The rain, the feral cats, the keys to their hotel that they’d lost and looked for all day—it was all lovely.
    But this place, now, was not lovely. She had expectedmore of her Datça, their Datça. Wasn’t Turkey the home of Troy and Ephesus? A land where archaeologists came and were startled to find entire towns as they once were? But Datça had not been preserved. It had been looted by tide and tourists and the scalding sun that robbed boats of their color. It was now a destination spot for Italians and Hungarians who had been deceived by unknowledgeable travel agents. Even the Brits in Marmaris didn’t make it this far; they knew better.
    She walked back up the hill. A black dog turned a corner and sprinted toward her. Three men were trailing the animal, yelling, and Yvonne was nearly toppled as a fourth man joined the chase. He captured the dog. It was a big dog, Yvonne thought, until she saw it was a goat. The four men circled the poor animal, holding him captive. When Yvonne reached the top of the block, she turned to see the goat being slung over one of the men’s shoulders. The animal’s front and back legs were tied together with rope and his head turned left and right, as though in disbelief.
    Yvonne was breathing heavily by the time she got to her street. Her face pulsed with heat, and she felt sweat trickling down the back of her thighs. The hem of her skirt seemed to wipe at it with each step. The website listing had claimed the house was only five hundred meters from the ocean, but this too had been an untruth.
    She paused outside the house and squinted. A woman was standing at the door.
    “Hello?” Yvonne said as she climbed the stairs.
    “Hello,” said the woman. She was slight, striking, with straight brown hair that fell below her shoulders.
    “Can I help you?” Yvonne asked as she reached the patio.
    “I am Ali Çelik’s wife. Özlem.”
    “I’m Yvonne. Nice to meet you.” Yvonne extended her hand. Özlem’s grasp was bird-like. She smiled tentatively, revealing a narrow but not unattractive gap between her front teeth.
    Özlem stared directly at Yvonne, with a look that suggested she was trying to determine something about her. But what? Whether she was wealthy? Whether she had once been pretty?
    “Please,” Yvonne said, holding open the door. “Come in.”
    Özlem stepped inside tentatively. She had round hazel eyes that looked into Yvonne’s and begged please .
    “Would you like to sit down, Özlem?” Yvonne offered, gesturing toward the living room.
    “Thank you,” Özlem said.
    She was wearing a sheer fuchsia blouse, tight jeans that narrowed at the ankles, and high heels with pointed toes. Her outfit seemed better suited for a nightclub than a casual visit to a beach home. Yvonne asked if she’d like something to drink—tea? Özlem placed her hands together, as though to applaud the idea.
    In the kitchen, Yvonne placed the kettle on the stove. She removed a small carton of cream from the refrigerator, and as she closed the door she glanced at the photo of Ali Çelik on the boat. Then she looked closer. She studied the womanwith her arm around his waist. The woman had the same color hair as the guest currently seated in the living room, but her nose was straighter, her eyes almond-shaped and not round. The woman was not Özlem.
    The kettle began to hiss, the prelude to a whistle, and Yvonne turned off the flame. She floated the tea bags in two mugs and placed the mugs and sugar and cream on a tray.
    Yvonne knew now that Özlem was not the woman on the refrigerator, and not the woman in the photo beneath the couch. She returned to the living room to find Özlem sitting upright, looking around with the