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Sunlight rippled and gleamed against the blue water of the cove as Odysseus stood where the waves lapped the shore, his sandals abandoned above the beach’s high tide line. Sand and bits of tumbled smooth shells squished beneath his toes. A summer wind tousled his hair as he looked back over his shoulder just in time to see Kyriakos barreling toward him.
The dark-haired, green-eyed six-year-old whooped as he surged into the water, splashing Odysseus and tripping over a wave. Odysseus watched him tumble through the clear water and then resurface, one arm flailing, legs treading water as he wiped his face.
“Kyr?” Odysseus called. “Are you all right?” He took a step into the water, a little anxious even though he knew Kyr was a good swimmer.
Kyriakos spit out a mouthful of water. “I’m okay!” He grinned and dove back under.
Odysseus sighed as his eldest stepped to his side. “I think you’re all trying to make my hair go grey.”
“Make it go grey? It’s already going grey,” Telemachus said, grinning. “You’ve added plenty on your own.”
Odysseus clicked his tongue to the top of his mouth. “Cheeky and insolent,” he said with fake chastisement in his tone.
“And also right.” Telemachus laughed, brown eyes like his mother’s shining bright. He was nearly eighteen and mostly grown, a lanky boy who was already taller than Odysseus. Endlessly cheerful and more optimistic than anyone Odysseus had ever known, Tel was Ithaca’s bright hope for the future.
“Tel! Come on!” Kyr shouted, waving his arms, “I’ll race you to the rocks.”
Telemachus lifted an eyebrow at Odysseus, who nodded to the nearby boulders that the boys liked to climb on. Honestly, they were both like sea otters, all energy and activity, at home in the water. “I’ll catch up later.”
Telemachus waded into the waves. Kyr waited for him, not taking advantage of the potential head start. The boy was noble, considerate, much less prone to indulging in wily schemes than anyone else in Ithaca’s royal family, and not particularly cared for by the family’s self-designated guardian goddess…
“Personally I like the grey streaks,” Penelope mused as she approached, her voice as warm as the summer sunshine as she teased him. Odysseus instantly turned back toward her, taking in the sight of her holding their youngest child and only daughter with the appreciation only someone who had nearly not made it home could do. Behind them, Argos sat and waited on the beach. Penelope smiled, the small amused expression making him love her more even though she was teasing him. “They make you look rather distinguished, quite kingly in the traditional way. Not at all old.”
Odysseus smiled back. “Streaks? There are some strands, nothing more.”
“Oh, dear heart,” Penelope said with a soft laugh, “Calling them only streaks was a kindness.”
Odysseus gave a dramatic sigh and embraced her and their youngest, kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “Dare, you’re not going to gang up on me with your mother and brother, are you?”
Adara shrugged, undecided. Only four years old, she was tiny, always small for her age. Except for her eyes, she was the spitting image of her mother with dark brown curly hair and olive skin. Her left eye was the same color as Odysseus’, a deep almost brown hazel, but her right eye was silvery grey with an unnatural light to it.
When Odysseus released them, Penelope set Adara on the beach. Dare looked out at the water before hugging Odysseus’ leg. He ran his hand over her hair. “Ready for another swimming lesson?”
She looked up at him, her gaze bright and excited as she nodded. He swept her up into his arms, tossed her once in the air, and caught her. Her one swift giggle was like a birdsong. She snuggled against his shoulder as he held her. As he walked into the water, he reached out to take Penelope’s hand.
Her fingers wrapped around his, squeezing once, a silent, swift reassurance that she was there. That he was here. Home. Even all these years later, sometimes it was hard to believe.
Over on the rocks, Kyr yelled something that Odysseus couldn’t make out. Probably a declaration along the lines of, “Watch this!” He did see Telemachus attempt to grab his younger brother before Kyr front-flipped into the water. Odysseus’ heart leapt because Kyr easily could hit his head on the rocks doing that. Telemachus followed after his brother with a simpler, less dangerous and not nearly as nerve-wracking, dive.
“Be careful!” Penelope called to them as they both broke through the surface. They waved back at her in acknowledgement. “Ready?” she asked Adara.
“Yep,” Dare said with a little determined nod.
Odysseus carefully lowered her into the water, which was deep enough that she had to tread. She held tight to his hands, her eyes on his, completely trusting him to keep her safe.
As he drew her deeper into the water, he had the sense that he was being watched. Glancing back toward the beach, he saw an owl perched on a large rock beside Argos, focused on Odysseus’ family and the ocean whose mood could change in a moment.
A splash of water drew his full attention back toward Dare, who was trying to swim faster. Odysseus smiled at her quiet but extremely willful spirit.
Soon he and Penelope would have to worry about three sea otters instead of two.