“You will for a while.”
The seagull picked at the grass, keeping an eye on Nicolai. He sat up and shooed the seagull away. It hopped a couple of feet further from him and squawked.
“Shut up.” He pretended to throw something at the bird. It stared at him, but didn’t move. Nicolai shook his head. “Why listen to me?”
“Were you talking to me?” a woman’s voice asked.
He turned, but his buried feet refused to move. He kicked at the sand, slipping further.
“Looks like you’re stuck.” She pulled her earplugs out and kept jogging on the spot. “I thought you were talking to me.”
He finally extricated himself and stood up. “Talking to myself like an old man.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m Nicolai,” he said, extending his hand. When she took it, he cupped his other hand over hers.
“Erica,” she said. She stopped jogging, gazed beyond him to the ocean.
He turned towards the water, his arms at his sides. “I’m sorry. I interrupted your run.”
“I wasn’t into it today,” she said. “You shouldn’t force stuff.”
“I don’t know.” He picked up his jacket and shook it out. Sand fell, blowing up with the breeze. She rubbed her eyes. He apologized, told her he was an idiot, touching her arm to make sure she was okay.
“You’re one of those guys who apologizes when you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It comes with being a husband and a father.” He walked over to his shoes, picked them up and tucked them under his arm. The seagull flew off.
“How long have you been married?” She put her hand on his forearm as if to try to get his attention. He used the same gesture. For some reason, it drove Alexia crazy. He smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“Thinking about my daughter. My wife died many years ago.”
“And you never remarried?”
He shook his head. He’d been asked this so many times by so many other women. Erica had the same moist softness in her eyes, anticipating, like the others, his answer. He’d always made it clear. That’s probably why some of them had hoped for more. “That grin of yours, the way you hold yourself,” an old girlfriend told him once long after she’d left him and married someone else. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like all we see is that little boy in you screaming, ‘Take care of me.’”
“I’m heading up the street for a smoothie,” Erica said. “Want to join me?”
He nodded. He wiped his right foot against the bottom of his pants and slipped into his shoe. He held onto Erica’s shoulder as he rubbed the sand off the other foot.
“No socks?”
“They cramp my style.” He put on the other shoe.
“Cool.”
Erica did most of the talking. Nicolai sipped at his smoothie, trying to pay attention. He nodded whenever he thought she was about to stop. She was enrolled at Emily Carr and was working on her portfolio and an exhibition of her paintings. She jogged, did yoga, hung out with friends, and took care of herself. “We never know,” she said. “I want to keep the house in order.”
He should do the same thing. He should tell Alexia the truth so they could prepare together. How much had that helped him when Sara died? Not one bit. Instead, he’d worried, fussed and hoped that things could be different. Mostly, he’d been angry with her. “If you just keep doing things, you’ll get better. Wait and see,” he said when Sara reminded him again about the will.
“There you go again. Why not concentrate on the here and now?” he said. “Wills are for old people.”
She leaned against the counter. “To make it clear.”
“You’ve always kept us organized,” he said. “Why change things now? It will only invite what we don’t want.”
She’d wrapped him in her arms. “It will all work out.”
“Hey, are you still with me?” Erica asked.
“I should get going,” he said, dropping his business card on the table. “Give me a call. I’ll buy you dinner sometime.”
She picked up the card, tucked it into the pocket of her jogging pants. She sucked the dregs of her smoothie through her straw.
It was raining outside. He pulled up his collar and walked fast, ducking under overhangs and awnings. He waited in the rain until he flagged a cab to take him back to his car.
When he got home he took off his wet clothes and stood in the hot shower for twenty minutes until he warmed up. He dried off, threw on some sweats and an extra sweater and sat on the living room floor with a bottle of ouzo and a small tumbler. He couldn’t see the ocean in the dark. Lights flickered from Kits beach. He wasn’t going to put Alexia through what he’d gone through with Sara. Alexia was busy with her own law practice, and maybe even had a boyfriend she didn’t want him to know about just yet. He’d tell her eventually. They’d make the arrangements when the time was right. There wasn’t any rush.
He gazed at the clock. He had to phone her. He called Alexia at eight o’clock every night and if he didn’t, she’d know something was wrong.
Nicolai dialled her number.
“Hey, Dad,” she said when she picked up the phone.
“It could have been someone else.”
“No one else calls me every night.”
“I need to change my routine,” he said.
“I like it just the way it is.”
“I bet you didn’t count on the old man retiring.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, looked up at the ceiling, as if she was standing in front of him and he had to avoid her stare. If she were here, she would know he wasn’t telling her all of it.
“What?” she asked. “When did this happen?”
He gulped a mouthful of ouzo, began to cough.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Should I come over?”
“The ouzo went down the wrong way,” he gasped, taking a small sip, and clearing his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears bothered his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” He cleared his throat again.
“You built that business,” she said. “Who else could run it?”
“I didn’t say I was going to do it right away.” He swallowed.
“But what will you do?”
“Spend more time with you, paidi mou. Relax a bit. It’s time, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing wrong?”
“What?” he said, chuckling. He swallowed hard to suppress another cough. “It’s time for your old man to think about taking a break.”
He pictured her sitting in her living room, staring out her window, legs folded to one side, the telephone at her ear. He heard her get up off the leather couch. She was pacing in front of her large window, looking out into the dark and thinking. She was a smart girl. He couldn’t give himself away. “So who did you beat up today?” he asked.
“If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right, Dad?”
“What could be wrong?” he asked. “I never planned to work forever. Priorities change. That’s life, paidi mou.”
“If you say so.”
After she hung up, he held the phone to his forehead. He’d get his affairs in order. It was bloody well time.
He took a sip of his ouzo. It burned his mouth and throat. He gulped hard. Who else needed to know? Stuart. He’d get the will ready. And he’d tell Stuart about Theodora. It was time he came clean about that with Stuart, with someone.
Steve, his VP of operations, had often said he’d buy the company whenever Nicolai was ready to sell. Steve would be surprised. He deserved a chance to run the show.
Nicolai had always enjoyed making friends with clients and staff. He loved the office parties, the large gatherings, everyone sitting around the boardroom talking and laughing. No room to get hurt, no way to disappoint or be disappointed. Simple. That’s how he liked his relationships. He briefly thought about his parents. After he left Greece that last time, he’d never seen them again. His family, Sara and Alexia, were the closest he’d ever been to anyone. W
hy had he been so stubborn with his father, his sisters?
Sure, his clients thought he was just a loveable Greek. They were impressed with his thoughtfulness, how he would remember a client’s wife’s birthday and send a small gift.
He’d had a good time, but that’s all it was. Fun. His father had told him life was more than just having fun. Ha. He showed him.
He’d had letters and a few Christmas cards from his sisters over the years. He sent cards with pictures of Alexia. We’re doing very well. Alexia is captain of her basketball team. She’s very serious. She works too hard. Alexia’s been accepted to university. Alexia graduated today. She’s practising law. After he sent a card, he’d sprinkle holy water on Alexia to protect her from the “evil eye,” as he told her. When she became a teenager, she’d scoff at his Greek superstitions. She was too smart for that sort of thing. He’d rub holy water on her picture, pray to God. “You didn’t keep Sara safe. Okay, maybe I deserved that. Please do this favour for me. Keep Alexia safe. Don’t let anything bad happen to her. I beg you.” Then he would cross himself, kiss his fingers, like he was kissing the hand of God Himself.
He laughed at himself now. You could take the boy out of the village.
His sisters had never mentioned Theodora to him. He knew they knew about her and about Dimitria. This was the way it was in the village. There was no such thing as a secret. He knew what they would do if he told them about his illness. They would tell him to come home. They would pamper him, feed him until he burst. “All you need is some food from your country,” they’d say, as if that could fix everything. They would sit around the kitchen table laughing like they were kids. Stop it! he told himself. That’s just wishful thinking. The truth was, if he went back, his sisters would be worried that their neighbours or their families would get a whiff of the gossip about him and the talk would start. They wouldn’t want any part of him. And who could blame them? Besides, he didn’t need those troubles either. Not anymore.
The only news he ever received about Dimitria and Theodora was a few lines from Achilles. Those letters mostly complained about what hadn’t happened with the boardwalk, blamed Nicolai. Once every few letters, Achilles mentioned a bit of news about Theodora. She’d started school, finished school, was an artist like her mother and was getting married. “Wouldn’t you like to be at her wedding? It’s an opportunity.”
Theodora. He wrote her a letter every single week. On Fridays he put the right number of stamps on the envelope and walked down to the mailbox. He fiddled with the letter in his pocket, but never pulled it out. When he got home, he stuck it with the rest of the letters under an elastic band and threw them in a drawer. Eventually, he put them in a shoebox, wrapped Sara’s ribbons around it. One of these days, he’d tell Alexia what he wanted her to do. And if she found the box before he could talk to her, she would recognize the ribbons and know he never forgot Sara. He always kept her ribbons close. Everything would work out. She’d understand this was a message for her.
Dimitria had told him not to call again. And she’d said she was with someone else. He’d convinced himself not to interfere. He sipped the ouzo, stretched out his legs.
What would he have said to Alexia? She was so young. How could he explain that Dimitria was his cousin? He couldn’t justify it to himself even now. He had left the mess behind because it was best for all of them. Dimitria had moved away and made a new life for herself, leaving the scandal behind too. The talk in the village likely subsided. Things worked out for everyone. He hadn’t put his parents and sisters through any of it. Overall, he hadn’t caused a hell of a lot of damage. That was a good thing. He’d expected more from himself once, but that was when Sara was still alive. After that, he got realistic.
The phone rang. He sat up. “Yes?”
“How about Saturday night?” the female voice on the other end said.
“Excuse me?”
“How about that dinner you promised? Does Saturday work for you?”
“Why not?” He smiled. He might as well enjoy himself. He wrote down Erica’s address and phone number.
He grabbed a box of galaktoboureko and took it over to Alexia’s place one Saturday morning a few months later. He told her he’d finalized the sale of his company and Stuart had tied up all the legal loose ends. He was a free man. His new girlfriend was keeping him busy with yoga, jogging and art exhibits. He was happy.
“She must be running you into the ground,” Alexia said. She leaned across the kitchen table and stroked his face. “Is she feeding you?”
“Stop blaming Erica,” he said, looking down at his plate. “I’m just getting old.”
“I haven’t always been fair with your girlfriends,” Alexia said.
He shrugged, sipped the apricot juice he’d brought for them. “I can’t stay too long this morning.” He took a bite of his galaktoboureko. “We’re off to the art gallery later.”
Alexia reached for his hand. “Have a good time, Dad.”
Nicolai had been in bed for several days. When he started to actually feel sick, he went downhill quickly. He heard Erica put her key in the door, Alexia turning her away. “Not now, he’s asleep,” Alexia said.
“But all I want to do is sit with him,” Erica said.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Alexia said. “Come back a little later.”
He heard Alexia pace outside his door. “Paidi mou,” he called out.
She went to him and helped him sit up, put a couple of pillows behind his back.
“She’s a friend.”
“You need to get better first.”
“I’m not going to get better.”
“You will,” she said, pulling his sheets and blanket. She ran her hand over the blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles. “It’ll just take a little time.”
He shook his head and his face scrunched up in pain.
“It’s almost time for your medicine.”
She walked into his bathroom. He heard her twisting the top off the bottle. He had to tell her before he fell asleep again. The pain was too much and he needed the medication, but it left him sleepy. He wasn’t sure he’d say what he needed to say. It hadn’t been a year. Only six months. And he was reduced to a helpless man. He should have told her before this.
She handed him the pills, held his head up to put the glass to his mouth. “You’ll feel better soon. You have to have a positive attitude.”
“I used to say that to your mother,” he said, falling back against the pillow.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not well.” Alexia held his hand. He heard his own raspy breathing. He was sure he’d said what he’d promised himself he would say. She tightened her grip on his hand. She must have heard him. He coughed as he opened his mouth to say something else. He heard only the whisper of his voice. “You have a sister.”
Alexia patted his hand in the same way she used to when she was little. “You’re stuck with me, Dad. There’s no one else.” Staring into her eyes, he saw the same fear and confusion he’d seen there the night her mother died, the night he left for Greece so long ago. Those other times too, when he hadn’t been able to pick her up after school. He wished he could make things right, explain stuff, be what she needed. He’d left it too bloody late. Coward.
He grabbed her hand, pulling her close. Her breath was sweet and her skin creamy soft like her mother’s.
“No one knows,” he said. “Too many secrets. I’m sorry. So many things.”
“Dad, you’ve been dreaming. It’s the morphine. It’s okay. When you’re better, you’ll see.”
“Paidi mou, I’m telling you.”
“It’s just a bad dream. Lay back now. Rest and get better.”
“It’s true, Alexia. I’m sorry.”
She dropped his hand, stood and turned her back to him. He wanted to tell her not to go, not to give up on him. He had done so badly by her, by Theodora.
“I’m sorry. Can’t explain. Don’t live like me.” Be with your
family, embrace them, don’t be afraid of shame or talk or getting too close. You can do better than me. Don’t be afraid. He hoped she heard him. He should have been honest with her. His daughter was a smart, compassionate woman. She could understand and forgive anything. Why hadn’t he figured this out before?
22
2010
Alexia rubbed her hands on her pants, but the sand stuck to her palms. She wiped her hands again. She couldn’t see much, but she was sure her hands were coated. She reached for the handle. It rattled. She squeezed her eyes shut. Quiet. She pushed her shoulder against the door. It began to open, then scraped to a halt against the floor. She winced, hoped Christina hadn’t heard.
She was thankful that Christina was good to her word. “We do not need to lock houses,” Christina had said to Alexia when she first arrived in Diakofto. No, just your damn secrets. Why hadn’t they told Nicolai about Theodora? There was no way gossip like that wouldn’t have reached them. And what did they do? They kept it to themselves, hoped he would never find out. Fat chance. Achilles couldn’t get a letter off fast enough. Who knew when and how Achilles told him.
Achilles.
What had she been thinking? She’d left her moped parked on the beach and run the long way home, sprinting faster every time she saw his silly, self-satisfied grin. The spot close to her shoulder felt tender. She touched it, closing her eyes. Damn it. Another image. Achilles crawling on top of her, moving back and forth until she felt she might suffocate. His face buried in her shoulder, his beard rubbing her raw.
Her panties were wet and cold. Damn it all. Just get inside. Don’t wake anybody. Deal with it in the morning. She sniffed her blouse. His heady smell was still there, mixing with her sweat.
She leaned her forehead against the door. She took a deep breath, peeked inside the house. She could see the outline of the stairs. Her room was just at the top of them. The smell of meat, no doubt tonight’s dinner, ruined because of her. Did they have to be so nice to her? They’d welcomed her into their home. And she repaid them by going behind their backs, digging up their secrets, screwing the local playboy.
Alexia pulled up on the handle, raising the door. Her hand slipped off and the door fell against the floor with a thud. Damn. She wiped her hand again. She grabbed the handle, lifted the door, opened it and crept in. She held her breath, listened. Nothing. She closed the door behind her.
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