by Susan Fodor
"My mum and I picketed the opening of the offshore rig five years ago," I replied, before my brain sifted my words. “We got arrested for good measure; I was twelve.”
"I should have listened." George laughed, unfazed by my admission. "It was a terrible business decision; it's inhabited by two crewman and countless seals now. I lose more gambling in a weekend than I make in a week on that thing."
"I read it makes over fifty-two million a year," I thought out loud again.
"It covers his weekly gambling sessions," Sophia said, glibly.
"I win occasionally." George laughed.
"You gamble away a million a week?" John gasped before I did.
"Boys with quarter million dollar jackets shouldn't act shocked." George laughed at his own quip.
"You own a jacket that cost so much?" I asked, taken aback.
John shrugged. "If he says so."
"We brought some photos," Sophia told us, dragging John to the royal blue lounge, beside which the coffee table was piled with memorabilia. Sophia treated me like I was automatically part of the family, but I still felt awkward. Sophia sat on one side of Daniel, while I sat on the other. George sunk into an armchair across from us, looking ready for a nap rather than reminiscing.
“We’re sorry about sending Dr. Conneely,” Sophia said, embarrassed, “but after you disappeared there were a few hoaxes and we had to be sure it was you this time.” The toll of losing their son for so long was evident on Sophia’s face; she was reveling in every ounce of John.
John nodded, looking a little more relaxed with the information. He was the kind of guy who did best when he knew all the details.
"So, let's start with something simple," John ventured. "What’s my name again?"
Sophia and George laughed. I wondered when they'd been in the same room together. They seemed separated by a sea of grief that only John bridged.
"George Daniel Esso the third," George offered regally, leaning forward in his comfy chair.
"Daniel to those who knew you," Sophia added.
"Daniel, cute,” I approved, giving him a playful poke in the ribs. I rolled the name around my mind; it suited him.
“If you say so,” Daniel laughed.
“This was your last birthday party.” Sophia described a photo of Daniel with a chocolate-haired beauty hanging on his arm. He looked younger, less muscular, but had the same golden blond hairstyle and an unfamiliar conceited look on his face.
“How old am I?” Daniel asked.
“You’ll be nineteen on September 9th,” Sophia said, looking concerned.
“So I’ve finished school?” he asked.
“You would have finished this year.” She swallowed hard. “You repeated a year.”
“So this was my eighteenth birthday party?” Daniel asked unconvinced, indicating to the photo.
“No, your sixteenth,” Sophia breathed, tucking the photo away. Sophia’s tension was palpable, like a spring stretched to breaking point ready to coil. “Let’s look at another one.”
“Why are you acting so weird?” Daniel demanded. There was a sense that the Essos were hiding something; even I could feel it, but Daniel’s tone made my back stiffen.
“You were very sick,” George began.
“It’s too soon.” Sophia glared at George. “We can tell him later. We just got him back.”
They were having a Mexican staring stand off.
“I’d rather know now,” Daniel agreed with George.
Sophia looked pale despite her tan as George started again. “Not long after your sixteenth birthday you became very sick. We consulted all the leading physicians; there was one who had seen your condition before, Dr. Conneely. There was nothing we could do; you were dying. We knew we were going to lose you, so we decided to do one last thing as a family. You loved the yacht, so we went sailing."
"The fresh air and sun were doing you good," Sophia continued, her eyes misty with the memory. "Then you were gone. You fell overboard. The coast guards searched and searched for you, but you were lost."
"I washed up here, and I'm fine," Daniel said, processing the story slowly, "and it took you over two months to find me? You mustn't have been searching that hard."
Sophia and George looked at each other meaningfully.
"What?" Daniel asked. The hairs on my arms rose. Daniel squeezed my hand so tight it was turning white. "What?!"
"That was twenty-seven months ago," Sophia whispered.
The air sucked out of the room. Daniel put his head between his knees, taking long, even breaths to avoid hyperventilating. I rubbed his back, feeling the cold of his body seeping through his clothes. My thoughts raced like salmon teaming up a river, I couldn’t focus on a single thought, so I applied myself to comforting Daniel.
"Where have I been?" Daniel asked no one in particular.
"That's the million-dollar question," George replied quietly, rising from the armchair and moving to sit beside me. He leaned over me to weakly pat Daniel’s knee.
"It doesn't matter." Sophia glossed over the subject, with forced cheer. "One thing at a time; we have you back. We can take you home, and things can return to normal."
"This is my home," Daniel said resolutely. "I'm not leaving."
Both George and Sophia tensed at the declaration. I wished I could tell Daniel to be more diplomatic in how he approached his parents, but I was a bystander and he had to navigate his family relations on his own.
"Our home, family, and friends are all in Sydney," Sophia said quietly, trying to reason with Daniel. “Being there may help you remember what happened; in the very least it will help with reclaiming your past.”
"Not to mention work is there," George added, as though he were taking about another family member.
"I'm not leaving," Daniel said, staring out the window. "I need to be near the sea."
Sophia began to cry, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, or was it something in Daniel’s declaration? "We'll stay here with you, as long as you're here," she said, wrapping her arms around him.
I moved out of the way so George could hug his son. I perched on the edge of the sturdy coffee table, avoiding the photos.
"I'll call the real estate agent today," George assured.
It was moving to see them together, but there was something unnerving about the scene. I was endlessly grateful for Daniel staying with me, but I was equally confused about his parents’ willingness to uproot their lives for Daniel's sake. Maybe money made it easier to uproot a family and grow elsewhere. Perhaps it was the joy of finding a son they'd lost for over two years. Whatever their reasons for moving, it made me uneasy. Foreboding began to hang over me like a cloud; something didn’t feel right.
The moment came and went quickly. George bounded off the couch to call the real estate agent, while Sophia resumed showing us more photos. I sat back beside Daniel, he intertwined his fingers with mine, grasping my hand like a life preserver.
There were no photos of their last yacht trip, which struck me as odd since they'd chronicled every other minutia of his life, including a photo of the cereal he liked to eat. Daniel willed himself to remember, without results. Room service delivered lunch and snacks until the sun was setting. The majority of the day had disappeared without us really noticing.
"You can stay with us tonight," Sophia asked, gently. "There's a spare room."
I could see Daniel wrestling with the desire to be with his parents or me.
"I've hardly seen my parents," I shrugged. "Stay, and we'll catch up tomorrow."
"Let me drive you home at least," Daniel agreed, relieved to have the decision made for him.
Sophia hugged me again. "Thank you so much." Her words were weighted with so much more than convincing Daniel to stay. Her gratitude left me confused. Sophia hugged Daniel again with such vigor that I wondered if she'd ever let go.
"Come on, Mum," Daniel complained jovially, "it's like you haven't seen me in over two years."
George la
ughed at the jest, adding, "Just don't let it be another two; we expect you home tonight."
"Sure thing, Pops," Daniel replied, giving him a handshake hug.
We got into the archaic Nissan Pulsar that Daniel was borrowing from his foster carers; I knew it would be the last time I'd see the Blue Bomb. A pang of sorrow filled me for the car that held so many fond memories.
"I guess we can farewell the Blue Bomb," I said, realizing I would miss it. "I don't suppose you remember owning a Ford Focus convertible?" I joked.
"Ford Focus convertible is what you think, when you think of luxury cars!" Daniel teased.
"I'm a simple girl, of simple persuasions." I giggled, giving him a pointed look.
"Hey!" Daniel laughed at the shrouded insult. "I guess my life won't be so simple after today. Heir to a fortune and all..."
"You don't remember anything?" I asked, sensing the confusion in his statement.
"The first thing I remember is you," he replied, squeezing my hand. "I feel fine. The doctors said I was healthy."
We drove in silence, listening to the shock jocks laugh at their own jokes as the town whizzed by.
"I don't know what to think," Daniel said quietly after some contemplation. "It's all so overwhelming. A week ago I didn't know if my parents abandoned me or if they'd died and I was the only survivor of a fishing trip or something. Now I'm the son of the richest oil magnate in the country … I thought I'd been missing for a couple of months, and it's been a couple of years. Where was I? What happened to me? Did I fall overboard and hit my head? Has this swelling been in my brain the last two years? Why can't I remember? And do I even want to remember? My life is pretty sweet right now; what if I remember and it's terrible and I never sleep again."
He parked the car out the front of my house and put his head on the steering wheel.
"Push your seat back," I ordered.
Confused, he complied as I climbed over the gear stick and straddled him awkwardly. I kissed his jaw line up to his ear and down to his lips, savoring his cologne that smelled like the sea. I claimed his lips as he pulled me against his body.
"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven," I told him before gently kissing his lips.
"Did you just quote Scripture to me?" he razzed, laughing.
"And the Byrds," I agreed. "You'll get your memory back, and till you do we'll make some of our own memories."
"I like the sound of that." He smiled, sliding his hands onto my waist.
"You're so cold," I shuddered.
"Aren't you supposed to be naked to warm me up?" he joked.
"Maybe when Mrs. Wrinkler isn't standing outside staring at us," I responded, waving at my neighbor who was pretending to water her garden. Her steel-blue eyes were shiny from cataract surgery, and she enjoyed ogling Daniel almost as much as Jaimie did.
"You'll come to the hotel tomorrow," he asked, hopefully.
"Yes," I replied, playfully. "I'll just have to clear it with the olds."
"Mya," Daniel asked soberly, "do you still like me? Despite the oil mogul father who would burn the ocean for a buck?"
I smiled, his insecurity was endearing. "All I see is you; nothing else matters."
I kissed him one last time before awkwardly sliding out the driver’s door. I went inside, where my parents were setting the table.
"The prodigal daughter returns," Mum joked. "No John?"
"No Daniel," I corrected, happily.
"He remembered!" Mum exclaimed, clearly pleased.
"No, his parents, Sophia and George Esso, reminded him," I explained.
"As in the oil magnates?" Mum gasped, almost dropping one of our mismatched plates.
"The one and the same." I nodded enthusiastically.
"They attract oil?" Dad asked, confused.
"Magnate, not magnet." I laughed.
"Stupid language." Dad shook his head, frustrated. "Everything sounds the same, but different meaning. Russian is a simple language, you spell the words the way you pronounce them." Dad’s brief foray into trying to teach me Russian had been significantly different to his statement, but there was no point in starting an argument.
I filled my parents in on the new developments; Mum looked more worried with each detail.
"So Daniel," she said deliberately, "will be returning with his parents to Sydney?"
"No, they're all staying here," I buzzed.
"Invite them for dinner," Dad announced jovially. Despite being rejected by endless employers he was trying to keep a strong facade. Each day the strain was increasing and I had seen him self-medicating from the liqueur cabinet once or twice. I would have traded my best shoes for Dad to share his real feelings, but he was not that kind of guy. So Mum and I let him deal with it the only way he knew how, stoically.
"I'm sure they're too busy relocating to have dinner here," Mum hedged. It was unlike Mum to avoid company; she relished the opportunity to entertain. I figured it was the Esso’s commitment to destroying the planet that put Mum on edge.
"I already told them we picketed the oil rig," I assured.
"Gee, thanks, Mya," Mum said sarcastically. "I guess if they're free..."
Mum surveyed the dining room like a crime scene. "You'll have to fix the chairs, Paul; half of them are broken, and the other half will break if you sit in them."
"Which half are we sitting on now?" Dad retorted, getting the upper hand.
"The half that if they break off into any of our butts will not cost millions of dollars," Mum replied, sarcastically.
"Then they can sit on the couch," Dad responded.
I laughed at the childish tit for tat quipping.
"You don't get to laugh," Mum replied, pointing the salad tongs at me. "You'll need to help clean the whole house."
"Let’s see if they're free before we freak out," I told them.
Mum seemed pleased to let the whole matter drop.
I looked around the dining room. The table took up the majority of the room; no two chairs matched the table or each other. An oversized black kitchen hutch rested against the wall, overstuffed with photos, cheap china, and Russian memorabilia. I tried to look at our home like Daniel's parents might. It left me feeling awkward, and a little embarrassed. I pushed the feelings away, reminding myself of how much my parents meant to me. No matter how rundown or mismatched everything was, my parents had provided me with a happy and secure childhood. They were the diving board that gave me confidence to jump into life. I was proud of them despite their weirdness. Daniel loved our plastic-covered couches and the coffee table held up by books. My home may not have graced the covers of moneybags magazine, but it had character.
"I'll ask them when they're available," I told Mum.
unexpected gifts
Sophia was desperate to meet my family. The weekend was nominated for the parental mixer. My parents reversed their roles, Dad being calm and unconcerned about guests, while Mum became the designated worrier.
The Esso family arrived promptly at six. Mum rushed to the door, surveying the foyer that had been cleared of Dad’s unused exercise equipment and junk. The floors had been vacuumed, the couches were plastic-cover-free, and our ad-hoc furniture had been cleaned vigorously. Mum smoothed her caramel curls before answering the door.
"Hi, I'm April," Mum introduced herself. "It's so nice to meet you both."
Dad rushed forward and kissed George and Sophia on both cheeks Russian style, which they took in their stride. I was sincerely glad that Dad didn’t know them well enough to kiss them on the lips like he did with his uncles and cousins in Russia.
Sophia and Mum connected immediately, having found affinity in loving Bold and the Beautiful and Willow Tree figurines. It took a half bottle of Unicum for Dad and George to discover their spark.
“That’s powerful stuff,” George spluttered after his first mouthful of Unicum.
“Hungarian contraband,” Dad replied, winking. “Vodka is an everyday drink, but Unicum i
s for special occasions.”
“I appreciate your hospitality,” George replied with alcohol cheer, raising his glass for a refill.
The meal went a million times better than I expected. I had prepared for the worst—that the Essos would look down on my parents or that my mum’s activism or Dad’s ethnicity would create tension. I was sure when Mum said grace, the Esso’s would run from our home. Strangely, the parents became fast friends immediately. As the night wound down Sophia became increasingly anxious until she finally burst.
"We want to give you something for bringing Daniel home to us," Sophia said self-consciously.
Mum immediately shook her head and held her hands up in protest. “There’s no need.”
“There really is,” George responded, pulling a slip of paper from his coat and handing it to mum. Her mouth fell open and Dad nearly fell off his seat when they read it.
"This is too much," Mum said decidedly, trying to return the cheque.
"It's nothing compared to the joy of having Daniel home," Sophia insisted, refusing Mum’s attempts to return the cheque.
"We wouldn't feel right accepting it," Mum tried again.
"Speak for yourself!" Dad disagreed, the Unicum breaking down his inhibitions.
I looked at Daniel for an explanation about the cheque, and he just shrugged with a comical grin.
"It was the reward we put out last year for information that led to Daniel’s return. Mya brought Daniel home; it's only right you accept the reward," George shrugged, languid from the Unicum.
I’d never seen Mum so overwhelmed. “Still, it’s a lot, and I would hate for it to stand between our friendship.”
“We would feel like we owe you something unless you accept it,” Sophia reasoned. “That would be a terrible way to start a friendship.”
Dad gave Mum a look imploring her to accept the money.
"Thank you," she agreed, awkwardly.
Dad did another round of gratitude kisses, while Mum gave George and Sophia self-conscious hugs. I said a polite thank you, wondering how much it was. A few hundred dollars would help a lot with our financial situation, I was grateful for the gesture.
"I was also hoping you would help me decorate the house we bought today," Sophia said, as though buying a house was like purchasing a coffee. "Mya told me you were an interior designer for a time."