Nicolai's Daughters (30 page)

She jerked his arm until he faced her. “You knew my father?”

“It will be daylight soon,” he said, gazing beyond her. “We have to go.”

“Not until you tell me how you knew him.” She stood in front of him.

“He was my partner on this project. That's all.”

He walked away from her. She yanked him back.

“I knew him since we were kids. We were good friends once.”

“What else?”

He turned to face the boardwalk. “He gets himself in trouble and leaves. That is why we have a construction zone here, as you call it, and not the dream.” He threw his hands up, again. “You are a child. How can you understand?”

“A child you had no trouble fucking.” She shoved him.

“If he was a good father, he should have come back to take care of her,” he said. “I told him. He had no excuses. I told him.”

“You mean he didn't know?” She grabbed his arms and meant to shake him. She tightened her grip. Her hands hurt, but she wouldn't let go.

He wrenched himself out of her grasp. “Dimitria did not want him to know. I am the one who wrote to him.”

“Because you wanted him to come back for this stupid project of yours,” Alexia said. “You didn't give a damn about Dimitria or Theodora.”

“They all wanted to protect poor Nicolai,” he said without meeting her eyes. “Someone had to tell him the truth.”

“Who tried to protect him? Dimitria, his family, who?”

“We could have made this town,” he said.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?” You're a womanizer and a damn liar, she thought. We're not alike. I may screw the odd married guy, but at least I'm honest.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Achilles is a simple man with a dream. There is nothing difficult to understand with me. What you see is all.”

“You couldn't convince my father,” she said. “You thought you'd convince me?”

He grinned in that crooked adolescent way she so hated in weak men. She shoved him away. He stumbled backwards. I'm so sick of selfish, needy men who just expect you to take care of them, she thought.

“Do not be like this,” he said, his arms open. “Tonight, you saw how good we are together.”

“Give me a break,” she said and walked away.

“Let us talk,” he mumbled. “Maybe you could change old Achilles.”

Picking up her pace, she began to run, the sand biting at her heels.

2009

Nicolai thrashed out of his jacket and heard the tear of fabric under his armpit. Armani isn't what it used to be, he muttered. He threw the jacket on the sand and yanked at his tie until it hung limp around his neck. Sitting down, he kicked off his shoes and flung them as far as he could. He'd been tired when he'd left the doctor's office, but had left his car parked there anyway and managed to walk for two hours until he reached this spot on Beach Avenue just below his condominium. The sun warmed his face. He dug wells in the sand with his heels, then tossed fistfuls of sand over his feet until they were completely covered. A seagull stood on a patch of brown grass close by, staring at him with its beady eyes.

Where had all the time gone? When Alexia was a little girl, she needed him to take care of her. He shook his head. No, she didn't. Stop fooling yourself. Too late for that crap. His feet were baking. He leaned back on his elbows, burying his feet deeper. She'd gone to a university at the other end of the country even though he'd tried to convince her to stay in Vancouver. She had to take more courses, complete another exam after her degree so she could practise law in British Columbia, and at first she wasn't sure she wanted to come back. “I have friends here, Dad,” she said. But eventually she came home. It didn't stop her from pushing him away. She'd bought her own condominium, gone to a start-up company even after he'd tried to talk her out of both those moves. They were good decisions, though. He saw that now. She knew what was best. She always did. So much time had slipped away. His headstrong, serious little girl was now a stubborn, self-assured woman.

He had a year left. “Give or take,” the doctor had said. He was the third doctor Nicolai had gone to see. The first doctor had been right all along. “You don't know what you're talking about,” Nicolai had said to him. “I feel fine.”

“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. Why 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.