Page 2 of Hidden Memories

The fact that Theo is a great runner made it even more frustrating for his father. There was no warmth between Nicholas and Theo. Nic barely spent any time with his son, and when he did, it was usually to pop in and tell him what a terrible job of being a boy he was doing.

In a different world, Theo is a perfectly typical boy. He just likes bugs and dirt, not Wimbledon. Funny enough, when Theo expressed more interest in animals, I suggested he try horse riding, thinking that should be sophisticated enough for Nic. But perhaps in a snub to me, to keep me away from anything I love, Nicholas refused to pay for lessons.

Being indifferent about my own husband’s passing is evil. I know it is. It goes against all I was taught. But in the forty days of wearing all black for a man who was nothingbut a boulder on my chest, a man who made it impossible to breathe, and worse than my own suffocation treated my son like a disappointment, indifference is generous.

I fulfilled my Greek Orthodox duty, our religion is an absolute veneer to cover the immorality beneath the surface. I had premarital sex (and not just once), got pregnant out of wedlock, then married a man I never loved because the shame was unbearable.

I might have survived the Nicholas scandal and even made other decisions if my mother was still around then. Maybe with her in my life, even though she is an eccentric narcissist, maybe I would have had the guts to be a single mom or otherwise.

I was twenty-one when Nic and I had our one-night stand; she’d been gone for nine years. My mom was a cliché, a poorly treated, neglected housewife who ran away with a younger lover. I still talk to her from time to time, mostly so we don’t become estranged. I should hate her but I don’t. I understand why she ran away, my dad isn’t a kind man, but that understanding doesn’t ever heal my abandonment issues.

Anyway, the last thing I want to do is reflect on the past. Mourning is over now. With the end of Nicholas comes a new beginning.

I tried to leave before. The first time, Nic scared me into staying. The second time, he pulled an act of cruelty that changed me forever by having me committed to a mental hospital. I never tried a third time. Leaving Theo alone with that man was worse than us surviving him together.

Now, I’m going to give my son the childhood I never had. Love. Support. And endless possibilities.

In my arms, my son’s body grows heavier as the stress drains out of him.

He peels away from our embrace. “I only have one sock. But maybe I only need half the luck where we’re going.”

In all that silence, in all that time where Theo keeps to himself, he’s growing wiser by the day.

I boop his nose. “I think you’re right.”

Just then, we both jerk when the front door slams shut.

“Katinkaaaaaa!”

My father’s voice echoes through the cavernous space of our home.

Theo and I glance at each other; the fear in my son’s gaze pierces my heart. He thinksPapouis here to stop us from leaving.

Sadly, this is just another one of my ten-year-old’s mature observations. The ones only a boy who has to grow up way too fast would make. Nicholas might have thought he’d hidden the way he’d treated me, or that his barbed words against Theo didn’t cut that deep, but without any soft furnishings in this house, the hard truths are impossible to hide.

My son knows I was pushed around. And he knows somehow, his grandfather was the one who pushed me before. He pushed me into and out of everything I ever did including marriage. Paul Castellanos is just an older, more refined version of Nicholas.

I pat the sides of Theo’s arms. “Why don’t you rip up bits of salami into a Ziplock so we can get Keeper in his crate? You know how hard it is to get him in there.”

Theo nods quickly, more than happy to be given a task that gets him out of being around my father.

Just as Theo is leaving, my dad nearly bumps into him. Rather than greeting him, Dad grabs him by the shoulders and moves him out of his way like someone put a parkingcone in the middle of the doorway. My dad is flushed, and beads of sweat glisten on his forehead.

Who told him we were leaving? I was hoping to talk to himafterwe’d left. My dad believed Nicholas that I was crazy, after all. This is bad. Really bad.

I brace myself for impact. “Dad.”

He storms in, shifting the air in the room.

“What the hell is going on here? You’re leaving?” he bites.

The brown boxes answer for me.

“Why? Why would you leave your family home? Theo needs stability in this troubling time.”

“Theo needs a fresh start. And so do I. There’s nothing left here but memories.”

Painful, shameful memories.

---