Page 78 of Hidden Memories

The torture of googling Santi’s escapades stopped a long time ago. Once Theo was born, I was too afraid of Nic finding out I was obsessed with one man’s profile. I proactively stopped to avoid Nic doing something awful in a jealous rage.

I knew Santi became some sort of ladies’ man. Before being worried about having spyware installed, I did my fair share of cyberstalking. Santi often had a lady on his arm,though it was mostly a different one each time, and I didn’t know if that made me feel worse or better.

A week before my night with Nicholas, I saw photos of Santi after winning at the National Finals Rodeo. That was the last event I know of that he ever entered. He won an enormous payout. And along with the money, apparently, came a woman.

Leggy. Elegant. Blonde. The kind of beautiful that doesn’t need effort. She was put together in a way I never was, the archetype of a woman who belonged in his world. Though it was just a picture, I assumed they were together.

I told myself I wasn’t jealous. That I was just looking for answers. That I needed proof he had moved on.

But I didn’t want proof. I wanted a sign that nobody could replace me. For me, that picture proved he did just that. Then I did the one thing I swore I’d never do. I let myself fall into someone else’s arms. Into Nic’s arms.

And the worst part? It didn’t erase Santi. It never did.

How can my stomach cramp at an eleven-year-old thought of Santi being with someone else? It’s like I’ve just drunk spoiled milk.

When my eyes refocus on the present, Arthur is still beaming at me.

I point to the wall opposite us in the café. “Julia told me all these paintings are yours?”

Theo glances at them too, his little brow furrows in concentration as he tilts his head at the paintings. Then, asks, dead serious, “Are they butts?”

I freeze.

Arthur, on the other hand, throws his hands up like a forty-niner that just struck gold. “Yes! Yes, they are. Fuzzy peach butts. What do you think?”

Theo pulls a face. “Kinda weird.”

Arthur lifts a finger, like a professor about to deliver a lecture. “I take that as a compliment.”

Theo side-eyes me like he can’t believe this is his life now.Who is this man?I suppress a laugh.

“Are you two ready to go to my humble abode and studio? That’s where all my supplies are.” He turns to Theo and moves his hands as if he’s casting a magic spell. “We will embark on a journey into the eye of your mind, Theo.”

Just then, Arthur turns to wave at someone he knows, and Theo makes a face behind his back that says ‘get me out of here.’

“Sorry, bud,” I say, closing the laptop and using my words carefully to change his mind about an art lesson. “I guess we’re going to have to save relative clauses for another day.”

Works like magic. Theo is out the door before I am.

But my purse feels heavier than it should. The flash drives are inside, tucked into the inner pocket, carrying the weight of something dangerous.

I shouldn’t have them. I shouldn’t even know they exist. And yet, they might be the only thing standing between me and whoever’s been watching from the shadows.

Am I ready for the answers?

I glance at Theo, bouncing ahead of me, oblivious to the storm cloud hovering over us.

It doesn’t matter if I’m ready. Because sooner or later, the past will catch up. And I need to be the one holding the reins when it does.

Ten minutes later, we’re walking down the narrow, alley-like street off the main drag. We walk past a quaint bookstore, Pages and Perks, its sun-faded awning fluttering in the light morning breeze. There’s a hammock outside and a free-standing egg chair, a perfect California vibe. The woody scent of freshly printed pages drifts out as someone swings open the door.

I imagine a day when I can afford to walk inside, let my fingers trail along the spines of glossy picture books, pick out something for Theo that he can lose himself in. Maybe then, Theo would be curled up in the hanging egg chair here outside the shop, nose buried in vibrant pages of insects, a book that sparks hours of daydreaming. And I’d be beside him, rocking in the hammock, the heroine of my own story.

Just a quiet afternoon. Just a simple life. Just the kind of peace that’s always felt out of reach.

The side alley ends at a wooded path. We wind down a trail, following Arthur who tells us about when he used to work in Hollywood as a set dresser. He captures Theo’s attention with his story about the time he had to sift through prop boxes shipped over from Thailand that had dead cockroaches and unusual bugs in them.

Arthur meant to talk about movies, but unbeknownst to him opened up the perfect conversation starter for Theo. The pair chatter ahead of me, Theo asking about every detail of said bugs, trying to figure out what they might have been. His mind ticks away, reflecting on what insects live in Thailand.

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