Nicolai's Daughters (2 page)

“What kind of house do you think we should get, Daddy?”

She did deserve better than him. He shrugged. “Let's see what happens.”

He told his clients he was taking a break, reassigned his files, took Alexia to school each morning, put the house up for sale, got rid of what he could and called the Salvation Army to pick up the rest. He told Alexia she could keep anything she wanted.

“I don't need a lot of stuff,” she said, then picked her mother's antique serving plate, a framed picture of Sara and some books —
Moby Dick, Hansel and Gretel
and the entire Dr. Seuss series — her mother had bought her. She pasted a picture of the whole family, all three of them, taken when she was four, into her notebook. She told him she liked this picture best of all because they were together for a weekend away so he wasn't worried about work and could spend all his time with them, like a family.

Her mother's special reading throw went to the Salvation Army. She put it into the garbage bag herself, turned and looked around. She quickly grabbed some towels beside her and covered the throw. Later she piled a few tea towels and a set of sheets on top. “I'm not little anymore,” she said.

Throughout the week, she was helpful and chatty. “I don't think we need this in our new house, Daddy. What do you think?”

“I'm trying not to.”

“Can I help pick the new house?”

“We're not going to look for a house right away,” he said. “We're going to stay with Uncle Stuart and Auntie Mavis for a while.”

“Oh, good. Then we can take our time, right, Daddy? I know we'll find just the most perfect house.” She patted his hand.

He couldn't meet her eye. “Why don't you go finish up with those toys?” he said, letting go of her hand. He walked over to the window. She went to her toy box, fishing for pieces of her Lego set, the one she planned to give away.

He leaned against the windowsill, heard a lone bird screech outside, but couldn't find where it was perched.

His flight was at three o'clock. That would give him just enough time to pack the rest of the boxes, close up the house, take the keys to the real estate office and have a quick lunch with Alexia before dropping her off at Stuart and Mavis's. He still hadn't told her that he was going away, hadn't been able to find the right time to do it. He hoped she'd understand. If he kept moving, focused on the list of things he had to do, he'd get through it. For now, all she needed to know was that she wasn't going to school today.

“You won't need a lunch today,” he said.

“How come?” She was standing at the kitchen counter dressed as usual in her school uniform, the navy-blue skirt and the regulation white blouse making her look more grown-up than she was. She pushed the jar of peanut butter away and put the knife down, left her sandwich only partially spread.

“I called the school and told them we're spending the day together. We have to say good-bye to the old house and move to Uncle Stuart's place and…”

Her head was cocked, her forehead furrowed. He was sure she'd caught the hesitation in his voice. He couldn't meet her questioning eyes. He put the peanut butter into one of the boxes, rinsed off her plate and knife, added them to the box.

“Well, looks like this is the last of it. We'd better get going.” he said.

She followed him out to the car.

After he dropped the keys at the real estate office he took Alexia to a nearby Greek diner, where they split an order of calamari and a Greek salad.

He couldn't delay it any longer. “Daddy has to go away on a business trip.” He turned his chair towards her and moved hers so that his legs hugged her chair and she faced him. She sat like a caged bird, picking at her thumbnail. He put his hand over hers.

“When?”

She stared at him with those eyes that made him feel worthless. He reached over to wipe off a drop of olive oil on her chin with his napkin. Alexia took it from him and wiped her mouth, then sat on her hands.

“When, Daddy?”

He bit at the inside of his mouth, stared at the closed door just beyond where she sat. His voice cracked, he cleared his throat, then ploughed forward. “This afternoon,” he said and cleared his throat again.

“Where are you going, Daddy?”

“Greece. I have to go do some work there, so you're going to stay with Stuart and Mavis for a little while. They're your godparents. So they're just like your real parents except they'll probably let you get away with more stuff.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don't know yet,” he said. “I have to go find out how hard it's going to be.”

“I could go with you, Daddy. I could ask for homework and do my school work while we're away. Honest. We could call my teacher now. I know she'd let me do it.” She jumped off her chair, pushed it back out of his reach, wiped her mouth with the napkin again and threw it on the table.

“
Paidi mou
, I'll be busy working. And besides, you like school, your friends. I promise you, next time we'll go together and then you can meet all your aunts. They're crazy but really, really nice. You remember when Aunt Christina was here?”

Alexia nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, choked and coughed. He stroked her back. A single tear ran down her cheek. He wiped it away with his napkin.

“You shouldn't talk and eat at the same time,” he said. “You're just like them.”

“Why don't we go this summer then?” she said. “School will be out in a month. We could go together then.”

“I have to go now, Alexia. I'm sorry.”

“Mommy would want us to stick together,” she said, her voice breaking. She grabbed her glass and gulped water just like Sara used to whenever she was about to cry and wanted to control the impulse.

He reached for her. If he could explain that he was having a bad time without Sara, that he felt angry and helpless all the time, that this would be better for both of them at least for a little while, he was sure she'd understand. But then she might think it was her fault and he didn't want that either. He'd said what he had to say. There was nothing else.

She put the glass down, excused herself to go to the bathroom. Nicolai held on to the back of her empty chair.

When she returned, she had somehow managed to find her serious little girl composure. She asked him about the work he was going to do and he made up a client. A large shipping company needed a new marketing campaign. She listened, asked questions, nodded and asked more questions. He surprised himself with the answers he so quickly came up with. He smiled, made jokes about the challenges of working with Greeks who showed up late for meetings, tapping her shoulder now and again as if she were a client he had to charm. It was a lie. They both knew it.

After lunch, he dropped her off at Stuart's. He left his car there and called a cab.

“Everything's going to be fine,” Stuart said. He tried to put his arm around Nicolai's shoulder. Nicolai bent down to hug Alexia.

“Don't worry about a thing,” Mavis said. “You know we'll take good care of her.”

Stuart had been his best man. When Sara was alive, Stuart and Mavis were over at the house every Sunday for dinner. They'd dropped off food for him and Alexia after Sara died. He'd called them a week ago to ask them to take care of Alexia. Stuart had wanted to talk. Then Mavis phoned for one of her friendly chats. He couldn't. Not then. Not now. All he could think about was getting away from their concerned nods, from Mavis's warm hand on his back. He didn't need her sympathy.

“Take as long as you need,” Stuart said. Mavis crouched down and put her arm around Alexia's shoulders.

Nicolai knew Sara wouldn't understand. She loved her friends, but they weren't Alexia's parents. “She needs you,” Sara would say to him whenever he was late for supper or worked weekends. No, he said to her now, Alexia needs better than me. He looked up at the waiting cab.

“You'd better go, Daddy. He's waiting,” Alexia said. “Don't worry. I'll be good.” She held his hand as if he needed the support.

He had to do this for both of them. “See you soon,
paidi mou
.”

She nodded. He hugged her. Her arms wilted by her sides. He turned and got into the cab and waved at her over his shoulder as it pulled away. Long after he'd gotten to the airport, checked in and got on the plane, he could still see her brave little face.

2010

Alexia lay fully clothed under the bedspread, her linen pants and silk blouse hopelessly wrinkled. I can take them to the drycleaners later, she thought. When he gets better.

She hadn't slept in this room for ages. Ten years. Maybe more. An adult, and somehow still the same little girl who had once taken care of him. On the dresser, the brush and mirror set Nicolai gave her the year she turned thirteen. She hadn't taken it with her when she left for university or when she moved into her own condo after law school. The pink mother-of-pearl was meant for a little girl. Someone else, she thought. Not me. She'd left behind most of the things he'd given her over the years: the Canadian dollar bill he said was the first he'd made in this country, the glass eyeball he brought back from Greece to ward off the evil eye, the marble worry beads too big and clumsy for her hands. Not enough room in the dorm, she'd said. He tapped his fingers against his leg and gnawed at the inside of his mouth like he did when he was disappointed or nervous.

And now here she was, back looking after him because he was too sick to take care of himself. It was just like him not to tell her about the cancer. “If it was too hard for you to tell me in person, you could have told me on the phone or sent me a note.”

“I didn't want to worry you,” he said, shaking his head.

“Dad, we can find a solution to this.”

He smiled and held her hand. “You always take care of things.”

“So let me help.”

That boyish grin was not an answer. I bet he told his mantra-chanting girlfriend, she thought. As if that airhead could do anything to help him. She'd show him this could be fixed.

She'd called his doctor, insisted on another treatment plan. She printed some articles she found on the Internet about new procedures in Mexico and India. There was always something that could be done. Problems didn't exist that effort couldn't solve. That's how she lived. And it worked. She was the youngest partner in her firm. She'd wanted it and she'd gotten it when she was only twenty-nine. She'd get his health back, too, by herself if she had to.

“Some things we have to accept,” Nicolai said and stroked her face.

He was such a fatalist. But, she wasn't ready to give up.

She kicked off the covers, went to the dresser and fingered the mirror. When he gets better, I'll take this back to my place, put it on my dresser. He'll like that.

She heard his voice coming faintly from the room down the hall.

“Dad?”

No answer.

She opened his bedroom door. Stagnant, humid air. The thermostat turned up because he complained of being cold. She listened. His snore was steady.

She opened the blinds and realized she shouldn't have bothered. The sky was overcast. Threatening. He needed sunshine. A clear sky full of promise. It wasn't too late.

She'd made him a Greek salad, roasted a leg of lamb and squeezed three extra lemons on his fried potatoes. He loved them that way. He hadn't touched any of it. At least he'd managed a cup of clear broth once and sometimes twice a day in the time she'd been here, protecting him from his bad dreams, his regrets, this stupid disease.

As she sat down on the chair beside the bed, he jerked awake.

“I woke you up again, didn't I?” he said. The covers moved as he yawned.

“I was just getting up anyway.” She cupped her hand over his forehead. “Do you want some water?”

He patted her leg. “You've done too much. What about your work? You should get back to it.”

“I think we should see another doctor.”

“We need to talk.” He tried to hoist himself up in the bed.

“Where are you going?”

He lay still.

“I have a list of doctors I found through the College of Physicians. I've made an appointment to see one of them the day after tomorrow; your medical files have already been transferred. We're going together.”

He closed his eyes as if her voice caused him pain. “I made a mistake years ago
.
”

That again. How many times did he have to apologize for leaving her after her mother died? She'd heard it all before. She'd tell him the same thing she always did when he got down on himself. “No harm done.” Please. Let's not dredge up this old story.

“When I left you…”

“Dad, the past is the past. Forget it. Let's just focus on how we're going to fix this problem we have now. That's all we should be worrying about.”

She stood. “I'll get you some water.”

He shook his head, tried to lift himself up again and coughed. He sank back against his pillow and hacked. “You have a sister.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. Why did he keep doing this? “You don't know what you're saying.” He was delirious again. The morphine. It could do that. She touched the jaundiced skin of his cheek. The white stubble pricked. She pulled away. “You're stuck with me, Dad. There's no one else.” A laugh caught in her throat.

He grabbed her hand, pulled her close. His breath was sour. Perspiration beaded his upper lip.

“No one knows,” he said finally. “Too many secrets. I'm sorry. So many things.”

“Dad, you've just been dreaming. It's okay. When you're better, you'll see.” She patted his hand. She caught a whiff of her blouse. She needed a shower, but how could she leave him like this? The morphine wasn't keeping up with his pain. She'd call the doctor in an hour; see if they could get in today.

“
Paidi mou,
I'm telling you.”

“It's just a bad dream. Lay back now. Rest and get better.”

“It's true, Alexia.” He stared at her, his eyes ablaze for the first time in weeks.

She stood and pulled her sweater tight around her.

“What do you want from me?” she said, regretting the words as soon as they were out. Patience. She had to be patient with him. He needed understanding now. It doesn't matter what he says, she told herself. He'll forget about it later. It's meaningless. Stop reacting.

He shook his head like a disappointed little boy. “I'm sorry. Can't explain.” He closed his eyes. “Don't live like me.”

He drifted into sleep again. It had to be the morphine. In the two weeks she'd been here, he'd called out to her almost every night, and each time she'd gone to him, he talked gibberish. In the morning, he didn't remember a thing. He shivered in his sleep as though freezing hands had been laid on his warm chest. She leaned over him and tucked the comforter around him. His chin was ice cold.

A sister? What next?

“Haven't I been enough family for you?” she whispered. “Haven't I taken care of you?”

Flipping and rubbing worry beads was how her father sorted out his problems. They were in the pocket of his pants now. He was enmeshed in silk, like the sheets he brought out when he had a friend over to the condominium. He hated silk sheets. He'd told her: silk for friends, flannel for him. But Erica, his last in a chain of thirty-year-old girlfriends, had insisted on the silk lining.

“You think you know my dad better than I do?” Alexia had shot at Erica in the funeral home. Ross, the ruddy-faced, broad-chested funeral home director sat at one end of the boardroom table like a tired referee. He seemed stuffed into his clothes, his neck scored by his tight collar, his suit creased around his arms. Erica sat on Ross's left, a thin stick. Her father had liked his women androgynous.

“We were soul mates.” Erica dabbed at her eyes. A fluff of Kleenex stuck to one edge of her nose.

“After six months?”

“Almost seven.” She sniffled.

Ross rubbed at his nose. Erica followed his lead. The shred of Kleenex floated to the table. Alexia glanced away just as Erica caught her eye. Ross's face turned a darker shade of red. When he spoke, his tone was conciliatory and his smile as cold as the marble headstones he'd shown them. “Let's compromise, shall we? Nicolai would have wanted it that way.”

Alexia doubted Ross knew what her father wanted. She didn't, and she had known him all her life. Still, she argued about the casket, the fabric that lined it, the time of the service and the words to be written on the headstone. Erica paced.

Finally they agreed: Alexia would pick the headstone and casket; Erica would choose the casket lining.

“It's the most important part,” Erica said. “It's what's closest to him.”

Alexia thought about changing her mind, putting Erica in her place. I don't have to let you be a part of any of this, she thought. You're just another one of his bimbos.

Ross bowed his head and gripped the sides of the table as if expecting an explosion. He wasn't the only one in the room who was tired.

At the funeral, people Alexia didn't even know touched her arm and hugged her. Others nodded in her direction. They sat against one another, filling the long pews of the Greek Orthodox Church. Alexia saw the priest's lips move, didn't register a word. She scanned the high ceilings, the replica gothic arches, the walls that seemed to glow against the cherry-coloured beams. A strip of wooden relief carvings lined one wall. Christ's journey to the cross. Another step. Another fall. The third carving dangled slightly lower than the rest. Hadn't anyone bothered to measure before hanging them?

Erica sat in the pew on the opposite side. She wore sandals, a black skirt, and a see-through peasant shirt that enhanced her alabaster skin and flat chest. Alexia's heels pinched her feet and her suit felt stiff. She poked at her French braid. She had wound it up too tightly this morning and now it made her scalp itch.

She sat between Stuart and Mavis. Stuart patted Alexia's hand. Stuart had been her father's friend since he immigrated to Canada. He became his first and only legal advisor after Nicolai opened his public relations firm. He was more than Nicolai's lawyer; he and Mavis were Nicolai's best friends and her godparents. It was Stuart who got Alexia interested in law. He often took her to his office and just let her hang out, among the paper and books.

She felt Mavis's arm around her shoulders like a warm shawl.

She shifted in her seat, saw her boss, Dan, a few rows away, wondered what he was doing there. She supposed he had come to represent their firm. Still, it was nice he took the time.

She slipped off her shoes, twisted the handkerchief that had been her father's, the one her mother had given him. It had yellowed over the years. She'd kept it under her pillow after he died, rubbed her cheek and sniffed it when she thought of him. She couldn't bring herself to wash it.

She tried to remember one of her father's corny Greek expressions, one that actually made her laugh.

“If you don't learn how to relax,
paidi mou
,” he'd said one day, “you'll get old.” He was in bed with the flu. She cleared the half-empty glasses of water on his nightstand.

“Look who's calling the kettle black.”

“Greeks have a similar expression.
Epe a gaitharos ton petino kefala.”

“Huh?”

“The donkey called the rooster a big-head.”

“I guess that's similar.”

He'd laughed. She kissed his flushed cheek and handed him the soup she'd picked up at the market.

It didn't rain or even spit on the day of his burial. And it wasn't a Tuesday. She made sure of that. He hated doing anything important — going to the bank, paying bills, signing any major deals — on that day. “It's bad luck,” he'd say. “We Greeks lost Istanbul on a Tuesday.” Whenever she'd tease him about his superstitions, he always had the same comeback as if it explained everything. “This is who we are.”

Her father would rest for eternity in Vancouver's damp ground in a casket beside the one that held her mother. He always told her he wanted to be buried beside Sara. They had the same conversation every time he took a business trip or got sick or had a doctor's appointment. “If something happens.”

“Nothing's going to happen,” Alexia reassured him.

“If,” he insisted. “There will never be anyone but your mother, and when the time comes, you and, if you marry, which I know you will, your husband, lying beside me.”

She couldn't remember when her father's service ended or how she arrived at Stuart's office. He stood in front of the window, blocking the sun's glare. When he shifted, she was blinded by shards of light. She blinked. She wished she could see his eyes.

As Stuart read Nicolai's will, he kept one hand in his pocket flipping his change just like always. When she was little, she thought he did that because he wanted everyone to know how rich he was. He was a tall, thin man with a high-pitched voice and one of those mouths that seemed to be frozen in a sideways grin. Even though she'd known him as long as she could remember, she could never figure out what he was thinking. He was a quiet man, not one to show his emotions.

Mazda, penthouse apartment, stocks. Hers. He left nothing to Erica or anyone else. She smiled, remembering Erica's words at the funeral home, “We're soul mates.” As if. He didn't have soul mates. He had conquests.

Stuart cleared his throat. There was more.

“I'm listening,” she said.

Stuart came around the desk to stand in front of her. Alexia wondered when he'd developed all those lines near his eyes and mouth. The skin around his neck buckled and sagged. He was missing Nicolai too. They shouldn't have done this today. She'd insisted. She needed to close this chapter and get on with her life. They were all so damn tired. It would be good to get it over with.  

Stuart took off his glasses, wiped them against the front of his jacket, its metal buttons tinkling against the lenses. He put the glasses back on, looked up and met Alexia's gaze. “There's just one more thing,” he said. “Your father's final wish. He wants you to go to Greece.”