But after getting yelled at and publicly shamed by shop owners, employees, and my parents, I’d learned to be embarrassed and hesitant.
I was a hockey star and still shaking in my boots that I might run into one of those pyramid displays of canned yams or something.
“Hi there, can I—oh.” His voice was similar to the one from the phone, which meant it was Nikos. Alexio’s brother, I assumed. “You must be Jonah?”
“Please tell me my dad doesn’t carry a photo of me in his wallet,” I said.
Nikos laughed, and I could hear his footsteps on the tile as he moved closer. “No, nothing like that. I guess I saw the cane and assumed.” His accent was stronger in person, and now I could hear it. It was some kind of British, though definitely not London.
“Dude. That is wildly offensive to assume any blind guy is my dad’s son.”
“I—oh. Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”
“Oh my god, no. I’m joking. How many people with white canes come into your shop?”
“I’m scared to answer that,” Nikos said. “Is it offensive if I say not many?”
I snorted. “No. Please relax. I was just giving you shit.” I waited until he started moving again, then turned toward his voice and extended my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
His palm was rough, calloused, probably from cooking. I recognized the feeling of burn scars. But his handshake was soft and tender—not in a patronizing way, but in a way that told me he was kind. “Same. Your dad talks about you a lot. He and my wife bonded over parenting.”
I wrinkled my nose. My dad wanted to claim he ever parented me? That was fucking hilarious. “Interesting.”
Most of the time, my dad made it obvious the only thing he wanted from me and my brothers was for us to disappear. I was pretty sure he was only happy when we were at the blind boarding school before our mom yanked us out and put us in a mainstream school down the street from her house.
“Is my dad here? I spoke to your…”
“Brother,” Nikos filled in where I hesitated. “Alexio.”
“Right, yeah. He said my dad was having a bad day.” I stopped, then asked, “Is Alexio here still?”
“No, no. He only stopped in. He has a work thing tonight.” I heard Nikos move a few steps closer. “There’s a chair in thecorner of the room to your…ah. To your left? No, your right. Wait…”
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
Nikos took a slow breath. “I have a thing. I struggle with direction, and my wife usually handles those things, but she’s back in Athens this week, helping her sister out. Anyway, he’s to your left, in the corner, sitting at a table. I think he’s asleep. He hasn’t moved in a while.”
God, please don’t let him be dead, I thought as I took a step in that direction. “Mind taking me to him? I should probably feel his pulse.”
“Of course. He’s breathing though,” Nikos said. He touched my arm, then snatched his hand away. “How would you like me to?—”
I put him out of his misery by tucking my cane into my armpit and taking the back of his arm. “Lead the way, MacGuff.”
“It’s lay on…” Nikos started, then stopped. “Ignore me.”
“No, it’s fine. Tell me how I got it wrong,” I insisted.
He sighed, hesitated, then said, “Really, it’s not important.”
“If you say so.” He walked quickly, which I appreciated. A lot of people led me across the street or through aisles like I was some hollow, bird-boned centenarian who would break a hip going at more than a shuffle.
He came to a stop a second later. “Right in front of you. Want me to wake him?”
I bit my lip. I wasn’t actually sure what the protocol was for men like my dad who were losing their memories. Would he even recognize me? Was it like sleepwalking, and I should let him come to on his own?
“Yeah. Maybe you should go for it. I’ll step in if he gets weird.”
Or violent, but I didn’t say that aloud. I didn’t really know my dad anymore, so I had no idea what was going to happen when he woke up and saw me.
