Of the Shadows

Chapter 14: Misremembered Memories

My smile broke and I took a step back.
"Da its me, Maura." A look of realization brightened his eyes and he smiled warmly. Maybe he did know me.
"Oh! Cerri's daughter. What brings you all the way out here? You okay kid? You look worried. Need me to call your mom?"
"No!" I said a little too quickly. "I'm your daughter, Dad. You and Mum's. You know this." I said voice, drowned in concern. He sighed heavily and unlatched the door.
"Come in sweetheart." He let the door swing open and led me to the livingroom. Their couch was a deep burgundy, the cushions were overstuffed and made of a suede material. A brown recliner sat adjacent to the couch. The coffee table in the middle of the room along with the endtables on either side of the couch were beautiful, carved from mahogany wood. A large shag area rug matched the theme of the room with an abstract pattern of reds, browns, and gold and stretched beneath the coffee table and from the couch to the recliner. It was cozy and warm. A family portrait of my dad, Enoli, his wife, Cyndi, and their toddler son Dakota hung over the fireplace in an elaborate gold, red, and black frame. I looked around at the many pictures hanging on the walls and sitting on tables and shelves. None were of me.
"I don't know what your mom told you, darlin, but I only have the one kid. Has she been taking her medicine?" Dad asked  kind face stern with concern.
"What are you talking about? You raised me!" I started crying, "I know I've been a bad daughter and I haven't called you in weeks, but what the hell, Dad?" Not to mention I hadn't seen him in person in months. I guess I had just been wrapped up in life and Angie's drama. I had also assumed he was preoccupied with his three year old son and his prim and proper babe of a wife.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you child. Your mother isn't well. Surely you know that. I don't know why she has you convinced that I'm your dad. We never even made love. We were just friends." There was no use trying to convince him. At this point I'm sure he was pondering if I had inherited my mother's instability. "Did she hurt you?" I guess that was a fair question, I looked pretty beat up.
"No. I got in a fight." He laughed a hearty laugh of relief. My heart swelled at the sound of it, a laugh that used to throw me into giggle fits as a child. "Well, I'm sure you finished it." He grinned and shadowbox the air. I smiled a little. He used to always say that to me. Don't start a fight but I better finish it.
"Why don't you want me to call your mom? Are you in some kind of trouble?" Even if he couldn't remember me he was just as warm-hearted as I remember him to be. He sat on the recliner, typing something on his phone slowly, holding the device at arms length, noticeably squinting. I had to hold back a playful insult about him being old. If he had his memories he would laugh and insult me back. Since he did not, I did not want to risk offending him.
"Something like that." I replied hugging myself and looking at the carpet, "how do you know my mom?"  I had to know what memories he did have.  He managed to finish whatever he was doing on the phone and sat it down on the coffee table.
"We grew up in the same town. We were friends. A lot of kids thought she was weird, but not me. We'd collect rocks together and she'd pretend she was making potions. Every spring through fall if we weren't in school we were outside. Sometimes it was all the kids in the neighborhood playing and sometimes it was just the two of us. We went on so many adventures and we thought we knew every inch of those woods. We didn't, of course. Each day we would find something new."  I smiled peacefully and leaned my head against the arm of the sofa as he told his tale. My dad's deep voice could always soothe me.
"About sophomore year, I think, she started going to a therapist. Something about a miscarriage and hallucinations. She stopped talking to me for a little while. There was a rumor that she was schizophrenic. Next year or so she was distant. The doctors were messing with her medications. They usually do that when someone is first diagnosed with a disorder to find the right chemical balance. It took them a while to get it right. Last half of senior year we had a couple classes together and we grew tight again. After graduation she had you." Something flickered behind his eyes, was it pride? Love maybe?
        "You were so adorable. A chunky little thing. Always giggling. Your mama adored you. I would stop by and help. A single mom with a new baby needs all the help she can get. We never slept together. She never told anyone who your dad was. When you were in your double digits, early teens,  something like that, she stopped taking her meds and a lot of us stopped coming around. I couldn't do anything to help. I met Cyndi a couple years later, we left town, and have been happy ever since."
I swallowed the sadness that sat heavy in my throat.
"I'm glad you're happy." I said after a long moment of silence. I knew some of his story was true. Mum had a miscarriage young before she got with Dad. They got pregnant with me right out of high school. His name is on my birth certificate.  We have the same hair. He rocked me to sleep, played dolls with me, braided my hair, made me feel safe. He suffered through the worst part of my teens with me. He was my dad. My memories of him were not false. They couldn't be. I refused to believe they were. "I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn't know what else to do."
"It's completely fine." He waved it off with a flick of his hand. His phone buzzed on the table. He held the phone at arms length and squinted. He chuckled and put the phone back down.
"The wife says hello and she doesn't mean to be rude she's upstairs putting Kota to bed. She also says if I make you drive all the way back home tonight I should be prepared to spend the night on the couch."
"It's okay, I don't want to be a burden." I humbly declined. Though I was excited at the idea of sticking around and seeing  Dakota.
"And I'd rather you sleep on the couch than me." He argued. "An old man needs his snuggles. The baby steals em all during the day." My dad laughed at this and I laughed with him.
"Okay, I'll stay and head home in the morning." I said, "thank you."  He nodded and disappeared into the house only to return a few moments later with blankets , a sheet, and pillows.
"The bathroom is the second door down that little hallway and the kitchen is through there. Are you hungry?" He asked. Cyndi finally came downstairs. She was in a long lavender silk gown that appeard as though the end had been dipped on black ink.  She wore a robe of the same pattern over it.  She was beautiful. It was a different beauty than my mom. Her face had sharp angles, an empecable jawline, and dark brown eyes darned in the thickest of eyelashes. Mum looked wild and mystical while Cyndi looked gorgeous and threatening like a hot stepford housewife by day and an assassin by night.
"Yes, Maura, are you hungry? We had lasagna for dinner, plenty of leftovers." She asked. My stomach growled. I bet Dad made the pasta and he cooked the best lasagna.
"That sounds delicious."
Cyndi warmed me up a plate. She had never been mean to me, she just wasn't mom. She made Dad happy and usually went out of her way to make me feel comfortable. Even now.
.......
At some point I had fallen asleep. Dad was telling me a plethora of misremembered memories. Instead of him teaching me how to ride a bike for weeks after he got home from work, he remembered visiting mom while I was learning to ride a bike. He remembered Mum telling him how much she cried on my first day of school when in reality he had been the one who was teary-eyed. He had even ran alongside the bus until it turned off of our road and sped off. He laughed fondly at the hikes we used to take. He only remembered a couple times and he remembered Mum being involved more often than she was. Hiking had been our thing since I could walk. I'd find rocks, pick up bugs, climb trees, and ask questions about everything. I couldn't remember everything he taught me now but he usually had an answer for me. If he didn't he would look it up as soon as he got home.
I couldn't understand how his memory could be this manipulated. He had to have blocked out huge chunks of my life when I lived with him. He did not speak of my teenage years. He just kept saying he stopped coming around when Mum lost it and he was sorry for that.
Tiny footsteps startled me awake. I should have known it wasn't the fey  who were stealthy with their agile movements. These steps were clumsy and loud, like a child prancing about. My half brother stood on front of me, face too close to mine. He giggled, making  cute dimples appear in his chubby cheeks and hugged my head. He tangled his little fingers in my hair and gave me a slobbery kiss on my temple. I returned the embrace and scooped him up by his bottom so he could be on the couch with me.
"Sissy!" He grinned, dark shaggy hair shifting widly on his head. I blinked in shock.
"You know who I am?" I asked, "who am I?"
"Sissy." he yawned and cuddled on my chest before he quickly fell asleep. I could feel his little heartbeat flutter, a upbeat jazz percussion against the smoothe RnB of mine. I cried silent tears if joy. At least Kota remembered me.