Page 105 of The Story of You

“What’s the name of the company—for my accountant.”

Fuck. I didn’t have a business name. I considered giving my real name for a moment. Would Terry tell the boys who their generous benefactor was? It would be a great way to get a message to Darius.

I got an idea. Darius loved spy movies. He’d love this clue and he’d definitely figure it out. “Golden Harpy Inc.”

He squinted. “What kind of company is that?”

“One with enough money to ensure you don’t have to watch your football game in black and white, Terry,” I said. “I must be going. This one’s fading.”

“Wait, Steven. You never get to finish your half … and let me give you some cinnamon buns to go. It’s the least we can do after such a kind gesture,” Sandy said.

I didn’t want to go home with cinnamon buns, and I didn’t want to waste them. “Just my half, please, Sandy.”

She probably thought I had an eating disorder. Maybe I had. It was hard to eat some days. I remembered what Darius said about making sure I was fed for him and Oliver, but I knew it wasn’t enough. The waist of my jeans decreased as I grew. I was skinny.

Like she knew it was the last time we would see each other, she stared into my eyes for a few seconds too long as she handed me the paper bag with half of a cinnamon bun.

“You’re a good, Daddy, Steven. He’s a lucky boy.”

I shook my head. “I’m the lucky one.”

I smooth my hand over the page as though I could transfer some of my love to young Silas. It’s a comfort to read these parts. As I told Silas, I’m relieved to know I wasn’t a burden. We had fun. We even had our own cinnamon bun haunt.

He must know how much I loved him and not just needed him. I have my own memories of looking up at Silas, always revered by his size. When I needed a safe place to land—which was a lot, I know I was a sensitive child—he never turned me away. I could climb onto his lap without an invite, and he’d hold me as long as I needed him to, no matter what he was doing. Sometimes though, I did it when I knew he was struggling. I don’t know how I knew. It’s something I can sense. I’d stay with him until he felt like himself again.

My gaze drifts to Darry. He’s involved and I’m feeling better after that chapter. Okay, maybe just a bit more.

ChapterThirty-Two

Oliver ~ May 23rd 2009

Oliver’s fourth birthday was not a pleasant one…I read. Oh God. This is … this has to be when we escape. Silas writes:

The paper with the address for The Boys Home that I was pretty sure held Darius, was burning a hole in my pocket. Though not actually my pocket. I’d kept it in my wallet where I didn’t think Aleksander would look. I didn’t have a clue what to do with it. Drive there and then what?

How was I supposed to provide for Oliver?

I didn’t think Aleksander would care about his birthday. He hadn’t cared about his first three. He’d told me not to invite him to any more dance recitals. He didn’t say anything about the cake I’d put in the fridge the day before—the strawberry shortcake with whip cream icing. I went ahead with Oliver’s fourth birthday without him.

There were a few kids in the neighborhood Oliver played with sometimes. I invited them over for cake. It was three kids other than Oliver and a parent to each kid—two moms and a dad. They brought him small gifts. I gave him the ones I’d bought for him, which included the soft pink bunny that now lives behind his pillow.

He thinks no one knows it’s there, but we all know it’s there.

I enjoyed watching Oliver’s face get messy with whip cream. His He-Man shirt—Oliver liked He-Man as Prince Adam in his pink shirt and white tights—soaked up strawberry juice.

“S’good, Baba,” he said.

He ran around with his friends, but always had one eye peeled for me, not allowing me to stray too far. People think I’m the domineering one. Oliver controls me in every way.

When Father arrived home from work, he saw the half-eaten cake in the fridge. Oliver, who had been playing near my feet as I plated up Aleksander’s dinner, stood and silently asked to be picked up, sensing trouble. I gathered him to me. Oliver shook in my arms. I didn’t know if I could protect him. The helplessness threatened to swallow me.

“You and Oliver couldn’t have eaten that much cake. Who was here, Silas?”

“Just a couple of his little friends and their parents.” My voice was measured as if any rise could act as flint and set him off.

“Then I should have been there. What did they think when I wasn’t here? Fucking hell, Silas. You don’t think sometimes.”

I shook my head. “No. They understood that you had work. They wouldn’t have come this late with three and four-year-olds.”