In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

Due to running the restaurant, his father hadn’t been in the bleachers for his baseball games or there to pat him on the back when Nick had won the science fair thanks to his love of gastronomy. But those things had never mattered. What mattered was their time in the kitchen together. Moments when Nick had cooked a chicken marsala just right or created the perfect Bolognese sauce and Dad had beamed with pride.

He'd lived for that look. That approval. And then it was gone. Nick couldn’t imagine inflicting that pain on a child of his own.

Mom was never the same either, and her new husband was nothing like the man she’d lost. Gus was quiet. Unassuming. An insurance salesman who would rather sit on the couch watching inane television than do anything else. Deep down, Nick suspected she’d only married him because she didn’t love him.

She’d needed someone to take care of her so she’d found a man who wouldn’t ask for much, who would keep her safe with a roof over her head, and who would be easier to lose when the time came. The suggestion made her sound heartless, but she was really heartbroken and found the best way to cope that she could.

Aware that he needed to bring a peace offering, Nick rang Nota’s doorbell with a bowl of his homemade Tiramisu in hand. She answered the door looking more tired than usual.

“Nota, are you okay?”

She waved his concern away. “I’m fine. Just a little flare-up.”

The arthritis was flaring up more and more lately. “Is the medication Fielding gave you not working?”

“It’s fine.” She led him into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. “Sit with me.”

In front of her was a photo album just like the one Mia had given Nick for his birthday. He had yet to open his past that first page.

“Where did this come from?” he asked, reluctant to travel down this memory lane.

“Mia made us all one.” When Nick remained several feet from the table, she patted the empty spot next to her. “Sit, my boy. We need to talk.”

Resigned to his fate, he slid into the seat and pushed the Tiramisu her way. “I brought you something.”

She lifted the lid to see the dessert inside, then clicked it shut. “Thank you. That will be good with my coffee in the morning.”

After placing the treat in the fridge, Nick returned to his seat. “So what are we talking about?”

“The family.”

Tension tightened the muscles across his back. “What about them?”

Nota opened the book, ran a finger gently over the first picture, and then turned the page. There Nick saw a scattered collection of black-and-white photographs. Leaning toward the album, he spotted the year 1955 at the bottom of several of them.

“Is that you and Grandpa?”

“It is. That’s the year we started dating.” Pointing to the image in the top right corner of the page, she said, “This was our first date. I turned eighteen the week before and Papa finally let him take me out.”

Nick looked closer and marveled at the resemblance between father and son. The image could have easily been of his dad.

“He was three years older than you, right?”

She nodded. “We met two years before, when I was sixteen and he was nineteen. I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on him, but your Papa Karras wouldn’t even consider letting me go out with a boy. Especially not one so much older.”

Since he’d always felt protective of Mia, Nick understood his great-grandfather’s thinking. Not that his sister had ever wanted to date a boy, older, younger, or otherwise.

“Is that him?” he asked, pointing to a picture of an older man wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and dark pants.

“Ah, yes. That’s Papa. He always stood like that. Stomach out. Hands on his hips. Cigarette clenched between his teeth.”

How anyone lived past thirty back then was a miracle. The men on Nota’s side had nearly all lived well into their seventies, but Nick had no idea how considering their unhealthy lifestyle.

Nota turned the page to her wedding photos taken the following year. “Other than when I had your father, this was the happiest day of my life.” She scanned the images with misty eyes and then scooted the book closer to Nick. “Here’s Papa again. I’ll never forget how he cried the whole way as he walked me down the aisle. And here’s your Papa Stamatis.”

Nick looked closer. “But how. I thought he died in the war.”

“That was your great-grandfather. This is his father, your great-great-grandfather, Nickolai Stamatis. The man you’re named after. He lived well into his seventies.” She pointed to another picture. “And this is your great-uncle John, your grandfather’s older brother.” Nota glanced to the ceiling as she did the silent math. “He was twenty-five here, I believe. We lost him back in 2003. Such a dear man.”

All of these Stamatis men living to old age was news to Nick.

“Why didn’t I hear about these guys when I was growing up? I never met any great-uncles.”

“Of course you did,” she assured him. “You were just too young to remember.”

“Nota, I was eighteen in 2003. I’d remember.”

She turned the page. “John moved to California in the late eighties so you would have been very young the last time you saw him and we didn’t attend the funeral.” Adjusting the reading glasses on her nose, she said, “Here we are now. Your father’s first baby picture.” The image was in black and white and low quality, but the tuft of dark hair and disgruntled look were clearly visible. “He was the love of my life from the moment I heard his first cry.”

Leaning closer, Nick saw similarities with his own baby pictures. The same unruly hair, round face, and plump cheeks. Though to be fair, that described most newborns.

“Was he a good baby?”

Chuckling, she brushed her hand over the image. “He came into the world the same way he lived the rest of