A Light to Guide Me
The heat had been overwhelming, and I relished the dark quiet of the office and the cold water bottle at my side. Working here had always been an escape for me, this very office always a refuge.
I could have done the books from home, but it wouldn't have felt right. In some ways, that was where I grew up and where I'd always felt the most comfortable. I would sit right there a quarter of a century prior, back when my father only had three locations. He was big on putting the family to work and if I wasn't studying for my accounting degree; I was correcting his books or teaching a class.
My life bore almost no resemblance to what I had planned back then. I'd been helping Finn with keeping track of the finances for his oyster farm and fishing, and I loved it. That was going to be my career; helping small business owners work through the labyrinth of GMROI, tax implications, P&L and everything else that they would need to grow and prosper.
And then along came Daisy, changing our relationship and my dreams of a simple, modest life.
Decades later I'm related to a billionaire, my friend Pete owns numerous businesses, and my wife is worth over seventy million. I still help with Finn's oyster farm and fishing, audit Pete's businesses and help my father. That keeps me busy, but my true joy is in volunteering with the Riverhead Chamber of Commerce and helping local start-ups. I find people fascinating. I always have. Learning about their dreams and goals and helping them get there isn't work, it's a pleasure.
Still reminiscing, I looked from where I was sitting and saw my wife as she adjusted one of her student's hips, showing the young teen how to set up side-control. The girl was new to the school and had some social issues. We paid her monthly fees, even though my father would have happily waived them, and Daisy, who most people called Siobhan, had purchased some clothes for her. She collected girls that idolized her and tried to help them all.
My wife pretended to be all bad-ass, all the time, but she was a softy when it came to kids and they seemed to sense that. Leaning back in my chair and away from the various receipts my father collected like a pack-rat, I remembered how frustrated Finn was that as a toddler, William would fuss and struggle and run when his father or mother would hold him, but he would just melt into Daisy's arms and stay there, completely content.
I was doing the accounting for my father's chain of Jiu Jitsu academies and Daisy was teaching. Looking to the left of the office, I could see where Siobhan and her father first came through the door and approached that ugly red counter more than thirty years earlier. She was twelve or thirteen and I was two years older. Part of me fell in love with her that day.
The little girl with the round face and the yellow hair, Siobhan, who became Daisy, who became my wife, who became my everything, still took my breath away when I woke up next to her every morning.
My phone rang, and I stopped reminiscing.
"Hello?"
"Yes, is this Mr. Oliviera?"
"Speaking."
"Mr. Oliviera, I'm calling from the New Haven Oncology Center to confirm your appointment for Wednesday at 2:00 PM."
"Yeah, thanks. I'll be there."
"Sir, they explained the protocols to you last time you were here, right? We can't let you leave unless you are in a car service or with someone else. Mrs. Siobhan Oliviera is listed on the same insurance. Is she a licensed driver? Will she be with you?"
I paused and looked at Daisy and then glanced at our daughter, who was doing schoolwork in the corner. "No. I'll be alone. I'll arrange for an Uber."
"Very good. We'll see you Wednesday, Mr. Oliviera."
*****
The stares were always weird. Knowing that someone felt that they couldn't just come up and talk to me rankled. Talking to people was as much a part of me as Jiu Jitsu. It was part of who I was. Daisy has a mental Rolodex of polite ways to extract me from conversations when she was ready to leave somewhere. And yet there I stood; people afraid to come over as they stared from a distance.
I knew why, it was always the same. They'd seen videos of me at the Abu Dhabi World Championships or when I went rogue in Brazil. I was proud of the former and deeply ashamed of the latter. I had felt that my wife had abandoned me emotionally and had shut me out of a part of her life and I fled to where I was loved, where I was needed; Sao Paulo and my extended family.
The irony wasn't lost on me that now I was shutting her out of a part of my life.
My family is sort of a big deal in Brazil. We're one of two secondary families in the country that specialize in Jiu Jitsu, and I was always our family's great hope. I didn't approach Jiu Jitsu as a sport or even as self-defense. It was always about the puzzle to me. How could I accomplish what I wanted in new and better ways? I won trophies to help my father's schools, and I represented our family at competitions, but I would be just as happy rolling with friends and students and discussing the elevation of the art.
Until that all changed when I fled to Brazil.
I stopped eating, began drinking, and made myself available. Every morning I could be found at the beach and there would be a perverse form of King of the Mountain. Anyone that wanted to make a name for themselves could find me there, and I was only too happy to be found. I began to enjoy hurting people. I was lost.
I shouldn't have been surprised that videos made their way to YouTube. I shouldn't have been surprised that people took away the wrong lessons. As long as they didn't have to get too close, people liked catching a glimpse of the monster. I would try to smile and nod when I saw those looks. I'd make an excuse to walk near the person, giving them an opportunity to speak to me and ask questions. To explain my shame, to learn about them and their lives.
The woman that caused me to flee to a place where I lost who I was also served as my salvation. I never should have run. I never should have been haunted by dreams of inadequacy and handsome would-be spies. My fears caused me to run when I should have stayed. We could have talked it out, maybe gone for counseling. Instead, there was a rift that took years to fully heal.
And now I deal with stares and people wondering how the gaunt man in the videos who was so efficient at hurting others could be teaching their children with patience and a gentle hand. I'd smile, know what they were thinking, and swallow my shame.
Later, at one of our other schools and before my appointment, I walked to the front of the mats; and waited until everyone was looking my way. "Okay, everyone. We're fifteen minutes over. Great effort. Thanks for letting me sit in. I'm going to be here another half hour or so if anyone has any questions. Remember, you can always email me or my dad or anyone on staff if you have questions later when you're home."
I led a class in Connecticut once a week and then went over the books and took stock. It was the perfect cover. I found an oncologist with a clinic less than 10 minutes from the school. No one would wonder why I was going to Connecticut, and I didn't have to worry about freaking out my family. Glioblastoma was a bitch, and they didn't need to worry until... well, certainly not right away.
I needed to hold on to who I was for a while. I needed to be the teacher, the friend, the dad and the husband for as long as possible before I became the burden.
After finishing in the office, I drove over to the clinic. The meeting with the doctor went well, and he answered my questions. There were some tests that were scheduled that would have messed with my vision and equilibrium, but they had to be postponed. I'd be able to drive home instead of taking an Uber to the hotel for a few hours.
Exiting the exam room, I was walking to the front desk when I saw her. She was tilting her head slightly to better hear the nurse. Daisy had lost ninety percent of the hearing in one ear when someone tried to kill her and put a bullet in the floor near her head in a Vegas casino. I stopped moving. She brushed that still blonde hair from her face and I saw no signs of her wars. There was never a broken nose, never a fractured cheekbone, just my wife. Just Daisy. My heart fluttered, and I smiled. For a second.
Like an alpha predator who senses prey, she slowly turned her head and looked directly at me. A shiver ran down my spine and I felt like a rabbit before a wolf. I fought the urge to remain unmoving. I'd never seen her so angry, and that was saying a lot.
Speaking softly, I reached for her hand, which she jerked back. "Hey. How'd you find out?"
"How..." She punched my shoulder and it hurt. "How did I find out? That's what you say to me? Shut up, Thomas Oliviera. Just keep your damned mouth shut. Are you done here? Do we need some sort of copay or something?"
I decided that I was going to answer the question in spite of the admonition to shut up. "Abby, do I need to sign something?"
The woman behind the counter pushed a tablet toward me, her eyes on Daisy the whole time. I signed. "Thanks. And your son's going to be fine. I'm sure of it. All kids go through phases like that."
"Thanks, Tommy. See you next week. I just need your signature here as well."
She had scribbled on another piece of paper. "Are you ok? Need help?" Smiling, I signed her fake form.
"Everything is fine. Thank you."
Daisy turned to her. "I doubt he'll be back. He's staying on Long Island." She started walking towards the door and spoke over her shoulder. "Let's go. Your daughters are waiting for their parents. You remember them? Your daughters?"
We were outside in the unrelenting heat, walking towards my car. I wondered for a minute how she had gotten to the clinic, but it didn't matter.
"How'd you..."
"I told you not to talk to me. Don't... Finn. How else would I have found out? You think he wouldn't know? How could you not tell me? How..."
She stood there, tears falling from her face, and I stepped to her, pulled her in close and let her weep on my shoulder.
"I just wanted to be Tommy for a little while longer."
*****
There was a need in me to find a way to still be there for my daughters after I was gone. Daisy's Uncle William had done that for his namesake before he died. He left my nephew William countless books to read at different parts of his life and over a quarter of a million words of advice typed up and now stored on the cloud. I went a simpler route, using a friend and video.
"You don't want Shiv doing this?"
Looking up, I smiled sadly. "No. I can't put her through this. You about ready?"
"Yeah. So, why now? It's... I don't know, it's... you look fine, you know?"
