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down. The phone rang and she ran to pick it up.
    “Did you really call my office?” It was Joe. No hello or is everything okay? And he was pissed.
    “Yes, I did. You’ve been gone for three days I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, Joe. What’s going on?” she asked.
    “Don’t do it again. I’m on business; you knew I was going away. We don’t need to talk every day. I’m hanging up now.” The line was dead. Sophie looked at the phone in her hand incredulous. What if she had gotten sick, or died? Or worse, what if one of the kids got sick? Anger set in. She got her children settled for the night and started to pace. She was up until early morning, determined she would have it out with him when he got home.
    The next morning, she got the children up and off to school and came home to the empty house with hopes he would call her. When noon came and he hadn’t gotten in touch yet, she called him again, and every half hour after that. At first, she left messages. “Joe, I can’t live like this.” And, “Please, please tell me what’s wrong.” After a while, she simply hung up when his voicemail picked up. The next day she couldn’t eat, crying off and on all day, looking at the phone and finding the strength not to pick it up. Finally, by the weekend, she wasn’t even thinking of him. She was sure she didn’t love Joe, but felt trapped there; they had three kids together. Wouldn’t it be easier to stay and make a life for her children? What would it cost her?
    To her family and friends she pretended nothing was wrong, that she was in a loving marriage, happy and satisfied. Soon, she believed it herself. Everything was okay between them, he was successful because she kept the home fires burning for him and never made any demands. When he came home, he occasionally reached for her for sex, and she complied because she needed it. It wasn’t great, but it was better than doing it alone.
    Her family didn’t suspect she was miserable. She’d hated the apartment above the store in Greektown since childhood, so her visits were infrequent and brief. She’d bring her children to see their grandparents, and after they died, only when summoned for a holiday, wedding or funeral. Her brothers’ wives were a bunch of self-centered gossips and she avoided them whenever possible. Her behavior was chalked up to a busy life with a successful husband and three fabulous children. She would perpetuate the myth for as long as she could.
     

Chapter 8
    Andy got up to pour more coffee. When they got together like this to talk, it often went into the night. Andy called his wife to ask her to either join them in the city, or be patient until he got home, but the answering machine picked up.
    “What made you stay here, Uncle Gus?” Andy asked. Gus reached for the cream pitcher before he spoke, pouring thick whipping cream into his coffee first. He looked over at his daughter, hoping she was up for full disclosure. He needed to talk about it.
    “We almost did leave right after Chris was born.” Jill was looking at him, studying his face for hidden secrets. She had never heard this story. “It was a shock to all of us. We’d never had birth defects in our family’s history, at least any that weren’t covered up. There are myths that the Greeks couldn’t tolerate imperfection in infants and that country people would leave a baby with problems on the hillside to die. My wife wanted to bring Chris home, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She was worried about the impact having a baby with so many issues would have on the whole family.” Gus hung his head, looking at his hands. “I should have made a stand. But back then, it made sense. The doctors at the hospital said it would be better for everyone if we put him in an institution. They fed him with a tube at first. After her discharge from the hospital, I took your mother back every afternoon to hold him. They transferred him to a nursing home in Rochester. It was