Holding Her Hand

by Tammy Falkner

  Me: At the what?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Finny calls it the coochie doctor.

  Me (grinning like a fool): You took my cap to the coochie doctor?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Why, yes, I did.

  Me: Wait. Are you wearing a paper gown? Open at the front? With your feet in these horse things?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I think they’re called stirrups.

  Me: Horse things. And answer the question.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Stirrups. And no, I am not wearing a paper gown.

  Me: Then what are you wearing?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Your cap.

  Me (gulp): That’s all?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Quit being a perv. I’m wearing clothes.

  Me: Damn. There goes my fantasy. Why are you at the doctor?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m here with Wren.

  Me: Is she okay?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Not really, but I think she will be. I’ve got to go. They’re calling for her.

  Me: Can I see you later?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I can’t. We’re laying down tracks tonight at the recording studio. Probably every night this week. Bye!

  On Tuesday she sent me a picture of her wearing my cap at an ice cream shop. And she just happened to have her tongue stuck out so she could lick a humongous cone.

  Me: This isn’t very fair.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: What’s not fair?

  She sends another picture with her tongue actually touching the cone.

  Me: My cap gets to see you more than I do. Can I see you tonight?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Can’t. We’re recording.

  Me: Soon?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Probably not until this weekend. We have an appointment to finish my tattoo.

  Me: I’m hurt. You just want me for my ink skills.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Would I be texting you stupid pictures of myself if I just wanted you for your ink skills? No. I’m trying really hard to get (and keep) your attention.

  Me: Mission accomplished. Text me later, when you are wearing my cap in the shower, okay?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: LOL Nice try. TTYL

  On Wednesday, I text her first.

  Me: I just did a tattoo for a man who lost his whole family in a house fire. He was at work when it happened. He lost his wife and three children.

  There’s a huge pause when she doesn’t respond. But finally, she does.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: What kind of tattoo did he get?

  Me: Roses, which were in honor of their wedding, and one symbol for each of the kids.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: What were they?

  Me: A building block, a matchbox car, and a set of jack rocks, all making up the shape of a baseball diamond. The block was first base. The car was second base, and the jacks were third. The roses were home plate. They met at a baseball game.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Will you come up with something like that for me for my other arm?

  Oh, shit. I realize that I’m talking with a woman who lost her family in a fire about a tattoo I did for someone in a similar tragedy. I’m an asshole.

  Me: I’m so sorry. I just realized the parallel. I never should have said anything.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m glad you told me. It obviously affected you.

  Me: His grief was like a living, breathing thing there in the room with us.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: My mother liked to play Scrabble. My father preferred chess. And our favorite thing to do on the weekend was go to the beach and fly kites.

  Me: I can work with that.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Thank you. And thank you for telling me about them. Grief can either make you or break you. I let it break me for a long time. Now I think I’m ready to let it make me. I hope he gets to that point too.

  Me: You’re there.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Got to go. The girls are looking at me like I’m messing up their whole day.

  Me: TTYL

  On Thursday, I really want to see her. There’s a famous book about how to tell if a guy is into you. I’m definitely into her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to talk to her. I want to hear about her day. I want to know how she’s feeling. I particularly want to know how she’s feeling about me.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: What’s the dress code for your mom’s party?

  Me: Dress code?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: What will everyone be wearing?

  Me: If I tell you nothing, will you show up wearing nothing?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’ll show up and kick you in the balls. How’s that?

  Me (instinctively putting out a hand to protect my nuts): It’s casual. A cookout. So you can wear something cookout-ery.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Cookout-ery. Okay. Will your brother be there?

  Me: Why do you ask?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Because there’s safety in numbers. And I already met him.

  Me: No need to be afraid. They’re harmless.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Said the spider to the fly. I have to go. Studio time.

  Me: TTYL

  On Friday, I text her to find out what she’s doing.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Girls’ night. My sisters and the Reed wives.

  Me: Where?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m not allowed to say, or the Reed boys will show up to claim their women like cavemen on steroids. They’re all together at Paul’s. You should go join them.

  Me: Who is watching the kids?

  The Reeds have a million and one children now.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: The kids are with the men.

  Me: Then hell no. I’ll pass.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: The kids are adorable.

  Me: Maybe when there’s only one. But they have fifty or a thousand of them.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Do you want kids?

  Me: Never thought about it.

  Silence.

  Me: Until I met you.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I want kids. Someday. A little girl so I can coach her softball team. Or a boy who will love books the way I do. Or they could switch up those gender roles. I wouldn’t care.

  Me: Are we going to get to have another date anytime soon?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I think we’re past that. Got to go.

  Me: TTYL.

  Three hours later, I get a text from her.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Are you aware that I’ve never actually had sex?

  Me: What?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m like totally a virgin.

  Me: Okay…

  Lark McCapSnatcher: But now that I took off my gloves, all I can think about is taking off the rest of my clothes. With you.

  Me (My dick goes hard.): Are you drunk?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Very.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: And horny.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: My sister is taking my phone away. TTYL!

  Wow. That’s all I can say. Wow.

  Friday morning, she texts me again.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’m so sorry.

  Me: For what?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: For subjecting you to my drunken ramblings.

  Me: I liked your drunken ramblings.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: You did?

  Me: Yep. Lots.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: Even the part about me being a…virgin?

  Me: Hey, you can talk to me about the state of your vagina any time you want.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I thought maybe it would scare you off.

  Me: Nothing you could do would scare me off. I do wish you’d go out with me sometime soon, though. I miss you.

  Lark McCapSnatcher: You just miss your cap.

  Me: Nope. It’s you. All you.

  Me: I got to go. Client’s waiting. TTYL?

  Lark McCapSnatcher: I’ll see you tomorrow.

  Friday Reed marches up to me with her hands on her hips. “What are your intentions with Lark?”

  I grin at her. “None of your business.”

  “Fuck that,” she says. She picks up a pair of scissors and ad
vances toward me. I immediately cover my package and step back.

  “All right, all right,” I say, like I’m surrendering to the cops. Trust me, you’d surrender too if you had a pixie with fangs coming at you with a pair of scissors, looking like she’s going to shear your balls off and fry them with eggs for breakfast. “I really like her.”

  “Like her like her?” she asks.

  “How many ways are there to like her?”

  “Like, could love her like her?” She stares me down.

  “Like, want to get to know her more like her. Like, can’t stop thinking about her like her. Like, I’m irritated that she’s been busy all week like her.”

  “But she’s hearing.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t date hearing girls.”

  “I didn’t date hearing girls. Then I met Lark.” I shrug.

  She grins and shoves my shoulder. “Can I give you some advice?”

  “Like I could stop you.”

  She looks supremely satisfied. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing.” She shrugs. “That’s all.”

  “I was going to do that anyway.”

  “But now you have my permission to keep doing it.”

  “Thank you?” I say with a question mark at the end. What do you say to that? Really?

  “You’re welcome.” She fluffs her short little skirt. “I know it’s totally breaking the girl code, but I’m going to go ahead and tell you that she really likes you. A lot.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She talked about you last night.”

  “Okay.” See, the thing is, with Friday Reed, you don’t have to prompt her. She’s going to tell you what she thinks no matter what. I’m aware of that. Her husband Paul gives me a thumbs-up from behind her back. She follows my eyes, turning to look at him, and then he turns his thumbs-up into a head scratch.

  “Keep up the good work,” she says to me. Then she flounces off to do whatever it is that Friday does. Like drink warm blood. Or torture small penis-shaped pin cushions with sharp needles.

  ***

  On Saturday, I keep looking toward the door, hoping to see the sheen of Lark’s ponytail or the brown of her eyes, but so far it’s just one soldier after another.

  The Reeds do tattoos for soldiers at a discount, and once word got around, we got flooded with people dropping by the shop. Since I’m the new guy, I don’t have a lot of regular clients, and I get a lot of walk-ins. At least my days have stayed busy. And I love to do tattoos for soldiers. I usually get to hear the stories behind the tattoos, with one of the Reeds translating for me, and I have nothing but respect for the men and women who protect our freedom. I finish up with a client and he tries to give me a big tip, but the honor was mine, so I shove it back to him.

  I pull my phone out and search the screen for a text from Lark. She’s two minutes late for her appointment. The lights flash as the front door of the shop opens, and finally she walks through it. Her eyes meet mine and I can’t stand still. I walk toward her. But right behind her is a tall man with long salt-and-pepper hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He intercepts me, getting between me and her.

  “Excuse me,” I sign, moving my mouth with the words so he’ll understand (1) that I’m deaf, and (2) that I want to get to Lark. I walk around him and go straight to her. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone. Not since Christmas of ’99 when I caught Santa leaving presents under our Christmas tree. He looked a lot like my dad.

  “Hi,” Lark signs. Her cheeks pinken and my heart does that thudding thing again.

  “I missed you,” I say, as I put my arm around her and pull her against me. But she’s stiff in my arms. Something is wrong. And I have no idea what it is. I push her back from me so I can look at her face. “What’s wrong?”

  She points to the gentleman who came in behind her. He’s standing with his arms crossed tightly, and he glares at me. “Ryan, this is my dad, Emilio Vasquez. Melio, this is Ryan.”

  “So this is the one you like,” the man says. He signs too, but it’s jerky and I can tell he’s not fluent. “He’s kind of skinny.” His eyes assess me, and I find myself fidgeting, although I’d rather not show any weakness.

  “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say. I stick out my hand. Instead of shaking hands, he extends his fist and holds his still so I’ll bump my knuckles with his. I do, and he grins at me.

  “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room before we get started,” Lark says. She points a finger at Emilio. “Behave yourself.”

  Friday smirks in the corner, and Paul swipes a smile off his face. “You’re fucked,” Paul says in warning.

  I look at Emilio and wait for him to sign something. He just stares at me. He looks at me until I grow all kinds of uncomfortable. Suddenly, he claps a hand to my shoulder and squeezes until I wince. “Let’s have a quick talk, shall we?” he says, as he walks us toward the back of the shop.

  I lean my hip against the counter and ask, “What can I do for you?”

  “How did you get her to take her gloves off?” he asks.

  I stand up straight. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. I have no idea why she took them off.

  “You know, she started wearing gloves before we ever adopted her, and she never stopped. We tried to talk her out of them, but it never worked. And then suddenly I show up at her house and she’s wearing shirt sleeves with her arms exposed. It’s honestly the first time I’ve seen the scars from her suicide attempt. Well, not since they unwrapped them at the hospital.” He stops and thinks for a moment. Then he looks into my face. “Whatever you did, I’m grateful, and I just wanted to tell you that.”

  I swallow past the lump that’s suddenly in my throat. “I really didn’t do anything.”

  “It’s almost a shame you’re going to cover them up,” he says.

  I know. I feel the same way. “It’s what she wants.”

  “I know, I know,” he says, waving his hand in the air like he’s dismissing my comment. “All this time, all she needed was to meet a deaf guy who can’t possibly fall in love with her to get her through it. I wish I’d known it sooner.”

  Huh? “What?” I ask.

  “You,” he says, pointing at my chest. “You make her comfortable because you’re not a threat. She’s not worried that you’re going to dismiss her, because you can’t fall in love with her anyway. She’s not your type of girl, right?”

  He waits. “Well…” I hesitate. She totally is my type of girl. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s funny and kind and smart. Who cares if she can hear? She doesn’t seem to care that I can’t.

  He stares at me. “Well, what?” he asks. He cocks his head to the side and studies me.

  “I’m glad I could help,” I say. “I’ll finish the tattoo today.”

  “Good boy,” he says. “She said she has a date this weekend, with some man she has a big crush on.”

  My heart stops beating. “She does?”

  “She’s pretty damn excited about it. Went and bought a new dress and everything.”

  I told her our cookout was casual, so this can’t be for my mom’s party. I didn’t realize she was dating anyone else. I say nothing, because there’s nothing to say. I feel like he just stabbed me in the throat.

  Lark comes out of the bathroom and walks in my direction. “You ready to get started?” she asks.

  I nod and start to set up my table.

  She watches me for a moment, her brow furrowing. She holds up one finger. “Give me just a minute.”

  I nod and she steps outside the curtain, jerking her dad with her.

  Lark

  “What the hell did you just do?” I bark at Emilio.

  He points a wavering, innocent finger at the curtain. “I was talking with the young man until you so rudely interrupted.”

  “What did you say to him?” I demand to know.

  He scratches his belly. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don
’t remember,” I say slowly.

  “Nope. They say your memory is the first thing to go when you start to get older. I can’t remember what you lose after that.” He grins at me.

  “Did you threaten him?”

  He grins at me again. “Why would I do that?”

  I point toward the door. “Get out,” I say.

  He puts on a mock-wounded look. “Why? Whatever did I do?”

  “I don’t know what you did!” I shout. “But now I have to find out.” I shake my finger at him. “I swear to God, Melio, if you ruin this for me, I’m never going to talk to you again.”

  “That’s okay.” He smirks. “I have four other daughters who like me. That’s the beauty of adopting so many of you at one time.”

  I growl at him and he laughs out loud. “I didn’t do anything,” he insists. “Just tested the boy a little.”

  Suddenly, the curtain jerks behind me and Ryan stalks out. He takes my elbow and pulls me behind the curtain. I’m startled. Really startled. I can hear Emilio laughing on the other side of the curtain.

  “Do you have a date this weekend?” he asks, his fingers flying.

  “Yes,” I say tentatively. “Don’t I?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “My date’s with you, you idiot.” I shove his chest, just because I’m irked and he’s there, and he’s standing still as a statue.

  I can see the dawning realization on his face. He got played by the best player ever. “Your dad just fucked with me, didn’t he?” He shakes his head, and I can see the muscle tic in his jaw.

  “I have no idea what he said to you, but if it looks like fucking and it smells like fucking and it tastes like fucking, it’s probably fucking.”

  He grins. “Tastes like fucking?”

  “Ohhhh!” I growl, stomping my foot. Then I grab his shirt and ball my fists in it. He widens his stance to support us both. “I like you,” I say, and I make him read my lips.

  He smiles and brushes a lock of hair back behind my ear. “I like you too.”

  Emilio jerks the curtain back and sticks his head in. “He turned green with envy when he thought you were going out with someone else. Just saying.” Then he disappears again.

  “What did he say?” Ryan asks.

  I free my hands from his shirt. “He said you were jealous.”