“Sorry to keep you waiting, I’d like Jade to take a look at your back, if that’s all right with you,” Rogue explains. “This is Jade, my boss.”
“Oh, I wasn’t really waiting all that long. I used to spend longer than this in tanning beds. It was nice to have a moment to myself. I’ve been so busy with graduation that I haven’t really had a chance to even stop and think about things. I’ve got so much to do before my trip to Louisiana that my head hurts even thinking about it.”
Suddenly I realized I was babbling and I went silent.
“Shelby, do you mind if I look at your back?” Jade asks.
“I don’t have a problem with that. Go ahead and do whatever it is that you need to do.”
Rogue uncovers me and begins talking about me, “I noticed the area right above where her bra strap would be. That’s the most acute, but she’s got a few others with inconsistent texture. They don’t appear to be painful because I touched them with my stencil pen and she didn’t seem to react,” Rogue tells her boss.
Jade changes out her gloves to another set of neoprene gloves. I can feel her running her hands over my back. Eventually, she looks over at Rogue and nods slightly.
“What does that mean?” I ask, my panic level rising. “It’s usually not this hard for me to get a tattoo. Is it because I chose a dream catcher? Is there some sort of religious prohibition against it?”
“No, not that I know of,” Rogue replies, in that weird tone that parents use when they’re about ready to give you bad news. “Shelby, based on our experience, we think you should see a doctor about your back. There seems to be something unusual going on.”
“What do you mean, ‘based on your experience’? What happened? I thought you hadn’t even started tattooing yet.” I hammer them with a barrage of questions.
Jade shifts, uncomfortably and it seems like she’s not going to answer my question, but then she says, “We see lots of skin every day and we see a lot of different stuff. We just think it might be a good idea to play it safe and have it checked out. Hopefully it’s nothing.”
“Are you saying you can’t tattoo the dream catcher on my back?” I repeat, still bewildered.
“I think perhaps what she’s saying is right now the timing isn’t right,” Tall Cute Guy interjects.
“You don’t even know me. What could you possibly know about my life?” I ask, somewhat rhetorically, stunned that he would have an opinion about my life.
“I know nothing — except that you can’t change what will be,” he pronounces with scary authority.
I REALLY WISH I WOULD'VE stayed in bed this morning. Oh wait, I couldn't because the TV was blaring loud enough to drown out jet engines on a military base. Damn, why couldn't those wireless headphones work for Ketki? It's always so hit-and-miss with her. She had one set of headphones that didn't seem to bother her, but after those broke, I've been sorry-outta-luck. I even wrote to the manufacturer of the crazy things to see if they could help me locate some more. They wrote me a form letter telling me that their stock was limited to what they had on hand and they helpfully included a coupon for newer models. Newer models don't help me. Clearly, they don't understand what it's like to be a single parent of a child with autism.
My day continued to deteriorate rapidly. After I got to work this morning, I found out that we lost a case that we should've won on summary judgment because the new associate I’ve been mentoring missed a filing deadline. Garrett Treadwell may think he is God’s gift to the legal community, but he might want to nail down the basics first. The person we were representing was in dire need of those years of back pay.
When my buddies and I formed Hunters Crossing, LLC right out of law school, we had stars in our eyes. We were going to be the law firm that took cases solely on the merits of the case and not be driven by money. We would take the cases other firms turned away and just plan to work harder. Well, that part of our plan worked out; we do work ridiculously hard. The frighteningly high burnout rate among our lawyers is just the cost of having a reputation for taking clients that no one else will take.
Of the group of nine of us that started the firm, there are only three left. I have a note on my desk informing me that the Associate Partners would like to meet with the Senior Partners to talk about restructuring the client load. I can read between those lines easily enough. They want us to take on a more profitable caseload and change the focus of our firm. As the longest serving attorney in the firm, I see the financials. From a practical standpoint, I can’t say they are wrong — but my heart and mind are telling me two very different things.
At the moment, my stomach is telling me that I’m hungry — I have been on the run all day and basically I’ve forgotten to eat. Unfortunately, I’m busy getting drawn on at the moment and there’s nothing I can do about it. Of course, it might be the reason that I’m standing around talking like a damned fortune cookie.
The woman with hair the color of wheat in the fall awkwardly looks up at me with bright blotches of color in her cheeks as she challenges me and my interruption into the conversation. It’s then my brain catches up with my feet and my mouth. Smooth move, Littleson. Up until this moment, it didn’t occur to me that I’m violating her personal space — I was just following Jade around the large over-sized studio. Of course she might not have a shirt on — she’s getting a back piece done. I realize that now I look like a complete jerk.
On impulse, I kneel down beside her head and offer, “You’re right. I was inserting myself where I didn’t belong. I owe you an apology. Good luck with your new degree. If I can be of any assistance, let me know.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an O as she comments, “How unusual. I don’t know that I’ve ever gotten a straight up apology before. Hello, my name is Shelby.”
“Hi, Shelby. I’m Mark.”
“Well, Mark, as awkward as this is, I can’t say I’m sorry to meet you.”
“Wait… how will I find you again?” I ask, against my better judgment.
“I’ll be the teacher with the gorgeous dream catcher on my back,” she responds with a teasing laugh.
“How did Stage One go for you, Mark?” Jade asks, as she examines my back.
“On the whole, I would say you radically undersold the itching part,” I complain.
“Did you use the tattoo care kit that we gave you?”
“Yes, I want to thank you for that actually. It’s the most interactive and engaged I’ve seen my daughter in a really long time. Usually, she has a really hard time touching others but she was so intrigued by the new design on my back that she didn’t have any trouble putting on rubber gloves and rubbing on the ointment. She thought it was great fun to trace the new design on my back with her fingers and because of the swelling it had ridges. That made it even more fascinating for her.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve heard all kinds of uses for tattoos, but a therapy device is a new one even for me. We’ll have to introduce her to Marcus with all of his piercings. He would keep her busy for a while. I’ve heard that Rogue hid a Power Puff Girl somewhere among all of his pieces, as a tribute to an inside joke between them.”
“Does she often make tattoos without the client’s knowledge?” I ask skeptically.
“Oh, Rogue would never give a tattoo without the express permission of the client, even for Marcus. Marcus actually told her she could do it.”
After a few minutes of work, Jade comments, “If your daughter loved your tattoo before, she’s going to go bananas for it now. This is spectacular, if I do say so myself.”
“Are you done already?” I ask, surprised at her speed.
“Don’t you wish?” Jade replies laughing. “Hold your horses. I just have the first row of feathers done. It will be quite some time before we’re finished.”
“Can we take a few? I need to check on Ketki. She’s with a new sitter,” I ask when I see the time.
Jade shrugs and says, “Sure not a problem. Just let me know when you want to
start back in.”
The bell to the shop rings. Rogue and Jade look up. I’m a little surprised they have a customer this late. Jade agreed to work on my back in the evening because I’ve been in trial this week and things have been crazy at work. I get the impression that they weren’t expecting anyone either.
Much to my surprise it’s Shelby. Well, it’s a Shelby-like person. All the light and happiness is gone from her. She wears grief as if it’s a garment. It’s all I can do to stay seated in the tattoo chair. I struggle to remember the lessons I learned the last time I tried to insert myself into a situation where I didn’t belong. The odd thing is that I feel the need to go over and protect her. Protect her from what, I’m not sure — just looking at her brings every male instinct I have to the surface.
Rogue reaches her first and asks, “Shelby, are you okay?”
Shelby drops her purse on the floor and then collapses cross-link on the floor right beside it. She crosses her legs and draws them up toward her chest. She looks up at Rogue and answers in a voice choked with tears, “No, I’m not okay. The scary thing is I may never be okay.”
Jade leaves her tattooing station and goes and sits down beside Shelby on the floor as she gently probes. “What do you mean?”
Shelby looks at Rogue and Jade. “You guys should really take this show on the road. It turns out you were right to be worried. I have Melanoma — you know, skin cancer. That spot on my back where my bra strap goes, is where my worst lesion is. They are not sure how deep they’ll have to cut or how much tissue they will have to cut away. My doctor did warn that it might involve some skin grafts and muscle removal.”
“I’m so sorry, Shelby. We definitely did not want to be correct,” replies Rogue with a profoundly sad expression.
“The doctor said I should be grateful that you spotted it because the earlier they find it, the better. I apologize, but I can’t find a good side to this. I had to withdraw from my teaching program—” Shelby breaks off with a sob as she gracefully gets up from the floor in one motion. She holds up her hands as if to block any incoming words as she says, “I’m sorry, I just wanted to let you guys know what happened.” Shelby spins on the ball of her foot and rushes out the back door.
“Oh my God! I feel awful. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and just waited to tell her until after the summer was over,” theorizes Rogue.
Jade touches me on the shoulder as she says, “Mark, do you mind? I need to go talk to her. I think this is the first time Rogue has been involved in one of these and they’re always devastating. I want to make sure that she doesn’t blame herself, whatever the outcome.”
“That’s understandable. It’s all right, I’m free all night.”
Jade and Rogue walk out of the room leaving me alone with my thoughts. Normally, this would not be a terribly hazardous thing to do; I generally have them under pretty firm control. However, recently my thoughts seem to be straying toward a waif of a woman with a determined spirit and infectious laugh. Shelby looks so crushed today that it would be irresponsible of me not to check on her, right?
Even as I think that thought, my phone buzzes to remind me of the meeting I have at Ketki’s school tomorrow. We have to go over placement for next year; I want to keep Ketki in mainstream classroom with her peers in a more normal setting, but the school district would like her to be in a more restrictive classroom. Of course they would. It takes a lot of effort to get through to my daughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a brilliant kid behind all of her triggers, meltdowns and hand flaps. If they continue to treat her like she’s stupid, she’s going get frustrated and quit trying. I want them be more creative. Why not put her with some older kids who have computer skills? I don’t want Ketki to quit the game before she’s really had a chance to play.
This all begs the question as to why am I even considering taking on one more problem? The answer is clear. It’s who I am — the solver of problems. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s pretty much that simple. I can’t walk away from a damsel in distress and Shelby looks to me to be very distressed. I need to go figure out what’s going on.
I expect to find her at the little patio belonging to the bistro next door. It’s a favorite hangout for all of the Ink’d Deep customers. I’m a little shocked when I don’t see her there. There’s really no other place she could go from the back door. I am about to turn around and go back inside when I hear the sound of muffled cries from the other side of the dumpster. Alarmed, I cautiously walk around the dumpster as I pick up a two by four in case I have to discourage some lowlifes.
I am completely astounded when I find Shelby sitting on a curb next to the dumpster.
“Immokalee, what are you doing out here? Are you okay?”
“I’mma what?” she asks. “Did you just cuss me out?”
I throw my head back and laugh. “No, far from it,” I explain. “Immokalee means tumbling water in Cherokee. Your amazing laugh is the first thing I noticed about you. It reminds me of the sound of rushing water in spring. I started calling you that in my head before I knew what your name was. I guess it just kind of stuck.”
“Wow! I should mark this day down in my diary. It’s not every day that I have an obnoxiously handsome guy whisper sweet nothings to me in a foreign language. It’s right out of a Rob Reiner movie,” she mumbles as she tries to hide her embarrassment.
It’s my turn to be uncomfortable as I respond, “I don’t know about all of that. I just call them as I see them. What are you doing down there on the ground? You can’t be comfortable down there. Come join me at a table."
Shelby looks up at me with the bleakest eyes I’ve seen in a while as she responds, “I don’t think I should do that. I’ve waited tables before and trust me: restaurants really prefer paying customers. It will be a while before I can afford to be a paying customer again.”
I pull my pants legs up so that I can squat down and sit down beside her. She regards me with horror as she insists, “You can’t sit down here! You’ll ruin your suit.”
“Since I really want to talk to you, and I’m really thirsty — how about we compromise? You can join me at the table and I’ll get you something to drink.”
Shelby’s brow furrows as she considers my offer. “I almost hate to point this out, but that’s not really a compromise. You’re just being pushy.”
“As it so happens, you’re right. Then again, so am I — if the ground isn’t a good place for me, it’s not a good place for you either. Come on, join me for a treat. I would feel guilty if I ate it all by myself. The last time I was in here, Jade was waxing poetically about the strawberry milkshakes over here, but I didn’t have time to stop. I was planning to change that today; don’t make me feel bad for my indulgence.”
Shelby tilts her head as if in deep thought as she responds, “Strawberry? As in fresh strawberries?”
I nod. “That’s my understanding.”
“I guess if my life is going to go to hell in a hand basket, I might as well make the journey with a full stomach.”
Shelby’s eyes open comically wide when I return to the table. She probably has cause. I may have accidentally ordered burgers and fries with the shakes.
“What is all this?” she asks suspiciously, “You never said anything about buying dinner.”
“I made that decision on the fly. It was actually cheaper to buy the combo meals than to buy the shakes separately. I, for one, am starving and I thought you might be too. This just seemed like the better strategy.”
Shelby’s eyes gain a faraway glazed over look as she starts to tear up. “Strategy. What a funny word that is. It implies that we might be in control of something in our lives. I used to think that. I had all these grand plans about how I was going to live my life and make everyone’s lives around me better. Now, I may not live until Christmas. How about them apples? How does a person strategize for that?” she asks bitterly.
“I don’t think you strategize for any of it. This isn’t like a courtroo
m, this is just life,” I offer. “Sometimes what we thought was up is down and what we thought was down is up.”
Shelby takes a couple bites of her hamburger before she answers me, “That’s all nice and philosophical and all, but here’s my reality: I managed to strategize myself right out of a place to live, a job and virtually everything else I own except for the clothes on my back.”
My surprise must have shown on my face because she continues with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m a college graduate now I can make plans without a single thought to contingencies. Aren’t I just flippin’ brilliant? I don’t have a place to live, I don’t have a job, I don’t have a way to get to my medical appointments… I just turned twenty-eight — and now I’ve got an appointment with the Grim Reaper and there isn’t a single soul in my life left to care. If that isn’t a pathetically sad commentary on my life, I don’t know what is.”
“Okay, I tend to be a little analytical about these problems, call it an occupational hazard. Let’s work this through backwards — you know like an equation.”
“I’m a math teacher,” she responds skeptically. “That makes me abundantly qualified to tell you that there’s no way to solve my life like an equation.”
I smile at her as I reply, “As much as I highly respect brilliant women, just humor me here.”
“You do know that you wouldn’t work the equation backwards?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
I chuckle lightly. “Yes, I think I remember that. I might make my living with words, but I still remember rudimentary facts about pre-algebra,” I reply. “Just for the sake of argument—”
“Oh, good gravy, I should’ve remembered you were one of those fancy lawyer types before I started this conversation—” Shelby grumbles under her breath.
Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) Page 2
