Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  Vince punched his fist into his palm. “My sister is going to have to take them in. She’s got space. My nephew is away at Penn State. She was turning his room into a ceramics studio, but that will just have to wait.”

  Ed didn’t look convinced. “Your sister and your mother sharing the same space,” he grunted. “That ought to be good.”

  “It can’t be helped,” Vince said. He’d made up his mind.

  April glanced at her watch. The stampers were due in less than an hour. She needed to get the fans going so the barn was bearable.

  She stood, digging her keys out of her purse. “I need to borrow a couple of fans, okay?” April asked.

  “They’re already at the barn. I dropped them off,” Ed said. “You were out.”

  They must have just missed each other.

  “Dad!” April wasn’t used to people anticipating her needs and meeting them. Her father loved to take care of her. “Thank you,” she said.

  He shrugged, “I plugged them in and opened the windows. It’ll cool down fast.”

  April kissed them both. “By the way, I’ve got a business meeting first thing tomorrow, so don’t expect me at the Mirabella job until the afternoon.”

  “Okay,” Ed said. “But don’t be too late. I’ve got electricians coming, and timing is everything.”

  Now that she knew the fans were in place dealing with the unseasonable heat, April decided to swing by her mother’s and see how Xenia’s kids were doing. As she pulled into the driveway and got out of her car, she heard squeals of laughter coming from somewhere.

  Her mother’s ranch house sat on an acre of land, which stretched out to the woods in back. In front, only a small strip of lawn separated the house from the street. At the end of the driveway was the large detached garage. Ed had built it when April was a toddler, back when he’d been running Buchert Construction from home. The building had three bays, extra long and large enough so that Ed’s construction van could be parked inside. A small framed-out room in the back had served as Ed’s office and had become his home for a few years after he moved out.

  The garage doors were closed up tight so April headed for the backyard. A blur raced by her. She stepped back to avoid being knocked to the ground. Then she came around the corner of the house. The blurs sorted out into small children and noise became the babble of play.

  Clive was surrounded by a gang of brown-haired kids. One girl, who looked close to adulthood, stood leaning against the wall of the garage, watching the frivolity with disdain. Her eyes flicked to April without the hope of rescue.

  The other kids, except for the tallest boy, were being distracted by Clive’s antics.

  “What’s going on?” April asked.

  Clive stopped running and nodded in April’s direction. He was too winded to talk. He tried but nothing came out. He panted, leaning on his knees as an older boy swatted Clive on the backside, trying to get him to resume the chase.

  “Don’t hit, Greg,” the girl by the garage said. Her hair was long and straight, parted down the middle. Her lips were full, her eyes round and deep brown. April realized with a physical pang that this was Xenia’s oldest daughter, Vanesa.

  “My aunt stuck us here,” she said.

  April’s heart hurt. The other children, who were, now climbing over Clive like ants on a cupcake, were Xenia’s boys. April felt her stomach clutch as reality hit her. These were motherless children, whose father was in jail.

  She sucked in a breath. Even though they’d only met once, Xenia had felt like a friend, or someone who could have become one. April wanted to help her children. Perhaps she could make their life a little easier.

  She’d start by smiling.

  “I’m April,” she said, holding out her hand. The teenager ignored it. April was rocked a little by the rejection, but she decided to persevere. “You’re Vanesa, right?” April could see the resemblance, especially around the eyes.

  “Do you smoke?” Vanesa said.

  April ignored the implicit request. Vanesa pulled out a lip wand and coated her mouth several times.

  April touched the girl on the shoulder gently. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  Vanesa shifted away slightly, but April saw the move was all bravado. Her knees shook and she looked so unhappy.

  April continued. “She told me you babysat the little ones so that we could have our meeting the other day. We were planning on stamping the walls in your bedroom with a retro flower theme. She thought you would like that.”

  Vanesa bit on her lower lip and jammed the wand back into its case, dropping it into her pocket. “You’re the interior designer?” she asked. Her eyelashes were tipped with tears, but she was determined not to cry.

  “Sort of,” April said.

  “That’s what I’m going to do when I grow up. Not around here. L.A. There’s a lot of celebrities that need their houses done,” she said bravely as if she were one phone call away from being hired by Paris Hilton or Britney Spears.

  “You can help me,” April said. “Here. There’s a lot to be done at your place.”

  She saw a small spark of interest in Vanesa’s eyes. Life wasn’t going to get any easier for Vanesa for a while. Giving her an artistic outlet might help her work out her sadness. Art had the ability to heal; April knew that firsthand. It sounded like a slogan that Trish Taylor might use to promote her products, but April knew it was true. The last few months, she’d been healing her own heart by creating stamps.

  “Maybe,” Vanesa said.

  April felt the thrill of victory. She remembered being a teenager, playing hard to get with the adults, afraid that showing her hand would mean her dreams would be snatched away before they were fully formed.

  “Who wants cookies?” Bonnie came out of the house, a plate mounded high in one hand and a small girl clinging to the other.

  Erika.

  “Hi, April,” Bonnie said, putting the cookies down and leaning in for a kiss. April obliged, wanting to cling to her mother herself. Instead she patted the little girl on the head.

  She stayed for milk and cookies and helped settle the kids in front of the television. She could see her mother wanted to talk to her, but every time they started a conversation, Bonnie’s attention was snatched away by a little one.

  April felt a little put out. Ashamed of her selfishness, she kissed her mother and Clive and went back to the barn.

  Ordinarily, April looked forward to getting together with the stampers. The girls were smart and funny, and their topics of conversation ranged from politics to reality TV and back again. There were sure to be several sidesplitting moments if Mary Lou came with stories about the twins. April found the companionship was the best part of her week. Tonight she was glad they were coming over, despite the pall cast by Xenia’s death.

  Rocky arrived first, pulling her leather rolling cart. She’d outfitted a vintage train case of her mother’s with wheels, decoupaged the outside with images and installed compartments inside to hold all of her stamps and tools. She was dressed to work. A red bandanna held back the hair that usually swooped over one eye, revealing the scar that marred her otherwise beautiful face.

  The barn was cool, just as Ed had promised. Mary Lou and Suzi arrived together, with Deana right behind. April squeezed Mary Lou’s arm. She’d made it. The first thing they did each meeting was show their progress on projects they’d worked on during the week. Each person held up her work and the others took turns discussing it.

  This week, no one had brought anything. And the talk was all about Xenia.

  “Deana, tell us what’s going on. Was she murdered?” Suzi asked. Her question was not just prurience. Suzi was devastated. Xenia had died on her land.

  “The newspaper called it suspicious,” Mary Lou said.

  “I’m doing an autopsy in the morning,” Deana said. She was calmly setting up her working space, bringing out the Thanksgiving cards she’d been making. “You know I can’t say more than that.”

 
“Let’s not talk about it,” Mary Lou said. “There’s nothing we can do anyhow.”

  Suzi looked mournful, and Mary Lou rubbed her shoulder.

  “Let’s stamp,” Rocky said. “We’ll all feel better.” No one disagreed.

  On a good day, stamping was entertaining. On a so-so day, art could pick up your mood. On a bad one, it was a way to lose yourself. A soul strengthener.

  They tried to talk of other things, but the conversation started and sputtered out. Gone was their usual chatter. Every topic seemed to lead back to Xenia’s death.

  The silence was shattered about eight o’clock, just as April was going to suggest that everyone head home.

  “Hey, girls.” A voice came through the window. Bonnie entered, carrying a cooler. Since Clive had become a part of her life, she’d added a third day off to her schedule. In addition to her usual Tuesday and Wednesday off, she’d stopped working at the club on Sundays. So here she was.

  “What are you doing here, Mom?” April said. She wasn’t sure she wanted her mother to show up every Sunday.

  “I had company today and made too much fruit salad. Thought you might like it.”

  Company? April thought. Pedro’s kids. They’d probably turned their noses up at Bonnie’s idea of fruit salad.

  Bonnie off-loaded a fruit salad made of canned oranges, fresh pineapple and mini-marshmallows. She got out plates, forks and a serving spoon and laid them out on the kitchen counter.

  Suzi got up and stretched.

  “Perfect timing. I’m ready for a break,” Mary Lou said.

  “Yum,” Deana said, holding out a plate for Bonnie to fill up.

  “I’ve got chips,” April said, getting up and heading to the refrigerator for the iced tea. No one took her up on her offer.

  “That’s too heavy,” Mary Lou said. “Ambrosia sounds just right.”

  She was doomed to eat the entire bag of chips herself.

  “Bonnie, when are you going to just give in and start stamping with us?” Rocky asked. “You know you want to.” She helped herself to the fruit salad.

  “I don’t have time for that,” she said. “I’m just happy if I get an hour of knitting in while watching Regis in the morning.”

  “No, she has just enough time to cut up fresh pineapple into uniform-size cubes and make ambrosia salad,” April said. She speared a white cube and held it aloft. “Are these homemade marshmallows?” she asked, twisting the marshmallow, inspecting it from all angles.

  Bonnie frowned at her daughter. “I don’t make fun of you for carving your own stamps, do I?”

  April felt ashamed. She’d been trying to be funny, not mean. “Sorry.” The others looked away.

  Suzi, Deana and Rocky were seated at the big table. April was leaning against the counter, and Mary Lou was refilling her plate.

  Bonnie washed the serving spoon, drying it with the special cotton tea towels she’d bought for April. She was the only one who used them. Bonnie put the spoon away and closed the drawer sharply.

  Bonnie said, “I’ve come over to tell you something important.” To April, she added, “I tried to tell you last night.” She turned to face the group. “I’m getting married.”

  April inhaled sharply, lodging a piece of pineapple in her throat. She coughed, trying to shake it loose. Deana dropped the fork she’d been using, jumped up and pounded on her back. April felt the fruit go down painfully.

  Deana’s hand was cocked in case April needed another blow. April took it and exchanged a look with her friend. Deana had been on the receiving end of many long-distance phone calls, patiently listening to April’s worries about Bonnie being alone. Deana squeezed her hand and dropped it.

  April turned to her mother, but her voice wouldn’t come. The pineapple had scratched her throat.

  “Married?” Mary Lou said for her. “To Clive?”

  “Of course to Clive,” Bonnie said.

  “But why?” April said, her voice weak from the choking.

  Bonnie’s eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bonnie knew exactly what April meant. Her mother had never talked about remarrying. April had always figured she was not willing to open herself up to the possibility of being hurt again. April’s recent breakup with Ken reinforced that belief. Her mother had loved Ken and was devastated when her son-in-law turned out to be a liar and a cheat.

  April had often heard Bonnie’s credo that marriage was for fools and dreamers. Clive or no Clive, April had assumed her mother would never tie the knot again.

  “You seemed so . . .” April said, trying to word her protest carefully.

  Rocky had no qualms. She said, “What happened to your theory that marriage is a governmental plot to bu reaucratize romance and love? Anyone who didn’t intend to have children or raise a family had no reason to get married.”

  April was grateful for the backup, especially from that surprising corner.

  “That’s a direct quote,” Mary Lou said. “I know, because I used it on my daughter, Kit, when she was thinking about not marrying the twins’ father.”

  When it came to marriage, Bonnie was a libertarian through and through.

  Bonnie sniffed. “I’m so glad to know you’ve all been paying attention. I haven’t changed my mind about marriage. It is a useless institution.”

  The stampers exchanged a confused look. They were baffled. Bonnie didn’t sound like a person in the throes of engaged bliss.

  “That’s exactly why I’m getting married,” she said. “Look, I know the timing is awful, what with Xenia’s death and all, but we’re in a bit of a crunch. Immigration has discovered Clive’s visa is long expired and they’re threatening to deport him.” She took a breath. “We’re getting married in three weeks. I’d like your help sending out the invitations.”

  Bonnie’s manner was all business. No blushing bride here.

  She handed each of them a color copy, about one-third the size of a standard sheet of paper. The paper itself was a hideously bright yellow. She’d used her computer to find a fancy font and some clip art of wedding bells. The result looked more like a flyer for Buffalo Wings Night at the Brass Buckle than a wedding invitation. But it was all Bonnie.

  Rocky held it out at arm’s length as though she might be somehow contaminated by its total lack of artistic merit. She screwed up her face in revulsion. April felt vaguely insulted for her mother even though she agreed.

  “For crying out loud,” Rocky said, waving the yellow page. She raised her voice. “You’re not selling discounted lube jobs. You and Clive are getting married. That’s a big deal.”

  Bonnie said, “It’s not. Really.”

  “It is, Bonnie. It truly is,” Deana said. She was ready to step in and soothe any ruffled feathers. It was a job she’d performed a lot during April’s teen years. She rubbed Bonnie’s arm gently. “Who were you giving these to?”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Some friends from work. You guys, of course. Clive doesn’t have any family on this side of the pond, although his brother is threatening to come. Maybe fifty people total.”

  Suzi said, “It’s too bad it’s so late in the year. We could have had an outdoor ceremony at the nursery.”

  “No, no fuss,” Bonnie said. “We’ll get married by the justice of the peace in his office, and then everyone will come over to the house for a meal.”

  “Mom, you can’t be thinking you’ll cook for your own wedding,” April said. “That’s nutty.”

  Her mother was quiet for a moment. Her eyes clouded over with pain. “I was planning on asking Pedro to cook, but that’s out now.”

  All the stampers were silent. The real world intruded. Pedro was in jail; Xenia was dead.

  April felt the fleeting nature of life. Her mother deserved the best.

  April took her mother’s hand. She knew her mother’s tough exterior covered a mountain of disappointments and hurts. “Mom, let’s do this right. You’re not going to get married again. Let me throw you a nice party.
Here at the barn.”

  Bonnie’s eyebrows shot up. April realized what she’d just offered. Maybe having the wedding at the former home of Bonnie’s ex-husband and his boyfriend was not a great idea.

  Deana said, “Can’t we get the club for a night?” She looked at Rocky, whose family had been on the board of the country club for years. There was a chapel on site, and a number of rooms that would work for the reception.

  Rocky read Bonnie’s flyer again, checking the date, and shrugged. She brushed the hair off her forehead. “That’s a Wednesday, right? There’s usually nothing going on at the club on Wednesdays.”

  Which is exactly why Bonnie had the night off, April thought. She worked the weekends. And holidays. The club members enjoyed their Saturday Soirees and the Friday Night Lights parties because of her mother’s hard work and dedication.

  They owed her.

  “We could make you some pretty invitations,” Mary Lou said.

  “And decorate the tables,” Suzi said. “I’ll make you a bouquet, too.”

  “Just give us your guest list. We’ll take care of the rest,” April said.

  Bonnie looked skeptical. “I should talk to Clive.”

  They all knew Clive would do whatever Bonnie told him to do.

  “We’re throwing a wedding,” Deana said, clapping her hands. Suzi fist-bumped her.

  “This is just what we need. Something fun to do,” Mary Lou said.

  “I’ve got some gorgeous asters coming in and you’ll get the last of the roses,” Suzi said.

  “The twins could be the ring bearers,” Mary Lou added.

  Bonnie threw up her hands. The idea of two-month-old attendants was too much. “Don’t get crazy now. I just want a small ceremony. Nothing fancy.”

  Rocky said, “We promise to hold our Bridezilla tendencies in check.”

  Mary Lou quickly shifted into party-planning mode. “Write down who you want to invite.” She handed Bonnie a pen and tore off a piece of paper from the pad in her purse. “Now.”

  As a part of her job, Mary Lou threw parties several times a year. There were never less than a hundred people at her events. She was a good realtor because she truly liked people. Her parties mixed business and friendship seamlessly. Her Christmas brunch was legendary.