Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  “How about I get my list together and give it to April?” Bonnie said.

  “We can design the invites in the meantime,” Deana said.

  Seemingly satisfied, Bonnie said her good-byes, and April walked her out to the car. The air was still warm. It was so quiet April could hear the gurgling of the creek and the distant hum of cars on the interstate.

  “Mom, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

  “Marry Clive? It’s no problem. He needs to be married. I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind” didn’t seem like a great reason to get married, but April knew better than to argue.

  “How about if I give you away?” she said.

  Bonnie laughed. “Sure, kid.”

  April watched her drive off. Her mother asked for so little. She wanted Pedro to cook at her wedding. He’d want to, too. April vowed that he’d be free so that could happen.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Dude,” Rocky said in a silly drawl when April came back in. “You’re going to be Clive Pierce’s stepdaughter.”

  “The lead singer of the Kickapoos,” Suzi said.

  Mary Lou and Suzi jumped up, slung their arms around each other and did an awkward but spirited imitation of the Kickapoo Kick before collapsing in their chairs, laughing. You wouldn’t know it now, but Clive had been a major pop star in his youth.

  “Maybe you’ll get your own VH1 special,” Rocky said. She lowered her voice, imitating a voiceover. “Behind the music. April Buchert, stamper. Cue scary music.”

  Even Deana joined in as they sang the chorus of “Never, Never Land,” a Kickapoo classic.

  April smiled. The kidding felt good, like she was a part of the group.

  Mary Lou stopped midkick. “Will they be there? The Kickapoos?”

  “Gosh, I had all their records,” Suzi said, dreamily.

  “They must be all dead by now,” Rocky said. “Make it kind of hard to have a reunion.”

  “Clive’s far from dead,” April said.

  “Well, rock stars often have a shortened life span,” Rocky said.

  April looked at Deana. Her friend knew that April’s focus was not on becoming a daughter of a Kickapoo. It was on Bonnie and Bonnie’s shot at happiness.

  April poured iced tea as the stampers gathered in the kitchen. Rocky picked a piece of pineapple out of the salad.

  “What was her first wedding like?” Mary Lou asked.

  April had the pictures of her parents’ wedding—a dozen snapshots she’d smuggled out of the house when she left for college, part of a displaced notion that she could trick herself into believing her family had not been torn apart.

  She brought them out and passed them around the table. Bonnie and Ed had been married in the early seventies. The wedding had been held at Ed’s family farm, with cows grazing in the background. Ed’s tuxedo had been pale blue. A heavily ruffled matching shirt was trimmed in navy. He sported bushy sideburns that nearly met in the middle. Bonnie’s hair was long and parted in the center. Her wedding dress was simple, with long bell sleeves and a lace bodice. She wore a floppy hat and gloves.

  “Whoa,” Suzi said. “They look like hippies.”

  “I was thinking Squeaky Fromme, myself,” Rocky said.

  “Nah-uh,” April said, insulted.

  April pulled the picture from Rocky’s hand. Her mother did have a scary blank look on her face.

  “Whoa,” she said. “I’d forgotten that hat.”

  She found another picture in which the couple smiled at the camera, their grins wide. They clearly had no idea of what was to come.

  “This is a better shot,” April said.

  “I think they look young, and in love,” Deana said.

  “These are no help,” Mary Lou said. “It’s Clive and Bonnie we’re designing for.”

  April gathered up the pictures to put them back in the wooden box she’d bought at a Renaissance fair in Marin. Mary Lou was right. That was the past. It was time to move on.

  As April set the snapshots in the box, she felt something scratch her fingers. She reached in farther, driven by a faint memory. She pulled out one glove. The white sateen had mellowed with time to an aged chardonnay. The satiny fabric was cold to the touch.

  She glanced up at the stampers who had gone back to picking at Bonnie’s fruit salad. If she hadn’t destroyed all the pictures of her and Ken, the group might have commented that she and Bonnie wore the same gloves. The lacy cuff made it obvious.

  She stroked the glove and was immediately taken back to her wedding day.

  Bonnie had flown out; her first, and last, cross continental flight. She was not a good flier. The morning of the wedding, in a small winery in Sonoma, Bonnie had given her the gloves. April remembered how tears lingered in her mother’s voice as she gave April the gloves she’d worn at her wedding.

  Bonnie’d said, “When I see these gloves, I remember how much I loved your father the day of our wedding. I feel again the anticipation, the wonder at the life we were going to create together. We didn’t do a great job, but the possibility is always there. I pass these gloves to you as a symbol of our family. You, me, your dad. All of the hurt was worthwhile.”

  April had saved the gloves in a box with her wedding bouquet for years. When she’d destroyed all the other artifacts from her marriage to Ken, she couldn’t bring herself to throw them out and put them in with her parents’ wedding photos. She fought the urge to try them on, to feel the hope and love she’d felt for Ken, and for herself, that day.

  Instead, she closed the lid, put the box on a shelf in the closet and joined her friends.

  Suzi said, “How about if we each stamp something out? Then we can brainstorm.”

  Bonnie’s announcement had given the group new energy. April kept one eye on the clock. She didn’t want the meeting to go so late that Mitch wouldn’t come over. She’d gotten used to him visiting for an hour or two every night.

  After twenty minutes or so, Deana showed her a stamped-out card that had a vine-covered latticework as the border. She’d colored the vines in deep greens and made the lattice dark brown. It was pretty but didn’t scream wedding.

  Rocky took the card from Deana and with a few strokes added some aqua flowers to the vine.

  April looked over her shoulder. “I like that,” she said. April stamped out the design again and softened the hues of the vines, shading gray-greens with lime, and added a shadow to the lattice.

  “You’re on to something,” Mary Lou said. “Keep going.”

  April stamped out the lattice and the vine on four pieces of stock and gave one to each of the women. They grabbed pastel pencils and chalk and colored the designs. Suzi embossed a heart in the middle of the card.

  “What do you think?” Suzi said, holding up the sample. “We can put the vellum printed with the details on top.”

  “I like it a lot,” April said. “The lattice reminds me of the fence outside her house, and she always has clematis growing up the mailbox.”

  “It’s pretty and soft without being weak-assed,” Rocky said. “Totally reminds me of your mother.”

  “I like it,” April said again.

  They set up an assembly line with Suzi stamping the trellis and then passing the card to Deana, who stamped the vines and passed it on to April and Mary Lou, who filled in colors.

  For the final step, Rocky hand-painted flowers. Each card was unique.

  April was thrilled with the results. She held up a finished card for all of them to admire. “This is lovely,” she said. “And it suits Bonnie and Clive.”

  Working in concert, the five finished fifty cards before ten o’clock.

  “Get the addresses from your mother, and we’ll meet again at my place to address the envelopes,” Deana said.

  Mary Lou agreed to print out the vellum sheets with the date, time and place. Deana said she had a source for high-quality linen envelopes. Rocky would check the date with the club. They agreed to get together on Wednesday. />
  Rocky nudged April. “Do you think she’ll invite Vince and Ed?” she said.

  April tried to imagine it. “You’d have to ask Bonnie . . .”

  “They get along, right?” Rocky said. “It’s not like they’re going to kill each other. No one’s going to raise a dramatic scene, right?”

  “Of course not,” April said, although she wasn’t entirely sure. Her mother and father had managed to avoid each other mostly for the last fifteen years while she was gone, even though they lived within three miles of each other.

  Deana stilled April with a touch. She caught her eyes. “Do you want Ed there? For you?”

  Yes, April realized with a jolt that brought tears to her eyes. She wanted her daddy present when her mother remarried. She wanted all her family around her. While it was bound to be awkward, she needed her father there. This was her family. As oddly configured as it was. A mother and an aging rock star. A father with his male partner. It was not Father Knows Best; it wasn’t The Brady Bunch. Heck, it wasn’t even Married with Children.

  But it was all she had. And she wanted it intact. Bonnie’s wedding was as good a place as any to start.

  Deana was smiling at her, having watched her make up her mind. Deana knew how April had suffered as a teen when her parents split up. How far April had run away.

  April’s own attempt at family—Ken—hadn’t worked out. She knew now that she’d jumped too early into marriage with the first guy who treated her kindly. She’d outgrown him after two years but spent the next ten trying to make it work. He’d spent that time devolving into a guy who gambled and used up all of their resources. All that she’d accomplished was to trash her own reputation and lose everything.

  She had been too passive, letting Ken call the shots. She had the opportunity now to take an active part in her family.

  April wasn’t running anymore. She was standing her ground. Staking a claim. Rebuilding her family.

  “I’m sure they’ll come,” April said.

  With the invitations complete, the meeting soon broke up.

  Deana pulled April aside as the others were leaving.

  “I can’t go with you to Trish’s tomorrow,” she said.

  “Dee! You can’t make me go by myself,” April cried. She felt betrayed. She’d been counting on Deana to introduce her to Trish.

  “You’ll be fine. Trish doesn’t bite.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been assigned Xenia’s autopsy. I’ve got to get on it first thing tomorrow.”

  April’s eyes dropped to the floor. She was ashamed. Of course she could go by herself. This was only a job. She’d been interviewed by hundreds of clients over the years. She’d just been feeling the need for a little support.

  Deana reassured her. “Trish’s expecting you. I talked to her today, and she’s excited.”

  April was quiet, gathering her wits. Cars pulled out of the driveway, their headlights raking the shrubs. She heard the road noise change as they drove over the little bridge that crossed the creek.

  “I know how important this is to you,” Deana added softly.

  April heard the apology in her friend’s voice and felt the need to explain her selfish reaction. “This could be a good career move for me, you know. If I start a line of stamps. There could be national recognition. Getting into the craft stores . . .”

  “You could be the Martha Stewart of the stamp world,” Deana said.

  “Martha Stewart is already in the stamp world,” April said.

  “Then you could be the Rachael Ray of the stamp world. She’s younger and cuter anyhow.”

  They laughed.

  April said, “You know what I mean. This could be a springboard to a home décor line of stamps.”

  Deana pulled her in for a hug. “I love the way you think big, girl. First things first. Go talk to Trish about your California Dreamin’ line.”

  Later that evening April heard Mitch’s Jeep in the driveway and quickly finished brushing her teeth. She’d just called him and he was here already. So much for freshening up. She ran a quick comb through her hair, straightening out her bangs. He must not have been coming from home. His house was a good fifteen-minute drive out in the country. He’d probably been watching Sunday Night Football at the Brass Buckle Inn.

  He walked briskly to the back door she’d opened, and took her in his arms. She rested on his shoulder. He smelled of beer and nachos, and the dampness that the below-ground bar always exuded.

  “Everyone gone?” he said, peeking into the barn as though afraid to move forward. The table was still full of stamping supplies.

  “Yes,” April said, laughing. “Including your sister.”

  He walked through the kitchen and sat on the futon in the great room. “Good thing. You women make noises only dogs can hear sometimes.”

  April tossed an empty paper cup at him. He caught it easily and grinned.

  “Is that your way of offering me something to drink? I’ll pass, thank you.”

  He shook his head and patted the cushion next to him. April sat and nestled under his arm, content just to feel his warmth next to her. The barn didn’t seem so cavernous when he was here.

  He’d visited many times but hadn’t spent the night. She hadn’t felt ready, and he seemed okay with that. They agreed April should be divorced before they moved forward. But they were definitely getting closer. She had strong feelings for Mitch. He made her laugh, he respected her opinions, he appreciated her passion for work and had no problem with her being independent.

  But her time with Ken had left her bruised. She wasn’t sure she could trust her feelings about men. Still Xenia’s death laid bare the idea that life was short. She felt the finality of life, the relentless timekeeper in her gut. One surefire cure would be Mitch’s embrace and mind-obliterating sex. If they didn’t wake up tomorrow, why not one night of pleasure tonight?

  She knew Mitch was sick about Pedro and his family. Concerned about his project. She’d like to erase the worry lines from his forehead, smooth out his frowning mouth and ease the pain of his broken heart.

  “Any more word on Pedro?” she asked.

  “I’m kind of glad he’s in jail for now,” Mitch said wearily.

  April sat up straight and looked at him.

  “I just don’t want him to see what’s going on. I managed to power wash most of the paint off the house, but it’s still faintly visible. To top it off, there’s a protest scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “A protest?”

  He rubbed his chin. “The Border Patrol.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Hector Valdez called me and told me. He heard about the protest and thought I should know. He’s got people everywhere.”

  “Hector Valdez?” April didn’t think she’d met the guy.

  “He’s the head of MAC, the Mexican-American Coalition. Didn’t I tell you?”

  MAC was the leading fighter against the anti-immigration ordinance passed by the city of Lynwood last year. The group was responsible for getting the legislation before the Supreme Court, where it had been ruled unconstitutional.

  April shook her head. “Didn’t you contact them when you started your project?”

  “I did. And they didn’t give me the time of day. Said my fight was not theirs. But now with the graffiti and Xenia’s death, Valdez himself is calling me.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “I think so. They’ve got a national platform. It can’t hurt.”

  They sat in silence. April moved closer to Mitch and felt his chest rise and fall. She felt her own breathing match his. Her eyes were ready to close when she remembered her news.

  “Hey,” she said. “Guess what? Bonnie and Clive are getting married.”

  Mitch pulled back. “Really?”

  “In three weeks. She asked the stamping group to make her invitations.”

  “Am I invited?” Mitch said playfully.

  “Gee,” April said, “I don’t know.”

  �
�Well,” he said as he slowly rubbed a circle on her arm. “I do have an in with her daughter.”

  “You think so?” she said. “Does she want you there?”

  He kissed her. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  His mouth was soft and warm. April felt herself sinking into it. His kiss deepened and she went along for the ride.

  CHAPTER 12

  Trish lived in a planned community called Pine’s End about twenty miles south of Aldenville. When April was growing up, the developer had gone bankrupt several times. Plans for a pool and Arnold Palmer golf course had been scrapped, but the homes that had been built on the ski run were some of the biggest and fanciest around. Still, many lots remained empty. The place had an odd vibe, part luxury community, part ghost town.

  The drive out here took a good twenty minutes, and April enjoyed it, thinking over her time with Mitch. Stealing a couple of hours late at night was all they could manage right now. She was working hard, days with her dad on the Mirabella restoration, at night creating her stamps. He had his custom furniture business, and now the Homes for Hope. They were busy people.

  Still, she loved talking to him. Sometimes she woke up in the night, her mind spinning with things she’d forgotten to tell him. She made notes in the dark that were impossible to read the next day.

  Arriving at the entrance to Pine’s End, April gave her name at the gate. “I’m visiting Trish Taylor,” she said in answer to the guard in the small wooden hut.

  She smiled at the young kid behind the sliding window. Jobs around here tended to be factory or construction jobs. This guy looked too scrawny to work on a crew. She saw he had a pysch textbook in front of him. A college student. She smiled again. She’d worked her way through college and learned to study anywhere, any time, too.

  “Do you know where her place is? I’m afraid I might get lost.”

  “Mrs. Taylor? Sure. She’s one of the few year-round residents. Most of our people don’t come back until ski season. Her place is about two miles in. Just follow the main road. It twists and turns a few times. Don’t be fooled by the side streets. Just stay on Sugarloaf Loop. She’s on Shaking Aspen Way, which is the sixth cul-de-sac off the Loop.”