by Dahlia West
“Pop!”
The old man threw the completed puzzled onto the desk, just missing the doctor.
Unfazed, the doctor asked, “And the three words?”
Pop glared at him. “Dog.”
The doctor nodded.
“Cat.”
Adam frowned but the doctor held up his hand to keep Adam from correcting the old man.
“Yes?”
Pop continued to glare at the younger man. “I did your damn puzzle!” he snapped. After a minute he said, “Baby.”
Adam glanced at Jonah who was shaking his head and looking grave.
“I’m leaving,” Pop announced and stood up suddenly.
“Pop, you can’t go. We’re not done,” Adam insisted.
“It’s alright,” the doctor told him. “You and I can finish up.”
Jonah headed out of the exam room with their father and closed the door silently behind them. Adam sat staring at the black and white tile floor, which was exactly like the floor in his shop. He’d give anything to be there right now. “He goes outside without shoes on,” Adam admitted. It didn’t feel like less of a betrayal just because Pop had stormed out of the room. Here he was telling secrets, airing family business.
“Okay,” said the doc, as if he were expecting it.
“What now?” Adam asked reluctantly.
“We’re going to need to do some imaging.”
“Of his… brain?”
The doctor nodded. “An MRI so we can get a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with. But even without imaging, I’d say we need to prepare ourselves for the fact that your father might have Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease.”
Adam snorted derisively. “Early,” he muttered. “He’s not even seventy.”
“It happens. More often than you’d think, unfortunately. As plaque builds in his brain, the episodes will occur more often and last longer. They’re exacerbated by lack of regular sleep. There are new medications on the market,” he told Adam. “Not a cure, but we’ll try to slow down the rate of deterioration. Even if it’s not Alzheimer’s, even if it’s dementia or an arterial blockage affecting the brain, the pills should help while we treat the root cause.”
“So, that’s it?”
Adam looked around the sparsely decorated room. True, there was not much in the way of high-tech equipment here, no instruments sitting on shelves that he couldn’t identify, but it seemed as though there had to be more. This was a doctor for God’s sake. There had to be more they could do.
“Well, it’s a process, Adam. We’ll work out some cognitive therapies, start him on some medications. That’ll help for the moment, but over time, adjustments will have to be made. We’ll have to re-assess him regularly and often.”
Adam sighed. “He’s not going to like that.”
“It’s important that you understand that as time goes on, his personality will alter.”
Adam pictured the old man cursing at his doctor. Pop had always been gruff but never like that. “Will he get worse?”
“Impossible to say for sure, but yes, I would prepare for it. I have some pamphlets at the front desk for you to take home.”
Now Adam was feeling almost as belligerent as Pop. A pamphlet? A person couldn’t be reduced to a fucking pamphlet. A few paragraphs and a website address wasn’t a solution. He would have said as much to the man in front of him, but what good would it do? He stood up, thanked the man without enthusiasm, and headed toward the front desk for the check-out paperwork. Imaging, he thought to himself. Like taking a photo of a car accident. Here’s how it happened, too late to do anything about it.
Jonah and Pop were back in the waiting room. Neither of them were pretending to read this time. The sad trio trudged back out to Adam’s car. Once inside, Adam was tempted to tell Pop that they had a lot of doctor’s visits ahead of them and so he should check his temper. But the whole conversation seemed huge, too much to take on. Dad, we’re losing you. One day you’ll be here but not here. Adam didn’t know how to have that conversation.
“Should have been me,” Pop said quietly, startling Adam.
Jonah looked sick to his stomach.
“Pop, don’t say that,” Adam insisted.
“It’s true.”
“It shouldn’t have been anyone!” Adam argued.
“I know,” said the old man, suddenly weary. As Adam looked at him, he seemed so much older, just in the last few days. The lines on his face matched the wrinkles in his clothes. Worn out and worn down. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said, though underneath the weak tone was a tinge of bitterness. “I know,” he repeated. Pop leaned back against the seat and craned his neck so he could see the sky out of the window. “I can’t forget her.”
“You won’t,” Adam replied fiercely. “We won’t let you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Adam dropped Pop and Jonah off at home, confident that Jonah could handle things for the rest of the afternoon. The Doctor’s appointment had taken slightly too long, though, and he found himself racing across town to get to the high school. He rolled into the lot and hot-footed it out of the car. School was still in session, but it was less than two hours to the dismissal bell. He entered the cool, sterile main hallway relieved to find it empty of students. Knowing the way now, he walked swiftly toward Calla’s office. The door was cracked, but he knocked anyway.
She opened it and he was greeted by her wayward hair and genuine smile again. “Adam,” she said. He liked the way it sounded on her lips. “Come in.”
He returned the smile but lost it a bit as he stepped past her and saw Ava sitting in one of the chairs facing Calla’s desk. Another man, tall with graying hair, hovered next to her. Adam would’ve preferred a meeting with just Calla, but then again, this wasn’t a personal visit. He nodded to Ava and then to the man standing next to her. He was big but not particularly imposing at all. He did have an air of disdain around his mouth and eyes, though. Adam wasn’t put off by it. He was used to that sort of thing at this point.
The man nodded curtly. “I’m Principal Greene.”
As he didn’t offer a hand, Adam merely returned the nod. He didn’t know this particular principal. Adam’s own principal would have long since retired, quite possibly with a bit of a drinking problem, he thought with a slight smirk. This man didn’t know Adam but everything about the guy’s demeanor said he was sure he knew Adam’s type: long-haired trouble-maker, which if Adam was being honest, was pretty accurate though Adam’s hair had not been quite so long when he’d been in high school. Pop’s house, Pop’s rules.
Adam took the empty chair next to Ava while the principal sat in a seat must have been brought in specially for Ava’s ‘hearing’ or whatever this was since it hadn’t been in the office the first time. It was shoved up against the wall in the tiny space and the large man squeezed into it rather uncomfortably. “As you’re aware…” the man began, because obviously he was the most important person in the room and the most important thing about this meeting was that everyone knew it. “We have a strict absentee policy here.”
Adam actually didn’t know this, but it seemed pretty obvious. He also didn’t bother to introduce himself to the man personally. Adam would much rather that this meeting be finished as quickly as possible. A tattooed Harley rider didn’t have much to say to a suited Volvo driver (Adam was guessing Volvo and Adam was usually right about these things). Obviously this man felt the same.
“Ms. Winslow,” he continued, “has asked that Ava be exempted from suspension.”
Ava perked up a bit, her fingernails stilling on the arm of the chair. Adam almost felt sorry for her. She wasn’t old enough yet to see through men like this, men who enjoyed their positions of power just a tiny bit more than they probably should. The fact that the man paused long enough for Ava to get her hopes up made Adam want to punch him. Some people were just dicks.
“But we need to send a strong message to the student body that shenanigans like this won’t be tol
erated.”
Adam tried desperately not to roll his eyes.
“Skipping class is unacceptable as well as pressuring good students who’ve earned the privilege of working in the office to take part in this type of nonsense.”
Ava’s shoulders deflated and Adam reached out to put a hand on her arm. It sucked, but she was going to have to get used to people like this. People were going to judge her for her ripped jeans, black boots, and prickly attitude. Only Adam seemed to know, or care, that it wasn’t a persona Ava put on every day along with the clothes—it was who she was.
“I’ve talked to her teachers,” Calla declared, probably to break the tension. “And they all agree, though, that under the circumstances, Ava should be allowed to make up the work that she’s missed so far as well as what she’ll miss next week during her suspension. The only stipulation is, that she has to have it all done by the time she returns on Monday.”
Ava gaped at the older woman. “All of it?!”
The principal’s eyes narrowed as he took the liberty of responding for Calla. “You’re lucky that you’re being allowed to make up this work at all, Ava,” he said in a clipped tone. “Sienna is not being allowed to make up the work she’ll miss next week, dragging her final grades down for this semester. We all understand that things are difficult for you at the moment.”
His glare and tone of voice made it pretty clear that while he possibly understood Ava’s difficulties, he didn’t much care. Adam wondered if it was brought on by a specific dislike of his kid sister. Or perhaps the man simply face a nearly constant barrage of excuses every day and he was tired of it. Ava didn’t seem to harbor any particular ill will toward the man. Adam couldn’t help but believe that if she disliked him specifically, he (and everyone else in the room) would know about it. “She’ll get it done,” Adam told the man. “By Monday.” He shot a look at Ava that effectively cut off any grousing she was about to indulge in.
“Okay,” she finally agreed and gathered up the stack of assignments that Calla had amassed for her. If it was possible for someone to walk sullenly, that’s what Ava did. She gripped her armful of paperwork and walked slowly toward the door. She sighed before she headed out into the hall. If the principal thought she was being dramatic, he didn’t say anything. He simply nodded at Adam, turned, and followed Ava out the door. As Adam watched them both leave, he supposed the whole episode could have gone much, much worse and he knew who he had to thank for the fact that it hadn’t.
“Thanks, Calla. Really. We can’t handle any more setbacks at this point. I’m glad she’s getting a chance to catch up rather than fall further behind. Thanks for going to bat for her with the principal. I appreciate it more than I can say.”
Calla smiled at him while she grabbed her purse, even more paperwork of her own, and headed toward her office door. She locked it behind them
“I can’t tell who’s more excited to get out of here, the kids or you,” he joked.
Calla ducked her head and grimaced. “I love the job,” she insisted as they walked toward the exit. “I really do, but it’s not easy. Lot of hours, a lot of kids.”
Adam reached out and held the door open for her. “Yeah, I hear you. I think just Ava would be enough for anyone. Can’t really imagine a dozen of her. I mean, I love her, but…” he shook his head.
Calla laughed. “Ava’s actually one of my easier charges.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, dubious.
“No, really. She’s great. She’s not disrespectful, no problems with authority. She can’t help that she’s different.”
Adam snorted. “True. She’s a Stark and we’re all… different.”
The blue sky shimmered above them as they crossed the front drop-off lane and into the parking lot proper. Calla lifted her hand and pressed the button on her key fob. Ahead of them, a blue Mustang’s headlights responded accordingly.
Adam chuckled. “Here I thought that was some History teacher’s midlife crisis car.”
“Nope. It’s mine,” she said drawing herself up to her full height and grinning. “Surprised?”
“No. Not really. I pegged you as a former wild child.”
Calla froze and stared at him. After a moment she asked, “How can you tell?”
He shrugged. “It’s how I make my living. Giving corporate women hidden tattoos to go with their hidden desires.”
Calla blushed.
Adam sighed. “Tell me it’s not a dolphin.”
She gasped. “What? God, no! It’s the Metallica logo. I snuck out when I was sixteen. The artist had no teeth and smelled like corn chips and dirty socks,” she said and wrinkled her nose as if she could still smell it.
“You should’ve walked away, Calla.”
“And chicken out? No way—couldn’t do it. I was very proud of that tattoo.”
“Uh huh. How do you feel about it now?”
She hesitated. “Are you proud of all yours?”
“Every single one,” he lied because he was teaching her a lesson. ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’
He caught her eyeing his arms with interest. “You can’t see them all, Calla. We’d be arrested.”
She let out a nervous laughed, blushed, and looked away.
“I’ve got to get to the shop,” he told her. “I’ve still got appointments.”
He waited until she was safely in her car then pulled away. He headed across town to the studio and for the first time since he opened the place, he wished he were somewhere else… showing his tattoos to Calla Winslow.
Chapter Fourteen
All in all, Adam thought the meeting at the school had gone pretty well. Ava had managed to avoid the worst punishment, it seemed. He knew he had Calla to thank for that. He would have liked to thank her properly, but there hadn’t been time. Now he was watching another woman undress in front of him. He wasn’t interested in this one, however. She didn’t have Calla’s easy smile, wild hair, or soulful brown eyes. This one was just a job. He snapped on a pair of blue gloves and got to work.
The time seemed to drag on today. He suspected it was because he still hadn’t had one decent night’s sleep in almost a month. He finished the shading on the tat, forcing himself to focus on his work. No matter how he felt, he’d never let his work suffer for it. He’d built this place with his bare hands and he’d be damned if he’d bring it down with them as well. Satisfied with the final product, he held out a mirror so she could see it. Once she signed off, he placed a bandage carefully over it and shuffled the woman off to get the after-care instructions. He tossed the used inkwells into the trash and stripped off his gloves. As much as he didn’t care to clean right now, he didn’t care to put it off until tomorrow, either.
He heard the bell over the door tinkle and felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. That was it. The last client of the day. Or at least it should have been. Just a few seconds later, he heard the bell again as the front door of the shop open.
“We’re about to close,” Jeannie’s voice sounded from the next room as he swept the floor of the workroom. Nothing new there. They occasionally had people trying to squeeze in under the wire. They were typically first-timers who had no idea how long it actually took to do a tat. Jeannie could explain, make them an appointment, and show them out the door. He paused, though, when he heard a familiar voice.
“Is… is Adam around?”
He set the broom aside and crossed toward the lobby. Calla was at the door, looking hesitant. Adam could see that Jeannie was winding up for her spiel, reaching for a pen and about to offer Calla an appointment at a later date.
“Don’t worry about it, Jeannie,” he called out. “She’s here to see me.”
Jeannie looked curious as she eyed Calla standing just inside the doorway. “You can go. I’ll lock up,” Adam prompted and gave his receptionist an encouraging nod. Reluctantly, Jeannie took her purse out of the desk drawer and shut it loudly. No one spoke as she crossed the lobby, until she reached the door. “Good night,” Adam
told her. Calla shuffled out of the way so Jeannie could get out. Jeannie gave the other woman one long, last look and ducked out the front door of the shop. Adam silently shut the door behind her and flipped the deadbolt.
“Wow,” Calla muttered. “Is… is she your girlfriend?”
Adam grinned. Normally he’d give her the “I don’t shit where I eat” speech, but Calla seemed just a little too well-mannered. But only just. “No,” he replied. “She’s just my receptionist.”
Calla looked doubtful. “She was staring at me pretty hard.”
“Well, I know she goes both ways,” Adam told her. Calla blushed furiously and he smiled again. God, she was cute. “So maybe she was just admiring the view.”
Calla had shed her dark skirt for a pair of jean shorts and a blue T-shirt. The shorts weren’t quite as short as Adam would have liked but the tee hugged her tits just right. She still looked just this side of wholesome. Her wild hair was the only hint of parts not yet tamed. Of all her attributes, and there were many, Adam liked her hair the best. He guessed it fanned out even more when she got fucked by a guy. And it probably plastered itself to her face and shoulders when she worked up a sweat while she fucked him.
Calla was still blushing under his lingering gaze. Adam decided to have mercy on the poor woman. “Or,” he said thoughtfully, “she was just surprised to see you, someone like you, I mean. No visible tats, no piercings. A little too clean-cut for my place—at least not without being surrounded by a posse of friends for moral support. We do get the occasional yuppie.”
Calla sniffed and actually looked a little offended. “I got my tattoo at a place like this. Actually, it wasn’t even as nice as this.”
Adam scowled. “Don’t tell me that, Calla. You don’t belong in some scratcher’s shit-hole shop.”
She cleared her throat and shoved her hand into her front pocket. “I forgot to give this to you earlier,” she said handing him a piece of paper. “I have the name of a social worker for you.”
