Bad Ink

by Megan Hetherington

Its low roof extends to either side and at its center a heavy wooden double door, studded with metal. Small windows with decorative ironwork grills run along either side. Pots of cherry-red poinsettias positioned in each window reveal as if to soften the fortifying nature of the ironwork.

  With that, the SUV veers off to the left of the ranch and we come to a stop at the double doors.

  I go to unclip my seatbelt, while Isaac steps out of the car, reaching back in and unbuckling a still sleeping Hope. He waits at the side of the car for me to catch up with him. And with my sweaty palm in one hand and Hope’s head resting on his shoulder, he walks through a shaded porch into a courtyard.

  I flit my eyes across the row of people stood in the courtyard; from a homely-looking woman who has her hands clamped to her mouth, to several teenagers jostling for attention in what looks like their Sunday-best clothes. There are men with weathered skin and beautiful women with raven colored hair decorated with bright flowers.

  And then there’s Elliot. Stood next to the woman in the center.

  My muffled hearing catches Isaac saying, “Mamá.” As he strides toward her holding my daughter. The woman’s arms stretch out and her grin tears through my soul.

  A queasy feeling rumbles through my stomach. The juice I drank earlier burning with fright up my throat.

  My eyes dart back to Elliot. Why is he here?

  His smile quivers in the early evening heat and the chorus from the cicadas fades away.

  29

  Cate

  The warm smell of wood is all around me. My head lain on feather soft pillows, encased in a heavy cream brocade. Several split-tree-trunks hold up the ceiling and a fan whirrs lazily above my head.

  My breathing shallows when I hear Hope giggle from beyond shuttered windows.

  “I’ll get Isaac,” a familiar voice whispers, and footsteps click on a hard floor towards the door.

  “Elliot?” I croak.

  He turns, the usual flamboyance gone. “Actually, it’s Eduardo.” His voice softened with a husky tone.

  Battling with the crocheted comforter, cast over my body, I push onto my elbows and squint at him through the dimness of the shaded room. “But… but you are… were Elliot, right?”

  He pauses with one hand on the door handle. “Yes. I’m sorry, Chica.” His term of endearment pierces my ribcage as he walks out of the room.

  I flop my head back onto the pillows. More questions.

  The next footsteps are heavy and ominous.

  Digging deep, I fling the throw and swing my legs to the edge of the bed. I’m meeting him head on this time. No more smooching or holding me into his warm chest with his hypnotic heartbeat and muscle-bound arms.

  However, my body has a different view on it. As soon as I place my weight onto the floor, my legs give way and with two lengthy strides Isaac catches me as I collapse toward a cowhide rug.

  “Cate.” His voice brimming with concern. “Here.”

  Strong arms pull me to the bed and lay me right back where I started. “You’re in shock. And I bet you didn’t eat yesterday.”

  “Yesterday…” I falter. Writhing my head from his gaze, feeling helpless in my anger.

  “Where. Are. We?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

  My eyes fix onto a gold-leaf-framed scene of two cowboys amid a herd of cows.

  “Home,” he says, with an unfathomable simplicity.

  “This feels nothing like home to me.”

  A gentle hand pushes my hair back off my forehead and curled fingers carefully nudge my chin his way. “Cate. I’m sorry, this was the only way.”

  With a huff, I shake off his comfort. “You need to convince me. Fast.”

  A nauseating buzz washes over me and, for a second, I close my eyes and concentrate on swallowing saliva built up in the corners of my mouth.

  “You need to eat first,” he says, his confident steps fading away.

  Either some time later or straight away, I’m not sure which, a savory aroma entices me awake.

  My eyelids flutter open and I’m met with the sight of a large, silver, soup-spoon raising from a bowl. Isaac sits on the bed beside me and helps lift my head while the woman I saw when we first arrived, ladles cinnabar colored broth into my mouth. The spicy tomato soup stings my parched lips.

  With every refill she opens her mouth, like a mother would when feeding a child, and after every slurp I take, she smiles. A genuine smile which nurtures me back to life.

  Eventually, I hold up a hand and Isaac lowers my head back onto the pillows.

  The woman dabs the corners of my mouth with a starched napkin and bends to kiss my forehead before retreating silently from the bedroom.

  Isaac parts the shutters so rays of bright sunlight filter across the room in strips. The heavy scent of marigolds fills the air.

  “Where’s Hope?”

  “She’s with Eduardo and Mamá in the kitchen. They’re making fresh tortillas.”

  A soft chuckle borne from hysteria rattles in my throat.

  Eduardo. Mamá. Tortillas.

  “What the hell is going on?” My tone exasperated but with no vigor.

  He drags a chair from underneath a desk in the corner over to the bed and sits on it. His chin resting on upward pointing fingers.

  “This is my home, where I was born twenty-six years ago. The woman you met is my mother. Hope’s grandmother.” He removes his fingers and lets the words sink in.

  “And Eduardo?”

  “My half-brother.”

  I gasp at the leap of understanding my brain tries to comprehend.

  The sucking in of more breath than I need, leads me to cough, making my shoulders heave from the pillows.

  Isaac places a steady palm on the nape of my neck and lifts my head so I can take water from a glass he holds to my lips.

  “Slowly.”

  As I take small sips, I look into his eyes. The gold specks still hiding behind clouds of sadness.

  When my throat is lubricated, he replaces the glass on the side table and moves his palm down my arm to my hand, where I let him hold it.

  “I found out about my family when I was in jail. Do you remember me telling you about a guy who took me under his wing? Who I fought for?”

  “Probably, I don’t know…”

  Despite the soup, water and Isaac’s supportive hand, I still have no energy. My fighting spirit, which has been with me all my adult life, is absent and Isaac seems to sense it. He squeezes my hand and leans in close.

  “I’m so sorry for putting you through this Cate. It had to be done. This is us now.”

  “Really?” I murmur, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

  “I have more to tell you, but you need to rest first.” He kisses my forehead.

  It takes too much effort to stay awake. I drift off into a half-conscious state. Hearing people coming and going. Hushed chattering. Cold hands on my forehead. Fingers opening my eyelids.

  The next time I awake, Isaac’s mother has hold of my wrist. She’s counting my pulse against her watch and looks startled when I open my eyes.

  A warm smile grows on her face. “Just a moment.” She places my hand on my stomach and pats gently on it. “I’ll get my son.” Rushing off with quick, nimble steps.

  “Hope...,” I croak after her. “I want to see Hope.” She won’t have heard me. I can barely hear myself.

  Elliot pokes his head around the door. “Okay to come in?”

  “Why not,” I sigh.

  He enters the room with a cup of coffee. “Thought you might like this. I know how cranky you get without caffeine.”

  I shake my head against the pillow. “It’s a dumb attempt at humor, Elliot.”

  “Eduardo,” he corrects me.

  “Yeah, right? And I bet you’re not even gay?”

  His lip curves to the side in a wry grin. “No. I’m not, but I had fun pretending to be.”

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t stay mad at him. I shuffle onto my elbows and take the
cup from him. The aroma of freshly ground coffee satisfyingly good.

  “Do you feel better now? We were anxious.”

  “I’m okay, I think. I felt weak, like I’d been drugged.”

  His cheeks flush.

  “Elliot?”

  “I’ll go get Isaac.”

  I grab onto his sleeve. “No. I need to see Hope. Why is everyone keeping her away from me?”

  “They’re not, Cate. She popped her head around the door earlier, but you were asleep. Believe me, she’s fine. She’s having fun exploring the ranch.”

  “Why should I believe what you say? I mean how the hell did I even end up giving you a job?”

  “I was the best candidate, wasn’t I? I didn’t let you down.”

  “Hmmpf.” I take a sip from the cup. “But it wasn’t a coincidence was it?”

  “Eh… no. And the disguise was Isaac’s idea.”

  “What?” I look over the cup at him.

  “He didn’t want you to hit on me.”

  “Let me get this straight, Isaac came to San Diego, pushed me away and did Christ knows what, with whoever he wanted and expected me to be good?”

  He pulls the cross from under his shirt and kisses it.

  Some shit is genuine in this screwed up place, anyway.

  “I don’t know if he intended to be with other women, or what he expected of you, but I guess bedding his half-brother was too much. Even for him.”

  “Unbelievable. And I thought he came back for me…” The caffeine is helping my thoughts stack into order. “And why did you tell me to stay away from him?”

  “I know. It confused me. Going from wanting the three of you to be together, to him coming home alone. He didn’t think he deserved you or you would want him. And, at times, I thought that too.”

  “I didn’t. Until… he persuaded me.”

  His hand pushes across the duvet and he interlaces his fingers in mine. “I love you Chica. You and Hope truly became my family. But he’s my brother, and I had to be loyal to him.”

  I drain the coffee and place the empty cup carefully on a lace mat on the side table.

  “I need you to be truthful here.” I swallow hard, not wishing to hear the answer but determined to know the truth. “Was his intention always to bring me and Hope here?”

  His lashes blink furiously and he rests back in the chair. “No. Not both of you anyway.”

  My heart pounds at such a rate I feel sick. My lungs unable to oxygenate the blood coursing through my veins. “Do you mean he was going to take Hope away from me?”

  “No. Mamá would not have tolerated it. Not after what happened to her.”

  “So, what the hell was supposed to happen? What if I didn’t go along with the plan? Didn’t fall for his charms?”

  “I don’t know Chica. You need to ask him. Although I’m not sure he can explain either. You’ve got to understand, prison did serious damage to him.”

  A lengthy sigh escapes from my lungs. “I need answers and now.”

  He stands and nods like he’s bowing to a queen, rushing out of the room.

  I need the bathroom and gingerly get out of bed. My feet surprisingly steady, I head toward a door next to the picture of the cowboys. It opens to a bathroom.

  Whilst sat on the toilet, I study the skin care and grooming products stacked on a shelf below the mirror. This is Isaac’s room. I’d recognize his taste in aftershave anywhere.

  A ranch he calls home, with his own bedroom in it.

  And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t where he always intended to come back?

  30

  Isaac

  Deep in thought, I carefully place my cell on the counter. Juan has delivered the news I’ve been waiting for. Cate’s parents are safe in the county hospital. Her father is out of intensive care and both are protected by the Police—although there won’t be any danger from Carlos or his hangers on. War raged last night on the streets of San Diego—or the back alleys and ghettos—and Carlos’s empire has been wiped out before it even took hold.

  Juan stays on, to keep a watchful eye at the hospital, but is under instructions not to get too close for fear of getting involved. At the moment, it’s believed to be a failed burglary and Chico has made sure the two guys responsible can never be identified.

  Not seeing it with my own eyes, it’s difficult to believe the threat has completely gone. Without burying Carlos myself, I’ll always imagine he’s lurking around a corner somewhere.

  Eduardo whisks into the kitchen. He’s not interested in Carlos and the pact I made with Chico and Señor Ramirez. His only concern, is everyone he cares for is safe and then he’ll go back to the US and pursue his career in law.

  “Cate’s fully recovered, the sleeping pills must have worked their way out of her system.” He pours himself a coffee and takes a sizeable gulp. “She’s back to form. So, I hope you’re ready for her.” His eyebrows lift high into his forehead.

  He thinks I’m an ass. And he’s right. If I’d listened to him, none of this would have come down on Cate. But I couldn’t help myself, I was in too deep with her.

  I go to seal my fate.

  Resting my forehead against the carved, acacia door, I take a restorative breath of the scented wood before clicking open the wrought iron handle. Above everything these last few months. Years even. This is the hardest trial I’ve ever faced.

  She’s stood at the side of the bed, screwing her feet into her pumps.

  “Where’s Hope?” she fires at me.

  The internal fury makes her shake and the steps she takes toward me will obviously stop with a punch or three.

  I brace myself and allow her to vent her anger on my muscle-tensed chest and abdomen. My arms stoically held at my sides as she buffets my torso with her fists.

  Eventually, I take hold of her wrists. “She’s fine.”

  “Take me home. Right. Now.” Her voice quavering and eyes wild.

  This is one situation where her feistiness isn’t a turn on. Because I feel sad.

  “I’m sorry.” I hang my head for a second and blow out another calming breath. “It had to be this way.”

  “Did it? Bull. Shit. We had a plan. An agreement. We were going to Oregon. To a small town with a good school. If you’d have told me this was where we were coming then I’d have never agreed.”

  The tears rack through her and she staggers back toward the bed. Catching her elbow, I lower her and sit by her side, pulling her into my chest. Her sobbing soaks my shirt and I hold her tighter to me.

  “I want Hope and I want to go home.”

  “Shh,” I murmur into her hair. The smell making me sadder. “She’ll be frightened seeing you like this, it will be better to wait until you’ve calmed.”

  “Calmed?” the venom in her voice, darts its forked tongue right into my neck. “This is your fault, Isaac or Raul, or whoever the hell you are. I will not calm. And you need to take us home. Now.”

  She pushes hopelessly against my chest. But I don’t let up. She will need this chest and these arms when I explain to her everything.

  “I have something to tell you and you need to be prepared.”

  She tries to pull away and a range of emotions cloud across her face.

  “What else could you possibly throw at me?”

  “Your parents.”

  “Yes?” she says with a huge amount of worry.

  “They’re okay but they’re in hospital. Carlos’s men got to them.”

  “Got to them?”

  “When you went to pick up Hope yesterday, two of his men were there already. From what I could tell, they were trying to extract information from them. Your mom is fine and has been kept in for observation. Your father is wounded but recovering well.”

  Her shoulders collapse into her chest and her head falls into her hands. “How could you do this to us?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I need to go to them.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t. They’re safe
, but I’m not one hundred percent sure the fallout from this weekend has settled.”

  “But they need to know we’re okay and who will look after them?”

  “I’ve spoken to your aunt. She’s gone to them and will explain. You’ll be able to speak to your mom soon.” I check my watch.

  “You rang my aunt?”

  I nod. “Yes, she remembered me.”

  “Sure, she did. You’re the father to my child. All of my family remember you. They thought of you as much as I did.”

  There’s nothing I can say. Loving families have those who’ve retracted from their lives often in their thoughts. Wondering what might have been and how they can protect loved ones from those experiences again.

  Well here I go, proving to them they can’t.

  What a selfish fucker I am.

  “How did Carlos know my parents? I don’t understand. I thought you said it was fine? All under control?”

  “It doesn’t matter how. Everyone is okay.” There’s no way I could tell her it was her friend’s father—my trainer. Joe. And the information came from Cate herself. She’s suffered enough.

  The blackness pulsing from her says it all. After all those attempts to make her hate me. I’ve finally succeeded.

  I stand. “Let’s find Hope.”

  She runs her fingers through her hair and straightens her blouse, sniffing the energy depleted from her body back to her soul. And without an answer, she pushes passed me and out of my bedroom.

  Hanging back in the corridor, to let me lead the way, I take her through the length of the covered walkways to the central courtyard.

  Mamá is setting a table under the lilac mass of the Jacaranda tree with bowls covered with straw hats to keep away the flies. She turns as we approach, and wiping her hands on her apron, comes across to meet us.

  “Caterina. Here.” She turns back to the table and pours a hand-painted glass with the homemade aqua-fresca she continuously iced in the refrigerator this morning.

  “Thank you.” Cate takes the glass and, after initially sipping it politely, drains it.

  It will have made Mamá’s day. She loves to feed and nourish us all. It’s pretty much what she lives for.

  “We’re going to see Hope,” I needlessly explain.