ONE
CHAPTER
Six months after the funeral
I sucked in a breath and stared at the ceiling until the first wave passed, then immediately threw off the covers.
The best part of my day was those first three seconds.
Then I had to immediately get up, get ahead of it.
Keep moving, otherwise I’d lie in bed all day like an ass, pissing and moaning over what I couldn’t change.
Get up, shake it out of the covers and kick it under the bed.
A small voice inside whispered I’d better clean that shit out and fucking deal with it before I exploded.
I was dealing. I was getting up. Going to work. Doing my goddamn best.
My gym clothes were waiting at the foot of the bed where I’d set them the night before.
I dressed, hit the kitchen for some water and a protein bar.
The morning sun glinted off the glass paperweights on the windowsill, all Jonah’s creations.
One had a sea life scene inside. The sunlight cutting through the glass made it look alive.
It was Kacey’s favorite. She once told me she thought it looked quiet inside the glass.
Peaceful. The watery composition made her feel safe when she woke up the first time on Jonah’s couch.
I looked inside the sphere and felt suffocated. Trapped. Immobile, like the sea life.
In my truck on the way to the gym, I passed Jonah’s old place, then Kacey’s three blocks later. Both empty now. Except for Jonah’s glass paperweights sitting on my windowsill and a handwritten note, everything belonging to them was in a storage unit at the north end of town.
Idling at a red light, my thoughts returned to her four scribbled lines, mulling over them like song lyrics. Followed by the chorus: I failed Jonah…
A honk from behind jolted me: the red light was green. I hit the gas, tires screeching, then eased off and forced myself to chill the fuck out before I got in a wreck.
At the gym, I lifted and pressed until my arm muscles were screaming and the sweat poured down my face. I did sit-ups until I thought I’d puke, then set a bar over my shoulders and did squats until my legs were shaking.
I worked out for two solid hours, trying to sweat out the feelings buried in my guts. It left me exhausted and wanting more sleep—I didn’t get much these days—but rest wasn’t part of my routine.
I showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and went back to my place to cook up some lunch.
I sat at my kitchen counter, the Small Business Management textbook open.
An enormous fried egg, bacon, and tomato sandwich on my left, my laptop on my right.
I had midterms coming up and the payroll tax stuff was giving me grief.
Three hours of solid study made me feel a little better.
About my tests anyway. I closed up my textbooks and laptop and hid them away in a drawer in case Oscar and Dena dropped by.
They always asked a million fucking questions about me going back to UNLV for an MBA degree, and I didn’t want to talk about it.
It was stupid anyway. As if a dumb degree could make anything better.
My cell phone rang as I started to head out for work at Vegas Ink, my mother’s number on the display. Right on time.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Hello, darling. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me, Ma. You never are.”
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
She called every day. Rarely with any real purpose or news to impart, usually just to touch base with the only son she had left.
When I saw her in person, she literally touched base: her hand floating toward me whenever I was in reach.
I couldn’t blame her—I did the same to Jonah every day after his CAV diagnosis.
“Dear?”
I jerked out of my thoughts. “Sorry, Ma. What was that?”
“I was asking if you’d heard from Kacey?”
“Still nothing. I’m sure she’s fine,” I added, like I would fucking know after I let her slip away.
You had one job here. Half a job.
“I wish she’d at least call,” Mom said with false lightness, “I wonder where she’s gone off to?”
I rubbed my hand over the dull ache in my chest. “I have to get to work, Ma. If I hear anything from Kacey, I’ll let you know.”
“All right, dear.”
Realizing I was barely giving her sixty seconds of my time, I asked, “What are you and Dad up to?”
“Oh, nothing much,” she said. God, if she didn’t always sound like she was perpetually on the verge of tears. “We’d like to have you, Oscar, and Dena over for dinner Sunday.”
“Sure, sounds good,” I said, gritting my teeth. Once a month or so we rallied together, mostly because we felt we should. Our duty to old memories and better times.
It sucked.
The dinners were torture, filled with stilted, stiff conversation, haunted by Kacey’s laughter and Jonah’s voice.
No matter how loud we tried to talk or laugh over it, their love affair lingered like the light from one of Jonah’s glass lamps.
Not even Oscar could lighten the mood. His gigantic personality had been tamped down and Dena’s smile was heavy now.
My mother still cooked, but often she let pots boil over while she stared into space.
She’d lost weight. So had Dad. His eyes followed my mother constantly, but rarely looked at me.
He hardly spoke to me, either. We’d never been close, but Jonah always bridged our gap.
Without him, an abyss lay between me and my father.
A distance neither of us made an effort to close.
Goddammit, Jonah, come back and fix all this because I fucking can’t.
“I’ll let Oscar and Dena know,” I told my mom. My glance flickered to the front door, the car keys jangling in my hand.
“How are your studies going?”
“Fine. Big tests coming up.”
“I’m so proud of you, Theo. I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing. In another year, when you have your degree, just think of what doors will open for you.”
“Thanks, Ma,” I said, trying not to sound as irritated as I felt.
Mom’s pride in me sounded good on the surface, but she wasn’t entirely sold on me opening up a tattoo shop either.
She was more supportive than Dad by a mile, but I didn’t hold any illusions she was eager to see me spend the money Jonah willed me on a place with loud music and ‘colorful characters’, where I’d draw flaming skulls and roses all day long.
“Oh, Theo dear, would you mind stopping by the store this afternoon? I’m out of milk and eggs.”
I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t go after work, or I’d never make it to class on time. I’d have to go now, swing by my parents’ house, then go to work. Late.
“Dad’s working again today?” I asked tightly.
“Yes.” She sighed. “You know how he is lately.”
“Yeah, I know.” I rubbed my hands over my eyes. “I’ll hit the store before work. Be there in thirty.”
“Thank you, dear. You take such good care of me.”
“I gotta go, Ma. I’ll see you in a few.”
“Wonderful, dear. And Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“If Kacey calls, tell her I’m not angry with her. Tell her… Tell her I’d just like to know she’s okay.”
“Sure, Ma.”
I hung up and stared at the screen a long time, willing it to ring again, to light up with Kacey’s number so I could hear her voice. I only wanted what my mother wanted: to know Kacey was okay.
Vegas Ink was busy that day. Our small waiting area had two chicks poring over a three-ringed binder of art, and another guy leaning against the wall. It was Edgar’s day to pick music, so the buzz of tattoo machines was barely audible under pounding death metal music.
Vivian, our receptionist, gave me an arch look as I rushed in.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, Viv,” I said, checking over her book for the day’s appointments. “Don’t tell Gus.”
“I never do, but he’s heard the complaints, honey.”
I shrugged. Nothing I could do about it.
My mother, although perfectly capable of doing things on her own, had retreated into herself.
Like a kid who’d been burned, she hardly stuck her hand out anymore.
And Dad had thrown himself back into work as if he were a first-time city councilman instead of a thirty-year incumbent on the verge of retirement.
Someone had to take care of my mom. But sometimes, like today, I knew I had too many balls in the air. My arms were getting tired and sooner or later I was going to start dropping them. Gus, the owner of Vegas Ink, firing me for being late all the time would be the first to smash to the floor.
“These two are waiting for you.” Vivian nodded her completely shaved head in the direction of the two young women. The expression on her heavily pierced face was knowing. “New clients. Both asked for you, personal.”
I shrugged. “Referral.”
“Mmhm.” Viv raked her eyes up and down my black T-shirt and jeans. “Word must’ve gotten out about your impressive body…of work.”
I rolled my eyes as I closed the appointment ledger. I was booked straight through to six o’clock.
“Oh, come on, it was a little funny,” Viv said, leaning over the desk, toying with a pen in her ringed fingers.
Tattoos covered every inch of skin up to her neck and creeped up the back of her skull.
She gave one of my biceps a squeeze. “And true. Someone’s been hitting the gym harder than usual. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
Viv rubbed her chin on her shoulder, putting her gaze in line with one of the shop’s other artists, Zelda Rossi.
The small woman was bent over a client, tattoo gun in hand.
Long black hair fell like a curtain to shield her face.
She raised her head as she wiped the blood welling up from her client’s shoulder blade.
Her large, green eyes—rimmed in black—met mine.
A smile started to break over her face. She caught it under her teeth, stuck her tongue out, and went back to work.
Viv smirked. “Must be so tough to have so many women throwing themselves at you.”
“Can’t complain,” I said with a smug grin. “Give me a minute then send my first appointment in.”
“Sure thing, baby doll.”