CHAPTER 3 MANY SHADES OF BLACK
MANY SHADES OF BLACK
Caleb
Traversing the narrow corridor leading to his New Brunswick tattoo shop granted Caleb Walker a few minutes before starting work to grieve his father’s death. His dad had been the ballast against his mother’s bias, and it was now a year since he’d died.
The room was empty in the morning before weekend opening hours.
The interlaced black and white linoleum tiles echoed with each scrape of his booted heels.
Caleb looked around at the walls dotted with framed prints of the shop’s best work, ornate tattoos of celebrities, pets, kids, and arcane symbols.
From the number of tattoo revisions the shop undertook, he knew that sometimes the things people initially loved would later become the bane of their existence.
He fingered the small animal skulls atop a metal-rimmed glass case.
The yellowed bone reminded Caleb of the dead animal that had led to his first love.
He lapsed into fifteen-year-old high school memories, and one particular blue-sky day.
Caleb had only dug the squirrel’s grave a foot deep when an attractive teen girl drew closer.
“What happened?” Her voice had lilted.
“Dunno.” He shrugged, lifting his dad’s shovel. “Just found it. Figured I better bury it before animals get him.”
She knelt, ruffling the squirrel’s fur.
“Hey, don’t do that.” He dropped one denim knee onto the soil inches from her hand. “It might’ve been sick. You don’t want to get whatever killed it.”
She sat back, cornflower blue eyes round with respect. “You’re smart. You must be Nixy’s brother.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re here to see Mr. Straight-A, huh?”
She snickered. “What’s your name?”
“Caleb. And Nixy’s my brother,” he had said, pleased at the ease in swapping importance, mocking his twin’s newly bestowed nickname.
So what if she was captain of the swim team? Beneath the stylish bangs and clear braces, she harbored a dark streak that wanted to touch dead animals. Phoenix, student president, star athlete, could have any girl. Why not leave this one—pretty on the outside, fucked up on the inside—for me?
The phone interrupted his reverie. Caleb checked his mobile. Ah, it was off. Probably Mom trying to guilt me into coming into the city, when all I want is to be alone on the anniversary of Dad’s death. I’ll tell her I’ll come in tomorrow.
He grabbed the old-fashioned black handset before the answering machine kicked in.
“Yeah?” He listened to the voice on the other end with growing alarm. “What the—”
His free arm steadied himself against the telephone stand, his only stability against the failure of his legs.
Why was his ex-girlfriend the first person Caleb thought to phone? Because she’s my business partner, his distraught brain reasoned before he punched up Sascha’s number.
“Caleb, you’re not calling to scold me for missing Mass, are you?” Sascha’s morning voice was coarse.
“Sascha. Thank God I got you,” he said, sounding as bereft as he felt.
Her tone changed from playful to attentive. “What’s wrong?”
“Um, something terrible’s happened.” He could barely get the words out, feeling as if he was lost and far away.
“Where are you?” she demanded. “What’s wrong? Do you need help?”
He could hear her scurrying around. He pictured her in her cramped apartment. “Talk to me,” she ordered. “Where are you?”
“I can’t talk,” he said, realizing that the road had blurred before him. “I need to pull over.”
“You’re driving? . . . That’s not safe. Get your ass off the road.”
He breathed in short bursts. Phoenix might die before he could get to him.
“Are you having chest pains?” she asked, probably recalling how Caleb’s dad had died from a heart attack.
“No, it’s not me,” he said. “It’s Phoenix. He’s been hurt. I need to get into the city. Can you open the shop for me?”
“Who cares about the shop? Where are you?” she asked again.
“I’m still in New Brunswick. I pulled over on Easton Ave.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t you dare move,” she commanded.
When she arrived, Caleb was leaning against his pickup, head in his hands.
Sascha’s Fiat screeched to a halt behind his truck and she jumped out. The familiar petite figure with auburn hair and head-to-toe red latex approached.
“What happened?”
“There was an accident.” He couldn’t get any more words out.
“Get in,” she said. “I’ll drive you to the city and you fill me in on the way there.”
He folded himself into the space that was ridiculously small for his large frame. He felt too upset to make his usual tease about her choice of a miniature vehicle.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital. Take the GW Bridge.”
Her foot slammed the accelerator. The car took off like a rocket. “Phoenix is in the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
He couldn’t offer more. His brother was unconscious, in surgery. Maybe dying?
“Honey, I’m sorry. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
She had saved Caleb time and again. She deserves to know. Maybe it’d be a relief to get the awful news off his chest.
“Mom called to say Phoenix never showed up. He was in some freak accident. On a subway track. He got hit by a train.”
“Aw hell.” Her words exploded.
He felt like a jerk for dragging her into his inner torture. He faced her and put a calming hand on one leg. “You need me to drive?”
She kept her eyes on the road. “I’m . . . I’m okay. Sorry. I just . . . what happened?”
“I don’t know much either. Just that he’s in surgery. Mom said he lost a lot of blood. She said I better come right away.”
Sascha’s eyes froze open with shock. And then they filled.
“No. Phoenix? How can this be?”
“I know,” he said, his voice flattened by emotion.
She sped through the automated toll lane, seeming not to care that she blew away the speed limit.
“Could they be wrong? I mean, if it was a train accident, how do they even know it’s him?”
“Shit, don’t say that,” he groaned. He rocked back. “I don’t want to picture him so fucked up that we can’t even tell it’s him.” The idea of Phoenix on the ground, crushed by massive metal wheels made him nauseous. It was as if half of him had been crushed.
She put the George Washington Bridge behind them and headed downtown into Manhattan. They rode in silence through city traffic. At stoplights, he glanced around, half expecting to see Phoenix striding along the sidewalk.
Finally she pulled up to the emergency room entrance. “You go first. I’ll meet you in there.”
“Thanks.” He bolted out of the car.
She lowered the passenger’s window and shouted. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
Without a response, he jogged through the emergency room doors. He could only hope they’d arrived in time.
Caleb found his mother seated in the waiting area. She got to her feet and met him with an unsteady gait. He wrapped an arm around her and frowned.
“He’s not—?” he asked, alarmed at Mom’s puffy eyes.
She shook her head but clung to him, almost as inconsolable as when Dad had died. Then she pulled back and regained her composure. He recognized the effort it’d taken her, and once her stoic expression was locked in place, it looked like nothing could shake it.
Sascha hurried towards them.
The older woman looked up as she approached. “Hello, Sascha. Thanks for driving Caleb.”
“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry. How’s Phoenix?”
His mother shook her head, eyes filling. “Not good.”
Sascha looked from his mom to Caleb, fear in her eyes. “Don’t tell me—”
“They, um, amputated . . . the train amputated his leg and hand,” Mom said.
Caleb had seen clients swoon over the sight of blood, but not him. He considered himself tough as steel. But now, he felt his stomach churning.
“He’s going to survive, right?” Sascha said.
“As long as he makes it, nothing else matters,” his mom murmured.
“He’s a fighter. He’s gotta be okay,” Caleb said, as much to himself as anyone else.
When his father died unexpectedly, Caleb had descended into anger.
He became wildly volatile, swinging through moods as if shifting gears in his truck.
Phoenix grieved, yet exhibited an inner strength that drew him closer to their mother.
Putting aside his ad agency work, he’d stayed with Mom for nearly a month.
Mom had said she couldn’t conjure anyone more dependable to help her organize her affairs and get her bearings.
Caleb envied their relationship but suppressed jealousy.
Now, instead of dispensing support, Phoenix was the one who needed it.
They all sat, lost in their own private thoughts, slumped into the slick plastic seats. Caleb couldn’t tell if minutes or hours passed waiting. He released a shuddered breath.
“Are you okay?” Sascha asked, peering at Caleb.
He shook his head. “It’s hitting me really hard.”
“Aww, luv.”
He buried his face into her shoulder. All the petty jealousy with his brother, the drama with Sascha. He would shove it all aside, if only Phoenix would get better.
A nurse came over to the trio. “Mr. Walker’s out of surgery. We’ll let you know when you can see him. It might be a while.”
Caleb turned to Sascha. It comforted him having her there, but wasn’t he being selfish? “Thanks for driving. Do you want to go and open up the shop?”
“Forget the damn shop, I’m waiting here with you,” she said.
His mother straightened. “I know it’s going to be tough to see him like this. But we’re going to be strong for him. It’s not going to help if we fall apart. Understand?”
She looked so determined, it was impossible not to believe her conviction.