“I’m really tired of looking after everything,” I confess without context, but he just nods and puts TJ down. We watch him walk toward the general direction of the lake. “I’m really proud of you. My first one walked off like that and it kinda hurt my feelings.”
“Yeah. Well, maybe we should go home. Did you see the fancy ice creams I put in the freezer? I’ve been living for them.” The way he talks is like we live together, forever, nestled up together under a blanket.
I know that’s not how things are, but gosh it would be nice to have a big, bold, passionate memory to return to when I’m alone again. We’re facing each other now, kneeling, close enough to touch.
I’ve got to grab this moment while my big rare creature remains with me on this picnic blanket. I need to do something big, or else I’ll be left with nothing but what-ifs. “I’m fairly inexperienced at these things, but this feels like a really romantic setting.”
“It is.” He’s looking at me with a spark of interest in his eyes. “You’re finally noticing that?”
I’m being drawn into his black pupils like he’s hypnotizing me. “Could I ask you to kiss me, please?”
“Your wish is my command,” he says, leaning down. Just a fraction before he touches my lips with his, he says, “But only if you come to the tattoo studio.”
“Yes,” I say, and I get my wish. It is everything I hoped it would be.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Are we there?” Renata asks from the back seat, yawning like a kid. “That was quick.”
It wasn’t quick. It was a very long drive, and Teddy and I listened to almost eleven episodes of the Heaven Sent podcast. My hamstrings are tight from sitting, and my stomach hurts from laughing at everything Teddy says. Is it legal to have such a gorgeous side profile?
“Aggie. Aggie.” Renata is nudging her sister. “We’re here at the tattoo parlor. Aggie.” I twist in my seat. Aggie is resting against the door, eyes closed, mouth open. My heart jumps in fright and Renata begins to shake her. “Wake. Up.”
Aggie makes a deep, dry gurgle and sits upright. Everyone breathes out.
“I thought you were dead,” Renata accuses her.
“Not quite,” Aggie replies. She allows Renata to fuss over her, and she does for a few long moments, straightening Aggie’s collar, patting her hand. When I look in the rearview mirror, I see Renata’s eyes are glossed in tears. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Aggie repeats.
“You really scared me,” Renata retorts, her voice breaking on a sob. “And look how close I am to my tattoo. I would have been too late.”
“Well, you’re not,” Aggie replies. They lean together, foreheads touching. It’s a moment that Teddy and I are now intruding on and we get out of the car. I’m missing something, but I can’t work it out.
“Phew, that felt like a close one,” Teddy says. “Does that kind of moment happen a lot for you?”
“Yes, it does. I’ve found plenty of people who have passed away.”
“Really.” Teddy is surprised. “How do you deal with it?”
“I’ve got a checklist that guides me through it.” I look over at him and see that answer isn’t remotely enough. “Then, after the funeral company has left and their family members have gone home, I cry in the bath.” I don’t want to remember the last time that happened, just over four months ago. Tiny, frail Mrs. Higgins didn’t answer her door when I checked in on her. I found her in bed, ice cold. And I let these three coax me off the property again, leaving everyone behind.
“Please tell me about your studio,” I say with a lump in my throat. “Please help me think of something else.”
Teddy puts an arm around my shoulder. “This is my place. Well, it will be. What do you think? The sign got done yesterday” On the front window is an old-fashioned sailor tattoo, an anchor with a scroll over the top. I read the name of the studio out loud. “Always and Forever. That’s quite a romantic name for a tattoo studio.”
“That’s what I’ve always thought, too. You go on in, I’ll get the gals out.”
Walking into a place like this should be a miniexercise under the Sasaki Method, because it takes guts. I’m in an almost-finished waiting area. There’s a black couch still wrapped in plastic, an unplugged computer, and an empty cabinet stacked with boxes of jewelry. Loose on the counter are printed photos of tattoos. The sore-looking skin with new ink that makes me wince, but I begin to find Teddy’s work.
“There, there, there,” I touch my fingers across the photos.
“Can I help you?” A man walks out, then looks past me and sees Teddy outside. “He actually showed up.”
I don’t like that tone. I indicate the photos. “I was just picking which ones were designed by Teddy.”
“Pretty easy to spot that kind of talent. We’ll hang them up on that wall there. I’m Alistair.” He’s a bearded guy, older than I’d imagined and dressed in crumpled flannel. He looks more like a construction worker, more so because he’s got paint on his forearm and a layer of dust.
I hold out a hand. “I’m Ruthie Midona. I’m Teddy’s neighbor.”