Sam stood up and wandered around the four-bedroom apartment she’d once shared with her whole family, calling up memories for each and every corner. The exposed beam where their dad had marked their ever-increasing heights, the lounge room where they’d played monopoly and trivial pursuit with mugs of tea at their elbows. The corner where Tabby had once accidentally smashed their grandmother’s urn and cried as they vacuumed up the ashes. It was the only home Sam had ever known and it had always been here, full of art and recollections and, most importantly, her dad. He was the one constant in the house and now only the bare bones were left. Left to her.
God, Nicole was going tokill her. Sam was surprised she hadn’t called already, her DaSilva senses tingling with the knowledge something had gone wrong, something which she could be called on to correct. It was widely acknowledged she was the good twin, the fixer, thesensible one. Yet their dad had left her everything.
“He mustwantthis whole place destroyed,” Sam whispered. Her head was swimming and her knees felt loose. She walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a shot of vodka. She knocked it back like medicine then ventured downstairs, to the street and then the tattoo studio, her brain sagging with what she knew.
She found Noah handing the kid from Seoul a small bottle of the recovery oil their dad invented. That was another job she’d have to take on; mixing up the post tattoo potions. As if she had any idea how to do it. She didn’t even know where her dad kept the recipes. She’d never asked.
She watched Noah swipe the kid’s bank card through the machine without saying a word. He was a better artist than Gil, but his PR skills were lacking in every conceivable way. Two years ago, she’d come home from a tattooing expo in Vegas to find Noah hulking up tattoo room three. When she asked her dad who he was, he said ‘your new brother’ without the slightest trace of irony. Noah had been at SDI ever since, tattooing his ass off and speaking a total of nine words a day. Sam still had no idea what his deal was, but she’d grown to like him. More importantly, she trusted him. She waited for the kid to leave and caught his eye. “Got a minute?”
“What’s wrong?”
Sam wasn’t surprised by the question. Quiet as he was, Noah had a knack for sensing discord. One day she’d introduce him to Nicole and see who could most accurately predict disaster. “It’s pretty big.”
“I got time.”
“Are you sure? You might need to overspend on your daily word quota?”
Noah tilted his head to the side, wordlessly telling her to shut up and get on with it.
“Dad’s gone away.” Sam felt the truth of it weigh down on her like a lead vest, filling her eyes with more tears. She screwed up her eyes, willing them away.
“Where’s he gone?” Noah said.
“I have no idea. To a retreat, maybe? He says he’s not coming back and I think he means it. He’s put Silver Daughters Ink in my name, turned the whole thing over to me.”
Noah’s brow folded like a manly accordion—his version of throwing his head back and screaming‘why Lord why?’
He and her dad were close. They’d shared a lot of silent beers on the back patio over the years and Sam was sure her dad had Noah’s phone number, something no one else at Silver Daughters had the privilege of owning. Still, this proved it. He hadn’t known her dad was leaving any more than she had.
Noah swallowed, his thick neck flexing. “Okay. What are we going to do?”
Sam’s eyes prickled and she bit down on her tongue knowing crying would only make it worse. “I have no fucking idea.”
Noah watched her for a second then coughed loudly. “Want a beer?”
“My father abandoned me. I don’t want a beer.”
“Fair enough.”
“I wantall the beers.”
“Ah.” Noah dug around in his pockets. “I’ll get a slab?”
She pulled out her wallet and handed him a fifty dollar note. “Get two.”
Chapter 2
There were worsethings than a twenty-three hour flight from London to Melbourne, but Scott couldn’t think of any of them. He stumbled into the main coffee-shops-and-shitty-stuffed-koalas part of Tullamarine airport, his body stiff and aching. He’d pictured himself arriving in a blaze of glory. A new man shedding the shackles of his old self. Two minutes into the wait at baggage claim and he knew that was bullshit. For one thing, Melbourne wasn’t a new city. He’d lived here for ten years as a scrawny kid and then a gangly teenage virgin. He hadn’t uprooted his life to go back to being a gangly teenage virgin. He’d had good reasons for coming back to Australia, but in the airport hubbub they seemed vague and convoluted. Unfinished business? Being close to the place where his mother was buried? Sating his endless craving for fresh lamingtons?
He massaged his temples. “Should have picked Sydney. Why didn’t I choose Sydney?”
A stranger slammed into his shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, mate.”
“S-s-sorry.”
Scott clapped a hand to his mouth. He’d just stuttered. He hadn’t stuttered inyears. He felt as though he’d said the c-bomb in front of a bunch of kids.
The stranger took no note of his faulty apology but Scott stared after him, desperately wanting to tell the man he didn’t stutter, that he’d spent a decade not stuttering.