Nods go around the table along with bites of food. Darius Jacobs says, “So you took it for her, so she didn’t have to burn it but doesn’t have to look at the nightmare?”
“Exactly.” I add, “I didn’t want that idiot to take away something that important to her.”
“But what were you drawing?” Adrian asks. “Did she draw things in there, too?”
I glance at him, clearing my throat. “No, I uh, I am adding to it.”
Eli grins and claps his hands. “Our boy is finally using his hidden talent to lock down his dream girl, making Daddy proud.” He winks at me, leaning into his nickname and making me groan.
A chorus of questions rumble across the table, and I hold up my hands. “Yes, I can draw. I don’t talk about it because it has always been just something I do for myself. But I am trying to get this done for Lainey and don’t want it to take a year, so I’m working on it here in our down time.”
“So what are you drawing?” Chief asks from the doorway. We collectively turn to look at him, not realizing that he was late to dinner.
There was no way around any of this now that the cat was out of the bag. Nobody was making fun of me for being able to draw and all had genuine curiosity, but how were they going to react once I told them I was drawing flowers?
Running my hands nervously though my already tousled hair I say, “Flowers.”
“Why flowers?” Eli asks, already knowing the answer.
Rolling my eyes at him, I say, “Because Lainey deserves as many as I can give her.”
Adrian, Jacobs, Eli and the rest of the table all have shit-eating grins, and Chief says smoothly, “Yes, she sure does. That girl is special, Rem.”
“I know she is, sir.” The guys all nod, and look at me, knowing that me taking a chance on someone is not something I would do lightly. If I am making a grand, time-consuming gesture, one that also exposed a hidden part of myself to all of them, she must be really important to me.
“So, can we see them?” Adrian asks.
“No,” I snarl at him. “Nobody. Nobody sees Lainey’s journal but me. She trusted me with it, I’m not about to sit here and pass it around like it’s show-and-tell.” Adrian’s face pales as he realizes what he asked for, and I feel bad for snapping at him. That is definitely out of character for me, but Lainey makes me feel fiercely protective. I look at Adrian and say, “Sorry, man.”
“No, no I should have clarified, I don’t want to seeherjournal, Rem! That is a major invasion of privacy. I was asking if we could see some ofyourdrawings?” He glances around the table, and the guys chirp in with agreement and excitement.
I rub my jaw and say, “Well you actually see some of them all the time.” Sticking out my arm, I show them my sleeve of tattoos on my left arm, pointing to the ones I sketched out for Keller. The details of the American flag wrapping my forearm with a Celtic cross on the inner side, the mountain scene with the eagle flying across the top of my shoulder, and few other details of the ink on my skin that have become as much a part of me as my eye color, height, or hair.
“Damn, Rem!” Ryan Banks, one of our rookies says, “I knew you said you could draw, but this is next-level talent.Can you draw up something for me?” His eyes shine with excitement.
“I don’t know, Banks, I have only ever drawn for myself.” The idea that someone else thinks my drawings are good enough to want me customizing something for them is kind of baffling. I mean, Keller told me before that he could take me on as an apprentice and have me tattooing like a pro in no time, but I always thought he was messing around. The ideas I gave him he had improved on, and I made sure that everyone knew that when I explained them.
“Please think about it.” Banks smiles at me and goes back to his dinner as conversation turns to other things. I look over to Eli, and that fucker just gives me another confident wink.
Later that night, I’m working on the journal in the common area of the fire station. There are lounge chairs, couches, and a big TV. The guys are all occupying themselves doing different things—napping, reading, and a few are playing cards at the dining table in the kitchen. I grin when I flip to a page from mid-spring of last year, her perfect pie day ...
I did it! I did it!! I did IT! Finally after 109 tries I did it, I made theperfectapple pie. I didn’t give up. I wanted to. I wanted to so many times. I cried, ruined so many, burned so many—burned MYSELF (see the scar on the back of my wrist for proof) but I didn’t give up. I never would have been allowed to make so many messesor mistakes in my parent’s kitchen—in my father’s home. This pie is for me, my heart, my healing.
Nothing has tasted better.
I am not going to make this pie for anyone else until Iknowthey will really appreciate it as much as I do, it is too important. This is my perfect pie.
I read that entry over and over, swelling with pride and something else I’m not ready to name. She tried so hard, for so long to make that pie. Her excitement was palpable through the page, and then the last lines hit me right in my heart.
She made me her perfect pie. She felt that I was worthy?
I did appreciate it, but more importantly—I appreciate her. Lainey is so special, exactly like Chief said. I want to work every day to be included in all of her important moments.
I write down her journal entry.
Then I fill the entire page with an explosion of apple blossoms.
15
