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“No, I know that,” he said.
“Who did yours?” she asked.
“The Skulls have several chapters. I’ve been a member of the Phoenix Skulls, but at the Westside Skulls in Fresno, the country’s best tattooist, Xander…he’s the guy who has done all mine.”
“Wow, yeah, I see that he’s good.”
“He’s better than good. A lot of people can tattoo…and some of them are amazing…but he had to do all this…” he opened his arms and showed her his body, “over scar tissue.”
She cringed and said, “Was that painful?”
“I suppose,” he said. “But it’s not permanent pain. It’s the pain up here,” he pointed his finger to the side of his head, “that’s the hardest.” She was nodding…they both knew what that was like. “Good weed and a good artist…Xander made it easy.”
* * *
Cruz had finished eatingthe bars and he was still hungry, but he wanted to learn more about Eden, so he said, “A sec,” then he pulled on his pants and a t-shirt and stepped out the door of the cabin.
He came back with two bags of potato chips that he’d retrieved from his saddlebag.
He tore them open, and she smiled at him attacking the food while she munched on hers.
“We had big plans,” she said, when Cruz asked her about her marriage. She seemed happy enough to talk about it, and he wanted to get to know her better. “We worked together and had built up a small but successful accounting business.”
“Do you still work together?” Cruz asked.
“No…he took over the business, and I kept my own clients.”
“And that’s working OK for you?”
“Yeah, it’s good. Boring but good. I have a girl who helps me…she’d still studying to get qualified. I like to help young ones get a start.”
“You like children?” he asked.
“I do,” she said.
“OK.” He put another handful of chips into his mouth, and she smiled at him. “What?”
“I like big kids too,” she said. He laughed with his mouth closed. “Have you ever wanted any?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” he said. “You?”
“It had been the plan, but…” She looked sad, and Cruz wasn’t sure whether to say anything. He waited, and she sighed. “Cruz…”
“Yeah, babe.”
“I’m not able to have kids.” She was waiting for his reaction.
“I’m sorry.” He could see she was waiting for him to say more, so he said, “Because of your treatment?”
“Not because of it…no.” He stopped crunching on his chips. “Because any child of mine could inherit the gene that runs in my family.”
* * *
“My mother diedwhen we were both very young. Eight and ten. Jenny was two years older than me,” she said.
“Was?” Cruz said, before he even realized what he was saying. “I’m sorry…”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can talk about it now.” He nodded and she carried on. “Our aunt brought us up, so she is who we thought of as our real mother as time went on. She was a lot like my mother. They looked the same, sounded the same, and acted the same…from as far as my memory of Mom could recall. I guess we were very lucky that through our misfortune of losing Mom, we still had somebody else to take care of us in the same way.”
