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John grunts and turns toward his shop, digging into his pocket for keys.
Once inside and at his workstation, he points to the chair. “Do you know what you want for the design?”
“No design,” I say, having already thought about it. “Just the names, along my ribs, in cursive.”
He hands me a pad of paper and a pen. “Write them down neatly so I can read them.”
I do as he asks, and he gets everything ready. You think it would be hard to remember the names of forty-two people, but it’s not at all. Every single one was a friend to me, an integral part of an organization that is an extended family.
“Done,” I say as I return the notepad.
He glances down, his brow furrowing. “Why’s Stevie’s name on this list? I thought you said it was for the people who died on the plane.”
“It’s a list to honor the people I’ve lost and grieved for,” I reply.
He merely grunts again, and I don’t know if that was a good answer. “Take your shirt off.”
I do and settle back onto the chair. He reclines it, preps my skin, and readies his tattoo gun. As he snaps on gloves, he says, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not writing Stevie’s name with this list of other people, though.”
Elation surges through me. That means he wants me to get her back. “So you’ll help?”
“Sorry, man. Nothing to help. Stevie makes her own decisions.”
“You could at least put in a good word on my behalf,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” he says, and I’ll have to be happy with that. “But for what it’s worth… I think you both made mistakes and they’re both forgivable. You’re going to have a hell of a time getting Stevie to see that.”
“Yeah.” The dejection sits heavy. “I know. She’s lumping me in with her mom. We both abandoned her.”
“You’ve narrowed it down to the real problem,” he says as he turns on the gun. “Now settle in… I’m going to make this hurt more than normal for what you did to her.”
“I’d expect no less,” I reply and grit my teeth. This is going to suck, but it’s my penance.
CHAPTER 26
Stevie
Glancing at my watch as I exit Target, I calculate that I’ve got some time to journal before I need to open the bar. One of my bartenders is sick, so I’m working a double today.
I woke up early this morning with the insatiable need to purge my feelings about Hendrix and my mother, and I couldn’t do it because I don’t have my journal. That douchebag Carmine Betta does.
I ran to Target, the closest store that would have something sufficient, and it took me only a few minutes of browsing the stationery aisle before I settled on a vinyl-covered notebook laden with flowers, which is so not my style. I chose it because it has a strap and locking mechanism that, although could easily be broken open, is symbolic of the private nature of the things I write.
I splurged on a set of new gel-ink pens, and I intend to write over another cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal.
Just before I reach my car, my phone rings.
The name Olivia Parnell flashes, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hello?”
“Stevie?”
“Yes, hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Your mom is back. I saw her this morning grabbing the newspaper.”
I suck in a deep breath and then release it slowly. “Thank you so much for letting me know. I appreciate it.”
The little old lady walking her dog last week when I went to confront my mom came through. I went to my mom’s day before yesterday, hoping perhaps she’d returned, but there was no answer. Not sure if it was just coincidence the same woman was walking her dog or if she’s a nosy neighbor who came out to talk to me, but I left her my contact information and asked her to call if my mom reappeared.
My new journal forgotten, I toss the bag in my back seat and buckle up. As I drive to her house, anger bubbles as I think of all the things I need to get off my chest. I’m so angry, I might just start at the beginning when she abandoned me, but on the off chance she doesn’t want to hear any of it, I might need to start at the end.
Stealing my diary and giving my private words away.
I understand that my mom is too self-absorbed to even care about how this has affected me. Not only was my privacy violated, but her actions set into motion the destruction of my relationship with Hendrix.
The only man I’ve ever loved.
Granted, I’m not thinking too kindly of him these days after he was so very callous to me. Hendrix is complicated—not only am I suffering deep anger over the way he tossed me aside, I’m grieving the loss of love.
