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“Explain.”
“I got my first tattoo when I was seventeen.”
“How’d you do that? Don’t you have to be eighteen?”
“Crazy, right?” she asked him. “Gotta be eighteen to vote and get a tattoo, but I can do other things when I’m fifteen. Anyway, I lied about my age. Had a fake ID.”
“Okay.” He nodded for her to continue.
“It was book related, yes, but I think that first one was more about my rage. How lost I felt.”
“What was it?”
“A raven.”
“Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I don’t need to point out that the raven represents his grief over Lenore.”
“You’re likening that to my grief over my mom.”
“I am.” He watched her with a frown. “You don’t think so?”
“I dunno. Maybe subconsciously? I just…I was a handful before she died. She was sick for a long time. And I got worse when she died. My poor dad.”
“He stuck around?”
“Yeah. In fact, he’s watching my son right now.”
Cass straightened on his chair. “Do you need to go?”
“No. Dad lives with us.” She waved off his concern. “They’re probably both in bed.”
“Okay, so, you got your first tattoo out of rebellion. But it was still something from literature, and I’m betting that deep inside, you related to it because of your grief.”
“Our parish priest said I was a wild child and that my dad should ground me until I was twenty-one.”
“Not Baptist,” he said with a wink, “and just because you got a tattoo?”
“No.” She laughed and widened her eyes. “Oh, no. I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”
“And now?”
“Well, I don’t do drugs. Don’t even smoke pot anymore. I drink occasionally. I work full time here, and most of that full time, obviously, is nights. And I take care of my dad and my son.”
“So, you turned out okay.”
“Yeah. I guess I did.” She nodded.
“And still, you sound sad.”
“Not sad.” She shook her head. “I just wish Way had more in his life.”
6
Cass
