Ink (13 page)

“Well, it’s one of the scariest books ever. Um, you’re not afraid of clowns, are you?”

“Not at all, at least I wasn’t until I saw that cover.”

“He’s great, isn’t he? Let’s see…” She scanned the shelves and added two more to the basket. “Oh, definitely this one. It’s more fantasy than horror, but the story’s great. And the other one is fabulous. Two boys, a crazy magician, a girl that is really a—” She laughed. “Nope. I'm not going to spoil it. You'll have to read it to find out.”

Jason shifted the basket to his other hand. “If you keep this up, we’re going to need another basket.”

“I warned you,” she said, leaning close.

He moved forward, bridging the gap between them, and kissed her.

“Imagine this.”

The voice rang out, too loud and too dramatic, accompanied by a whiff of perfume, and he and Mitch both jumped.

Just perfect.

“Hello, Shelley,” he said, turning around. “Nicole.”

Nicole’s face remained blank as she sized Mitch up with a long, lazy look, but Shelley kept her eyes on Jason’s, her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. The ring finger on her left hand was bare, but on her right, a new ring with a dark blue stone sparkled in the store lighting, not quite large enough to cover the tiny, dark mole near her little finger. She caught Jason’s glance and raised one eyebrow, daring him to make a comment.

On impulse, he reached up with his right hand to idly scratch his left arm. The fabric at the edge of the sleeve bunched up, revealing the bottom of the tattoo. A flash of anger twisted her features, turning them hard.

See that, Frank? Aren’t you glad you don’t live with her?

He dropped his hand and waited, but she held her tongue, and an uneasy silence stretched out between them.

“So who’s your friend, Jason?” Nicole asked.

“This is Mitch. Mitch, Nicole, and you remember Shelley, don’t you?”

Mitch smiled. “Of course. It’s nice to meet you, Nicole.”

Nicole gave her a curt nod in reply.

Shelley looked down at the basket in Jason’s hand and finally spoke. “A little light reading?”

“Just refilling my bookshelves,” he said.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, well, it’s obvious you’re not interested in filling them with anything worthwhile,” she said, her eyes on Mitch.

Mitch just smiled and slid her hand in Jason’s.

“I think that depends on your point of view,” Jason said.

“Well, we’ll let you two get back to your shopping,” Nicole said and tugged Shelley’s hand. Shelley opened her mouth as if to let loose with a parting barb, then shook her head and spun on her heels.

“My, my,” Mitch said after they raced out of the aisle. “I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Don’t worry. They don’t like me much either,” Jason said.

Mitch laughed and gave his hand a squeeze.

10

Jason rushed into the office on Tuesday morning, his hair still damp from the shower, holding tight to the backpack slung over his shoulder as he passed his boss in the hallway. He held his breath, but received nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

He’d screamed himself awake in the middle of the night and sat in bed shaking while the nightmare faded, grateful Mitch hadn’t spent the night. When he fell back to sleep, it returned; he woke the second time thrashing in twisted sheets, with nothing left behind of the dream but a sense of sorrow and pain and an odd stiffness in his left arm. His phone rang as he pulled out his laptop, and he sank down in his chair before answering.

“I’m sorry to bother you at work,” his father said, “but your mother is convinced you’re mad at her and asked me to call you.”

“It’s okay,” Jason said, rotating his shoulder. “I’m not mad at her. I’ve just been busy.”

Frank, are you doing flips in there or something?

“That’s what I told her, but you know your mother. Shelley hasn’t returned any of her calls, either.”

“I’m not surprised. I didn’t think she would.”

“I didn’t either and honestly, I think it’s better that way. I told your mother that, too, but she doesn’t want to hear it. She always thinks she can fix things. She means well, you know that, but sometimes she only sees what she wants to.” His father cleared his throat. “Like with Ryan and Eve. Ryan keeps telling me they’re fine when I ask, but I know he’s lying. There’s no shame in calling it quits sometimes. Life is way too short to spend it miserable. Anyway, enough of that. How are you doing, son?”

The phone slid out of Jason’s hand, but he caught it before it landed on the desk. An innocuous question his father had asked many times before, but he’d forgotten one word this time.

How are you doing, son, really?

Jason had always brushed it off as nothing more than the words themselves, but the real meaning was hidden in the last word. He’d asked the same thing when Jason had a problem with a bully in fifth grade, but then it meant ”did that little punk give you any grief today?” When Jason’s answers went from ”okay” to ”I don’t want to talk about it,” his father went to the school. Although Jason overheard his dad tell his mom that trained monkeys could operate the school better than the morons who worked there, the bully left Jason alone after that, and the word—really—disappeared from his dad’s question.

How are you doing, son, really?

How many years had his father been asking the question since he got involved with Shelley? Jason traced the edge of his desk with his fingertips. Since the beginning, the very beginning, right after he introduced her to them.

He’s been my father for almost thirty years, and I’m just now figuring it out.

At the last family gathering he’d asked Jason and Ryan the same question, but to Chris, he’d simply asked, ”How are you doing,“ because Chris was doing fine, and he knew it. If Chris and Lisa’s marriage was any sweeter, they’d both have a mouthful of cavities.

Jason dropped his voice low. “How long, Dad. How long did you know?”

“What? About Ryan and Eve, or you and Shelley?”

“Me and Shelley.”

“Jason, you know I’m not one to meddle. I leave that to your mother. I believe everyone has to make their own way and along the way, make their own mistakes. I always figured if you wanted to talk about it you would have.”

“I didn’t know how bad things were,” Jason said. “I mean, I knew I was unhappy, but…”

“Sometimes it’s like fine print. You know it’s there, but it’s too blurry to read. You can’t see it when you’re in it, but you’re out of it now, so that’s all that matters. The rest? It is what it is.”

Despite the lump in the back of his throat, Jason smiled.

“Your mom is out right now, she’ll be home later tonight. Maybe you should give her a call, but only if you want to, okay? And I know she’ll remind you, too, but don’t forget that we’re having a birthday party for your brother here on Saturday.”

Shit. He’d made plans with Mitch.

“You are coming, right?”

“Yeah, of course I’ll be there.”

A throat cleared; Jason’s boss stood in the doorway with a stack of paper in his hands.

“Okay, Dad. I have to go. I’ll give Mom a call tonight.”

11

“Oh, come on,” Jason said, slamming on his brakes to avoid the front bumper of the car in front of him. He’d left the office later than usual, thanks to a new, time-sensitive project his boss had dumped on his lap, but not late enough to avoid the rush hour traffic. He sighed, glaring at the string of brake lights in front of him, and picked up his phone, regretting the decision as soon as his mother picked up the phone.

“Have you talked to Shelley? She won’t return my calls.” Her voice was hard, her words clipped.

“Mom, please. No, I haven’t talked to her. We are not getting back together.”

“Jason—”

“I know you keep thinking this is just some type of separation or argument but it isn’t. We’re done. It’s really over. We’ve been having problems for years. Years. I’m glad it’s over because it’s been miserable. I’ve been miserable.”

Sometimes she only sees what she wants to see.

“But—”

“I’m serious. This is not a bad thing, okay? And she’s already involved with someone else.”

“What? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. She’s been seeing this person for a long time.”

His mother fell silent for so long he thought she hung up. As he passed a three-car accident, the drivers’ yells mingled with the smell of exhaust and gasoline, and traffic slowed even more.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally said, the hard edge gone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to say anything because I thought you and Shelley might stay in touch, and this person isn’t the real reason we split anyway. I wasn’t lying about the problems. This split has been a long time coming.”

He inched his way to the far right lane as his exit approached.

“I’m sorry, I wish you would have told me. No wonder she hasn’t called me back. And what about you? Did you have someone else, too?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, as he pulled onto the exit.

“Good. I raised you better than that.”

“I know you did. Before I forget to ask, what time is everyone getting there on Saturday?”

“Two o’clock. Will you bring a bag of ice? I asked Ryan, but I’m afraid he might forget. He always does. And Jason? I’m sorry I blamed you. I really am.”

Jason pulled into his driveway a few minutes after they said their goodbyes. He grabbed his backpack, humming under his breath as he stepped up onto the back porch, but a cloud of foul-smelling air turned the hum into a strangled gasp.

“Oh, shit.”

A long black tail, with dark streaks of blood matting the white tip, lay curled in a neat spiral in the center of the doormat.

Did I walk right past it this morning?

He replayed the morning in his head: the frantic leap from the bed, the five minute shave and shower, the rush downstairs, the quick grab of his backpack, keys, and cell phone, the bleary-eyed run to his car, not thinking about anything but getting to the office. Yes, it could’ve been there. He must have stepped right over it, because if he’d stepped on it, the squish of flesh and fur and the crack of tiny bones would’ve stopped him in his tracks.

And were there maggots? Oh yes, plenty of them, squirming and twisting on the ragged end, partially obscuring the gore. A soft breeze pushed the sick-sweet smell of rot in his face and down his throat, and his stomach lurched. He shoved the key in the lock, thrust the door open and stumbled into the kitchen, the stench following close behind.

Once inside, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, then drank from his cupped palms, washing away the slick taste of roadkill in his mouth. He wiped his hands dry on his pants and grabbed a trash bag before heading back outside.

Suppressing a shudder, he rolled up the mat and slid it into the trash bag. His stomach twisted as he knotted the bag. Two cat tails? No coincidence there. And why were they left in his yard? He held the bag away from his body as he carried it to the trashcan at the end of the yard and took several deep breaths once he slammed the lid shut.

He’d never seen a cat and a raccoon fight, but raccoons were tough; a cat wouldn’t stand a chance. After a fight, bits and pieces might be left over. As he approached the porch, his breath caught in his throat. A wad of bubble gum was nestled in the crack at the base of the bottom step—bright pink bubble gum.

12

Another storm rolled in Thursday night, carrying a heavy veil of humidity. Jason sat in his living room with the windows open and his laptop on his lap, pretending to work. A distant rumble of thunder sent a neighbor’s dog into a fit of barking, then a voice called out and a door slammed shut, cutting off the sound. He stared at the long columns of price plans and minute usage until his eyes blurred, giving up once the first raindrops landed on the roof.

He closed the windows, grabbed a beer and went out to sit on the back porch. Dark, oily clouds roiled across the hazy sky, brightened at the edges by flashes of intermittent lightning. Rain bounced off the tin roof with small echoing ticks; the sound held a peaceful, hypnotic rhythm.

Many years before, Shelley had wanted to change the tin for a regular shingled roof, but Jason had refused—one of the few battles he’d won. The tin roof reminded him of summer nights spent at the house during his childhood. Whenever it rained, his grandfather would grab a beer and sit out on the porch. He told Jason there was music in the rain, if he listened hard enough.

Wind blew through the trees, rattling the branches, and the leaves made slapping noises as they shook. A light spray of rain misted his face. He’d not said a word to anyone about the cat tail and the gum, although he’d come close to telling Mitch when he called to change their Saturday plans. He was sure the neighbor boy was responsible, but how could he tell the parents? He
should
tell them, but they weren’t friends. They weren’t even acquaintances. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw the mother, and the father was just a vague, suited blur who emerged from the house in the morning at the same time as Jason. His car, a sleek, dark thing with tinted windows, was never in the driveway when Jason got home. There was an older sister, a red-haired girl with long, coltish legs and a perpetual frown on her pale face, and although she didn’t seem as strange as her brother, she wasn’t friendly.