When Lightning Strikes (3 page)

Chapter 5

I got a response from Patrick the same evening. I expected it to take him at least a week to get back to me, so I was shocked to see his name in my inbox so quickly. I felt a wave of nerves wash over me, so much that it took me several long seconds to make myself open the email to read his response.

Hey Mia,

I'm glad you like the tattoo and want to come back to see me. I'm leaving in less than a month and I'm booked till then, but I'd like to get you in so let me see what I can work out and I'll get back with you. I picked up that Lincoln book you recommended after work tonight. The clerk told me it was good. Did you go to Trader Joes for cookie butter? Don't forget to get the crunchy kind. I'll be in touch about an appointment.

Patrick

I read it three times. I'd forgotten about him recommending cookie butter. If Trader Joes had been open, I would have gotten into my car and gone over there right then. I didn't write him back that evening. He did include a direct question, but the general feel of the email was that he'd be the one to get in touch with me. I decided not to respond to his cookie butter question, at least until I got some and could try it. For the next two days, I waited to hear from him, but never did.

By the next Saturday, I had myself thinking he'd forgotten about working me into his schedule. I tried to tell myself it was better that way, but when Stewart text to ask if I'd like to grab a cup of coffee, I instantly thought of going to Moshi's just so I'd have a chance to run into Patrick. To my own shame, I acted on that thought. I sent Stewart a text asking if he could do Moshi's at 4PM and he agreed.

I knew Patrick worked on Saturday, and that he drank coffee around that time, but I didn't dare hope I'd see him. I reprimanded myself. Poor Stewart was my ticket to a slim chance of seeing someone else, and I told myself I should feel like a terrible person because of it.

That little bout with guilt didn't stop me from following through with plans, though. I got to Moshi's right on time, and Stewart was waiting out front. He had light brown hair and light, greenish eyes. He dressed nice and carried himself well. He was handsome and tall and had a good job as an anesthesiologist. Plus, I loved the idea of one simple flower, and that's exactly what he was holding.

Everything should fall into place with this guy, and yet, there I was, looking over his shoulder to make sure Patrick wasn't there.

"I like your shirt," he said, smiling as I walked up.

I was wearing tights with a loose-fitting top that said, "aim true" across the front with an arrow. I had Choctaw way back in my bloodline, probably not enough to even mention it, but my dark eyes and high cheekbones made me look like I had more of it in me than I actually did—certainly more than either of my brothers. Anyway, I liked that feature about myself, and tried to play it up most of the time, so I had a few shirts with arrows.

"Thanks," I said. "For the compliment and the flower," I added taking the flower from him. He held the door open for me and we stood in line to order our coffee. I glanced behind us every time the door opened, but Patrick never came in. We sat down at a small table I chose strategically based on its view of the cash register.

We hung out for the better part of an hour before I said I needed to go so I could meet a friend for dinner. It was a partial lie since plans were loose and they were just with my roommate, but I could tell he wanted to ask me to get something to eat with him, and I didn't want to have to say no.

I was about to stand up to leave when none other than Patrick Mallory walked through the door. I took my purse off the back of my chair and began to dig in it as both an excuse to stay for another minute, and an outlet for my sudden nervous energy.

"Seems like I was about to tell you something…" I said absentmindedly trailing off as I rifled through my bag. I glanced at Stewart and then risked a quick peek in the direction of the register. There wasn't a line, so Patrick was already approaching the clerk. I nervously glanced into my purse again and continued digging.

"Did you remember what it was?" Stewart asked.

I made a face like I was trying really hard to remember. "Was I going to give you someone's phone number or something because I'm thinking my digging through my purse has to do with what I was gonna tell you." Basically I didn't even know if what I'd just said made any sense, but Stewart was smiling when I glanced at him again, so I thought I was okay.

I risked another glance at the register before I allowed myself one last look in my purse, and low and behold, Patrick was looking straight at me. He was at the bar waiting for his coffee, but definitely looking at me when I glanced over.

I squeezed out a smile, but quickly looked down. There is no way to describe the devastating nerves I felt right then. I had already announced that I needed to leave, so Stewart was in the processing of standing and pushing his chair back under the table. I began to do the same thing, but I heard Patrick's voice.

"Mia?" he asked.

I stayed in my seat and glanced up at him with a smile. "I was wondering if that was you," I said as he approached.

He was at least as tall as Stewart, and the two of them shook hands. "What are you doing here?" Patrick asked looking down at me. I watched as his eyes roamed to the daisy that was sitting beside my coffee cup and then back up at me.

His expression was unreadable as he shifted his attention to Stewart and then back to me. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and I knew he was saying the word, "Really?" in a sarcastic way even though he was completely silent.

"I'm Stewart," Stewart said, seeing the awkward eye contact.

"This is Patrick Mallory," I said. "He's the guy who did my tattoo."

Stewart pointed at him and nodded excitedly. "That's right, I thought you looked familiar. I saw you on my friend Paul's Facebook. You did his tattoo." Stewart motioned to his own arm as if tracing his friend's tattoo. "It's a mountain bike with a tent and a sunset in the background."

Patrick spared him a half-smile. "I do a lot of mountain bike tattoos around here, as I'm sure you can imagine."

I couldn’t help but compare the two guys as they stood next to each other. They were both nice looking guys, but Patrick looked sleek and dark like he might own a nightclub while Stewart looked more like he was about to get on a yacht.

"Patrick!" the barista yelled from the counter.

"We were just leaving anyway," I said. Patrick was standing closer to me, so I stood next to him when I got out of my chair.

"I didn't have the chance to email you yet, but I had something open up next week. Wednesday, I think. Does that work for you?"

"Really? Next week?" I asked, surprised. "Yeah, I mean, I'm off for the summer, so pretty much anytime works for me."

"Great. I think it's at 2PM, but email me and I'll let you know for sure."

"That sounds good," I said.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

I didn't understand what he was asking, and the question made me giggle nervously. "What do you mean?"

"The tattoo. What are you getting?"

"Oh, I, uh…"

"Patrick!" came another yell from the counter.

"I'll be there in a second," Patrick said to the girl at the counter. "She's new," he said, looking back at me. "Sorry, you were telling me what you wanted."

"An arrow," I said. It was the first thing that came to mind. I hadn't given it much thought because I assumed it wasn't even happening till he got back from his trip. "I was thinking an arrow. It'll probably be my last one for a while, but I love this other one so much that I wanted to try to get in before you left."

"Yeah, her cross looks really good," Stewart said. Patrick glanced at him with another barely there smile and a nod to thank him, but quickly looked back at me. He seemed annoyed by Stewart's presence, a fact that made me want to giggle for some reason. I held it in. Patrick stood there and stared at me shamelessly. He let his eyes roam over my face and then my shirt. "Are you Indian or something?"

"Choctaw, but it was like eleven generations back, so I feel like a big poser claiming it. My aunt got really into the family tree one time and researched it. I forget how to say his name, it's really hard to pronounce, but my ten-times great-granddad was a Choctaw chief, and he married a white woman. It's through my mom's side, and like I said, it's way back there, I just think it's cool."

"It is cool… and a chief no less, even if he is ten generations back."

"Eleven."

He shrugged. "Still cool. And I see it in your features, so I think it's fine for you to claim it." He smiled. "I guess I better go get my coffee. I'm glad I ran into you."

I smiled back and nodded. "I'll get in touch about possibly coming to see you next week."

"I'll be able to work something out for next week no problem," he said. "Especially for something small like an arrow."

"Oh, no, I wanted it all down my leg," I said with a straight face. I gestured from my hip to my ankle. "I was thinking about this long and about two inches thick. All black."

He shot me a sly smile. He used his thumb and finger to show me about the space of about three inches. "Probably about yay big on the underside of your forearm, ribs, or between your shoulder blades. In and out in twenty minutes."

"What? You don't like the idea of a gigantic, leg-sized arrow?"

"I like it fine," he said, challengingly. "We'll get started on it next Wednesday if you want."

I giggled. "Okay, you were right," I admitted. "I want the baby one. But I was thinking right here." I motioned to the back of my upper arm going along my triceps. I hadn't planned on getting it there; I just chose a random spot that he hadn't mentioned so he wouldn't think he had me pegged.

He nodded and said, "That's a good spot," before he waved and went back toward the counter to get his coffee. Stewart and I went for the door. I walked out without glancing back at Patrick at all.

"Cookie butter!" I said to Stewart once we were on the sidewalk. "He told me about cookie butter, and I forgot to tell him I tried it."

"Trader Joes," Stewart said, knowing exactly what I was talking about. "I like the one with chocolate mixed in."

"I've only tried the crunchy so far, but that one's really good."

"Try the one with chocolate," he said.

We talked about random things like that until we got to my jeep, which was parked on the street two blocks away. I gave him a quick hug before unlocking my jeep and sitting inside.

"Thanks for the coffee," I said.

"You're welcome. That was fun, we should do it again sometime."

I smiled and nodded, agreeing easily, but all I could think about was next Wednesday and the possibility of seeing Patrick again. The image of him, and the way he'd stared at Stewart disapprovingly flashed in my mind and my smile broadened considerably.

"You sure you can't grab some dinner?" Stewart asked, capitalizing on the moment.

"Oh, I can't. Thanks for the coffee, though. That was fun."

"I guess I might see you tomorrow," he said. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I knew he was talking about church.

"I haven't decided if I'm making it tomorrow or not," I said, because I was just that stubborn.

"Oh, okay. Well, I guess I'll see you soon."

I smiled. "Hey, thanks again."

"No problem, it was fun." We waved at each other one last time as he headed down the sidewalk and I started my jeep. Stewart was a really great guy, but I could think of nothing besides how and when I'd see Patrick Mallory again.

Chapter 6

It never ceased to amaze me that God had patience with someone as stubborn as me. I didn’t go to church that weekend simply because Stewart said he'd see me there.

I went on a hike instead. It was late in the afternoon when I got home, and I caught up with my roommate and ate like a hungry monster before heading to my room. I glanced at my phone before jumping in the shower, and felt a rush of nerves when I saw Patrick's name in my inbox.

I opened the email.

Hey Mia,

I was wrong about next Wednesday. I'm overbooked that day. How about Friday at 2PM? You still want your leg blacked out with one huge arrow, right? Let me know if Friday works.

Patrick

I hit reply and began typing with a huge smile on my face.

Patrick,

Friday is even better for me than Wednesday. I'll see you at 2. I've attached a reference, but as you can see, it's just a simple arrow you could probably draw in your sleep. I'll take the three-inch version, but thanks for thinking about me with that blacked out leg. Maybe next time. Haha. I'm glad I ran into you today. Thanks for squeezing me in!

I read over it once and hit send before I could overthink it. I didn't hear back from him. I didn't expect to, so I tried not to waste too much time thinking about it.

Friday was there before I knew it, anyway. I was doing some interesting research that made me feel like I went into a time warp. It seemed like all I did was blink, and suddenly it was Friday and I was getting ready for my appointment.

My roommate had just trimmed and colored my hair. She was into pastels, and today's color was sort of a lilac soft bluish-purple. She did a good job cutting it into a clean, angled bob with long bangs, and I had an easy time styling it. I wore fitted capris and a sleeveless shirt. I had fun with my makeup, playing with colors that complimented my new hair color. I felt relatively good about my appearance when I pulled up for my appointment.

I found a spot to park on the street, so I arrived at the studio ten minutes early. It was a gorgeous day, so I sat on a bench for a minute working up the nerve to go inside. While I was sitting out there, the girl who works the front desk came out to smoke a cigarette. She stood next to the door, which was a good ten feet from the bench where I was sitting.

She stood out there smoking without saying a word to me and finally the silence became awkward enough that I walked over to my jeep, and pretended to get something out of the console. She was still standing out there when I closed the door again.

"Is that your car?" she asked, motioning to my jeep with her cigarette butt.

"Yeah," I said, with a smile even though it was a stupid, obvious question.

"They watch this meter. I'd park in the garage if I were you." She said all this without even the hint of a smile, and I glanced around, feeling a little confused.

"I paid for ninety minutes. Are there some kind of new rules today or something."

"Are you coming in here?" she asked with the flick of a wrist to the door.

"Yeah."

"Tattoos take longer than ninety minutes."

"I'm just getting a little one," I said. I made the space of three inches with my thumb and finger. "Just an arrow about that big." I got friendly and talkative when I was nervous and this girl, with all of her mean-girl ways made me chatty.

She looked me over with a disgusted scowl before tossing down her cigarette butt and stepping on it with a twist of the foot. She turned to walk inside. "Patrick doesn't like to do that small sh!*," she said.

I'm doing my best to keep it clean, but this girl, without hesitation, said the S word, and before I even walked into the door, I was ticked.

I came inside right after her. I wasn't the type to back down when someone bowed up to me, and I followed her inside even though I'd been planning on sitting outside for a few more minutes.

She busied herself behind the desk, and I sat in the lobby for a little while before Patrick came walking down the hall. There was music playing, and he might as well have been walking in slow motion, because he was as gorgeous as a movie star. I gawked at him as he approached.

He looked at the girl. "Why didn't you tell me my client was here?" he asked.

"I thought you knew," she said.

He looked at her a bit perplexed.

"Patrick, she was just telling me…" I paused and looked at the girl. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Kells," she said, continuing to look agitated.

I looked at Patrick. "Kells was just telling me you didn't like doing small stuff like this," I said. "I hope you'd tell me if you didn't want to do it."

"I never said that!" she said, screwing her face up like I was a crazy person.

"Oh, because when we were standing outside a minute ago, you said Patrick hates doing this small stuff." I looked at Patrick. "I just don't want you to feel obligated…"

He stared at me then at her in disbelief. "I hope you didn't say that, Kells," he said.

"
I didn't
," she said.

"Yes you did." I said calmly. I didn't feel scared of her at all. It was obvious by her face, which was now beet red in color, that she was guilty, and I without a doubt, had the upper hand in the conversation.

Patrick smiled a little and shook his head at her. He put his hand on the back of my arm to usher me to his station, and his touch sent an electric shock down my spine. I was weak in the knees and breathless by the time we got back there. Both of the other guys from last time were at their workstations when we walked in, and they looked up and smiled or waved a greeting, which I returned.

Patrick started laughing. "Mia just put Kells in her place," he said.

I had no idea he was going to bring that up, so I, along with the other two in the room, looked at him with wide eyes.

"Kells told her I didn't want to do this little walk-in stuff, and Mia was all… 'Kells was just telling me how you don't like to do this small stuff'." (He said that my part in a falsetto voice like it was me talking and the guys cracked up.) "Then Kells tried to deny it, and Mia just stared at her with a straight face and told her she was lying."

One guy, the one named Shane, put his fist to his mouth and made a moaning sound at the thought of me standing up to Kells.

"What?" I asked. "The eighth graders at Maxwell are more intimidating than that," I said. I was being sincere, but they both oohed and aahed, thinking I was just trying to offend her. They all said a few things about how gangsta I was and I didn't correct them. They were all intrigued by me, saying things about what a firecracker I was and other cool compliments like that. Again, I didn't correct them. I knew in my heart that I was just a big nerd, but for whatever reason, they seemed entertained by me, and maybe even interested in what I had to say.

We joked around for a few minutes before Patrick and I drifted over to his station in the corner so we could discuss the arrow and get going on it. There was about thirty minutes of talking and planning before we were ready to put needle to skin, and we talked and laughed the entire time. The other guys could clearly hear us from their stations and they chimed in every once in a while.

We were just about to start tattooing when Shane asked Chad what he had coming in next.

"Philippians 4:13, dude. That script I was working on with the whole quote going across the chest."

Shane nodded. "That's one I know by heart," he said.

"No sh!*, dude, I memorized that one a long time ago. Those Philippians must be some cool mo-fo's with all the tattoos people get about 'em."

I cringed inwardly at him calling Philippians mo-fo's, but at least he didn't say the real words… he actually said "mo-fo's" instead.

Patrick was working on my arm, and I made the conscious decision to remain quiet and stay out of the religious conversation.

"The Corinthians are good too," Shane said, laughing.

Chad shook his head. "I think they were different tribes in the Bible, and maybe this group's leader was named Philip and that one Corin so they called themselves Philip-
pians
and Corin-
thians
. Get it?"

Shane laughed. "Yeah, I get it, but you're an idiot," he said.

Everyone was quiet for the span of a few seconds, before Patrick said, "Mia probably knows exactly who they are, don't you?"

Keep your cotton-pickin' mouth closed, Mia Louise.
"Yep." I said simply, after taking a second to remind myself not to elaborate.

"Aren't you gonna tell us?" Chad asked.

What was I supposed to do? There I was making a real effort not to bring up God, and this conversation falls into my lap!

"They're epistles, which is a fancy word for letters. The book of Philippians is a letter written by a guy named Paul to a church at a place called Philippi. So you were right when you said it was a group of people, but they were named for the place and not their leader." I paused for a second. "Paul also wrote the letters to the church in Corinth. That's the other one you were talking about."

"Well, they must be some good letters, because here we are all these thousands of years later and y'all are still getting them tattooed."

"Paul was an interesting character," I said. "He wrote thirteen letters that are books of the Bible, four of them from prison." I stared off into space, imagining the life of Paul.

"He's the one who went blind for a little bit and changed his name," Patrick said.

"How'd you know that?" I asked. I must've sounded surprised because he laughed.

"I read the Bible. I also read the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita and a bunch of other books that claim to be holy."

I felt a stab of disappointment hit me in the gut when he said that. How could he have
read the Bible
and still call himself an atheist? I got a hopeless feeling that made my stomach ache.

"You read the Bible?" I asked in disbelief. I prayed he'd say he was mistaken.

"Yeah," he said. "Cover to cover." I glanced at him and he smiled sweetly at me. "I read the King James Version, and I have to admit, some of it didn't make much sense, but yeah, I read it."

I didn't know what to say. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought he might come around to the idea of God one day, but that was before I knew he already
read the Bible! Cover to cover!

I felt deflated.

I couldn’t believe I sat there and lectured them on Paul and his letters when Patrick already read the Bible for himself and decided not to believe any of it. It was embarrassing, and I was mostly quiet for the next few minutes while he finished up.