“Hey, Ava.”
“Hi, Cy. Did you give Kiki the day off?”
Kiki is Cy’s receptionist and a budding artist herself. Unlike Cy, she is covered in ink, and she’s the only other woman in town who colors her hair pink—neon in her case, though. Not a soft honey pink like mine.
“Yeah. The whole long weekend, actually. She went to Grand Junction to be with her folks for Thanksgiving.”
“What are you doing open?”
“I don’t have any appointments today,” he says. “But I had some paperwork. It’s done, and I thought I’d hang for a while. You never know who might want some ink on a Friday, though I do need to close soon.” He smiles.
“I’ve been thinking a long time about getting a tattoo. I love the ones you did for Brendan Murphy.”
“Those were a while ago. Like ten years.”
“That long ago?”
Ten years ago, Brendan was twenty-five years old. I was fourteen. Funny. The age thing doesn’t bother me much anymore. Not at all, really. Brendan and I—we just seem to fit.
“You think you could design something for me?” I ask.
“That’s what I’m here for. What do you have in mind?”
An image comes to me. Seriously, it just pops into my head as if by divine intervention.
“I always thought I’d want something related to the tarot,” I say, “but I’ve changed my mind.”
I close my eyes for a moment, visualize the tattoo on the back of Brendan’s left shoulder.
A triquetra—the Celtic symbol for mind, body, and spirit.
Balance.
The tower being struck by lightning.
Destruction.
Illumination.
I open my eyes. “I want a triquetra…being struck by a bolt of lightning.”
Cyrus widens his eyes. “That’s an interesting concept.”
“The triquetra symbolizes balance,” I say.
“Right. Which is why the lightning striking it is an interesting concept. Is the balance being disrupted in your life?”
Cy is a tattoo artist, not a therapist. Why is he asking me such a question? Still, I feel compelled to reply.
“I don’t know. But I think I need to be reminded on a daily basis to expect the unexpected. Not to get too comfortable with the status quo. You know what I mean?”
I expect him to ask me more questions, but instead—
“That’s a powerful image. Let me make some quick sketches for you and see if anything speaks to you.”
I nod and take a seat in the waiting area. I grab one of his books and leaf through it. He’s done some beautiful work.
He looks up from his sketch pad. “Where do you want the tattoo?”
“The middle of my upper back. Or the middle of my lower back. Or do you have a better suggestion?”
“Depends,” he says. “If you want it to remind you of something, it’s better to put it in a place you can actually see. You can’t see your lower back or your upper back without looking in a mirror.”
“Interesting. That’s a good point. Maybe the inside of my forearm.”
“You’d certainly see it then, but so would everyone else when you’re wearing short sleeves. Something to think about as well.”
“I don’t mind if other people see it.”
“Just remember, if other people can readily see it, they will ask you about it.”
I rub my chin, pondering. “You’re thinking of things that I never considered.”
“That’s my job. You need to think about these things before you permanently ink yourself. If it’s something just for you, put it in a place where only you can see it. If it’s something for someone else, put it in a place where they can see it.”
“Why would anyone tattoo themselves for someone else?”
“A lot of people do. For example, a man will get his wife’s name tattooed somewhere on his body. That’s something he wants her to see and others to see as well. Which is why you see it on an upper arm a lot.”
Interesting. I’ve racked my brain for years trying to find the right image, only to have it come to me like an epiphany. But I never considered the almost more important aspect—where to put the ink and why.
“Sometimes, someone wants to tattoo something for others to see that they won’t see. Those are the tattoos you see on the back.”
“And what if only I want to see it? And I don’t want others to? Where would you put it?”
“That’s a tougher one. But a lot of women will put it on the top of one of their breasts. Or on their hip.”
Hmm. I don’t like the breast idea. Besides, if I wear something low-cut… Who am I kidding? I never wear anything that low-cut. Still…the hip seems like the better choice.
“I like the idea of my hip. Let’s do that.”
“Good. That way, no one will see it unless you’re wearing a very low-cut bikini. But you’ll see it every day when you get in and out of the shower.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“That gives me a good idea of the size you’re looking for. Give me a few more minutes.”
I nod and get back to leafing through his tattoo book. Such gorgeous work, and so colorful. A phoenix rising from the ashes, a raven with flaming wings, an American flag with starbursts all around it, and then…
Brendan’s sea warrior, dated ten years ago. The colors are still as vibrant now. Cyrus is a true artist.
I continue leafing through the book, and then I grab another, peering out the window.
My jaw drops.
My father…
My father is walking by.
“Cy, I’ll be right back.” I exit the tattoo shop.
“Dad?”
He turns. His cheeks look…hollow almost, and his color is a little off. But those two things aren’t what strikes me the most. It’s his eyes. His gorgeous caramel-colored eyes are…unfocused. Distraught.
“Ava. Shouldn’t you be baking?”
“I’m done for the day. What are you doing here in town?”
“I had an appointment.”
“With whom?”
“With…no one you know.”
I cock my head. “Dad, I know everyone in town. We all do.”
“What are you doing in the tattoo shop?”
“Talking to Cy about getting a tattoo. Why didn’t you answer my question?”
Dad clears his throat. “Ava, what I do is not always your business.”
“You’re my father,” I say. “You look… Are you all right?”
He gazes down at the concrete sidewalk. “I’m fine, Ava.”
“And Mom?”
He looks back up. “She’s fine. She’s not sick again.”
“I know that. But how… Wait… How did you know I was worried about that?”
My father’s cheeks are ruddy. Is it from the brisk fall day? Or have I embarrassed him?
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Nothing’s going on, Ava. I’ve got to get back to the ranch. See you tomorrow for the big party.” He continues down the street.
I want to run after him. Yank on his arm and force him to tell me what’s going on.