Second First Impressions Page 22

  “It is.” He’s looking at me with a spark of interest in his eyes. “You’re finally noticing that?”

  I’m being drawn into his black pupils like he’s hypnotizing me. “Could I ask you to kiss me, please?”

  “Your wish is my command,” he says, leaning down. Just a fraction before he touches my lips with his, he says, “But only if you come to the tattoo studio.”

  “Yes,” I say, and I get my wish. It is everything I hoped it would be.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Are we there?” Renata asks from the back seat, yawning like a kid. “That was quick.”

  It wasn’t quick. It was a very long drive, and Teddy and I listened to almost eleven episodes of the Heaven Sent podcast. My hamstrings are tight from sitting, and my stomach hurts from laughing at everything Teddy says. Is it legal to have such a gorgeous side profile?

  “Aggie. Aggie.” Renata is nudging her sister. “We’re here at the tattoo parlor. Aggie.” I twist in my seat. Aggie is resting against the door, eyes closed, mouth open. My heart jumps in fright and Renata begins to shake her. “Wake. Up.”

  Aggie makes a deep, dry gurgle and sits upright. Everyone breathes out.

  “I thought you were dead,” Renata accuses her.

  “Not quite,” Aggie replies. She allows Renata to fuss over her, and she does for a few long moments, straightening Aggie’s collar, patting her hand. When I look in the rearview mirror, I see Renata’s eyes are glossed in tears. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” Aggie repeats.

  “You really scared me,” Renata retorts, her voice breaking on a sob. “And look how close I am to my tattoo. I would have been too late.”

  “Well, you’re not,” Aggie replies. They lean together, foreheads touching. It’s a moment that Teddy and I are now intruding on and we get out of the car. I’m missing something, but I can’t work it out.

  “Phew, that felt like a close one,” Teddy says. “Does that kind of moment happen a lot for you?”

  “Yes, it does. I’ve found plenty of people who have passed away.”

  “Really.” Teddy is surprised. “How do you deal with it?”

  “I’ve got a checklist that guides me through it.” I look over at him and see that answer isn’t remotely enough. “Then, after the funeral company has left and their family members have gone home, I cry in the bath.” I don’t want to remember the last time that happened, just over four months ago. Tiny, frail Mrs. Higgins didn’t answer her door when I checked in on her. I found her in bed, ice cold. And I let these three coax me off the property again, leaving everyone behind.

  “Please tell me about your studio,” I say with a lump in my throat. “Please help me think of something else.”

  Teddy puts an arm around my shoulder. “This is my place. Well, it will be. What do you think? The sign got done yesterday” On the front window is an old-fashioned sailor tattoo, an anchor with a scroll over the top. I read the name of the studio out loud. “Always and Forever. That’s quite a romantic name for a tattoo studio.”

  “That’s what I’ve always thought, too. You go on in, I’ll get the gals out.”

  Walking into a place like this should be a miniexercise under the Sasaki Method, because it takes guts. I’m in an almost-finished waiting area. There’s a black couch still wrapped in plastic, an unplugged computer, and an empty cabinet stacked with boxes of jewelry. Loose on the counter are printed photos of tattoos. The sore-looking skin with new ink that makes me wince, but I begin to find Teddy’s work.

  “There, there, there,” I touch my fingers across the photos.

  “Can I help you?” A man walks out, then looks past me and sees Teddy outside. “He actually showed up.”

  I don’t like that tone. I indicate the photos. “I was just picking which ones were designed by Teddy.”

  “Pretty easy to spot that kind of talent. We’ll hang them up on that wall there. I’m Alistair.” He’s a bearded guy, older than I’d imagined and dressed in crumpled flannel. He looks more like a construction worker, more so because he’s got paint on his forearm and a layer of dust.

  I hold out a hand. “I’m Ruthie Midona. I’m Teddy’s neighbor.”

  “You’re Ruthie,” he repeats, like I’m famous. We shake hands. “Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’re not what I expected,” Alistair says, which is intriguing, and it’s frustrating when he gets distracted by the sight of the Parlonis holding on to Teddy’s arms. “Wow. I didn’t think he’d last a week doing that.”

  “Me neither. But he works twelve-hour days for them. He never complains, and believe me, they give him a lot to complain about.”

  “I’m giving her the tour,” Teddy yells from outside, weighed down by his elderly employers. “Wait for me.”

  “I hope you’re going to stop giving him a hard time,” I say to Alistair quietly. “He’s working his ass off to make this happen and he wants this so badly. Make him feel like you actually want him here, okay?”

  Alistair blinks, hesitates, turns an embarrassed color, and goes to open the front door. “You’re just in time. I need your thoughts on the paint the contractor’s suggested.”

  Teddy smiles brightly, then reflexively looks at me, and I’m in love.

  I always thought that love would feel like something gentle, but this isn’t. I feel a clawing, desperate need to hold his heart in my hand and to fend off anything that might damage it. The world outside Providence is a chaotic, restless thing, full of disappointments and pain. I am the only one careful enough to hold on to something so precious.

  “Fetch the needle, I’m not getting any younger,” Renata says to Alistair.

  “We agreed that this is a consult, to get started on the design,” Teddy tells Renata when she opens her mouth to argue. “I’m not designing it for you and that’s final. Alistair is the best.”

  Judging from what I’ve seen in the waiting room, Teddy is the best. I wish he would realize it. I’m surprised by how quickly I’ve adjusted to this I’m-in-love revelation. It’s like picking up a coat in a thrift store and shrugging it on; it fits. I don’t need to look in a mirror to know it. Now I just carry on wearing it. My back aches from that huge drive. I don’t know how many more times I could do that.

  Alistair takes Renata and Aggie into a small room off the hallway and seats them. “So what are we doing here?”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Renata says, digging in her Birkin for her notepad. “It’s a tribute to the love of my life.”

  Has he passed away? How long ago was their affair? I know she’s never married. In that YouTube footage of Renata abusing Karl Lagerfeld, it’s Aggie seated beside her, looking young and lovely. There was some kind of tension between them that went as far back as their prom night. Maybe they were both in love with the same man. I’m rather pleased with my juicy theory and decide to discuss it with Teddy later.

  “You are going to make her lifelong wish come true,” Aggie observes to Alistair. “She couldn’t sleep last night, just tossed and turned.”

  “I’m honored,” Alistair says, smiling at them both. “I think I’ll need to look at your skin to see if it’s suitable for the piece.”

  “Why?” Renata goes very still, like a snake before striking. Alistair doesn’t know her, and he blunders on.

  “You’re older than my average client. I’ve never worked on anyone as old . . .” He trails off and realizes he’s just pulled the pin on a grenade. Teddy and I are already halfway down the hall when she detonates.

  We go into a room at the end of the corridor. It’s got a bench for the client, a counter, and a stool. “This will be my room,” Teddy tells me and I watch him smooth his hands down on the countertops. “I like this one because I can see all the way down to the front desk. I can’t wait until I have my own photos on the wall here. So what do you think?”

  It’s the second time he’s asked that and he’s nervous for my answer. “It�
�s great, Teddy. But every boss has an office. Where’s yours?”

  The question surprises him. “I didn’t think about that. I’m going to be living upstairs, so I guess I could work out of the spare room? I’m going to talk to Alistair about the things I want to do here.”

  Now I notice he’s got a bulging file under one arm. He says, “I got a quote for the software. And I downloaded a free trial and mocked up how it’ll look. It was your idea. It’s things like that that’ll make him take me seriously.”

  “You take yourself seriously. That’s the most important thing. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” he says with such sincerity that I know it’s one of the first goodbyes we will have. I abruptly don’t want to hear it, but he continues, “You’ve helped me get my confidence for this. I don’t know how to run a business. Between you and Alistair, I know I’ll have someone to ask when I don’t know something.”

  So I’ll be back at Providence, at my desk, receiving a call when he doesn’t know how to add a new client to the database. In the background, I’ll hear pretty girls leaning on the glass countertop, picking out their piercing jewelry, waiting for him to get off the phone to flirt with him. I’ve always known what’s been happening here, but it still makes me feel small. I’ve helped plenty of handsome boys with their homework or the Parlonis over the years. “Would it be okay if I go wait in the car?”

  He’s crushed. “But I’ve waited a long time to be in this room, and I want to be in it with you. Come sit down.” He pats the bench seat that I guess clients lie on. I edge my butt up. He asks, “What’s happening with you?”

  “Let’s pretend I’m a new client.” I put my arm out in the hopes that he’ll touch me.

  He laughs and wheels over his stool. “Okay, New Client, what do you want?”

  “I want to be entered correctly into your new database with a reminder of my next appointment. And I want a bluebird tattoo.”

  He’s startled. “What’s the significance of that?”

  “I saw the one you did on Brianna. It was beautiful, and I was jealous of it. So one imaginary bluebird, please.” He wheels away, grabs a pen, and wheels back. Uncapping it, he looks at my skin with indecision. I say, “Go ahead.”

  He hesitates on my inner arm. “You literally have no hair or freckles. Is this skin even real?” He rubs a thumb over it, then his palm. Creating a warm friction bloom between us, he polishes across my skin with admiration in his eyes. “How could I even put a dot on this?”

  “I want you to surprise me.” I look up at the ceiling and feel the cold touch of the pen. “High-school Ruthie is gagging right now. She’s telling me to not trust you, and that you’re going to write something mean on me.”

  “I won’t.” The icy tickle of the pen begins moving on me. “So how’s the Providence review coming along?”

  I close my eyes, tired just thinking about it.

  “Rose seems really unhappy with everything I’ve provided. No matter what I give her, she asks me, ‘Where’s the rest?’ I don’t think she realizes that it’s a really small office and things are probably a lot more simple than she’s used to. I’m doing my best without Sylvia.”

  “If Dad’s life philosophy is Life is change, Rose’s is Where’s the rest?” Teddy repeats softly. The pen on me pauses, and I swear I feel it skip and wobble. “But Melanie told me that you’ve been really holding it together. I’m real proud of you.”

  There’s more of that goodbye feeling. I look up at the ceiling. “When Rose finds out that you’re part owner here, she’ll be really impressed.”

  “She’ll ask me how long until I get bored and move on. I’d better get out of Providence before she does something really spiteful.” He moves the pen, ticking in some detail. I like the sensation of his big hand holding my elbow and the brush of his knuckles. “This place is nothing that will impress her.”

  I hear how sad that makes him. “Why is she so mean to you?”

  He smiles at the dark murder in my voice. “She’s paranoid that I’m going to come to my senses one day and try to get into Dad’s seat. She hates that I’m the only son.” The pen pauses. “She’s the only one who makes a big deal out of that. Maybe some of the board members have said something to her.”

  I tip my face over to watch his face, but I avoid looking down at my arm. It’s probably my only chance to wear his art on my body, and I want the full impact of a final grand reveal. “Anyone who knows you knows you’re not interested in stealing her job.”

  “Yeah, and she doesn’t know me. She’s always been like a guard dog, growling every time I come too close.” He blinks up at my face and notices my attention. “No peeking.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. Aren’t I trustworthy?” I smile when he does.

  “You’re very trustworthy,” he says like a realization, eyes intensifying on his work. “I bet you keep secrets for the rest of your life.”

  “I haven’t been given too many to keep.” I hug my free arm across myself. “Is that the issue Rose has with you? She thinks you’re going to one day turn up in a suit and demand all that you’re rightfully entitled to as the male Prescott?”

  “That’s the thing,” he says, pausing the pen strokes. He sits back. “I’m not entitled.”

  “I know that. You never come across like that.”

  “I mean it kind of literally. I’m from Dad’s second marriage. I was a love child.” He puts quotations around that phrase. “I told you I didn’t meet my sisters until I was eight. That’s because I had no idea they existed. And they really didn’t know about me.”

  “Oh, gosh. Was Jerry–your dad—involved with your life?”

  He looks sideways, remembering. “My only early memories were that he traveled a lot. Mom said he was always away on a big business trip, and when he came back, he’d give me art supplies, which I loved. But what was actually happening was, he was going home to his wife, Dianne Prescott, and her four daughters. And in between his visits, we ran out of money. Mom is not a budgeter. I’m told that I’m spooky-similar to her.”

  I have a feeling it’s Rose who’s told him that. “So how did they find out about you?”

  “It was a big fiasco, caused by my mom, of course. She’s dramatic,” he adds wryly. “And she can drink too much, although she’s gotten a handle on it lately. She turned up at Jerry and Dianne’s vow renewal ceremony, drunk as a skunk, and you know that part in the ceremony where they ask—”

  “If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be married—” I supply, filled with a mix of fascination and horror. “She didn’t.”

  “She did. She blew up their entire marriage. Dianne packed her bags, emptied an account, filed for divorce. The official line is she went to stay at a health spa in Switzerland, but I think she had a breakdown.”

  “How awful.”

  “So imagine all that wreckage. Left behind were four flowery girls. Daisy, Lily, Poppy, and Rose. They were confused by where their mommy was and why their parents were no longer married. Dad walks me into the living room, told the girls I was their new brother, then got a work call and left the room.”

  He leans forward, recaptures my wrist in a warm grip, and begins drawing again like he needs the distraction. “Awkward is not a word that can properly convey that moment.”

  “Were they mean to you?”

  “Daisy, Poppy, and Lily were younger than me. I told them they could dress me up any way they wanted. That made them happy, and when I grew my hair they practiced hairstyles on me. They all loved me straightaway. My name until I was almost thirteen was . . .” He stops himself and laughs. “Why do I tell you everything?”

  I have a lump in my throat. I need him to tell me everything, forever. “Please tell me that nickname. I can keep a secret, remember.”

  He stands, grasps the bottom of his T-shirt, and stretches it up. He’s searching on himself like he’s scratching through the kitchen junk drawer for a pair of scissors. “Fine. Here.” He turns
to the side, and as I try to focus on the art and not the body (difficult), I spot what he’s showing me. Another flower tattoo hidden in the mix.

  “Your nickname was Sunflower? That suits you.” Now that I’ve dutifully admired his art, I can now give myself a second to look at his body as he pulls the T-shirt back down. How ribs and muscles can coexist together so closely, I have no idea.

  He drops back heavily onto the stool. “But Rose was my age. Actually, we’re less than six months apart. How Dad managed to juggle two newborns at once . . . well, scratch that. He didn’t juggle much. Mom says he only dropped in twice a week, disguised as a gym visit.”

  “But he and your mom were in love,” I venture. “They got married in the end, right?” I know there won’t be a happy ending.

  “That’s what’s so bad about it. They were married for eighteen months. Turns out, Mom liked having a rich-guy secret boyfriend who dropped in twice a week with some cash. She’s due to trade in her current husband any day now. I worry all the time that I’m like that. I have been like that,” he clarifies in the quietest voice.

  “I think you can be any way you want to be.”

  He’s doing tiny touches of the pen now on my arm, and I sense that it’s almost over.

  “Rose is furious, twenty years later, that I ever walked into that living room. You were completely right when you said Rose is the only girl I’ve never been able to charm. And I’m telling you this because I am not going to be able to save Providence from her. Me being there is making it more dangerous by the day.”

  “Does she know you have a tattoo for her? I’ve seen it on the back of your arm. It’s so beautiful.”

  “They all have one,” he says lightly, like it means nothing to walk around with tributes to each. “But that rose hurt worse than all of them put together.”

  “Let her know that she’s important to you, and you’d like a chance to make a fresh impression. I think the next time you walk into a room that she’s in, it’ll be different.”

  “There’s no point in trying,” he explains patiently. “I just accept things like this. It hurts too much otherwise. Thanks for being such a good listener, Ruthie Midona. I hope you like your temporary tattoo.”