She knew about my father. She was the only one who knew.
Our relationship ended shortly thereafter. Something had changed between us that night. I had let her get a glimpse of what was inside of me and she hated it, was terrified of it. And I knew I needed to bottle that shit up right then and there and never allow it to consume me.
“Maybe,” I said to my mother, only to ease her mind.
Chapter Five
Jessie
I had several moments of quiet at Raw Ink this afternoon, which rarely happened, so I was able to sneak in some schoolwork. I pulled out my independent study notes and laid them out on the counter.
Between the phone ringing, customers streaming in, the artists needing supplies restocked, and the place requiring constant sanitation, I barely had a moment to breathe. But today even Cory was quiet, because he was sporting a mean hangover. Bennett wasn’t due in until later, the two female artists weren’t scheduled at all today and Dex was in one of the back rooms with a customer placing the final touches on the huge eagle he was tattooing on his lower back.
Raw Ink was a popular shop in this town, especially on the weekends, and thankfully Oliver was a decent boss who didn’t micromanage. He allowed me the freedom to organize the schedule along with a few other shop responsibilities, like handling our website, so he was able to oversee the business and maintain the books.
He was an artist himself, but his clientele was selective. He’d handpicked every employee for an apprenticeship, except for Cory and Dex, who had come from other shops, and was known as one of the best in the business.
As I jotted down a couple more notes for my photography assignment, Emmy arrived early for her shift. Her vibrant red hair was pulled high in a ponytail as she bounced inside the door. She was sweet and bubbly and smart as a whip. Continuously on the move, she always had a story to tell, and she’d easily become one of my closest confidantes.
“You’re here early.”
“Cooper was adopted out today,” she said, her eyes shiny with emotion. “I just . . . needed to get my mind off of it.”
Emmy also volunteered with animals in a no-kill shelter and had created her own dog-walking business. She was hardworking and extremely compassionate and I could see this bit of news had gutted her. Problem was, she always became too attached to the animals.
I’d never seen her with a boyfriend, even though she checked plenty of guys out. She lived with her grandmother, and like me, she couldn’t always afford to take a full load of classes toward her veterinary degree.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder.
“It’ll be a good home for him,” she mumbled and then got busy by pulling out the Windex and moving over to the large front window. I could’ve told her that I’d already cleaned the glass but I think she was just looking for something to keep her hands occupied.
Besides me and Emmy, there was also another receptionist named Holly who had worked at Raw Ink from the beginning. But she just had a baby and only took one or two shifts a week now. The shop used to be a tanning salon before Oliver bought it, so it contained several private rooms and a couple of open cubicles up front for smaller jobs. The thing was, most costumers chose privacy when the option was afforded them, so the rooms in back allowed for that and were always booked solid.
While I took a phone call, Emmy reached for the disinfectant and began wiping down the seats and armrests up front. Even though this task was done daily, it was something that bore repeating so I just watched her go, like she was our own little Energizer Bunny. Much of the equipment in the shop was single use for sanitation purposes, such as the needles, but other more static items required hospital grade cleaning. We even placed certain equipment through our spore-test machine on a monthly basis.
Yeah, this shop was clean, no doubt about it. So clean that my skin took the brunt of it. I was forever putting lotion on my hands to keep them soft.
I focused on the customer’s question on the phone about how to decide on the best kind of tattoo. By this time, I’d heard it all. I directed the woman to our website, because if there was one thing I encouraged patrons to do, it was to have a good idea of what you wanted when you stepped inside the shop. If you still couldn’t decide, setting up a consult with an artist was best because they were on a tight schedule.
“Newbie?” Emmy said, when I hung up.
“Yeah,” I said. “Wanted to memorialize someone. I figure she could see Cory or Bennett.”
“Good choices,” Emmy said.
Bennett was hands down the most compassionate artist in this shop. After doing this for so long, these guys didn’t really care why you were getting your ink. Some customers felt they needed to explain and sure, these guys were decent and would lend their ear. We were all pretty good listeners. After bartenders, tattoo artists were probably second in line for hearing people’s sob stories.