by Emma Scott
I plunked myself in Theo’s chair and swiped a tissue from the box he used to wipe the blood away. I dabbed my eyes but I had no tears. My emotions were too tangled for my body to know what to do, so I sat, anxious and jumpy. In front of me, Theo leaned against the small, mirrored armoire upon which sat his ink gun, needles, and ink.
“Did you guys have a fight?” he asked in a low voice.
“No,” I said. “Or yes. I mean, maybe I’ve done something to piss him off, but I don’t know. He’s been acting so strange lately. Since the gallery opening.”
Theo’s stony expression hardened but his eyes went the other direction, filling with concern and something that looked close to fear. I realized I was going to scare the crap out of Theo for no good reason, and waved my hand quickly.
“You know what? He did say this morning he feels distracted. Without having to be at the hot shop all day, he’s not sure what to do with himself. I think he’s just decompressing.”
Theo nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
“Can I see your work now?”
Theo handed me a thick, three-ringed binder, filled with photos and samples of his art. Jonah was right: Theo’s talent was incredible. I’d seen my fair share of tattoos. Each one of my tattoos came from someone different, each was all beautiful and perfect to me.
Theo blew them all away. His book had everything: basic black outline renderings, lettering in any font or script you could want. Biker tats—roses, skulls and snakes. Lifelike portraits, abstract and complex shapes, dreamscapes, fantastical beasts, pop culture icons. Page after page of visions. Had I been in a better frame of mind, I could’ve spent hours poring over his work, certain I couldn’t possibly narrow an idea or a concept down.
“You’re amazing, Teddy,” I said. “This is the best I’ve ever seen. I want something no one else has, but you make it hard to narrow it down.”
I want Jonah to smile again.
I shut the binder and handed it back to him. “Let me think about it, okay? I’ll call or text you if I have an idea.”
“Sure,” he said, tossing the binder in the top armoire drawer and shutting it.
“Sorry if I took up your time,” I said, slipping off the chair.
“You didn’t, Kacey,” he said. It was the first time he’d ever said my name.
We headed back to the waiting area. Jonah sat slouched over, swiping his thumb absently over his phone. He looked up when we approached.
“Find something?” he asked.
I plunked down beside him and kissed his cheek. “Not yet. Your brother is so incredibly talented, I have to come up with something worthy of him.”
Theo shook his head, thick arms crossed over his black t-shirt.
“You name it, he can do it,” Jonah said, finally tucking his phone away.
The brothers exchanged glances, Theo’s gaze scrutinizing. “Tonight’s hang out with Dena and Oscar,” he said. “You still down?”
Jonah smirked sourly, an expression so unlike him, I had to blink twice. “No need to keep to any routine now,” he said. “What’s the point? I’ll shoot you a text and let you know.”
Theo’s arms dropped to his sides. “Oscar and Dena are expecting to hang out…”
“I didn’t say no, I said I’d let you know.”
The brothers faced each other down and then Jonah gave himself a shake and a dirty laugh. He got up and walked out the door without so much as a glance for me.
I smiled weakly at Theo. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
He grabbed my arm hard, then loosened his grip but didn’t let go. “If you need me… If he needs me, you call immediately. Okay?”
I started to protest and instead found myself nodding. “Okay,” I said in a small voice.
I left Vegas Ink and climbed into Jonah’s truck, which he had idling in the parking space.
He didn’t look at me when I shut the door, and finally I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded. “You just walk out and leave me there?”
“It’s fucking hot out,” Jonah said. “I came to start the AC.”
“It’s October,” I snapped. “It’s maybe seventy degrees.”
“So you’ve been here three months and suddenly you’re an expert?”
My eyes widened. He’d never spoken to me like that. Not once. “What happened to you?” I asked. “You’ve been different since the gallery opening. Did something happen? Did Dale Chihuly say something to upset you?”
Jonah shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice softening. “No, nothing like that. He said amazing things about my work… I can’t even remember the words but I can still feel them, if that makes sense.”
“Then what’s bothering you? You can tell me.”
Jonah met my eyes for the first time in what felt like days, and for a split second, they were the warm, rich brown of the man I knew. Then a wall came down and he gave my hand a squeeze.
“Nothing’s bothering me. Because I have nothing to do. No more work. I’m in the mood to veg out today and watch a movie. Got any classic eighties flicks lying around?”
I nodded slowly. “I rented a DVD of Airplane!”
“Surely you can’t be serious?”
“I am serious,” I replied half-heartedly. “And don’t call me Shirley.”
It was a painful, awkward version of our usual humor. A poor imitation of our typical banter.
Maybe he just needs a good laugh, I thought.
Back at my apartment, we headed up the exterior concrete stairs that led to the second floor. My house keys had migrated to the bottom of my purse. Only when I wrestled them free did I realize Jonah was no longer behind me.
I turned around. The little front area was empty. “Jonah?”
I crept back the way I’d come, almost tiptoeing.
He sat halfway up the stairs, his back to me. The way his shoulders rose and fell rapidly made the horror coil in my gut like a poisonous vapor.
He can’t breathe.
I moved down the stairs on leaden legs, gripping the rusted metal railing. I sat beside him, ordering myself to be calm and not feed the panic.
“Hey.”
His elbows were propped on his knees, his hands and head dangling as he sucked in air. “I tried to take them too fast,” he said between breaths. He threw his head back, looking like a runner who’d just done a fifty-yard sprint.
“All right,” I said. “I’m here.”
My mind raced through the catalogue of every other time Jonah had taken stairs, or lifted a heavy blowpipe, or made love to me vigorously. In every instance he’d been winded—from the damage the CAV was doing to his heart. But it had never lingered like this. He’d always recovered quickly.
Always.
“I lied,” Jonah said, as if reading my thoughts. He reclaimed his breath slowly, one inhale at a time. “I wasn’t going too fast. I was walking up.”
He looked to me, breathing in, breathing out, sweat beading his brow, and his eyes… Oh God, the fear I saw in them. A foreboding that terrified me to the core of my soul. He tore his gaze away and without another word, he pulled himself to stand and begin the climb again. One foot on a step. Then the other. I wanted to touch him, to help him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t admit to myself he needed help.
Once in my apartment, Jonah went to the kitchen and poured himself some water. He slumped against the counter, sucking in deep and even breaths.
“Is it the first time this has happened?” I asked, my own breath going no deeper than my throat.
“No,” he said. “Off and on. Since right before the opening.”
“That was nine days ago,” I said. “Did you—?”
My words choked off in a cry as Jonah swept the pill-a-day container of his meds off the counter. The pills and capsules scattered in a spray of blue, white and orange, rolling and clattering over my cheap linoleum tile.
I froze in the living area, unable to speak.
“I
thought…” Jonah bit off his words, swallowed, then spat the next ones out in a rush. “I thought it would be enough. But it’s just fucking glass. It’s heated fucking sand. Who gives a shit?”
“What are you talking about?” I said, finding my voice. “Your work? It’s beautiful—”
“It’s bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not important.”
“Of course it is.”
He gave a little laugh of disbelief. “No, Kace. No. You are important. You’re the most important thing in my life and I was so fucking stupid to think…to hope…”
His words trailed away, and he shook his head, lips pressed together, eyes shining.
“Don’t talk like that,” I managed after a short silence. “You got tired, so what? You’ve had a draining week, leading up to a huge event. I felt the same way after my first big concert.”
I went to the kitchen and crouched down, picking up pills. They were everywhere, the tears in my eyes blurred them to little blue or white or orange splotches. I pried the container from where it had slid under the fridge and scooped the meds in. All the wrong pills in all the wrong days but I could fix that. I could fix everything. I knew his regimen. I knew what went where. I could fix this.
“You can’t just throw these away,” I said, sniffing and wiping my eyes. “You need these. They’re important.”
Jonah turned around to lean the heel of his hands on the counter behind him, his head hanging down, his words dropping to the floor. “They’re not working.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Kacey—”
“You don’t give up,” I shrieked, making him flinch. Making me flinch at the hysteria that was lurking just below the surface. I stared him down—full of the hostility that had just leached out of him. “You’re tired, that’s all. Go take a nap. Pile the pillows up on my bed and take a nap. I’ll clean this up and order dinner. We’ll watch that movie and laugh our asses off, okay?”
He didn’t reassure me or tell me I was right. He pushed himself off the counter and we went to my bedroom. I stacked the pillows up and he lay down without protest, sinking heavily onto the bed.
Because he’s tired and needs a nap, I thought, closing the blinds. That’s all.
He threw his arm over his eyes, saying nothing. I was at the door when he called my name.
“Yes?” I clung to the doorframe.
“I’m sorry,” he said from under his arm. Now he sounded genuinely wiped out. Exhausted to the bone. “So fucking sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just rest. You’ll feel better after a nap.”
I went back into the kitchen. There were still pills strewn all over. I chased them down, scooped them up and crammed them into the container however I could. The lids bulged. Pills fell out of my shaking hands to roll away again. Run away from me. Everything was getting away from me. I slid down the front of the fridge and hunched in a ball, sobbing into the hands clamped over my mouth.
I cried hard, great heaving sobs that strangled and smothered. I wept until my face ached. I knew it was red and tear-streaked, my eyes swollen. I had to quit before Jonah woke up and saw me like this.
I grabbed the last stray pills and got shakily to my feet. I set the container carefully on the counter, then washed my face in the sink with cold water. Patting it dry with a dish towel, I crept back toward my room.
Jonah slept now, his eyes no longer covered by his arm. His closed lids were smooth, his breathing deep and even. Only the tiniest furrow in his brow, as if whatever unsettled him went with him into sleep.
I went back to the living room and dug my cell phone out of my purse. I’d order a pizza. Vegetarian. That was better for him. Or maybe salads. Too much cheese on a pizza…
I opened up my call screen and hit a name. A deep, gruff voice answered.
“Teddy,” I whispered, tears flooding my eyes again. “It’s starting.”
A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. –Mark Twain
The next day, Jonah checked into the Sunrise Medical facility for a myocardial biopsy. Someone told me—I didn’t remember who—that it was a same-day office procedure, but his doctor, Dr. Morrison, wanted Jonah to stay overnight for more tests. Kidney and liver panels, and an EKG.
“Are you his girlfriend?” Dr. Morrison asked in the hall outside Jonah’s room. Theo stood beside me.
“Yes,” I said, hugging my arms. “Kacey Dawson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kacey,” Dr. Morrison said. He was a lovely man, with a graying beard and sharp, kind eyes. I liked him at once, but all the while we exchanged pleasantries I screamed at him in my mind…
FIX HIM
MAKE HIM WELL.
GIVE HIM BACK TO ME.
Dr. Morrison explained what Jonah would need while recovering from a biopsy. “It would be ideal if someone were with him for the twenty-four hours after the procedure. Presuming he’s released tomorrow morning as planned.”
“Why wouldn’t he be released?” I asked.
“No reason at this time. We’ll let the test results come back and go from there, all right?”
We were allowed in Jonah’s room then. He lay reclined in bed, an IV of clear fluid hung over him and fed into the back of his right hand, the needle taped just above his medic alert bracelet. He threw us a glance of greeting. He’d been sullen and silent all morning. Unreachable. As Theo and I took a seat on either side of the bed, he looked at neither of us but absently cycled through channels on the muted wall TV.
“Mom and Dad are on the way,” Theo said.
“They don’t need to come.”
“You’re in the hospital,” his brother replied, barely keeping the sharp edge out of his voice. “You think Mom will stay away?”
Jonah shrugged and said nothing.
“Oscar texted me,” Theo continued. “He’s at work and wants to come. He and Dena both. I told them it’s not an emergency.”
“Good.”
I put my hand over Jonah’s, mindful of the IV. He didn’t react, didn’t move to take my hand or look at me. I sucked down the pain roaring within me, I’m not strong enough for this. I’m not I’m not I’m not…
Theo’s eyes found mine, searchingly. Like Lola, ready and waiting for me to flake out right before a big show, only the stakes were a billion times higher.
You knew this was coming, I told myself. You knew it wasn’t going to be long walks on the beach in San Diego and making love all night, every night. This is it. This is real, and now you’re going to stay and fucking take it.
Except that I didn’t think we’d actually be here. I’d always held on to a little flame of hope and now it was guttering out.
A nurse or technician wheeled in a cart, and Theo got up to make room. As Dr. Morrison and the tech bustled around the machines, the heart tracking Jonah’s pulse beeped faster, betraying the stoic expression on his face.
“Hey,” I whispered.
He nodded, his eyes straight ahead.
“Do you want to hold my hand?”
“I’ll crush it.” He turned his head on the pillow and looked at me for the first time all morning. Within the cold, flat lines of his face, his eyes were rimmed with terror. Because this was happening. We were at this dreaded place, and it was worse, so much worse, than I could have ever possibly imagined.
I can’t I can’t I can’t…
I let go of his hand. “Maybe Theo, then…”
Jonah’s chin rose a hair, then fell.
I surrendered my seat to Theo. He took Jonah’s hand in his and I watched them exchange a look. A commiseration. Theo knew what to do, and Jonah trusted him to do it.
The tech gave Jonah a shot of anesthetic in the neck, just above his collarbone, while Dr. Morrison readied a hideous-looking instrument.
“All right, Jonah,” Dr. Morrison said, “you’re going to feel a slight pinch and then pressure.”
“Liar,” Jonah said, his entire body tensed and knuckles white in the
hand holding Theo’s.
“Guilty as charged,” Morrison said, his eyes flicking between his hands and the monitor showing the tiny camera now threading down Jonah’s jugular. And I could see everything. I could see inside Jonah’s body, taking a narrow, dark road down to the heart that was failing him.
“Almost there,” Dr. Morrison said. “You’re doing great. Try to stay relaxed.”
“Exhale,” Theo murmured. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Jonah let the held air out through his nose, keeping his teeth gritted. The heart monitor continued beeping at ninety-eight pulses per minute.
“There we are,” the doctor said, and Jonah closed his eyes.
Through the catheter, Morrison inserted a bioptome—a device with tiny jaws at the tip. It pinched off a piece of Jonah’s heart tissue, then retreated back down the vein.
Jonah made a sound deep in his chest, and I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from doing the same.
“Aaaand we’re done.” Dr. Morrison turned aside to the tray table. His tech bottled and labeled the tiny piece of heart tissue to take to the lab while a nurse busied herself with the incision site. Morrison snapped off his blue latex gloves and threw them in a waste receptacle.
“You did fantastic,” he said, patting Jonah’s leg. “Ah, and here are your parents.” He smiled warmly at Henry and Beverly in the doorway. “We’ve just finished. We should have the results some time tomorrow morning.”
“Wonderful,” Beverly said through a tight, nervous smile. She nodded at me in greeting, then went to Jonah’s side. “How are you doing, sweetheart? You look wonderful.”
“I’m tired,” Jonah said, staring at nothing. “I’d like to get some rest now.”
“Oh.” Beverly swallowed. “But we just got here…”
Henry said, “He needs to rest.” He took hold of his wife by the shoulders. “Come on, Beverly. Everyone. Let’s leave him to sleep. We can visit in a few hours—”
“No,” Jonah said. “In the morning. Come back in the morning.”