My day continued to deteriorate rapidly. After I got to work this morning, I found out that we lost a case that we should've won on summary judgment because the new associate I have been mentoring missed a filing deadline. Garrett Treadwell may think he is God’s gift to the legal community, but he might want to nail down the basics first. The person we were representing was in dire need of those years of backpay.
When my buddies and I formed Hunters Crossing, LLC right out of law school, we had stars in our eyes. We were going to be the law firm that took cases solely on the merits of the case and not driven by money. We would take the cases other firms turned away and just plan to work harder. Well, that part of our plan worked out; we do work ridiculously hard. The downside to getting a reputation for taking clients that no one else will take and cases that don’t have a high percentage of success is that the lawyers get burned out. Of the group of nine of us that started the firm, there are only three of us left. I have a note on my desk informing me that the Associate Partners would like to meet with the Senior Partners to talk about restructuring the client load. I can read between those lines easily enough. They want us to take on a more profitable caseload and change the focus of our firm. As the longest serving attorney in the firm, I see the financials. From a practical standpoint, I can’t say they are wrong — but my heart and mind are telling me two very different things.
At the moment, my stomach is telling me that I’m hungry — I have been on the run all day and basically I’ve forgotten to eat. Unfortunately I’m busy getting drawn on at the moment and there’s nothing I can do about it. Of course, it might be the reason that I’m standing around talking like a fortune cookie.
The woman with hair the color of wheat in the fall awkwardly looks up at me with bright blotches of color in her cheeks as she challenges me and my interruption into the conversation. It’s then my brain catches up with my feet and my mouth. Smooth move, Littleson. Up until this moment, it didn’t occur to me that I had violated her personal space — I just followed Jade around the large over-sized studio. Of course she might not have a shirt on — she’s getting a back piece done. I realize that now I look like a complete jerk.
On impulse, I kneel down beside her head and offer, “You’re right. I was inserting myself where I didn’t belong. I owe you an apology. Good luck with your new degree. If I can be of any assistance, let me know.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an O as she comments, “How unusual. I don’t know that I’ve ever gotten a straight up apology. Hello, my name is Shelby.”
“Hi, Shelby. I’m Mark.”
“Well, Mark, as awkward as this is, I can’t say I’m sorry to meet you.”
“Wait… how will I find you again?” I ask against my better judgment.
“I’ll be the teacher with the gorgeous dream catcher on my back,” she responds with a teasing laugh.
“How did Stage One go for you?” Jade asks, as she examines my back.
“On the whole, I would say you radically undersold the itching part,” I comment.
“Did you use the tattoo care kit that we gave you?”
“Yes, I want to thank you for that actually. It’s the most interactive and engaged I’ve seen my daughter in a really long time. Usually, she has a really hard time with textures but she was so intrigued by the new design of my back that she didn’t have any trouble putting on rubber gloves and rubbing the ointment on my back for me. She thought it was great fun to trace the new design on my back and because of the swelling it had ridges, so that made it even more fascinating for her.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve heard all kinds of uses for tattoos, but a therapy device is a new use even for me. We’ll have to introduce her to Marcus with all of his piercings. He would keep her busy for a while. I’ve heard that somewhere among all of his pieces that Rogue hid a Power Puff Girl as a tribute to an inside joke between them. I have no idea whether this urban legend is true, but knowing the two of them, it might very well be. They tend to prank each other rather viciously.”
“Does she often make tattoos without the client’s knowledge?” I ask skeptically.
“Oh, Rogue would never give a tattoo without the express permission of the client, even for Marcus. Marcus actually told her she could do it.”
After a few minutes of work, Jade comments, “If your daughter loved your tattoo before, she’s going to go bananas for it now. This is spectacular, if I say so myself.”
“Are you done already?” I ask, surprised at her speed.
“Don’t you wish?” Jade replies laughing. “Hold your horses. I just have the first row of feathers done and will be quite some time before we’re finished.”
“Can we take a few? I need to check on Ketki. She’s with a new sitter,” I ask when I see the time.
Jade shrugs and says, “Sure not a problem. Just let me know when you want to start back in.”
The bell to the shop rings. Rogue and Jade look up. I’m a little surprised they have a customer this late, Jade agreed to work on my back because I’ve been in trial this week and things have been crazy at work. I get the impression that they weren’t expecting anyone either.
Much to my surprise it’s Shelby. Well, it’s a Shelby-like person. All the light and happiness is gone from her. She wears grief as if it’s a garment. It’s all I can do to stay seated in the tattoo chair. I struggle to remember the lessons I learned the last time I tried to insert myself into a situation where I didn’t belong. The odd thing is that I feel the need to go over and protect her. Protect her from what I’m not sure, but just looking at her brings every male instinct I have to the surface.
Rogue reaches her first and asks, “Shelby, are you okay?”
Shelby drops her purse on the floor and then collapses cross-link on the floor right beside it. She crosses her legs and draws them up toward her chest. She looks up at Rogue and answers in a voice choked with tears, “No, I’m not okay. The scary thing is I may never be okay.”
Jade leaves her tattooing station and goes and sits down beside Shelby as she gently probes. “What do you mean?”
Shelby looks at Rogue and Jade. “You guys should really take this show on the road. It turns out you were one hundred percent correct. I have Melanoma, you know, skin cancer. That spot on my back where my bra strap goes, is where my worst lesion is. They are not sure how deep they’ll have to cut or how much tissue they will have to cut away. My doctor did warn that it might involve some skin grafts and muscle removal.”
“I’m so sorry, Shelby. We did not want to be right,” replies Rogue with a profoundly sad expression.
“The doctor said I should be grateful that you spotted it because the earlier they find it. the better. I apologize, I can’t find a good side to this. I had to withdraw from my teaching program—” Shelby breaks off with a sob as she gracefully gets up from the floor in one motion. She holds up her hands as if to block any incoming words as she says, “I’m sorry, I just wanted let you guys know what happened.” Shelby spins on the ball of her foot and rushes out the back door.
“Oh my God! I feel awful. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and just waited to tell her until after the summer was over,” theorizes Rogue.
Jade touches me on the shoulder as she says, “Mark, do you mind? I think I need to have an emergency staff meeting. I think this is the first time Rogue has been involved in one of these and they’re always devastating. I want to make sure that she doesn’t blame herself, whatever the outcome.”
“That’s understandable. It’s all right, I’m free all night.”
Jade and Rogue walk out of the room leaving me alone with my thoughts. Normally, this would not be a terribly hazardous thing to do; I generally have them under pretty firm control. Recently my thoughts seem to be straying toward a waif of a woman with a determined spirit and infectious laugh. Shelby looks so crushed today that it would be irresponsible of me not to check on her, right?
Even as I think that thought, my ph
one buzzes to remind me of the meeting I have at Ketki’s school tomorrow. We have to go over placement for next year; I would like to see her in a mainstream classroom with kids her age in a more normal setting, but the school district would like her to be in a more restrictive classroom and only go half a day. Of course they would! It takes a lot of effort to get through to my daughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s not behind all of her triggers, tics and hand flaps. If they continue to treat her like a baby, she’s going to keep falling farther behind. That begs the question why am I even considering taking on one more problem?
That’s who I am — the solver of problems. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s pretty much that simple. I can’t walk away from a damsel in distress and Shelby looks to me to be very distressed. I need to go figure out what’s going on.
I expect to find her at the little patio belonging to the bistro next door. It’s a favorite hangout for all of the Ink’d Deep customers. I’m a little shocked when I don’t see her there. There’s really no other place she could go from the back door. I am about to turn around and go back inside when I hear the sound of muffled cries from the other side of the dumpster. Alarmed, I cautiously walk around the dumpster as I pick up a 2 x 4 in case I have to discourage some lowlifes.
I am completely astounded when I find Shelby sitting on a curb next to the dumpster. “Immokalee, what are you doing sitting there? Go sit at the table.”
Shelby looks up at me with the bleakest eyes I’ve seen in a while as she responds, “I don’t think I should do that. I’ve waited tables before and trust me, restaurants really prefer paying customers. It will be a while before I can afford to be a paying customer again.”
I pull my pants legs up so that I can squat down and sit down beside her. She regards me with horror as she says, “You can’t sit down here! You’ll ruin your suit.”
“Since I really want to talk to you, and I’m really thirsty — how about we compromise? You can join me at the table and I’ll get you something to drink.”
Shelby’s brow furrows as she considers my offer. “I almost hate to point this out, but that’s not really a compromise. You’re just being pushy.”
“As it so happens, you’re right. Then again, so am I — if the ground isn’t a good place for me, it’s not a good place for you either. Come on, join me for a treat. I would feel guilty if I ate it all by myself. The last time I was in here, Jade was waxing poetically about the strawberry milkshakes over here, but I didn’t have time to stop. I was planning to change that today; don’t make me feel bad for my indulgence.”
Shelby tilts her head as if in deep thought as she responds, “Strawberry? As in fresh strawberries?”
I nod. “That’s my understanding.”
“I guess if my life is going to go to hell in a hand basket, I might as well go on the journey with a full stomach.”
Shelby’s eyes open comically wide when I return to the table. She probably has just cause, I may have accidentally ordered burgers and fries with the shakes.
“What is all this?” she asks suspiciously, “You never said anything about buying dinner.”
“I made that decision on the fly. It was actually cheaper to buy the combo meals than to buy the shakes separately. I, for one, am starving and I thought you might be too. This just seemed like the better strategy.”
Shelby’s eyes gain a faraway glazed over look as she starts to tear up. “Strategy. What a funny word that is. It seems to indicate that we might be in control of something in our lives. I used to think that. I had all these grand plans about how I was going to live my life and make everyone’s lives around me better. Now, I may not live until Christmas. How about them apples? How does a person strategize for that?” she asks bitterly.
“I don’t think you strategize for any of it. This isn’t like a courtroom, this is just life,” I offer. “Sometimes what we thought was up is down and what we thought was down is up.”
Shelby takes a couple bites of her hamburger before she answers me, “That’s all nice and philosophical and all but here’s my reality: I managed to strategize myself right out of a place to live, a job and virtually everything else I own except for the clothes on my back.”
My surprise must have shown on my face because she continues with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m a college graduate now I can make plans without a single thought to contingency plans. Aren’t I just flippin’ brilliant? I don’t have a place to live, I don’t have a job, I don’t have a way to get to my medical appointments… I just turned twenty-eight — and now I’ve got an appointment with the Grim Reaper and there isn’t a single soul in my life left to care. If that isn’t a pathetically sad commentary on my life, I don’t know what is.”
“Okay, I tend to be a little analytical about these problems, call it an occupational hazard. Let’s work this through backwards — you know like an equation.”
“I’m a math teacher.” she responds skeptically. “That makes me abundantly qualified to tell you that there’s no way to solve my life like an equation.”
I smile at her as I reply, “As much as I highly respect brilliant women, just humor me here.”
“You do know that you wouldn’t work the equation backwards?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
I chuckle lightly. “Yes, I think I remember that. I might make my living with words, but I still remember rudimentary facts about pre-algebra,” I reply. “Just for the sake of argument—”
“Oh, good gravy, I should’ve remembered you were one of those fancy lawyer types before I started this conversation—” Shelby grumbles under her breath.
“I did tr y to warn you that I have several occupational hazards,” I tease.
Shelby pops another French fry in her mouth as she leans back in the wrought iron chair and crosses her arms and waits for me to speak. “I’ve got to hear how you think math is going to save me from skin cancer,” she challenges.
“I don’t know that math is going to do any of that. However, breaking your problem down into small pieces might make it easier to handle. For example, you said that you don’t have anybody in your life that cares about you. I happen to know that that’s wrong. Jade and Rogue are very concerned about you. Come to think of it, so am I. That makes at least three of us and I bet by the response that you got a few weeks ago at the shop that there are probably several more people who care about you. That doesn’t even include the people that you went to school with or the people that live near you, or the people that you’ve worked with —”
“Mark! What kind of person you think I am? I can’t take advantage of people like that! I don’t know these people. I just wandered into Ink’d Deep a few weeks ago to get a tattoo. These people don’t know me from Adam. They certainly don’t owe me anything,”
“What if they want to help?” I ask.
“Why would they want to do that?” she counters. “People just aren’t that nice — unless they want something.”
“What if they were?” I press.
Shelby grows quiet for a moment before she answers, “I don’t know that I could trust that.”
“Shelby, I know you don’t know me very well, but I have reason to believe that we have many connections between our souls. Can you find it in yourself to trust me?”
I inwardly cringe as the words come out of my mouth, I don’t know what I’m actually saying, but that doesn’t stop me. I watch as an expression of disbelief crosses her face and then something akin to resignation follows.
Finally, she’s slowly nods as she responds, “I don’t know why, but I think I can do that.”
To everyone who’s hearts
have been stolen by your perfect
match of a different sort— this book is to honor them.
I write it in loving memory of my service dogs:
Molly, Boris and Caleigh.
THE LADDER SHAKES PRECARIOUSLY under my feet as I reach up to fill the hummingbird feeder. For the life of me, I don’t understand why Mrs. Bathwell dec
ided that the hummingbirds need to be fed on the highest peak of the rafters. It makes absolutely no sense. As a big drop of the bright red syrup splashes on my cheek, the silent cursing that I’ve been doing under my breath becomes not so silent. Immediately, I apologize even though there isn’t anyone outside within blocks. Every other sane person on the planet is asleep at five-thirty on a Sunday morning in this sleepy suburban enclave. I can’t seem to outgrow my Midwestern farm work ethic nor my pastor’s granddaughter morals no matter how long I’ve been attending college in sunny Florida.
As I screw on the last feeding spout to the hummingbird feeder, something catches my eye. I’ve seen that souped-up car before. It was the same one that was racing from the scene where the senior citizen couple was spray-painted with a swastika the other day in front of the local market. Unfortunately, the license plate is partially obscured and they are driving too fast for me to see what it says. It looks like it’s not a Florida license plate though or if it is, it’s not the traditional plate. The only thing distinguishable about the car is that it looks like a Mustang, but it’s just grey. Grey and loud — very loud. It is so loud that at first, I don’t realize that there is another sound disturbing the early morning quiet in my neighborhood.
I can’t identify the odd sound so I take the risk and stand on my tiptoes on the wobbly ladder to try to see over the tall privacy fence. Did I mention that heights aren’t really my thing? I really wish that Ivy were here. She was once a cheerleader and she’s used to being tossed in the air. I’ll keep my five-foot-nothing-self firmly on the ground, thank you very much. From this vantage point, I can just barely see over the fence, but unfortunately I don’t really see much. Still, I can hear a rustling sound in the bushes and an odd sound, almost like moaning.
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