Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  Bonnie shook her head. “I called in sick. Now that Pedro’s out, we needed a celebration.”

  Not that Bonnie needed an excuse to cook. April knew what she wanted. To keep everyone together for a while.

  Vanesa went to her dad. He offered her a spoonful and she tasted the chili. She lifted his other arm so she could snuggle in. He kissed the top of her head and smiled. April could see the sadness in his eyes. His shoulders looked as though they were being pressed down by an invisible weight. A weight April knew wouldn’t be lifted soon.

  Vanesa could ask for the moon and the stars right now and he would deliver them on a platter.

  “Where’s Clive?” April asked. If Vanesa was going to sing, it had to be with Clive alongside her.

  “In the basement with the boys playing Xbox,” Bonnie said. “Erika’s in the living room watching television.”

  April heard the opening strains of SpongeBob SquarePants. She opened the door to the basement in the kitchen and hurried down.

  Clive was cheering Tomas on as he veered his car around a roadway on the big screen. April sat next to him on the couch.

  “They’re brilliant,” he said. “Much better than me.”

  April knew Clive was doing a good job of keeping them distracted.

  “You suck,” Greg said matter of factly.

  “I do,” Clive laughed. “I really do.”

  April needed an answer. “Clive, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  He turned to her, his face open and happy. He was enjoying his time with the kids. Too bad he wasn’t a grand-father by now. He’d be a good one.

  April said, “You know how Mitch needs money to keep his houses going?”

  “Of course. I’d love to give you something . . .” Clive began, reaching for his wallet.

  April held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not asking for money. I just need you to sing.”

  Clive looked puzzled. “Me? I’m flattered, darling, but I don’t see how that’s going to pick people’s pockets for cash.”

  “Ferguson’s having a telethon later in the week. He wants you on it.”

  “Me?” His small face twisted more as he sussed out her meaning. “On the telly? Are you having me on?”

  “No. Ferguson thinks you’d be a big draw. So do I,” she hurried to add.

  Clive’s face clouded. “I don’t perform anymore. You know that.”

  “It’s for a good cause,” April said significantly, nodding her head at the boys, who’d let the game go and were tussling on the floor. The cars on screen veered off the road and blew up. She whispered, “Their future. So that they can move into that house.”

  Clive rubbed his hands together. His big smile was gone, replaced by a down turned mouth that April had never seen before. His forehead was creased as deeply as Ed’s.

  “I have to think about that one, luv.”

  April hated what she had to do next. But now it wasn’t just Mitch. She couldn’t leave Vanesa on stage by herself.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. Otherwise Vanesa will be singing on TV alone.”

  Clive jumped up. April put a restraining hand on his arm and told him quickly what had happened at Ferguson’s.

  “Just say you’ll do it,” she said.

  Their quiet talking had gone on too long. The boys ganged up on Clive and pulled him to the floor. April saw the look on his face before he disappeared under a sea of little legs and arms.

  She went back upstairs before he could answer, feeling his disappointment in her like a dagger in the back. She hadn’t thought it would hurt so much, but it stung.

  April went past Pedro and Bonnie tasting the bubbling stew and into the living room. Erika was sitting on the floor, two feet from the TV, her mouth open, her eyes fixed on the creatures on the screen. She was oblivious to April’s entrance.

  Vanesa said, “Move back, Erika. Mom says it’s not good for your eyes.”

  Erika scooted backward without breaking her gaze. She went about two inches and stopped.

  April picked her up and plopped her in Clive’s recliner. Erika adjusted herself and was rapt again within seconds.

  “Thanks,” Vanesa said. “She’s not supposed to sit that close.”

  “Smells good in the kitchen,” April said. “Isn’t it great to have your dad home?”

  Vanesa didn’t answer for a moment. When she did, her voice was defiant. “He said I could do the telethon.”

  April had seen it coming. She was at a loss for an answer.

  Vanesa’s eyes were fixed on the television. She said quietly, “My mother and father fought, you know.”

  April’s head snapped to Vanesa, but the girl wouldn’t look at her.

  “All parents do,” April said slowly. “It doesn’t mean that they didn’t love each other. My dad and mom fought all the time.”

  “Your dad isn’t accused of murdering your mom,” Vanesa whispered. She tried to keep up the defiance, but it wasn’t working. April’s heart broke for her.

  She snuck a glance toward the arch that led to the kitchen. The smell of the chili had permeated the house. From the sound of water running and pans clinking, April figured Bonnie and Pedro were cleaning up as they cooked. Pedro sounded happy to be free.

  April suddenly understood why Vanesa was so troubled. “Did you tell the police that your parents were fighting?”

  Vanesa’s lush eyelashes were suddenly thick with tears. “He made me, that tall one. I didn’t want to.”

  Yost. Damn Yost.

  Poor Vanesa. She wanted to appear so independent, so tough, but she was fragile. As the oldest, she alone was saddled with the knowledge that her mother was gone in a way her younger brothers and sister could not comprehend. She had no one to talk to.

  “Dinner,” Bonnie yelled.

  The noise of the boys clattering up the stairs seemed to come through the floor.

  Bonnie called again. Mitch hollered hello as he came in the back door.

  “We’ll be in in a minute,” April said.

  Vanesa covered her ears, hanging her head as the tears dripped in her lap. Her shoulders shook with the effort of holding herself together. April’s heart broke again as the waves of grief racked the young girl.

  “Parents fight,” April said. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure the police understand that.”

  The kitchen grew noisy as the boys clambered for attention. Erika got up as the show came to an end and joined them. April heard Pedro kissing her as she squealed.

  She took Vanesa into her arms and let her cry it out.

  “Vanesa, your father didn’t kill your mother. I’ll make sure the cops know that.”

  Vanesa sniffled. “My dad didn’t want Mom to work so hard. Said he was the male. He was the breadwinner. She should stay home more.”

  “Is that what they fought about? Your mother’s selling the Bella cosmetics line?”

  “He was okay with that. But the Bonita stuff we delivered today.”

  The truth dawned on April. “You knew your mother was starting a competing line.” April cocked an eyebrow at Vanesa. She’d been her mother’s confidante. “Tell me.”

  “Mom said I could take over her cosmetic business someday. Start with a line for teenagers. She was building a legacy for me. That’s what she called it.”

  Xenia had realized that she could make a lot more money being her own “queen.” She could expand rapidly through the social network of the Latinas and outstrip Trish’s success, probably in a manner of months. A very smart business move.

  Did this maneuver get her killed? April shut down that thought before Vanesa picked up on what she was thinking. She didn’t need to add to the girl’s troubles.

  But it was possible. If Trish had gotten wind of Xenia’s scheme. Xenia jumping ship and taking a dozen baronesses with her would cost Trish plenty.

  Trish had to be livid. If she knew.

  But one more question popped into her mind. “Where did Xenia get the money fo
r startup costs?” April said.

  “That guy. That Ferguson guy. He lent her the money.”

  Dinner went by in a blur. The little kids climbed onto the ban quette and ate with gusto. The adults crowded in. April couldn’t remember her mother’s kitchen so full in a long time.

  Vanesa stuck close to her father’s side. Clive was unnaturally quiet.

  Mitch volunteered for cleanup duty. Bonnie and Pedro and the kids went into the basement for another round of Mario Kart.

  Clive and April cleared while Mitch washed. They were just about finished when Clive said to Mitch, “Mind if I borrow your girl for a few moments?”

  Mitch looked at April. She nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Clive opened the door and led April outside to the garage. “I want to show you something.”

  He opened the small side door, and they walked in. Most of the garage was empty, but April could see that the concrete floor, painted barn red, was swept clean and the walls were newly painted a soft gray. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she walked farther in, April saw there’d been a transformation in the back half of the garage.

  It looked like a rock club. The walls back here were painted midnight blue with stars on the ceiling. A shiny drum kit with the Kickapoos logo across the bass was set up on a raised stage that had been built along the far wall. Amps and microphones were plugged in, ready to go. A keyboard sat to her left.

  Clive’s life as a Kickapoo was honored out here. The walls were hung with memorabilia—Kickapoos tour posters, handwritten playlists. Toys with the logo, a lunch box, a notebook and other school supplies were in a glass-fronted cabinet.

  Pictures were everywhere. Pictures of Clive with Mick Jagger and Roger Daltrey hung on the walls. Paul McCartney as an obviously young Beatle, then again as a disturbingly young-looking old man. April had never been to the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, but she imagined much of this stuff belonged in it.

  Guitars were everywhere. In floor stands, hanging on the walls. There had to be at least twenty of them. She got closer and gasped when she saw one signed by Eric Clap-ton. She touched it tentatively, rubbing her hand over the smooth, sparkly blue surface. It felt warm. Slow Hand.

  She paused by an upright piano with the lid open, exposing yellowed keys. She glanced at the sheet music in the holder. The music was handwritten, in a scratch she didn’t understand.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to sing,” Clive said. “I still have the need. That’s what I come out here to do.”

  “Does my mother know?”

  He screwed up his face. “Of course. She knows everything about me.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I messed up. Mitch needs money—”

  “Stop,” Clive said. “It’s done. You’re right. I can’t let Vanesa go on alone. And she wants to sing so badly. She’s a wonderful talent. She should have a shot. And it’ll do her heart good to help out in some fashion.”

  “Vanesa did what?” Mitch said.

  Mitch had followed April home in his car. It was eight o’clock, earlier than their usual rendezvous, but because of the Campbells inside, they were sitting in his Jeep.

  “She told Ferguson she’d appear on his telethon this weekend, trying to raise money for the Homes for Hope houses.”

  Mitch frowned. “I didn’t ask you to go to Ferguson to raise money.”

  April’d hoped that tonight’s dinner had helped to normalize them. But he was still mad.

  “Mitch, you need money. He’s been wanting to help. He said that the day we worked at the A.maz.ing Maze. Putting the two of you together made sense.”

  “I don’t need his help,” Mitch said. “You should have talked to me first.”

  “Look at it this way. If we raise enough money, you’ll be able to build that second house even faster.”

  Mitch was quiet for a few moments. April’s stomach churned as she watched his reaction.

  “I’m going to let Hector know. He and MAC have a family in mind for the second house.”

  “You’re going to let Hector Valdez pick the second family?”

  Mitch nodded. “Goodwill. Hector has a lot of connections into the immigrant community that I can never have.”

  April didn’t want to fight with Mitch. She wasn’t sure Hector Valdez had his best interests at heart. The other day it seemed as though he was just out to promote himself. But these were Mitch’s decisions. She’d done enough asking Ferguson to chip in.

  “Want to come in and meet my roommates?” April said. She looked at the barn. Light leaked out the clerestory windows above the door. “They might be still up.”

  “I need to get home,” Mitch said. “I’m really bushed.”

  April sighed. He had every reason to be tired, but that wasn’t why he was hurrying home.

  April sat in her car in her driveway, unable to get out. The barn, so empty just a few days ago, had lights blazing from all the windows. One of the huge dual doors was pulled back on its track. Grizz liked fresh air. April preferred her air indoor and recycled. Plus she knew the local raccoons that raided the garbage cans would have no reservations about sauntering inside in search of snacks.

  She’d stopped just short of the first motion-sensitive light. She didn’t want the Campbells to know she was home just yet. She didn’t want to have to fake polite conversation. Maybe they’d go to bed soon.

  April was barely aware that a car had pulled up behind her. The headlights had flashed for only a moment in the mirror.

  She sat up quickly, hearing tires on gravel as the car drove the last hundred yards with no lights on. Someone was trying to sneak up on her. She grabbed for her phone, only succeeding in knocking it out of reach.

  A figure got out of the car, features momentarily illuminated by the indoor light. She could see it was a man.

  She knew remaining in her car was safer than getting out. She locked her doors, the sound of which was so loud in the quiet night that her heart pounded in response.

  The man moved quickly, rapping on the back passenger window. She turned. All she could see was a belt buckle. She heard the scuffing of the gravel as he came around to the driver’s side door. He dropped down so his face filled her window.

  Ken.

  She screamed anyway, not recognizing her husband before the sound was out, her pent-up emotion busting out of her.

  She turned the scream into a stream of obscenities, surprising herself with the variety and scope of blue words she knew.

  April tried to open the ungiving door, forgetting she’d locked it. Ken was grinning at her, making an unlock motion with thumb and forefinger. She cursed him again.

  When the door opened, she was pushing so hard, she nearly fell out. She recovered, struggling to plant her feet. Her legs had gone to sleep while she’d been out here contemplating.

  “Damn it, Ken. I told you not to come.”

  “How could I resist?” he said. He put his hand under her elbow, steadying her. She pulled away, threatening to topple over again. Ken was very bad for her equilibrium.

  She steadied her stance, feeling her knees lock as though she were trying to stay afoot on a sea-tossed ship. She glanced toward the barn door, hoping the Campbells’ waning hearing had prevented them from catching any of this. She didn’t need any witnesses.

  “How did you find me?” she said. She hadn’t told Ken where she was staying, and she was sure she’d never brought him to the barn when Ed and Vince lived in it. He’d only been to their place before this one, a seventies ranch.

  Ken brushed back the hair from his face. That was a move that used to make her heart beat faster. Not anymore.

  “Are you kidding? Small-town America, girl. Every gas station attendant, every crossing guard, every bartender I asked knew about the California girl living in the barn. It took me a while to find the right barn. You almost fooled me with the octogenarian roommates.”

  “It’s a long story,” April said. “Sorry you can’t stick around to hear it. H
ave you got my papers signed?”

  She held out her hand.

  He tried to look disappointed, but April could see he was only playing the game. As soon as he’d seen the Campbells, he’d known he wasn’t staying.

  She wasn’t taking any more. “I don’t find your helplessness cute or fixable. I’ve had enough of you to last me a lifetime.”

  “Baby . . .” Ken said.

  The “baby” did it. She was nobody’s baby. She moved away from the car door, no longer needing to hide behind the metal. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—hurt her.

  “I’m a different person than you knew, Ken. I don’t back down anymore. I’ve seen people die too young, leaving nothing but pain in their wake. I’m sick of not being true to myself. I’m ready to live my life now, on my terms. And that does not include you.”

  Ken looked her over, starting at her feet and ending several seconds later at her hair, as though no longer sure this was his wife. April straightened her spine, thrusting her chest forth and lifting her chin defiantly.

  “All I need from you is the legal paperwork,” she said. “Hand it over.”

  Without a word, he went to his car and reached into the backseat. He pulled out a brown envelope. April could see the long logo of a famous San Francisco law firm.

  Her heart in her throat, the prospect of real change on her horizon for the first time in years, she felt her resolve strengthen, as she felt the freedom that was at hand.

  April made a quick trip into the house to grab the champagne she’d been keeping in the fridge and two glasses. The Campbells roused themselves from the TV, but she waved off their questions. Mitch would be where he always was. At the Villarreals’ house. April backed her car out fast. She waved to Ken, who was parked in the turnoff at the top of the driveway.

  “Have a great trip back to Cali,” she yelled out her window. “Watch out for skunks on your way out of town.”

  She didn’t take in any of the scenery on the five minute trip to the site.

  The job site was quiet. All of the workers had gone home. The surrounding trees were filled with soft sounds. The bare trees and warm weather seemed out of synch, but April was grateful for the warm air. It seemed to be a harbinger of things easing up, one last respite before the winter.