As I watched Renn move adeptly around the studio, humming as he set up his instruments, I knew rationally that he wasn’t Henri, that he was “good,” but I couldn’t trust whether our connection was genuine, or if I was just trying to fill in the empty places again.
I punctured the silence. “No one else is working today?”
He patted his table and gestured for me to tape up my shorts. “I think Archie might come in later, but it’s like I told you. Morning on a Sunday is an unusual time.”
“This whole no-one-works-in-the-mornings thing is a little suspicious.” I brought my pointer finger to my lips. “You know…I can keep a secret. So tell the truth—are you all secretly vampires?” He laughed as I tapped against my mouth. “Be honest with me. Does the sun burn?”
“I mean, tattoos really don’t like direct sunlight, so…”
“Yes. I read that in the tree-murdering amount of paperwork you gave me the first day.” I smirked before continuing, “Hey, Renn?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you do the ‘Mater voice?’”
I didn’t really think he’d accept my dare, but he raised an eyebrow as if to show he was more than up for the challenge. He picked up the tattoo gun and held it up and out to his side,Texas-Chainsaw-Massacre-style, and gave me his best impression. “Whooweee. C’mon, Sadie, let’s git-r-done!”
Oh God. Oh God, it was awful. The worst Larry the Cable Guy I’d ever heard. I held my fist to my mouth as I attempted unsuccessfully to muffle my instant burst of laughter.
“I never said it was good,” Renn muttered, smiling the whole time as he beckoned me with his instrument.
I laid down on the table as Renn re-taped my shorts—I never went as high as he needed me to—and bent my leg the way he liked it. The tattoo gun buzzed. Its hum, so recognizable by now, stilled my restless thoughts.
I dozed abit. Yep, it turned out I was one of the people who could do this while getting inked. When I opened my eyes again, Renn had changed positions. His stool was pulled right next to my torso as he worked. This was the first time I’d seen him in shorts, and at this angle, I noticed the tattoos on his calves. There were many small ones—animated characters, flowers, something that looked like a box of crayons. But the one that stood out most was what appeared to be a giant heart melting over the earth, identical to the Studio Obscurum logo I’d seen on t-shirts and at the shop.
“Renn?” He was loading ink onto his gun and had turned toward his instrument table, face in profile.
“Hmm?”
“How come all your tattoos are so colorful, but you have that big one on your left calf that’s just an outline? The one that looks like the studio logo. It’s so different from the others.”
For a moment, his shoulders tensed, andsomethingflashed behind his eyes. An unreadable expression quickly replaced it. “We’ve been at this for more than an hour. Let’s take a break to stretch before we start back up again.” There was an aggressive snap of rubber as he pulled his gloves off.
Startled by his abruptness, I rolled over to face him fully, leaning back on my elbows to sit up a bit. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d be weird to ask an artist about his tattoos.”
He exhaled loudly and ran his hands over his hair, taking care not to disturb the bun-pony. “No, you’re fine.” He laughed a little, mumbling to himself, “I should have worn pants today.” He fiddled with his phone and a moment later the speakers switched fromSimon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hitsto Radiohead’sIn Rainbows. Even in that taut moment, my brain could appreciate that Renn’s taste in music was as eclectic as mine. I doubted he even liked the studio’s typical death metal playlist.
I waited patiently until he finally continued. “I…uh…it’s really hard to talk about. I don’t want to be unprofessional or lay my shit on you.”
“Renn, we’ve never had a problem talking to each other. I think we can both agree that our issue is more like we’ve said too much,” I chuffed. “Pretty sure we passed the ‘clear professional distance’ exit a few miles back.”
“I know you’re right. You’re just so easy to talk to that it almost makes me feel guilty. Like, I never really say anything real to Archie, and I’ve known him my whole life. I’m not the person who likes to dwell on heavy stuff.”
“Listen, Renn, I’ve given you the bullet points of my epic relationship fail in Boston. I’ve also told you some deep philosophical shit about how I need to find purpose and direction in my life,” I joked, raising my eyebrows. “Pretty sure we’ve moved past the point where we need to stick to the weather or your favorite type of donut or what you watched on TV or whatever. Don’t think you’re being unprofessional or that I can’t take it, okay? That being said, you don’thaveto talk about something you don’t want to.”
He nodded once and looked down at his tools, reaching for the antiseptic. I let the silence linger, putting our conversation in Renn’s hands, ready to defend my preference for maple bars if that’s what it came to. Uncurling my stiff body to a standing position, I moved across the room and did some deep-knee bends to work out the kinks. Laying stock still for over an hour was not for the faint of heart. I had felt silly stretching on the first day, but Renn had encouraged me, saying it would really help us go longer in these sessions. I linked my fingers together in front of me and reached my arms above my head, rolling my neck in circles—
“It was my dad’s.”
Huh? I turned toward Renn, ten feet away, who looked away as he continued. “It was my dad’s work. He did the outline. It was right before his vacation to Costa Rica. And he would have done the color, too, but…he…uh…he died. Drowned. In a riptide there.”
I’d known Thomas had died. But somehow, hearing this detail from Renn made it so much more heartbreaking. Without thought, I rushed toward where he sat and grasped one of his hands in mine. I stood in front of him as he sat up tall on his stool, locked in place. He looked down at our joined hands and ran his thumb back and forth over my palm. “Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing my fingers.
His voice broke and his eyes were glassy. He was so good at playing a part. The happy, unaffected artist. But as his thumb traveled a path from my palm to the inside of my wrist, I knew his mask was off.
“We were close, my dad and me. Like, really close. He had me young and my mom cut out, so I grew up around the shop with him. It was just the two of us for a long time, and Pete of course.” Renn inched his chair closer to me and I inhaled his unique scent—tea tree oil, which I guessed was from his shampoo, along with the lemony clean smell of the studio. He spoke fast, as though the words might dry in his throat if he didn’t get them into the air quick enough. “Eventually Dad met Mary, Robbie and Gage’s mom… After…Costa Rica, I went a little crazy. Drank, smoked, drugs, girls, you name it. I’d never been much of a partier, but I was only nineteen and I missed my dad, ya know? Maybe it was just blowing off steam. Maybe I was on my way to developing a real problem. Except it never got that far because shit got even worse, and I had to stop.”
“Worse than your dad?” I asked gently.
