“All right.” River nodded. “Whatever the cause, I amallin favour of inking that ugly right out of existence. I could take some time, talk to you and mock up some good personal options. Probably wouldn’t have enough appointment left to finish the ink today, though.”
“I booked three hours. I really want it gone.” Now it was uncovered, the urge to scratch at the damned tattoo was strong. I crossed my arms instead. “Can we do anything today? Just a black box, if we have to.”
“I think I can do better than that.” River reached for a couple of binders. “Let me look through these and see what might work for you.” He leafed through the pages, pulling out three. Thosehe lined up on the counter for me. “Okay, option one, make it something like Celtic knotwork, but with straight lines. Weave through it like basketwork. Would have to be quite a bit bigger than the original, to hide the lines best, but it could look cool.”
He tapped the second sheet. “Or this waterfall. Put rocks in where the lightning bolts bend, add flowing water, could be a calm soothing image…
“Or this one.” Turning the page, he gave me a better look at the next drawing. “A storm-struck tree. You see where there’s this big gap where a branch broke off, but then this other side is still growing, leafing out. The shape of the trunk fits the original well enough, I can work around this. A symbol of healing from damage.”
I hesitated. “Could you do the tree today?”
“Probably. Depends if you need breaks. I can do all the line work. Might have to come back for some of the colour in the leaves.”
“Whatever you can, I’m ready for it.” I turned to Callum. “I don’t want you to get bored. You could take my truck, go get some food or something.”
“I’ll stick around till you’re started.”
River waved me back toward three partitioned-off booths at the back of the space. “I’m by myself today, so I have to keep an ear out for the door. Sorry. Our receptionist has a sick kid.”
“I can do that,” Callum volunteered. “Make myself feel useful.”
“Um.” River eyed him.
“I promise, I won’t say any stupid shit or drive your customers away. What do you think I am?”
“I was worried about you getting bored,” River said mildly.
“Oh. Well, I’ll be fine.”
“Right. Then Zeke, you come on back here, and Callum, you sit there where you can see the door.” River directed meto a comfortable chair with an upholstered armrest and began shaving the hair off my forearm. “I’m going to freehand the design with surgical markers and you can see what you think. Then if we’re good to go, I’ll do what I can today, and we can plan for follow-up.”
“Sounds good.” I tried to relax as he wiped and cleaned my arm and set to work. I didn’t want to look down and get sucked back into the last time I did this— eager and scared and determined, withzeroclue what I was getting myself into— so I said, “Callum, entertain me.”
“Huh?”
“You must have, like, hockey stories. Locker-room stories. Worst game you ever played. Best game? Take my mind off this.”
“He’s not even using a needle yet.”
“Pain is not my problem,” I said, though I didn’t want to explain what was. “I’ll owe you a favour. Well, two favours, one for the introduction.”
“Oh, well, sure.” Callum tilted his head. “Best game? Probably three days ago, against the Stallions in Calgary. They outshot us thirty-seven to nineteen and we still won, two-nothing. A shutout against a rivalry team when they were playing better than we were is super satisfying.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help smiling back.
“Congratulations on the shutout.”
“Thanks. Worst game?” His smile twisted ruefully, which still looked better on him than it had any right to. “Oh, God, there was this time in major juniors when I let in six goals in fourteen minutes…”
I flicked a look down at my arm as Callum began detailing all the ways he’d failed to keep the puck out of his net. Already, River had transformed the hate on my arm to twisting lines of bark. The black still showed through, but I could see the shapeof the transformation to come. He began sketching the crooked branches reaching up, and I gave my attention back to Callum.
Three and a half hours later, when the next client was running late, River pushed his chair back and flexed his fingers. “Let me wipe that down and then we’ll see how you like it.”
“Is it done?”
“Yep. Unless you want changes.” He cleaned my arm gently, then tossed away the wipes. “What do you think?”
I looked down, then into the mirror to get the full effect. My arm bore a crooked, storm-blasted tree, broken on one side but green on the other, with branches reaching up and leafing out. Knowing where the racist lightning bolts had been, I could trace their lines, but no one would recognize them now. “Thank you,” I said and my voice cracked a little. “Love it.”
Callum, who’d dealt with customers at the front desk three times and spent the rest of the hours playing on his phone, came over to look. “Hell, yeah. River does great work.”
