Ink and Bone(107)

“Why haven’t they found her?” Finley asked. “My grandmother.”

Amanda had insisted after three weeks that there be a service for Eloise, that a headstone be erected for her in the small graveyard. They had done the same for The Three Sisters. Joy Martin, the librarian from The Hollows Historical Society had helped Finley make that happen. They would all be at rest together, finally.

“Or Crawley,” he said. “I don’t know. I’ll admit it’s odd. They say that the water table was high this year, and that some of the tunnels fill. Bodies could—wash away.”

Finley dried her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and turned back to Jones.

“They’ll find her,” he said, rising to hand her a tissue from the box on his desk.

Finley wasn’t sure why, but she had a feeling that he was wrong. It didn’t matter, not really. She wasn’t clinging to some hope that maybe Eloise was down there alive. Her grandmother was gone. And Finley was alone, though people whom she loved and who loved her were all around. Eloise was the only one who ever truly understood her. She still had Agatha, of course, but it wasn’t the same.

“I had a call today,” said Jones. He lifted a piece of paper from his desk and put on his glasses. “An older couple looking for their missing adult son. He served in Afghanistan, came back with PTSD in 2012. He was home for a while, then said he wanted to take a road trip, find himself kind of a thing. They haven’t heard from him in over a year.”

“What’s his name?” asked Finley as Jones handed her a photograph he’d printed from the internet. She wasn’t surprised to see the face of the guy she’d met at the school, though he was very different. In the photograph, he was clean cut and erect in his uniform, not slouchy and high with a three-day beard growth.

“Jason,” said Jones, looking down at his notes. “Jason Birch.”

Finley put down the paper. “Help them,” she said.

Something flickered across his face, a mingle of amusement and relief. “You’re in?”

“I suppose I am.”

And there it was, beneath the riot of all her other emotions, that calm, that rightness, that absolute certainty that she was doing the right thing. It was something.


*

Later that night, Finley rode her bike to Hollows Ink. Rainer was waiting for her. There was a lot of work to be done, and they both knew it couldn’t wait. She stripped off her shirt, lay down on the table, and while he worked, they talked about everything and nothing.

He shaded in the boy with the trains, Joshua, the mineral green of his eyes, the white gold of his hair, the navy blue of his tee-shirt. He’d been quiet, so unobtrusive that Finley almost missed him. Finley believed that he’d been there to make sure she knew that it was Eliza who needed her, not Abbey. But Finley hadn’t understood until she looked Eliza in the face. It was Finley’s fault, of course. If she hadn’t been so focused on getting rid of her visitors, she might not have missed what Joshua was trying to tell her.

The needle hummed, and the pain was hot and bright.

“How are you doing, Fin?” Rainer kept asking.

“I’m fine,” she said, even when it wasn’t true. Pain was a reminder that she was alive, that she drew breath into her lungs and was tied to the world of the living. Even when it moved through her like a wave, bringing tears to her eyes, there was a part of her that relished it.

Then it was on to Abigail—the auburn of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the tattered hem of her dress. Abigail, Finley’s enemy and ally, the one who connected her to the worst part of herself, but who had also made sure Rainer was there when Finley needed him. Abigail was there to remind her that most people, no matter how badly they behave, just want to be known. And that even bad girls can sometimes be good, and good girls can sometimes be bad.

“How’re you feeling?” asked Rainer. “Need a break?”

She shook her head, watching him in the mirror, bent over her, her skin a wild rainbow of his work and hers.

Finley’s body was a living canvas of ink and bone. It would grow and change, evolve. It would age and fade, it would grow softer, get bigger, shrink and shrivel, as bodies will. Maybe what she was on the outside could never truly reflect what she was on the inside, but when she looked in the mirror she saw herself in all her true colors.





EPILOGUE


Abbey loved the ocean. The gray churning waters of the Atlantic, where it lapped against the shores of Rockaway Beach. The hot lazy days they’d spent there with toes buried down to the damp cold layer of sand beneath the hot, and the blue cooler sweating underneath the shade of their wide umbrella, a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors, were among the happiest they’d spent as a family.

“Be careful of the riptide,” Wolf always felt compelled to warn.

“What’s a riptide?” asked Abbey.

“It’s a current that can pull you under and yank you out to sea.”

They both glanced out at the water, then back at him. Jackson looked worried.

“What do I do if that happens?” he asked.

“Don’t panic,” Wolf told them. “Swim sideways along the shoreline. I’ll come for you. I’ll be watching. Every minute.”

“Okay,” Abbey had said, unconcerned. She was using a plastic cup to build a tilting sand castle.