More Than Lies (More Than #1)(51)

I spray my chair with cleaner and wipe it down with a paper towel. I do the same to my rolling table workstation, discard my latex gloves, and toss them into the trashcan.

Samantha, the girl I just finished tattooing, is a classmate of Tara’s. Apparently, she and Tara were talking last week about Samantha getting her first tattoo. She had planned to let a local artist in her north Mississippi hometown pop her ink cherry.

I’ve heard of the place. Kenny apprenticed there years back, so when Tara mentioned Samantha’s plans in front of me, there was no way I could let the girl go through with it.

I don’t know the girl well. In fact, her coming in today was our first meeting in person. We talked on the phone a few days ago about what she wanted tattooed. I played around with some designs, two of which I shared digitally with her.

She responded immediately that she loved both drawings but picked the shield with a bright blue shining light behind it. Her dad was a cop. He lost his life in the line of duty a year ago. She wanted to honor him with a brand on the top of her arm shoulder for all to see. You could tell she was proud of her dad the way she spoke of the man.

I’m proud of my own parents in the same way. It’s the reason I had a stethoscope inked on the backside of my left bicep with my mother’s name written in script and my father’s name written in block letters.

I normally can’t schedule a first timer appointment for at least seven weeks out, but I ended up having a cancellation today. Sometimes things work out perfectly. Tara seems to really like Samantha. I would have stayed late one night this week to do it had someone not canceled. The girl was too impatient. She would have gone through with letting the other, less experienced artist permanently mark her body.

I hope I did her father justice. Memorial tattoos are always difficult. You never really know if you hit the nail on the head. She teared up when she saw it complete, so I sent her to the back office to find Tara. After today I guess it’ll be my office—or Tara’s, however you want to look at it. That is, if she accepts my offer, and I hope she does.

Samantha has been back there for about ten minutes now. I need to talk to Tara before I meet with everyone else. The big announcement about me taking over ownership of the shop is taking place in thirty minutes, so if I’m going to ask her to stay on permanently as my accountant, I better get moving.

When I open the office door, Tara is sitting on the edge of the wooden desk and Samantha is relaxed in one of the two chairs in front of Tara, being careful not to lean on her right shoulder that I’ve just tattooed.

“She sounds like a total bitch.” Samantha shakes her head. “How do you deal—” They both turn to look at me as I walk in. Tara jumps off the desk.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” I question Tara as I push the door closed. I notice the loose hinge on the upper portion of the door. It’s funny the things you start seeing when you own them.

Adam opened this place close to ten years ago and it’s past time for some improvements and upgrades. A new name is my starting point, but I plan on cleaning and polishing a lot around here as soon as the change is official.

Tara doesn’t answer my question. Attempting to divert my attention away from the conversation I just interrupted, she makes a fuss of Samantha’s new ink.

“My God, Shawn, it’s beautiful,” Tara coos, gesturing toward Samantha. She walks closer to where her friend is seated, looking down to admire the fresh tattoo. Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t know Tara even liked tattoos. Now that I do, I can’t stop getting ideas for intricate designs that I want to tattoo on her. I don’t think I’d place one on the outer part of her arm, but I know what I want to ink on her next. I just have to figure out a way not to give myself away when I approach her with it.

“She is right, you know,” Samantha agrees. “You did an amazing job. I’m glad I let her talk me into getting it done by you, Shawn. Thank you.” Samantha smiles up at me. “I don’t know if you know how much it means to me, but thank you. I love it.”

I nod in her direction. I like praise; what person doesn’t? But I’m not one to gloat. Once you tell me you’re happy, then it’s over and done. Time to move on.

“Good deal.” I rotate my face to look at Tara. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.” Tara looks away from me, but before she can say anything to Samantha, the girl speaks up.

“I need to get going. I have an hour and half drive home. See you in a few weeks?” Tara laughs and leans forward to hug her friend. Samantha is a few inches shorter than Tara is.

“Yeah, see you in the new year.” Both women release each other. “Have a safe drive, and text me later.”

“Will do.” She turns to walk pass me and as she does, she says, “I can’t wait to show it off. You nailed it, Shawn.” She closes the door behind her. I move to take the seat she vacated.

Tara leans back on the edge of the desk.

“So how was mommy dearest this morning?”

“A fucking bitch as always.” My mouth drops. Tara rolls her eyes. “Oh, close it. I can say the “f” word you know.” True, but she doesn’t drop it very often.

“The f word and the b word in the same sentence, though. How crude,” I tease. “Damn, she must have come on strong.”