Making Faces(68)

“That's cool, Jess,” Beans whispered, his voice hollow and gutted like he'd taken a bullet in his chest. Everyone else was nodding, but nobody could speak. They were all fighting off the emotion of the moment, knowing nothing they could say would make Jesse feel any better. Or Beans, for that matter. They resumed their walk back to base in silence.

Paulie fell into step with Jesse and slung his arm around his shoulders. Jesse didn't shrug him off like he'd done a moment ago with Beans. Then, with the words swirling around them in the shimmering desert heat, Paulie began to sing.





I wrote your name across my heart

So I would not forget.

The way I felt when you were born

Before we'd even met





I wrote your name across my heart

So your heart beats with mine

And when I miss you most I trace

Each loop and every line





I wrote your name across my heart,

So we could be together

So I could hold you close to me

And keep you there forever.





The words hung in the air when Paulie was finished. If anyone else had tried to sing, it wouldn't have worked. But Paulie had a gentle heart and a way of communicating that they had all grown accustomed to. The fact that he'd broken into song to comfort his friend didn't faze any of them.

“You write that, Paulie?” Grant whispered, and there was a tremor in his voice that everyone noted and studiously ignored.

“Nah. Just an old folk song my mom used to sing. I don't even remember the group that sang it. They had hippie hair and they wore socks with their sandals. But I've always liked the song. I changed the first verse a little, for Jesse.”

They walked in silence a little longer until Ambrose started to hum the tune and Jesse demanded, “Sing it again, Paulie.”





“What kind of tattoo should I get? I mean, really? The word Mom inside a heart? That's just pathetic. I can't think of a damn thing that's cool without being ridiculous for a guy in a wheelchair,” Bailey complained.

The three of them--Ambrose, Bailey and Fern--were on their way to Seely, to a tattoo parlor called the Ink Tank. Bailey had been begging Fern to take him to get a tattoo since he was eighteen years old, and he'd brought up the subject again a few days ago at the lake. When Ambrose said he would go, Fern was officially outnumbered. Now she was at the wheel, the accommodating chauffeur, as usual.

“Hey, you could get a club, Brosey, like Hercules. That would be cool,” Bailey suggested.

Ambrose sighed. Hercules was dead, and Bailey just kept trying to bring him back to life.

“Bailey, you could get an S, a Superman S inside a shield. Remember how much you loved Superman?” Fern perked up at the memory.

“I would have thought it was Spider-Man,” Ambrose said, remembering the fuss Bailey had made over the dead spider when they were ten.

“I gave up on spider venom pretty quickly,” Bailey said. “I figured I'd probably been bit by a million mosquitoes, so bugs probably weren't the answer. When spider venom lost its appeal, I abandoned Spider-Man and latched onto Superman.”

“He became convinced his muscular dystrophy was a direct result of being exposed to Kryptonite. He had his mom make him a long red cape with a big S on the back.” Fern laughed and Bailey huffed.

“I'm going to be buried in that cape. I still have it. That thing is awesome.”

“So what about you, Fern? Wonder Woman?” Ambrose teased.

“Fern decided super heroes weren't for her,” Bailey said from the back. “She decided she would just be a fairy because she liked the option of flying without the responsibility of saving the world. She made a pair of wings from cardboard, covered them in glitter, and rigged up some duct tape straps so she could wear the wings around on her back like a back pack.”

Fern shrugged. “Sadly, I don't still have the wings. I wore those things to death.”

Ambrose was quiet, Bailey's words resonating in his head. She liked the option of flying without the responsibility of saving the world. Maybe he and Fern were soul mates. He understood that sentiment perfectly.

“Is Aunt Angie going to ground us from each other, Bailey?” Fern worried her lower lip. “I can't imagine they want you getting a big tattoo.”

“Nah. I'll just play the give-the-dying-kid-his-last-wish card,” Bailey said philosophically. “Works every time. Fern, you should get a little fern on your shoulder. Not the word–an actual fern. You know, with fronds and everything.”

“Hmm. I don't think I'm brave enough for a tattoo. And if I was, it wouldn't be a fern.”

They pulled in front of the tattoo parlor. It was quiet–noon wasn't a popular hour for tattoos apparently. Bailey was suddenly quiet, and Ambrose wondered if he was having second thoughts. But as Fern removed the restraints from his chair and he maneuvered himself down the ramp, he didn't hesitate.

Fern and Bailey were all eyes inside the little business, and Ambrose braced himself, just like he always did, for the curious second glances and the blatant staring. But the man who approached them had a face that was so inked in intricate designs that Ambrose, with his marks and scars, looked tame beside him. He looked at Ambrose's scars with a professional eye and offered to add a few embellishments. Ambrose refused, but instantly felt more at ease.