Sweet Nothing (7 page)

“Does she wash your underwear?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go down to Tootie’s and grab some eggs after I change my clothes.”

“You buying?”

My teeth clenched, and I threw my coffee-stained shirt in the dirty laundry hamper. “Just get up.”

“All right, all right. Jesus, you’re cranky today,” Quinn said, pulling on his jeans.

“Just—” I sighed “—try not to say anything stupid to anyone with tits today.”

“Oh. You’re still pissed about Jacobs.”

I ripped my belt from the loops and folded it in half, glaring at him.

He held up his hands. “Okay. You’re right. I fucked up. It’s been a while and I was nervous, so I might have tried for liquid courage.”

“I’m pretty sure you drank liquid jackass instead.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You introduced Jacobs as
slavery
, and then you puked sushi and raisins all over the ground.”

Quinn looked around, trying to remember. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering the look on her face when she walked away from me at the hospital. She had the upper hand, and she knew it. “Get dressed.”

I’d consumed enough food to feed a small village, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Instead of going back to my apartment, Quinn used his mom’s apple pie as a peace offering. We walked back to his place and then helped his mother move a bedroom set she’d found from a secondhand store to the third floor of her apartment building.

“You sure you’re all right, man?” Quinn was leaning back against his mother’s counter, polishing off a thick piece of pie.

“I’ll live.”

He shook his head but didn’t press me any further. I didn’t need anyone looking over my shoulder, and Quinn understood that. Despite his frequent fuckups, he was a good guy.

“You boys have plans this evening?” his mother asked as she handed Quinn a napkin and a glass of milk. I shook my head, struggling not to laugh at how helpless he became in the presence of his mommy, a spitfire Italian.

“I got something I gotta do.” I walked toward the door with a wave. “Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Cipriani.”

Quinn lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he continued to shovel food into his mouth.

I was practically running on fumes by the time I slipped out of the old brick housing unit and made my way down to Tit for Tat, a small tattoo joint I saw on my way to work every day. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be seeing the inside of one of these places for a long time, but it had become a superstitious ritual now. A bell chimed overhead when I pulled open the door. A man with a Mohawk and more ink than a paperback glanced up at me through dark-rimmed hipster glasses.

“Just finishing up here, man. Check out the flash on the walls. It will just be a second.” He wiped a towel over the arm of the woman he was tattooing, smearing a small stain of ink across her milk-colored flesh.

I nodded, glancing over the drawings hanging on the walls. There were a lot of traditional pieces and some new age tattoos that looked like they could be in a gallery somewhere. But I wasn’t up for something fancy. My tattoo was more of a scoreboard—a death cheat sheet.

Shoving my hands deep into my jean pockets, I roamed around the lobby area, averting my eyes from the woman’s breast now in clear view as she showed one of the employees her nipple ring she was worried was becoming infected.

The cash register slammed closed, and the tattoo artist called to me. “Sorry about the wait.” I turned around, approaching the front desk. It was made of glass with various body jewelry and morbid décor inside. “Can you give me an idea of what you’re looking for?”

“No problem.” I reached behind my head, grabbing the back of my basic cotton T-shirt and pulling it off. The ball chain necklace holding a single penny fell against my chest. I ran my fingers over my left ribs, tracing the nine tiger stripes that cut across my skin. “I earned another stripe.”

The man stepped from around his counter and bent down to get a closer look at the work before standing back up to his full height. He was much thinner than I was but several inches taller than my six-foot frame.

“I hope this isn’t a body count. Most guys just opt for a tear drop or a few dots.”

I laughed as he tilted his head toward his station. “No, just a few times death got too close.”

“I thought cats only had nine lives. You’re pushing your luck. Have a seat and tell me about it.”

I sank down on the black cushioned seat that reminded me of a dentist chair and described the moments before impact. It paled in comparison to some of my other close encounters, but this time we’d all walked away relatively unscathed, leaving me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I shuddered at the thought of Avery almost losing her life right before my eyes. As if having those memories of my sister on loop weren’t hellish enough, now I had Avery’s close call to torment me. Since I had been young, it had seemed like I was a magnet for bad things. Guilt flooded my gut as I thought of how selfish it was for me to continue to pursue Avery knowing that fact.

I’d earned my first stripe at just seven, although it wouldn’t be branded on my body until years later. For the first time, my curse had made itself known, taking from my life one of the most important people to me, shaping me into the aimless mess I was now.

“Can I take Kayla fishing?” I asked Mom as she finished mixing the batter for my sister’s birthday cake. She was turning three years old, and half our family from across Liberty County was coming over to celebrate.

“Kayla?” Mom yelled as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a powder-white residue.

My baby sister came clunking down the stairs from her bedroom, her yellow teddy bear, Oliver, clenched in her little fist.

“Cake?”

“Not yet, sweetie. Go out back and play with your brother. I’ll let you know when it’s ready. Josh, you make sure you watch her.” My mother’s firm stare met mine and I nodded, grabbing Kayla’s free hand and tugging her toward the back door. I didn’t need to be reminded to watch my little sister.

We slipped into the yard and both broke out into a full sprint as we made our way to the small boat dock at the edge of our rural Georgia property.

Kayla stopped with the toes of her tennis shoes on the first slat of wood.

“Come on, Kayla. You’re a big girl now. I have to teach you to fish. Dad is too busy, so it’s my job.” I grabbed the two sticks I’d spent the day working on. Tied to the ends were some old fishing line and plastic bait. I held one out for my sister, who beamed from ear to ear.

“Come on.” I turned and walked to the end of the dock with the pitter-patter of her small feet not far behind me.

We sat on the edge, our feet dangling over the water as we soaked up the hot southern sun. We didn’t catch anything because I knew mom would freak out if I took any of Dad’s hooks for my new poles, but Kayla didn’t mind. She had fun just the same.

“I’m hungry.” Kayla pouted as a warm breeze pushed her dark, shoulder-length curls across her face.

I looked back at the house just beyond the trees. It wasn’t that far. She could sit on the dock alone for the couple of minutes it would take me to run to the pantry and back. “I’ll grab us some crackers if you watch my line.”

Kayla nodded in agreement, and I handed her my stick. I stood, brushing the dirt from my bottom. “Be still, Kayla. No dancing or nothin’ until I get back. Just hold the poles.”

She nodded, peering up at me with her big, sparkly eyes, looking happy and tiny and a little pink already from the sun.

“I’ll get you a hat, too,” I said. I hurried back across the yard and into the kitchen, excited the family would all be there soon.

“No junk food,” my mother warned, her eyebrow raised as she continued prepping for the party.

“I know, Mom.” I grabbed a box of crackers and pulled open the fridge as the front screen door squeaked on its hinges. Dad was home from work.

“Where’s my birthday girl?” he yelled. I could tell in his voice he was tired, but he smiled for Kayla anyway.

“She’s out back playing,” my mother replied.

Dad leaned in and kissed Mom on the cheek before glancing out the kitchen window.

“Where? The swings are empty.”

“She’s on the dock, Dad. I took her fishing.” I walked over to my father, pushing up on my tiptoes to point out the wooden walkway. My smile slowly fell as I looked for my sister. The dock was empty. Only her yellow teddy bear remained.

“John…?” Mom said Dad’s name like she was asking a question. Her voice was thick with worry.

“I told her to be still,” I said. “That I’d be right back.”

“Oh, God,” Mom said.

Dad was already out the door. “She’s not out there!” he screamed as he rushed across the backyard toward the water.

Cake batter splattered up the sides of the cupboards when my mother dropped the bowl she’d held in her hands. She chased after my father while I stood helplessly, watching from the window.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since they’d sprinted out the door. Boy, Kayla was going to be in trouble for not listening to me.

Nerves twisted my belly into knots as I waited to see the mess of dark curls that sat atop my sister’s head. I hoped Dad would still let her eat her cake tonight. I would tell them it was all my fault if they didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin her birthday.

My father’s head broke the surface of the pond, dark circles of water rippling from his body, expanding outward. That was when I saw her. Her tiny body in my father’s arms made her seem like she was still just a baby.

Mom’s bare feet nearly slipped from the dock as she took Kayla from Dad’s arms so he could boost himself up onto the old planks of wood.

Lying her body down on the ground, Dad began to frantically push against her chest. Once in a while, Mom would stop crying and lean down over Kayla’s face. Chills rushed through my body, and I began to shiver, recognizing something was wrong. Kayla wasn't pretending. Mom and Dad were afraid. I’d never seen Dad scared of anything, not even when the Radleys turned their garage into a haunted house two Halloweens ago.

“Come on, Kayla,” I mumbled to myself. Unable to wait, I rushed to the back door and fumbled with the handle.

I hurdled toward them, feeling like I had to do something, anything, to help her. By the time I reached them, Mom was sobbing and covering her face. Dad was slouched over, looking at my baby sister with his hands on his knees and lake water dripping from his chin.

“Is she okay, Dad?”

He didn’t answer.

“What can I do?” I asked, feeling something awful surround me. “Dad? What can I do?”

Dad broke down, his cries harmonizing with Mom’s. I knelt down to hold Kayla’s tiny, cold hand in mine.

“It’s going to be okay, Kayla,” I said.

Mom wailed.

I sat in silence, wishing I could do more. But I had no idea what it was she needed. We were all helpless, sitting around Kayla. Her pretty curls were wet and splayed out on the grass. Tears burned my eyes while I waited for her to wake up, because deep down I knew she wouldn’t.

“Kayla?” I said one last time, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Not knowing why we couldn’t save her, and next to my sister on the ground, I promised myself I would never feel helpless again.