The second thing she’d felt upon seeing those dark, dark letters stamped on her skin was a sharp twinge of regret.
It was that feeling that came back to haunt Uma every time she caught even the faintest glimpse of Joey’s legacy, the same weight that made sleep so elusive at night.This is it.The words had floated through her brain as she’d stared past her reflection into the mirror that night.It’s permanent. There’s no turning back now.
Feeling the doctor’s zapper work its way over the thick blackMembedded in her wrist, then theI, theN, andE, brought something new trickling in. It was the first time it had appeared in months, a tiny grain of a notion so foreign, it wasn’t even clear whether it would stick around long enough to be identified. It dug down into Uma’s heart, lodged itself there, and nearly choked her with its newness. As the ink dissolved slowly—oh so slowly—the sensation, whatever it was, dug in deeper, mingling with her flesh, melding with her blood.
After twenty minutes or so, Dr. Hadley—no,George—leaned back to switch the machine off. The absence of sound left the room feeling empty and so very still. She pushed her dark glasses up onto her head and smiled.
“That’s it for today, Uma.”
A reluctant glance at her arm told Uma that it was pretty bad. A whitish cloud over the tattoos, dotted with minute specks of blood, but the ink was still there.
“I’ll put some petroleum jelly on it. It’s best to leave it uncovered, if you can. Or wear loose clothing. Cotton. Not this tight thing you’ve got here. Can you do that?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I—”
A wave of nausea rose up. Not again. She wouldn’t throw up here again, damn it.
“I can’t wear my shirt?”
“You can wear something loose, but it’s best to leave it out if you can. And you’ll need to reapply the petroleum jelly to keep from scarring. I usually recommend buying a pack of cotton shirts you can throw on.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Cotton shirts and petroleum jelly. At least today was payday.
“You okay?” The doctor looked worried.
Uma considered her question.Am I okay?
Practical matters aside, she actually thought she might be.
“I think so.”
“The first session’s hard. I know.” Dr. Hadley grabbed Uma’s hand again and squeezed. “You’ll get through this. I promise. All right?”
“Yeah.” Uma squeezed back. “Thank you.”
It was true, she realized. She was going to be okay. One less layer of ink to pull out. One day closer to becoming a clean slate.
Hope was a tiny grain lodged in her heart. Like a speck of dirt in an oyster shell, she had a sudden notion that the minuscule particle would pester her, gathering layer upon layer of protective grit until it built into something big enough to hold on to.
For the first time, there was light at the end of the tunnel.
I can do this, she thought. And, for once, she knew, without a doubt, that it was true.
* * *
With no other options for now, Uma slipped back into her shirt before driving back to Ms. Lloyd’s place. As she drew near the house, she came close to releasing the brake and letting the car glide those few extra feet down the road to Ivan’s. The fantasy of disappearing into his workshop and his bed to heal was unbearably appealing.
She pretended, for the handful of seconds it took to walk to Ms. Lloyd’s front porch, that her arm didn’t burn and her heart wasn’t tight in her chest.
The door, of course, was locked. Faced with the prospect of walking her scarred, aching body to Ivan’s or facing the she-devil inside, she’d opt for the latter.
“Please, please, please, open up,” she begged Ms. Lloyd—or God or providence—as she shoved uselessly at the front door. She started banging, more frantic than the occasion probably warranted. But standing there made her feel naked, the pain of her arm bringing her back to the night she’d worked so hard to forget. She wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t acknowledge that it hurt, wouldn’t give these wounds another moment of attention. Blinders on, head in the sand.
Don’t see it. Don’t feel it.
“Ms. Lloyd! Let me in, please!” Her voice came out thin, frantic. Her hands scrabbled at the knob again, and she twisted, twisted, pushed.
