Red Heart Tattoo (20 page)

Morgan’s announcement read:

Roth’s, at Carla’s insistence, read:

Roth had wanted to add “against all odds and the better judgment of the faculty,” but Max and Carla had nixed the suggested wording with laughs. “I never doubted you’d graduate,” Carla told him.

Max and Roth just looked at each other. Both of them certainly had.

In a powder-blue sky, the June sun drenched the day with warmth as the civic center filled up. Inside, dignitaries, government officials, media, parents, friends and family watched as 105 graduates in royal-blue caps and gowns made the march down the aisles and onto the stage. Names were called one by one to receive diplomas. Nine empty chairs sat at the front of the stage under a spotlight, in memoriam, for the people who were lost forever and could not celebrate this day.

After the ceremony Roth stood with Morgan and Kelli, their arms hooked together for countless photos by their families out on the lawn. A giant white tent graced the lawn, where tables overflowed with refreshments. No graduating class had been treated so royally. Grandville
was still a small town, but this class was special. They were the survivors, the ones who had endured and triumphed over a tragedy nobody could quite comprehend.

Roth couldn’t stop grinning, especially when he looked at Morgan. Her beautiful green eyes sparkled in the glow of the sun, and she glanced toward him at every chance.

“Over here! Look at me,” Jane called.

The trio turned to face her camera. “How’s your mom doing?” Morgan asked Kelli from the corner of her mouth.

Kelli tipped her head, grinned big for her mother’s camera and whispered, “I think she’s finally growing up.”

“Really?”

“She isn’t dragging me down her high school memory lane anymore.”

“You must be so proud!” Morgan teased.

“I am,” Kelli said, putting her hand over her heart. “All grown up at thirty-seven. I’m going to miss my little girl.”

Morgan erupted into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Roth asked. He was still holding a half-eaten cupcake thick with blue icing that he’d picked up at the refreshment stand earlier.

“You!” Kelli said, and pointed. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

He glanced between Kelli and Morgan. “Why?”

“Your lips are blue,” Morgan said.

“And your teeth,” Kelli added.

“Ewww,” both girls said in unison.

“Then have a bite,” he said, swiping each girl’s mouth with the gooey blue frosting.

They shrieked but ran into the tent for a cupcake of their own.

“Are you absolutely positive you want to do this?” Max asked Morgan, who sat in front of him in his studio.

“Why do you and Roth keep asking me that? I know what I want.” She shot Roth an exasperated look.

“I’m just saying it’s permanent,” Roth told her.

“A tattoo can be lasered off,” Max explained. “But it’s expensive and painful. Roth and I are just making sure you realize what you’re about to do.”

Morgan nodded fiercely. “I get it. I want it. Now let’s do it.”

Max asked, “You eighteen?”

“Since April.”

He nodded. “The first pass will scab over and heal, then you’ll need a touch-up after a couple of weeks.”

“The U-Haul leaves in three. So we need to start today.”

Max limped to his bookshelves, pulled off several books, brought them to her. “Pick out a design and tell me where you want me to place it. Wording too.”

“I want it here, on the inside of my forearm, because I want to see it every day of my life. And I already know what I want it to say.” She waited for several seconds as a lump of emotion closed off her throat. Getting herself under control, she said, “I want two names only—Roth and Trent, inside a beautiful heart.”

Roth’s gaze flew to her face. “My name?”

“You both saved me from dying.”

He searched her eyes, saw her determination, grinned. “Who gets top billing?”

She laughed. “Why, you do, of course.”

Max readied his tattoo needles and pots of ink while Morgan and Roth pored over the books for just the right heart for her to wear for the rest of her life.

L
IZA STOOD AT THE PLATE-GLASS WINDOW
of Main Street Café, where she worked, watching the sparse flow of two o’clock traffic. She untied her apron as she waited, her work shift over for another day. She’d been waiting tables at the small eatery since six that morning, as she’d done six days a week ever since graduation. The work was interesting and the regulars friendly. Plus she needed the job.

Outside, the November day was gray and a few stubborn leaves clung to trees in the chilly wind. Almost a year had passed since the school bomb had altered so many lives. The accused bombers were still awaiting trial—the wheels of justice ground slowly. She’d be glad when the “anniversary” was over—the local media were featuring stories already, and the city council was planning some sort of memorial ceremony on the actual date. Kids most affected and traumatized had been contacted and quoted.
Morgan’s mother had interceded for her daughter with “Morgan is away and happy at college.” Liza heard that she’d added, “Do not contact her about that horrible day, or you’ll have our law firm to deal with.” Scuttlebutt from café patrons had Morgan staying gone this first Thanksgiving after the bombing. Liza hoped so.

When a reporter had ambushed Kelli in a parking lot at the community college, Kelli had shoved the mike away and snapped, “Why would I want to talk about that day? Please leave me alone.”

On-air reports noted that Mark, formerly one of the best football players in the state, had been sent to a top rehab center known for its successes with paralyzed war vets. He would never play ball again, but he might be able to walk after the center’s rigorous and groundbreaking therapy.

Roth’s interview as the “hero” had been peppered with too much profanity to be put on the air. He’d ended by saying, “Don’t you guys get it? We all want to forget the bombing, not remember it.”

As for Liza, she had been across the street from the school that day, so she was not on anyone’s radar.

She had reinvented herself too. Her hair had grown out and the bizarre purple spikes were now little more than fading tips in the dark brown mass of curls. Most of her studs were gone too. Only two remained in her ears and one small silver sphere glittered from the side of her nose. The tats that showed on her arm she kept covered with concealing cream. Her hair almost covered the one
on the back of her neck, and clothing covered the ones on her left shoulder and across the small of her back. She still loved her body ink but had realized in June that it was time to move forward with her life. That meant looking less like a sideshow, more like the rest of humanity. Individuality came from the inside, not from an outside layer of applications.

She had her own place now, a studio apartment over Mr. Anderson’s garage two streets away—close enough to walk to work. She was saving for a car. She’d used all her graduation gift money for the apartment—first and last months’ rent and a hundred-dollar damage fee. The place was small, with a pullout sofa at one end and a tiny kitchen area at the other. Her mother had helped her hang curtains and paint the walls. Liza wasn’t sure if it had been a gesture of love, or of eagerness for her to move out.

“You still here?” Gracie asked, coming out of the kitchen balancing plates of food for the only two customers in the café. She was four years older than Liza, divorced with a three-year-old daughter, but had become Liza’s best friend. Gracie handled the afternoon and supper crowd. They worked Saturday nights together, often going out for fun after closing up the place at nine if Gracie could get a sitter. Not much to do in Grandville, but it was home.

“I’m going,” Liza said.

“Waiting for that blue pickup to pass?” Gracie asked knowingly.

Liza colored, but kept her face toward the window. “Nosy.”

“You going to do anything about it today? You’ve been watching it drive by for five months and never done a thing about chasing it down.”

“These things take time.” In truth, she was scared to reestablish contact with Roth. She still wanted him more than anything, but she was afraid he might reject her once more. On graduation day, out on the lawn of the civic center, he’d come up to Liza while Morgan was in the refreshment tent, wrapped his arms around her and given her a bear hug. “Sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I acted like a jerk to you and I shouldn’t have. We still friends?”

“Not a problem,” she told him, basking in the warmth of his embrace. “Lot of pressure on you back then.”

He’d grinned, kissed the tip of her nose and gone inside the tent.

She’d run into him only once more, in the summer, when they’d both been pumping gas at the convenience store. He was two pumps over when she’d pulled in, without noticing him at first. He’d called her name and waved, a genuine smile on his face. Her heart almost beat out of her chest at that moment. She’d silently pleaded for him to walk over, but he didn’t. He jammed the gas cap onto his truck, waved, shouted, “Got to run! Catch you later.” Later hadn’t come.

They’d been friends since sixth grade and Liza had seen him grow from a hostile, broken little boy into a defiant wild adolescent and, ultimately, into a pretty stable
guy. She’d watched from the fringes of his life for a solid year, and now hoped he might see her in a new light—Liza, the girl who loved him.

She saw the blue pickup turn the corner, and stepped back from the window. Her gaze followed it down four blocks, where it parked in front of the Ink Spot. She watched Roth hurry inside.

“Go on,” Gracie said, “or I’ll drag you down there myself. I’ve been thinking about getting a tat. What do you think?”

“You’d faint at the sight of the needles.” Liza grabbed her coat. Gracie was right. If she was going to go down there and face Roth, she should go ahead and do it. She struggled into her coat.

“Call me, however it turns out, good or bad,” Gracie said, before the door closed behind Liza.

Outside, Liza took deep breaths of the cold air to steady her nerves. Her case of nerves was more than just trying to get together with Roth again. Other things troubled her. Liza had secrets—two that she’d sworn to herself she’d never tell anyone. First, she’d been the person who’d shaken the cola can, causing it to spurt foam in Morgan’s face. Even though it had been the event that had washed away Morgan’s blindness, it had also slammed Morgan with horrible and disturbing memories no one should have to confront. Liza was truly sorry about the escapade. She knew that Morgan was out of Roth’s life because she was off at college. It was weird to know that in some ways she’d saved Morgan, because her sight came back, but also
got rid of her, so maybe Roth would now need his old friend back. Her guilt … her secret to keep.

She wanted a cigarette, then remembered she’d quit smoking three months before. She turned north on Main Street, toward Max’s shop, clutched her coat to her throat as a chill dove down her blouse. She was going to have to remember to bring a wool scarf tomorrow.

There was another secret. That one she would also take to her grave. If she told anyone, she’d find herself in the center of a maelstrom. Or perhaps retribution. Her fear of both was real. Liza had been the tipster who’d vindicated Roth, the one who’d sent the anonymous email to the police from the library’s public computer. She had shifted police and FBI interest to the two ninth graders after learning their names and tracking them at school for weeks, covertly watching their actions and cocky “I’ve got a secret” attitude. She had been the one who’d seen them pacing outside the school on the day of the bombing. She’d not considered it at the time, but in hindsight, she recalled their looks of glee when the atrium exploded. She’d seen them exchange high fives with each other when the front of the school erupted with screams and smoke and sounds of falling rubble and with kids swarming out of the building, scrambling for their lives. She’d been too shocked and traumatized herself to remember much except the exodus. And her heart had been in her throat when she watched Roth rush into the building to help.