Lori Devoti - Amazon Ink

When I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was there again, when things were simpler and no one but me was dependent on my actions.

“You spilled.”

My eyelids flew open. A boy not much older than Harmony, and decidedly too clean-cut to have walked out of my daydreams even with the diamond stud he sported in the tip of one ear, pointed at the brown circle of coffee developing on my leg. “Crap.” I grabbed the paper coffee cup that had lurched to one side and placed it on the ground under the bench.

“Here.” He pulled a napkin from a white paper bag.

I started to wave it off, but realized most people probably objected to walking around with coaster-sized coffee stains on their clothing. Me? I was more disturbed by the loss of my brew.

“Thanks.” I began dabbing at the spot in what I hoped was a convincing manner. When the damp denim was properly coated with paper fuzz, I wadded the napkin into a ball and retrieved what was left of my coffee.

The boy sat down beside me and began pulling lunch from his sack.

It seemed rude to immediately jump up and leave. I sat there, sipping my drink and wondering how long I needed to stay for pretense’s sake.

After a few minutes he finished with his sandwich and flipped open a notebook. Without saying a word, he began sketching.

This was the obvious time to leave, but what he was drawing kept me in my seat. Tattoos. Or what would have made great ones.

“You’re an artist?” I asked.

He looked up, his eyes rounded as if surprised I was still there. “I guess. I play at it.”

I nodded at the stylized version of a badger. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“Really?” He looked pleased with my observation. “A buddy wanted a tat, but couldn’t find one he liked. I said I’d draw something for him.”

“Badgers are pretty popular around here. I wouldn’t think he’d have a problem.”

“Yeah, if you want a cartoon wearing a red sweater with a big W on the front. He didn’t.”

“Oh.” I glanced at his drawing again. “You did a good job capturing the…” I searched for a word. If I’d been talking to an Amazon, it would have been easy. What he’d done was capture the essence of what a badger was: their wild aggressive nature that made the small animal formidable, made bigger creatures-including men-fear it. I reached out a hand, then pulled back, realizing what I’d been about to do.

I had to stop seeing powers everywhere. First with Peter, now this random boy.

“Are you into art?” He lowered his pencil and looked at me, genuine interest on his face.

“You could say that.” I paused, feeling strange telling him too much about myself…old habits I needed to get over. “I own a tattoo shop. Mel’s.”

“Really? I’ve heard of you.”

He looked impressed. My head swelled a little.

“Thanks.” Lame response, but I wasn’t used to compliments…at least his tone had made it sound like a compliment.

“You don’t know…” He stopped, looked down at his drawing and twiddled his pencil, hitting it softly against the paper.

“What?” I took a sip of coffee and tried to look supportive and not nosy.

“It’s just I’ve been trying to get on at one of the tat shops down here. Just cleaning up, working the desk, stuff like that. Eventually I’d like to apprentice, but I realize that could take awhile. I could do Web work, whatever they needed until they thought they could trust me.” He added a line to the badger’s snout-a small mark that somehow added another dimension to the creature, showing not just his aggression, but his determination.

All animals had multiple aspects. How the artist chose to depict them could make all the difference in the power the totem enhanced in its owner-in Amazon art, that is-but what I was looking at was just a drawing, a human drawing.

He looked up. “Anyway, I was wondering if you knew someone who might be willing to give me a shot-just sweeping up and stuff to start.”

He was so damn eager. Made me think of the first time I realized I had a talent for art, finally had something of my own. I’d trailed every artisan I could find until one finally agreed to just let me watch her work. I’d just wanted a chance to learn.

That’s all he was asking for too, and he’d do the grunt work to get that chance.

“I just might.” I pulled a business card from my pocket. “Stop by and ask for Mandy. She’ll have some paperwork for you to fill out.”

He stared at the white rectangle like I’d handed him the key to the city. “Really?”

“Really.” Then I picked up my cup and stood to leave. “Oh, what’s your name?”

“Nick. Nick Johnson.”

“See you tomorrow, Nick Johnson.” I left feeling like I’d done something good, for him and for me. Another step away from my Amazon hang-ups; now not one but two men would be working at my shop. How free-minded was I?

The rest of Monday passed; I did some routine tattoos, worked with Mandy a little, and closed up. To my relief, Detective Reynolds didn’t make an appearance. After work I went to the gym and told Zery what I’d learned at The Tavern, but I didn’t mention seeing the detective there. Our deal had been that I’d talk with him, not that I’d tell her every time I did. Besides, she was already battling the pressure of the tribe’s suspicions of me. If she learned the police shared the view…well, there was no reason to go there. My time with Zery cost me, though. I missed hearing what happened at Harmony’s art class. She was in bed by the time I returned, but with my daughter I knew the “no news is good news” adage held true. If she hadn’t liked the class, she would have sought me out and made sure I knew.

I didn’t get a chance to talk with her the next morning either. Before Harmony had even rousted herself from bed, a muffler-less compact chugged into the parking lot. I knew without looking it was another Amazon arriving. You just didn’t see a lot of vehicles two door-dings from a life on blocks rolling around Madison. You did see them at Amazon safe camps. It was about all you saw there.

Wondering who the newest arrival might be, and not wanting her to wander into the shop by mistake, I jogged down the fire escape and waited for the vehicle’s motor to slow to blessed silence.

Dana unfolded from the driver’s seat. She stopped to jerk a very large duffel out of the seat beside her, then another. I could see more duffels and bags filling the back.

Crap. Now what?

I marched toward her.

She took one look at me and burst into tears.

Double crap.

“The baby. It’s a boy.”

I stopped. She stopped too, both hands at her sides, her arm muscles straining from the weight of the duffels. Her face was streaked with tears, and her eyes brimmed with uncertainty.

I did the only thing I could. I opened my arms. She dropped the bags and fell against me, sobbing.

Upstairs in the kitchen I drank coffee and watched as Dana went about slicing apples and mixing them with sugar for, yes, a pie. The whole baking thing seemed to calm her.

“Where’s the flour?” She scrubbed at tearstained eyes with the back of her hand.

I vaguely motioned to a cupboard. Harmony had bought some last year when she and Rachel decided to make a piñata as their part of a Spanish class Cinco de Mayo celebration.

Dana found the bag of flour and returned to the table. “Alcippe told me last night. I didn’t know what to do, don’t know what I will do.” She sniffed loudly. “What would you do?”

That was a loaded question and not one I thought I needed to answer-I’d already answered it ten years ago, quite visibly.

“What would Mel do about what?” Mother strode into the room, wearing Lycra and a thin sheen of sweat. She grabbed a dish towel from near the sink and rubbed it over her face. Then she looked at me.