Julia - Pinking shears

[moonshadows]

 

There’s a text from Nathan when I wake up.

Need to talk to you. Alone.

Meet me at mom’s, I text back. Then I check the time. Six-fifteen. In half an hour.

Duke’s not up and probably won’t be for a bit. I throw myself into the first clean clothes out of the trunk, jeans and a flannel shirt, and grab my purse and shoes. In the kitchen I scramble half a dozen eggs with whatever vegetables I can find and some cheese, bolting my half while plating the other and toasting bread. No time to figure out where he keeps the Advil; I fish two out of my purse and leave them on a napkin by Duke’s breakfast. Where did I leave my shoes? My hair gets pulled roughly back while I search, finally finding them by the door, and then pulling them on awkwardly as I hop back to the kitchen to scrawl Out, back later on the napkin. Then I slalom back to the door and lock it behind me.

Fifteen minutes to get to my mother’s house. I can do that.

 

He pulls up just as my breathing slows back to normal, and I jerk my head at the backyard. Neither of us says a word until we’re there, the woods ready to swallow what I’m pretty sure is going to be a heated argument.

“You’re selling the house,” he starts, hard and accusing.

“Yes.”

“And living with Duke on his boat.”

“Yes.”

“You’re living with Duke Crocker.”

“Yes! What is your problem with that?”

“Maybe the same problem everyone else in the town has with him!”

“Except they don’t!” Glaring up at him isn’t very effective, but I do my best. “The Gull would be deserted if everyone hated him he way you do!”

“Do you know the things he’s done to me?”

“How many of them were recent?” I shoot back.

Nathan glowers. “He hasn’t changed,” he tries.

“No,” I agree, “he hasn’t.”

“And you see nothing wrong with this?”

“I’m not the one with the hatecrush!”

He gets a look, and I know suddenly where he’s going. “No, you’re just the one with a regular crush, and it’s blinding you!” he finishes in a shout. “Audrey may not have been here while we were in high school to see what Duke is really like, but I was, and I remember everything that was said about him! Do you really think he loves you?”

My world ignites into fury. “I DON’T CARE IF HE LOVES ME, AS LONG AS HE TRUSTS ME!” And it’s true. I don’t. I have his trust. Trust is stronger, deeper, rarer, and more valuable than love. It doesn’t matter that mine is unrequited; I got this far into his trust without his love, I can go the rest of my life without it. “WHICH HE DOES!” The key to the Cape’s cabin dangles triumphantly from my fist for a few seconds before I shove it back into my purse.

“AND YOU THINK THAT’S SOMETHING WORTH HAVING?” Nathan gets right in my face, looking down to do it.

I back up until I can stand on the first step of the back porch and glare him straight in the face. “NAME ONE OTHER PERSON WHO HAS IT!”

He can’t, and it’s pissing him off.

“HE’S NEVER HURT ME IN ALL THE TIME I’VE KNOWN HIM! I can’t exactly say the same for everyone else,” I spit. “I had to wait thirty-two years to be told what my real name is, who my biological family is! Can you imagine what it’s like, knowing that your mother knows who your birth mother is, and won’t tell you? TRUST IS IMPORTANT TO ME! I have Duke’s, and I don’t care if I’m still that skinny little fourteen-year-old girl crushing on him, because I will not do anything to endanger that trust!” I can feel the tears on my cheeks, hot as they seep from my eyes, cool as they drip down my cheeks, but there is no shame. Only pain and fury. The hand not gripping the Cape’s key points over my shoulder. “This? This hasn’t been home for more than two decades.” The other hand comes out briefly again and shakes the key before shoving it back into my purse. “This. This has. The Cape Rouge has been the only place in Haven that I’ve felt at home since Duke first showed her to me.”

Nathan looks like he wants to comfort the tiny crying woman except that she’s also very angry and shouty. “If you really feel that way, maybe I should tell him. Give him a chance to do the right thing.”

The hand in my purse closes on metal handles. “If you ever breathe a word of this and it gets back to Duke,” I growl, lifting the old and slightly-rusty metal object out, “I will cut your balls off with mom's pinking shears since it's obvious you're not using them. AND YOU WON'T KNOW I'VE DONE IT UNTIL YOU GO TO TAKE A PISS!”

Metal screeches as I open and close the wickedly-toothed scissors and he pales slightly, eyes fixed on them like they’re a snake about to strike.

“You’ve made your point,” he says stoically, tearing his eyes away to meet mine. “I won’t say a word about this to anyone. I promise.” He glances at the pinking shears again. “I just hope for your sake that your trust isn’t misplaced.” Politely, he inclines his head and then leaves for his truck. A few moments later I can hear him climb inside and drive away.

For a minute, all I can do is sit on the back steps and breathe shakily. My pulse still hasn’t settled back down when my phone chirps and I fish it out, trying to get the shears off my fingers and the tears off my face all at once, but it’s just a text.

From Duke.

When you get back, I need to talk to you.

That does bad things to my pulse.

About what? I text back slowly.

I’m the host. I cook breakfast, not you.

The sound that comes out of me is somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

You’re letting me stay without rent. The least I can do is cook you breakfast.

Wench.

Laugh-crying, I tuck the phone in my pocket and lean back, letting the breeze dry the tears that escaped. It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

 

 

Vince and Dave weren't expecting me today, but given what happened last night I have to talk with Duke before anything happens. Luckily, Mother's father was in the Guard.

"You want a picture of your grandfather?" Uncle Dave asks.

Uncle Vince leans back, one hand at his chin. "Which one?"

"Grandpa Carr," I say firmly. "He was in the Guard. I need a photo that shows his tattoo."

Uncle Vince leans forward ominously. "Why?"

Here it comes. "Vanessa, the woman who died last night? Her Trouble was to see how people are going to die, what they experience in their last moments. Duke Crocker's death comes at the hand of a man with the Maze on his forearm. Literally - the hand reaches out to grab his face. That's all he knows."

"He knows," Dave says, looking at his brother.

"Oh, that could be...awkward."

"I know. That's why I need to show him that the tattoo isn't what he should focus on because I know him, he will focus on it. If I can show him how widespread the symbol is in Haven, I should be able to head off any unfortunate accidents before they happen."

"He's a Crocker," Vince grumbles. "Accidents could be very unfortunate. Perhaps it's best he doesn't learn anything else."

Okay, this isn't working. "I'm going to be living with him on the Cape Rouge. If he catches a glimpse of my tattoo, that's going to shatter his trust in me. I have to show him the symbol itself isn't important, and I have to do it now."

"You're what?"

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"Remember, his father-"

"-dangerous, getting close to a Crocker-"

I massage my temples as they argue at each other. "Stop!" They don't stop. "Stop, stop, STOP!"

Startled now, they fall silent and stare at me.

"Yes, I know about the Crocker Trouble and that Simon Crocker was a danger. Duke isn't his father. Remember how I used to hang around his boat as a skinny little teenager?" Vince glowers while Dave nods cautiously; they remember. "Mom used to tell me she'd neuter him with Grandma Carr's pinking shears if he ever touched me. She was sure he was going to tie me up or abduct me or all kinds of things, but he never did. He was kind to me, and respectful, and now I'm probably the only one in Haven he actually trusts. Think about that for a minute."

Speculative glances pass back and forth.

"Control doesn't have to be intimidation and brute force," I continue reasonably. "Control can be a pretty smile. Duke has made it clear that I'm welcome on his boat. If he trusts me, and keeps trusting me, I can get him to do things he otherwise never would. We all know that with the Troubles back, it's just a matter of time before his becomes active. When it does, wouldn't it be better if you already had someone in place to monitor him?"

"She's got a point," Dave says.

Vince scowls. "She does, but I still don't like it."

I pull Grandma Carr's pinking shears out of my purse and slam them onto the table. "I can take care of myself."

For a long moment, silence reigns. Then Vince starts to laugh, slapping his knee while Dave chuckles appreciatively. "You're your mother's daughter, alright," Vince tells me. I don't ask if he means Eleanor or the woman I've never met. "Dave, see if you can find Julia that photo. Take him to the old graveyard," he tells me. "Your grandfather is buried up there, and most of the headstones have the symbol in one variant or another. But are you sure that will be enough?"

"No," I say quietly, reclaiming the shears. "That's why I need to investigate who killed the Colorado Kid. According to Audrey, Vanessa told her that he died the same way: a man's hand reaching for him, the Maze on his forearm."

"Same man?" Dave asks.

Vince looks troubled. "Find the killer, stop the killer."

"Here's your test, Uncle Vince. If Duke trusts me, he'll ask me to look into the Colorado kid murder for him. If he doesn't, he'll come to you himself looking for answers."

Dave looks over his glasses at his brother. "And if he trusts her..."

"...she can keep him under control," he finishes grimly. "We may need that, if we need him."

"Maybe it won't come to that," wheedles Uncle Dave, but uncle Vince doesn't look convinced.

"Just get the photo. Julia's right, this is an opportunity we can't afford to waste."

 

 

"If you're here to make me lunch," Duke jokes, "You're too late. I've already eaten."

"Does that mean I still have a shot at dinner?"

He grins, shaking his head slightly, but does not answer.

"I did some checking on that maze tattoo," I tell him in a more serious tone. That gets his attention.

"With Vince and Dave?" he asks, suddenly tense. "What did you find?"

"A picture of Grandpa Carr." He leans over to see as I hold it out. "See his left forearm?"

“Why…” It’s so strangled that the rest of the question doesn’t make it out of his mouth.

“There’s more, but you have to come see it.”

Duke hands the photo back and nods grimly.

 

“So,” he says as he follows me through the old graveyard, “is there a reason your grandfather had the same tattoo as a guy who died way before his time a month or so ago?”

Questions I can’t directly answer yet. “Probably.”

“And where exactly are we going?”

I point to the center. “Just up there.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything else until we’re stopped in front of a gravestone for R. Anderson, died March 3, 1817, age 39. The Carver variant maze is proudly and clearly displayed just below the name.

“That’s…” Duke points, as if he could aim and fire words with his finger. “Eighteen seventeen? There’s no way that’s your grandfather.”

“It’s not. He’s back there somewhere.”

“Then who is this?”

“I don’t know. I also don’t know who that is-” I point to another one, without the Carver variant dot, “-or that, or that, or that.” Every gravestone within line of sight has the Maze on it. “This symbol has been a part of Haven for centuries, Duke. Finding the one man with it as a tattoo who’s going to kill you is like Sleeping Beauty’s parents trying to keep her safe from spindles by destroying spinning wheels when what they should have been doing is finding a way to break the curse.”

“And by curse you mean…”

“The Colorado Kid was killed the same way. If we can find who killed him…”

“…maybe we can prevent him from killing me. Well, if that works it will be a lot easier on my nerves.” He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he’s realized that tracking the tattoo is more difficult a task by far than he’d expected.

“There’s something else.” I’m afraid to meet his eyes. This is going to be the moment of truth. “The reason I came back to Haven…you know my birth family is Troubled.”

“Go on,” he says, warily.

“When my Troubled parent died, I inherited the Trouble.” I take a deep breath. “I knew it had happened when I looked in the mirror one morning and found this.”

Carefully, I unbutton the flannel enough to pull the fabric down and expose my left shoulder. Duke’s eyebrows draw in as he compares the ink lines to the ones on the gravestone. He glances at me, eyebrows up in a silent request for permission. When I nod, he rubs one finger carefully over my skin. The lines don’t move.

“My Trouble is still dormant,” I tell him quietly as I button back up again. “But that mark means I have it. Uncle Vince told me, before I left, that it was like an heirloom and that when I inherited it, I’d need to come back. But he couldn’t tell me what it means.”

“You knew.” His voice is equally soft. “Last night. You knew that symbol but you didn’t say anything. Why?”

“Because it’s not Audrey or Nathan’s business. It’s yours, so I waited until I could tell you alone. And,” I gesture around us, “until I could show you proof that tracking the man through the tattoo isn’t the way to do it.”

He inclines his head in my direction. “Point taken. Do you think you can wheedle more information out of your uncles?”

One down, one to go. “When I tell them you asked me, yes. You know they don’t trust you?”

“Yeah, well I don’t trust them, so we’re even.”

“As long as you only approach them through me, they’ll think I’ve got you somehow under control,” my hands describe sarcastic gestures in the air, “and give me just about anything I ask for.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “You are a devious little wench,” he says admiringly. “Now that that’s settled, can I ask a favor?”

“Look into the Colorado Kid?”

He waves the question away. “You’re already doing that. No, just don’t let me focus on the tattoo?”

That…was easier that I was expecting. Which means It’s not going to be as easy as it seems. “Sure thing, Boss.”

“Good.” Duke rubs his hands together. “Let’s get back to the truck. I still have a lot of work ahead of me today.”

I wait until we’re driving back to ask, “Does this mean I still have a shot at making dinner?”

“No,” he replies immediately and forcefully. “You have challenged the honor of your host by fixing breakfast. Now I must reclaim it by providing you with dinner. Don’t argue with me, I’m making dinner and that’s that.”

“Okay.” I give him a second and a half to wonder what I’m up to. “Dibs on making breakfast tomorrow.”

“Damn it!”

My victory laugh has more than a little evil cackle in it. After a moment, Duke gives up and laughs with me.