This Mess We're In Read online

  A text buzzed on my phone, and I headed down the hallway stairs and out the back door into the private parking lot. I found Bill sitting in a tan Honda Civic. I almost laughed when I saw him. He glared at me through the window.

  Without a word, I slid into the front seat of his car. He wasn’t wearing his vest or leathers. He wore a short-sleeved, collared shirt and khaki pants.

  “Nice outfit,” I said. I couldn’t help it.

  “Shut up, fucker. I manage the pizzeria. I have to look professional at work.”

  “Okay, none of my business.”

  “So Martel finally told you about your dad?”

  “What? You knew?”

  “Everyone knows.”

  “So what now? Are we cool?”

  “Hey, I don’t mess with the president’s family. I was just doing my job.”

  “We aren’t family.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So we’re cool now?”

  “We’re cool.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Claire

  After Damien dropped me off at home, I crept into my room. Trying not to wake Rose, I got into bed. I couldn’t sleep, and I tossed and turned late into the night. All I could think about was Damien.

  Losing Jessy and having Rose had a serious effect on me. I’d never be the same because of it. If I’d stayed at school, who knows what would have happened or who I would have become? There was no going back now.

  I could hear Rose breathing in her crib. Turning on my side, I stared at her in the darkness. All I could do was try to find some kind of happiness in the life that I had.

  I was filled with so much worry and sadness, I felt numb. Regan’s verbal bashing left a dent in my confidence. My mind reeled with all the possible worst-case scenarios in my life.

  In the morning, I was snapped out of a deep sleep by Rose’s sharp cry. Shooting up in bed, I looked over to see her standing in her crib, her face red and streaked with tears. I went to her and pulled her from the crib. Soothing her, I bounced her in my arms and kissed her head. She must have had a bad dream.

  I got us both dressed and took her downstairs to eat breakfast. No one was up yet. Zoe had Tuesdays off and liked to sleep in when she had the chance. I had no idea if Regan was home or not.

  I put Rose in her high chair, put on a pot of coffee, and made breakfast. Sitting down next to Rose while she ate her banana, I sipped the creamy coffee in my cup. The rich nutty aroma filled my fuzzy senses, helping me wake.

  My freshly dyed fabric lay folded at the end of the table. I rubbed my temples and made a mental plan to get some sewing done. My record was five dresses in one day. My average was around three.

  After I poured myself another cup of coffee, I let Rose toddle around in the living room. I cleaned off the table and spread out my fabric. Zoe came downstairs with messy hair, rubbing her face.

  “Morning,” she said, moving to the coffee pot. I greeted her and continued placing my pattern pieces over the pink and purple fabric.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked as she moved to the living room to turn on the TV to a morning news show.

  “Not really, just maybe keep Rose occupied so she doesn’t destroy anything.” Rose stood in front of the computer desk, her hand reaching for the mouse. “I really need to get some work done. Emily is paying me up front now and wants as many dresses as I can make.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome.” Zoe ran to pull Rose from the computer and redirected her to her toys. Rose picked up a doll and chucked it across the room. The motion made Bradly jump from his bed at the end of the living room and charge toward the doll. I grabbed the stuffed rabbit, opened the front door, and ushered him outside.

  “Yeah, but the only problem is, how many dresses can I make? My best average is three a day. Even if I could keep that up, it would still only come out to ninety dollars.”

  “It’s more than I make a day,” she said, sipping her coffee and eyeing Rose. Rose tipped a box of blocks on the floor, sending them crashing to the ground. “You should put your work on that craft website, Etsy, we talked about. I bet you could sell a lot, cut out the middle man.”

  “Maybe; I just can’t get organized.” I looked at Rose, and raised an eyebrow at Zoe. Rose threw a block at the old, boxy television. I made an exasperated noise in the back of my throat. “Everything takes time and money. Two things I don’t have.”

  “Why don’t I help you with that?”

  “With what? Etsy? I guess. If you feel like it.”

  “Sure, it’s no biggie. Our TV sucks anyway.” She clicked the remote, turning the channel to cartoons. Rose squealed and stood up in front of the television to dance to the “Elmo’s World” song. Zoe sat in front of the ancient computer that sprawled over an even more ancient desk at the far end of the living room.

  I’d been meaning to get onto Etsy for ages. I just never had the time or patience to deal with it. Our Internet connection was a joke. Every time I sat down to learn how to get my dresses on the website, there was always some catastrophe to manage.

  “This looks totally easy,” Zoe said over her shoulder.

  “Okay, computer genius, don’t brag.” I chuckled at her while I cut pattern pieces, and she clicked away at the keyboard.

  After a few hours, I had a dress cut out and most of the major seams sewn. I went upstairs to put Rose down for her morning nap. When I came downstairs, Zoe asked me what I wanted to call my craft store. I felt totally stumped. I hadn’t even thought about my business name. I wasn’t even operating legally yet.

  While I sewed the sleeves to the bodice, I mulled over a name. I wanted it to represent my life and who and where I was. “Call it Clemency by Claire MacKenna.” It meant mercy, something I needed very badly.

  “Clemency, huh? That sounds kind of cool.”

  I finished the seams for my first dress and got ready to sew the zipper when I saw the mailman out the dining room window. I needed a break, so I hopped up from my chair and trotted out to the front yard with Bradly panting at my heels. He gave the departing mailman a few token barks.

  I pulled the mail from the box and flipped through the letters. It was mostly overdue bills, which didn’t help my mood. I flipped over a letter from Social Services and ripped it open. They had denied our reapplication for food stamps. I turned the letter over in my hands, examining it for clues.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, standing in the open door.

  “What is it?” Zoe turned to look at me, a worried expression on her face.

  “They cut our food stamps. It says we’ve passed our limit, and Regan needs to get a job.”

  “Great…” Zoe’s tone was sarcastic. She turned back to the computer and kept working on the website. “They already cut us down to almost nothing anyway. It doesn’t make a big difference at this point.”

  “Even a hundred dollars makes the difference between a week of groceries and nothing.”

  “I’ll bring more leftovers home from work. Don’t worry, Claire — you’re going to have an aneurysm.”

  She was right. I was practically having a panic attack. I crumbled up the paper and threw it in the trash. I shut the door abruptly with a loud crash. Rose made a startled noise from upstairs. Great.

  I ran upstairs and brought her back down with me. After giving her some crackers and a sippy cup of juice, I put her in her playpen. She started crying and threw her toys on the ground. Exasperated, I put her on the floor and let her watch “Clifford the Big Red Dog” on TV. She crawled under the coffee table and pulled Bradly’s tail. He yelped and jumped on the couch. Rose made her way under the coffee table and climbed up on the couch to continue harassing the dog.

  “Rose, be careful!” I ran over and set her back down on the floor. Zoe got off the computer and sat on the couch with Rose. Bradly nipped playfully as Rose batted at his face, yelling, “Doggie, doggie, doggie!”

  With Zoe playing referee, I picked up my dress and stared at the line where the zipper should be. The last thing I
needed was another financial burden. The mystery of the missing cash pounded in my head.

  “Zoe. I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to get freaked out.”

  “You’re freaking me out just saying that.” She had her feet on the coffee table, watching public television cartoons. She wasn’t freaked out. Zoe didn’t panic easily.

  “I had like three hundred bucks in cash from my dresses in my top drawer the other day, and the morning after Regan had that guy here, it disappeared.”

  She turned to me, her mouth hanging open. “Mother fucker.”

  “The worst part is that when I went into her room, I found a needle. It had drops of brown liquid in it.”

  “No… Do you think Regan is using?”

  “I don’t know, Zoe. I want to believe she isn’t. You know there’s a heroin problem in this town. That’s what Jessy was taking. She spends an awful lot of time out somewhere. Is she even here now? When is the last time you saw her? She mentioned she’d met Toby at The Clutch.”

  “Ew. That place is gross,” Zoe said, scrunching up her nose.

  “I know. I wouldn’t go there if you paid me.”

  “She does act like a freak all the time now. She’s always hanging on some guy or other. It kind of weirds me out. I just thought it was because of her, you know, issues.”

  “I don’t know for sure. I don’t know if she took the money or if she’s using. When I confronted her, she freaked out and said a bunch of horrible things to me. I swear it’s like she knows exactly what to say to hurt me. You know what I mean?”

  “Uh, yeah! Regan has been a serious bitch since Mom died.”

  “We can’t blame her, Zoe. She’s sick. I just wish she’d accept it and deal with it in a healthy way. If she admitted to her illness, she could get the help she needs — her meds, therapy, all that.”

  “She won’t admit it. She thinks everyone else has the problem.”

  I sighed and went back to my sewing. Regan used to teach piano lessons before Mom died. She had always been a prodigy. Mother paid for her music lessons from the time she was five. Regan even went to special camps throughout most of her childhood and teens. She had been accepted to a private music school in high school, but Mom couldn’t pay the tuition. I’d had to stand in the shadow of a sister who was a musical genius. Regan never made me feel like I was less because of it. She’d always been my hero.

  She had her choice of colleges when she graduated high school. Instead of going to college, Regan decided to stay home and give piano lessons to kids. No one understood why. She said she didn’t want to deal with the pressure of college. Even before her illness became full-blown, there had been signs.

  After we got her out of the psych hospital, a doctor explained to me that mental illnesses like bipolar disorder and schizophrenia tend to manifest in the late teens and early twenties. That was why Regan seemed to be normal growing up but then one day she snapped.

  The change in her was abrupt and obvious. She had been a little odd before the shift, but afterwards she was a different person. It became impossible to have a normal conversation with her. Her behavior was chaotic and unpredictable. She could go from depressed in the morning to manic at night. Sometimes she spouted out her delusions or slung horrifying insults. It was as if the real Regan was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen: Damien

  I strolled through the door of my apartment with my bags in my hands and set everything on the small dining room table that sat between the kitchen and the living room.

  I looked around the bright little apartment. It was nice to be away from the clubhouse with its dark, musty rooms and loud alcohol-fueled parties. I’d left Martel a list of necessities for the shop and got out of there.

  Living alone would allow me to keep the strict diet and workout schedule I’d kept back in LA. My routine had been destroyed at the clubhouse. Now I could get back on track.

  When I was done putting everything away, I went downstairs. I wandered down Main Street on the wide sidewalk in the bright summer sun. Some girls across the street stopped dead in their tracks and stared at me. I squinted at them, surprised.

  I was used to girls finding me attractive, but in LA, there were tons of guys who looked better than I did. In this small town, I was something of an oddity. I smiled at them and continued down the sidewalk.

  There was a larger chain grocery store further up the highway, but I preferred the nutrition I could get at the health food store around the corner.

  Inside the store, it smelled of scented candles and freshly cut flowers. I picked up a basket and filled it with fruits and vegetables. I turned down the bulk foods aisle and found whey protein powder and brown rice. After that, I picked up lean protein foods like chicken, fish, and beans.

  Satisfied that I could reboot my diet, I went to the checkout counter. The girl there was in her early twenties, with long brown dreadlocks and a lip piercing. A tattoo of waves encircled her wrist. She batted her eyelashes at me.

  “I like your tats. Where did you get them?” she asked.

  “A buddy of mine traded with me for his.”

  “You’re a tattoo artist?” She seemed like she might faint as she scanned my food.

  “Yep. I’m opening a shop in town. Tell all your friends,” I said with a bit of a sarcastic tone. Then I realized it was probably a good idea to get some buzz going. “It will be right around the corner at the end of Main Street. Grand opening is in about a week or so. Appointments are filling up fast.”

  “Oh. My. God. That’s awesome. Wow. There’s no tattoo artist in this town. We have to go to Ukiah or to Eureka to get our work done. People are going to freak out.” She finished scanning my groceries and put them in paper bags.

  She waved goodbye to me, and I headed out with two bags in my hands. They had those convenient handles, so it was easy to carry them all the way back to my place. When I got inside, I made myself lemon salmon with brown rice.

  I thought of Claire and wondered what she was doing. I wanted to go see her or to bring her back to my new apartment. That girl drove me crazy.

  I cleaned off my plate and considered going to her house just to check on her. She had a lot on her plate, and her life revolved around taking care of others. Most women I knew had lives that revolved entirely around themselves.

  Claire’s home was full of people, not to mention her baby and crazy dog. I needed to find a way to get her alone again. I dialed her number, just wanting to hear her voice. I listened to the phone ring, and was about to hang up when her breathless voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Damien.”

  “Hi. How are you?” Her voice sounded shy and young.

  “I just moved into my own place.”

  “You got a place in town?”

  “Yep, and those high-paying clients are helping me open a shop.”

  “Wow, fantastic.”

  “You can come over to my apartment so I can finish your shading. I’d like to spend some time with you.”

  “Damien. I… I like you. I had fun on our ride the other night. I can’t believe all the stuff I told you. You’re a sweet guy. I just don’t know if I can get involved right now. There’s too much going on with me. I’m trying to open this dress website, and my sister is out of control. I mean, do you really want to date a woman with a baby? Think about it.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Claire. I’ve got my own place now. We can figure those things out. I’m not going to disappear into the night. You can trust me. We’ll just take things slow. Okay?”

  “Maybe. I’ve got to go. Rose needs her bath.

  I hung up the phone, wishing the conversation had gone better. For the rest of the night I watched ESPN on my brand new HD flat screen.

  In the morning, there was a shout from the street below my window. I leaned my head outside and saw Martel and some other guys with a U-Haul parked in front of the shop.

  “We’re moving in your gear, kid. Better get do
wn here and tell us where to put it,” shouted Bill.

  I couldn’t believe Martel already had all my gear. That dude must have pulled some serious strings to get the equipment I needed on such short notice. I ran down the stairs through the hallway, outside, and around the building to where the truck was parked.

  “Holy fuck, how did you pull this off?” I asked Martel.

  “It’s not a big deal. Some of the stuff you asked for is still on special order. It might take a few days. Everything else was easy enough to find.”

  I watched as they unloaded boxes and equipment into the shop. Inside, I directed them where to put everything. They placed a custom counter about one-third of the way between the front and the back of the shop.

  In the back, they installed the tattoo chair and brought in a light box and a drafting table for drawings. On another counter along the back wall, they unpacked boxes of inks, needles, tracing paper, and sanitary supplies.

  There were stainless steel carts, new guns, an autoclave, and all the other myriad supplies I needed to run a tattoo shop. Martel even bought me a computerized booking and cash register system that I could use with a touchpad. All the software was already loaded.

  “Looks like that’s it,” said Martel, looking around the shop. “This is going to be a nice little addition to the community. Should bring in a profit real fast.”

  “Well, thanks, Martel. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just do your work. That’ll be thanks enough. I’ll take care of all the paperwork with the city and state. You should be getting another box shipped here later today with the rest of your supplies. You’ll be good to go as soon as we get your business paperwork filed.”

  “You’ve got your first client already,” said Bill. Bill had never had me tattoo him. And I could understand why; I’d fucking hated him. He knew I could have easily given him an ugly-ass tat. Since he’d given me a ride yesterday, we were on better terms.