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“Then I guess, baby, you and I are going to learn some defensive moves.”
“We are?” Lucia asked. She shook her head. “Yes, you’re right. We are.”
“So, tell me, is there anything else you have wanted to do?” he asked. “You got your hair cut. What else would you like to do?”
“You mean, besides learning self-defense?”
“Besides that.”
He had every intention of teaching Lucia how to take care of herself. It was important she knew.
“I thought about going back to school, but I have no idea what I would learn. There is so much to be studied. Dad only wanted us to attend high school and graduate. After that, it was about finding a husband.”
“And now, you can do anything. You want me to pick up a couple of brochures?”
“You’d do that?”
“Lucia, I’m offering.”
She nodded. “Yes, yes, I’d love that.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. It was just stupid stuff. Like, go shopping without having to ask permission. Get my hair cut. Take long walks. Maybe one day get a dog.”
“A dog?”
“Yeah, a dog. I’d like a dog. We were never allowed them back home because my dad is allergic, and he refused to take any kind of medication to help. It was his house anyway, his rules, and if he didn’t want to get a dog, he didn’t have to get a dog.” She shrugged.
She was trying to hide her feelings, but he saw them. It hurt her that he refused to budge on the dog. He made a note to think about looking for one.
Nancy came and brought their food. She didn’t linger, just hoped they enjoyed it, and then she was off again, serving more customers.
“A tattoo,” Lucia said.
Now this did intrigue him. “A tattoo?”
“Yeah, I don’t know, maybe a dolphin, or a rose, or a flower of some kind.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps my hip, or someplace where only I can see.”
“Or your husband?” he asked.
She licked her lips and did she even realize her gaze fell to his lips? “What’s it like?”
He truly believed she was talking about sex, but he had a niggling feeling that wasn’t the case. “What?”
“Getting a tattoo. You have so many, and I just ... does it hurt?”
Over the years, he had gotten many different kinds of ink. The first was on his back and chest, to hide a couple of bullet wounds. This had been his father’s technique. It wasn’t about hiding the marks, but knowing what each one meant.
Not all of his ink symbolized a near-death experience. Several of them did, but he survived, obviously. Some of the ink he’d gotten just for the fun of it.
“It depends what you can take. Some parts of your body hurt more than others. Where would you want it?” he asked.
She pointed to her hip. “I think, but I’m not sure. No one would be able to see it, but I would know it was there.”