Page 25 of Goldilocks
“I have to work on assignments,” Sam declined.
“On the boat?” Eric asked.
“On the boat,” Sam confirmed. “I’ll set some pots while I’m out there.”
“And meet up for that boat party?” Ivan said with a smile. “I’m jealous. Nobody invites me to boat parties.”
“Invites or forces?” Eric asked, frowning again.
Ivan rolled his eyes and peeled away from them. “Walk together to the boat. I’ll swing back for you in ten.”
Was Eric always grumpy? Sam wondered. “I’m docked at the far pier, all the way at the end,” he told Ivan, pointing him in the right direction.
Ivan got into his car and pulled away, leaving Sam and Eric to a painfully awkward silence Sam wished someone was there to fill. Even starting to walk was awkward, a jerk and a misstep before they found a matching stride.
“You never answered me inside,” Eric said.
“You asked me something?”
“Your college course,” Eric prompted.
“Right. I’m doing a general arts degree. I picked out classics, business, and accounting modules,” Sam explained. “It’s my first year, so I can try out a few and see what I like best. Then stick to those.” He didn’t get enough points in the leaving cert for the specialised business course, so he had to do the arts degree and get in that way.
They walked along the path, and Sam cast his gaze to the clouds in the distance. It was pushing 7 p.m., and a light sprinkle of rain had been promised that evening. That left him a few hours to work in good weather. Not that the rain would stop him. It just meant he wouldn’t be able to paint Devil if he came knocking.
“Thanks for those paints, by the way,” Sam said.
Eric’s frown vanished, his lips twitching up into a half smile. “You used to be obsessed with painting. Every other day you’d be begging me and Dad for new paints, new pencils, new sketchbooks.”
Sam remembered asking his dad for paints when he was very young.
“I’ll get you some more,” Eric continued jovially. “What do you prefer to use now? Acrylic? Water paints? Oils?”
Sam suspected Eric would deflate if he said no again. “Everything, but usually acrylic. Same as you got me the other day.” He thought about it for a second, gaze drawn to Eric’s tattooed arms. “What’s it like working in a parlour? Drawing tattoos for a living seems pretty cool.”
“I enjoy it,” Eric said. “Ivan designs all day, and I ink his work onto skin. Like he said inside, I’m completely hopeless at drawing anything original – but if I’m copying, I can do just about anything. I…”
Sam continued a few steps down the boardwalk to his boat before he noticed that Eric had stopped. He glanced behind him. Eric was frozen on the threshold of where the pedestrian walkway along the wharf became a pier jutting out into the ocean, the blood draining from his face.
“Eric…” Sam stepped forward, alarmed. He reached for his elbow, and Eric reeled back, head jerking toward him. His pupils were blown wide, the green of his irises reduced to thin rings. Sam stilled, hand outstretched. After a second, he lowered it. “Are you okay? Should I call Ivan? Maybe you should sit down.”
Eric seemed to have difficulty swallowing. His hands, tightened to fists, unwound in twitches. “I’m fine,” he said.
He obviously wasn’t.
“Let’s walk this way.” Sam stepped off the pier. He didn’t reach for Eric again, but Eric turned toward him, following seemingly on autopilot. Sam went to the nearest bench and sat. He didn’t say anything, and after a second, Eric joined him. Pale. Holding his shoulders high in tension.
Sam made a purposeful effort to relax his own body, letting his hands lie slack on his lap, stretching his legs out in front of himself and dropping his shoulders. He released a long, slow exhale.
“Who owns the tattoo parlour?” Sam asked.
“Ivan does.”
“He seems like a fun boss to have,” Sam said. “What’s that like? Working for someone your own age? Does he give you talks about behaving?”
Eric scowled. “If anything, I have to givehimtalks about behaving. He always takes on the longest, hardest jobs every other parlour turns away, and he’ll stay up all hours of the night working if I don’t stop him.” Eric’s breaths evened as he spoke. “Ivan was at the bus stop when I got off. Everyone else went off right away except me. I just stood there, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing, and he struck up a conversation. He left home when he was fifteen, and he had a room in the city. He let me stay with him, and we’ve been together ever since.” A steady calm seemed to wash over Eric. “I’m sorry.”
Was he apologising for his panic or for running away? Neither required an apology.