Page 97 of Home Safe

I’m instantly laughing along with her, picturing Griffin lying on the floor to get a simple shot. “I finally have something good to tease him about,” I say.

“You’re most welcome,” Samantha replies. “Now let’s go before we miss my appointment time.”

We head inside, where the tattoo artist leads us back to the chair. He pulls up an extra seat for me on the opposite side of Samantha from him, and she shows him the drawing of what she wants tattooed on her left wrist. When the tattoo artist leaves briefly to answer the phone, Samantha looks to me. “Um, Danae? Would you mind if I hold your hand while he does the tattoo?”

“Of course, I don’t mind,” I say, holding my hand out to her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I don’t have a fear of needles or anything,” Samantha says. Her voice gets quieter. “But sometimes physical pain . . . I can sometimes have a hard time controlling my response to sudden pain. Holding your hand will help.”

I give her hand a squeeze as the tattoo artist returns and disinfects her skin to prep for the tattoo. She’s breathing methodically in through her nose, out through her mouth as he prepares to begin.

“Why don’t you tell me about the meaning of the tattoo?” I say, hoping to distract her thoughts. “Why the bird on the branch?”

“Oh, it’s because of a painting my mom has in their living room,” Samantha begins. She flinches and tightens her grip on my hand at the first touch of the needle. Closing her eyes, she takes more calculated breaths.

“What’s in the painting?” I prompt.

“It’s a big tree with tons of branches, and it’s like you can see below the surface of the soil to the root system as well. There are fourteen birds flying above the tree, and five birds perched in the branches,” Samantha says, slowly relaxing as the artist continues his work. “Mom always said she wanted their home—for her and my dad—to be a safe place for kids to land, for however long that might be. The birds flying above the tree represent all the kids who eventually moved on from their home, and the five in the tree represent her forever kids. I’m pretty sure she stops by that painting every morning and thinks about each individual child those birds represent. Prays for all of our wellbeing.”

The tattoo artist must have struck a nerve because Samantha flinches again. I trace a soothing pattern on her hand with my thumb.

“I’d love to see the painting someday. What made you decide to get this tattoo now?” I ask.

“Two reasons, really. One, I want a visible reminder that I’m loved and I belong. For any time that I’m tempted to doubt it. I know it’s probably hard for you to look at how amazing my parents are—at how amazing Griffin is—and think that I could ever doubt that. But trauma does weird things to your sense of reality sometimes,” Samantha says, blowing out another slow breath. “And two, I want it to be a sort of motivation to find my own place to roost now.”

“What do you mean?”

Samantha’s expression is thoughtful as she searches for the words to explain. “Lately, I’ve been feeling like I don’t really have any clear direction in my life. Coming up here to live with Griffin and help him out was supposed to be a short-term gig, something to do while I figured out what I wanted todo. But I still haven’t figured out what that is.”

“I know that Griffin loves having you here, though, Samantha,” I say. “It’s not like Griffin’s going to kick you out.”

She smiles. “I know. The big softie is wrapped around my finger. Both our fingers,” she says with a wink. “But seeing him with you and Jason made me realize I need to put some serious thought into whatIwant for my life. Because he’s not going to need me forever.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Even if Griffin and I are together long term—”

“Get married. You can say it,” Samantha says with a mischievous smile.

Rolling my eyes but smiling back, I say, “Okay, even if weget married, that still doesn’t mean we wouldn’t want you around. Or that Griffin couldn’t still use your help as his assistant.”

“I know,” she says. Our conversation is successfully distracting her thoughts, if her loosened grip on my hand is any indication. “But having my parents here and seeing Ian last weekend, it reminded me that I do want to have a real direction for my life. A real career. Ian is so driven and so smart, and I’m so stinkin’ proud of him, but . . .”

“But?”

“It’s hard not to feel like a lame screw-up in comparison to him. He doesn’t have any of the same issues I had at school with focusing or learning. Makes me feel a little dumb sometimes,” she admits.

“Just because you don’t have ambitions to be a research scientist doesn’t mean you’re dumb, Samantha,” I say. “We all have strengths and passions that lead us to different ways of having an impact. What sort of things do you like to do?”

“Talking to people,” Samantha says, grinning. I can’t help but laugh. “For real, I do enjoy talking to people. I’ve learned a lot of social skills from Griffin, to be honest. Watching the human can opener do his thing constantly couldn’t help but rub off on me. I like asking questions and drawing people out or giving advice. But I don’t think I could handle working as a social worker or therapist or anything like that,” she says, hesitating.

“I can confirm that you’re good at talking, asking questions, and helping other people,” I encourage her. “I’m confident you can find a way to use your talents that doesn’t require tons of academic work. We’ll brainstorm.”

“Really?” she asks, and the expression in her eyes is strikingly vulnerable.

“List-making happens to be my area of greatest expertise,” I say, gratified by the smile that spreads across her face.

“All done,” the tattoo artist announces, turning off the needle. “Look okay to you?”

Samantha holds her wrist up to inspect the adorable, tiny bird perched on a branch.

---