Page 39 of Tru Blue
Gemma checked the goody bags one last time. The leafy skirt on her Princess Gardenia outfit swished noisily with each step. She reached across the table, lifting the colorful blooms and ivy that snaked around her arms to keep them from tangling in the bows on the bags. Then she swished her way to the registration desk to get the special tiara for the birthday girl and couldn’t resist sneaking another peek at the drawing Truman had left in an envelope taped to the front door of the boutique this morning. Her eyes swept over the image of the dragon she’d first seen in his sketch pad and the note he’d left with it. Her heart lurched, as it had the first three times she’d read it. He’d left a picture on the door yesterday morning, too. Another dark and telling drawing from his sacred sketch pad. Shades of angry blacks and grays, without a spec of color on the page. Pictures he’d made clear he didn’t share with anyone. And yet he’d left two for her here at the shop even after she’d run out of his apartment without a word of explanation. The first picture he’d left taped to the door had been the face pushing through a tight opening, contorted in a scream, teeth bared, with two hands trying to force the tight space open wider. The note he’d written on that one had been straightforward and heartrending—You know my story. I have nothing else to hide. She imagined the picture was Truman’s self-portrait of life behind bars, or maybe it was him trying to break free from the life he’d been born into. She didn’t know if she was right or if she was on the wrong path altogether, but she wanted to know.
Her mind traveled back to the note he’d left in her car the night she’d picked it up at the shop, when she’d seen him slamming some guy against a car. That note had been heartfelt and simple, though she knew it had probably been terribly difficult for him to write—I’m sorry for my past, and I understand why you wouldn’t want any part of me or my life, but I promise you, I’m not a bad guy. The kids and I miss you. Tru. She had no explanation for what she’d seen, and strangely, that didn’t scare her. For Truman to treat a person like that, she imagined they deserved it. She wasn’t sure why she had such faith in him, especially after hearing about his past, but something inside her told her she should. And no matter how many times she told herself she shouldn’t, she ignored the advice.
Each note had revealed a little more of the man he was. But the note he left today with the picture of the dragon contained a piece of his soul—Chasing the dragon is slang for inhaling the vapor from heated morphine, heroine, oxycodone, and other drugs. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to slay the dragon that lured my mother into death and swallowed my brother whole. We miss you. Tru.
She stared at the note. I miss you, too. All three of you.
“Princess Gardenia,” Crystal called from across the room, startling Gemma out of her stupor. “It’s time for the birthday girl’s crown.”
She snagged the tiara, pasted on the practiced smile that had gotten her through her youth, and went to give the performance of a lifetime.
“DO YOU THINK I need to hire a babysitter?” Truman asked Dixie as he fed Lincoln. The shop had been closed for an hour, but he and Bear were working late, and Dixie had stuck around to play with the kids.
“Absolutely not,” Dixie said, lifting Kennedy into her arms. “These are Whiskey babies as much as they’re Gritt babies now.”
“She’s right, you know. We might need someone to come in and help when the little guy starts to crawl, but right now we can handle it.” Bear reached for Kennedy and Dixie turned her shoulder so he couldn’t take her away. She nuzzled Kennedy’s neck, causing an eruption of giggles.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Truman had been thinking the same thing. He hated the idea of having someone else watch the kids. He couldn’t imagine not having them with him twenty-four seven. He thought all he wanted was for the kids to be safe and happy, but he realized that wasn’t enough. He and Kennedy both missed Gemma. And although Lincoln couldn’t ask for her, like Kennedy could, he had a feeling he missed her, too. Truman missed everything about her. Her smiles, her sassy repertoire, and even her annoyingly invasive questions. But most of all, he missed the way she looked at him, the way she touched him—a hand here, a finger down his cheek—and he missed the love she showed the children every minute of the day. Longing filled him every time Kennedy said her name.
