Page 49 of PS: I Hate You
But Josh is not here to answer for his crimes. Still, I can hear his teasing voice as if he were standing next to me.
Time to get you out of your comfort zone, Magpie.
Well, he’d succeeded. Being around Dom is the most uncomfortable zone I could be in.
Dom frowns down at me. “Combined them?”
I mentally bring up a map. “Aren’t South Dakota and North Dakota just north of here? We could’ve knocked three out in one go.”
Dom’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t disagree.
I want him to argue with me. Whenever I think about how he held my hand for that brief moment in the canyon and used my birthday as a safe combination and found a cozy cabin to stay in because I hate hotels, my thoughts crash and collide in a jumble I can’t sort through. I need the simplicity of animosity.
“Are you ready for the letter?” Dom changes the subject by pulling an envelope from his shoulder bag.
Kansasis scrawled across the creamy paper followed by a set of coordinates that led us here, to the street outside this old theater. I glance up at the marquee to see they have the latest Tom Cruise action movie out but also are running a classic.
Jurassic Park.
Good choice, I silently say to Josh, almost smiling. I wonder if he somehow knew the theater would be playing one of our go-to movies, or if this was a lucky turn of fate. When Dom told me the destination, I was grateful the task would only involve sitting in a dark theater where we don’t have to talk to each other. I just hope Josh doesn’t expect us to sprinkle his ashes in the popcorn maker or something.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Dom hands the missive to me, and I ignore the spike of awareness that prickles across my nerves when our fingers brush. Gently, I tear the flap open and slip out the words from my brother.
Another piece of him.
Dear Maddie & Dom,
Welcome to Kansas!
This is a trip I truly regret missing, especially now that I know you two are taking it in my place.
On my travels, I met all kinds of people, and sometimes those chance encounters had unexpected results. I took a picture one time, and that single shot earned me a favor I never got to cash in. But I called, explained my situation, and asked that the debt be transferred to you.
Reggie and Carmen were happy to oblige.
If you followed my coordinates correctly, you should see a shop called Ink Ever After.
I pause reading, surprised that he named somewhere other than the theater.
Did we get the coordinates wrong?
“Hell, Josh,” Dom mutters.
I follow his stare across the street and immediately see what caught his eye. There, sitting tucked between a dry cleaner and a florist, is a shop with colorful designs painted on the window and a sign above the door that says:Ink Ever After.
And beneath the name…Custom Tattoos.
“This is a joke!” When my shrill exclamation reminds me of Aunt Florence at the funeral, I cringe, but quickly get over it and press on. “Josh isn’t expecting us to get one, is he? I mean, I want to get a tattoo. Eventually. When I decide on the right thing. And thoroughly vet the artist.”
Dom is silent as I pace on the sidewalk and rant about the injustice. I stop to drag in a few deep breaths, worried that just the thought of what this letter is asking will bring on an asthma attack. Dom reaches out to pluck the paper from my lax fingers.
Then the unaffected asshole keeps reading.
If you can’t tell from the outside, it’s a tattoo shop.
Calm down, Maddie. I can hear you panicking beyond the grave.