Page 112 of Jagged

Her grin, nearly ear to ear, met her eyes in a way that set them to twinkling. It wasn't the same way she looked at Wyatt or Reagan or even me, but the only emotion I could read was joy. After so many years of struggling to make rent, answering phones at the tattoo shop, of taking half-baked jobs in tiny galleries for short stints, creating work for other artists, surviving on commissions by drawing pet portraits or wedding photos. Her first gallery show brought in more income than three years' worth of work, maybe more, and the realization of such brought both of us to an unusual silence. Tatiana stared down at the envelope in her hands, her expression stunned for a moment.

"Might need a police escort to the bank," she muttered. "Did you open yours?"

"No…"

"Go on." She thwapped my arm and I pulled the folded envelope paper from the front pocket of my shirt.

"I don't know if I want to right now…"

"You don't have to." Tatiana squeezed my shoulder. "When you're ready."

"I am really happy for you though." I met her gaze then and her eyes brightened. "I'm proud of you, Tati."

"I know this is going to sound silly…" She drew in a slow breath. "But I feel like a real artist now." She held up her hand to stop me when I made to protest. "It's not that I wasn't before, but now, it feels legit. Validated. In my email this morning, I have two more invitations to participate in gallery shows. One is a group show with two other abstractionists, the other is just for me. At Seattle Center. Can you believe it?"

"Yeah." I chuckled when I said it. "Yeah, Tati. I can. You're incredible."

She wrapped her arms around me then, and her whole body trembled with excitement. I couldn't wipe the smile from my face as we celebrated her successes.

"C'mon. Mom is waiting with Reagan at the ice cream shop for a celebratory cone."

"Can't think of a better means of spending your first buck."

Her cackling laughter echoed at the same time as the last wrapped piece of her work was loaded onto the delivery truck. The loud door rolled shut, and with that, the final parting of her work. We stood together, side by side, watching it as it drove away. In a manner of feeling, it didn't code much different than seeing Reagan off to summer camp, except with her art, we knew it wouldn't be returning. It was a solemn goodbye, the sweetest of bitterness, but it was well-deserved, and more than earned.

The four of us shared giant ice cream cones, and a short walk back to the tattoo shop to meet up with Wyatt. To Tatiana's surprise, and no one else's of course, our friends threw a congratulations party for her, spinning rocking tunes well into the evening. I watched, through squinted eyes which for some reason made the loudness seem less loud, as the room showered Tati with glitter, bubbles, and balloons. Reagan had the time of her life jumping all over the place and giggling her head off while sliding around the soapy floor. Frankie joined her, and the two of them flopped around making glitter angels, which would probably be stuck in their hair for weeks.

From beyond the fray, I noticed a shadowy figure on the sidewalk outside hovering by the window sign. Only when I glimpsed the saddle shoes in the light by the front door did I realize it was Clementine. I dodged the crowd and made my way outside to her. She stood, staring at the giant multicolored neon sign of Frankie's name in the window.

"Hi," I said, moving to stand beside her when she didn't answer me. "What are we looking at?"

Again, she said nothing for several seconds until, "How can you stand it?"

"Stand what?"

"The sound."

"Yeah…the music is kind of loud."

"No, not that." She screwed up her face and pointed to the sign. "I can hear it."

It took me a moment to understand, a long moment. At first, I didn't know how to respond. Did I hear it? I mean, most neon signs buzz a little bit at times. I couldn't hear it right now over the completely aggravating booming base. "What's it sound like?" I decided on as a response.

"Electricity. Buzzing crazy electricity." She covered her ears briefly then paced back and forth twice. "I need to go in to see Tatiana. I want to congratulate her."

"Okay. I got this." When I noted the pacing as I had before, I understood that the sound not only annoyed her but truly got under her skin. I remembered the night at the lab when she needed to leave, and, because of her desire to not leave, as she voiced, my problem-solving brain took action. I swung inside the door, and yanked the sign's plug from the outlet.

Clem's pacing stopped immediately, and she slowly uncovered her ears. She gazed at the sign with her lips pursed for a moment, as if holding quite a grudge.

"Better?" I asked.

She nodded with a huff. "Are there tacos here?"

"Actually…" I fought the smirk that tugged at the corners of my mouth. "There are."

A smile met her lips then. "I was thinking about you today. Someone tagged the wall of the courthouse overnight and it was so good that I thought you might've done it." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Did you do it?"

"No." I laughed and held my hand out to her. "That was not my handiwork. I do, however, approve of the bright pink message celebrating women's liberty."

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