Page 34 of A Guardian for Christmas

Esme shook her head. “Trust me, you don’t want to take a look at my house.”

I let it go.

Later that night, we stole Briar’s car and drove to the tattoo parlor, where I tattooed the little cardinal on her wrist.

As I was working on her, she asked, “What does Stay Down mean?”

I get comments on my knuckle tats all the time. But never that question. Most people who come into Faded Ink already know things about me, or they assume they know just by looking at me.

But Esme’s question makes me pause my work on her wrist. Her liquid blue eyes are wide and curious. She’s brilliant; I can see that. But there’s something strangely sheltered about this girl. I can’t put my finger on what it is about her. She’s sheltered but untethered at the same time.

“It means if some asshole sees my fist flying at their face and they go down, they better stay there.”

“Were you a professional fighter at one time, or…?”

“I got that after I left the Army,” I say. The word “Left” is carrying a lot of baggage, which makes me feel like a real asshole.

“Oh?”

Just like I thought, there’s no hiding or omitting anything with Esme.

“It’s a cover-up tattoo,” I say.

“The same words were tattooed on my fingers while I was at La Grange. I just made it look better.”

She blinked.

I’ll let her google what that means later. The Kentucky State Reformatory.

“If I’m scaring you, we can stop right now and you can go.”

She laughed. “Go? With a half-done tattoo? No thanks.”

“Got any more questions about me?”

“None of my business, but you’re free to tell me why you have a fighting tattoo on your knuckles.”

“I used to have a problem with my temper,” is what I said. “But I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Life.”

“What’s your secret? Because my life could use some figuring out.”

The conversation flowed after that, primarily about book recommendations. Esme reads a disturbing amount of horror and true crime, but I’m not here to judge. I gave her several books to check out. Thich Nhat Hanh. Dogen. Satouchi Jakucho.

“We would make the weirdest book club ever, Sagan.”

That was the first time Esme said my name.

I finished inking her little cardinal all too soon.

Esme didn’t flinch under the needle, not once. Then, Briar found her, collected her, and they went home.

That was the last time I saw Esme. Until today.

Rowan warned me to stay away when I asked him about her. I knew his girl Briar and Esme were friends. He ended up spilling the beans on Esme’s identity. Not that I gave a shit that she was an heiress of massive proportions.

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