True Colors

“That sounds ominous.”

“What do you think about tattoos?”

Vivi Ann backed away from the fireplace and turned around. “I think everyone knows that I’m not anti-tattoo . . . for adults.”

“What if I wanted to get one?”

“I’d say the law is that you can get a tattoo at eighteen.”

“Sixteen, with a parent’s consent.”

“I see. And did you turn sixteen without my knowledge?”

“I’m just thinking ahead.”

“Really?”

“If I did get a tattoo, I’d want it where dad has his. Which arm was that?”

Vivi Ann looked suspicious. “You’ve never mentioned your father’s tattoo before.”

“Which arm was it on?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“See, Aunt Winona?” He walked out of the living room, muttering something about the Spanish Inquisition and slamming his bedroom door.

“What the hell was that about?” Vivi Ann asked.

“Where was Dallas’s tattoo?” Winona asked quietly.

“His left bicep. Why?”

“You’d better start talking,” Vivi Ann said a moment later. The sudden silence felt weighted. Dangerous. “What’s this about Dallas?”

“It’s about Noah, really. He came to my office a week ago, said he wanted to hire me.”

“He’s in legal trouble?”

“That’s what I thought. It’s why I took his case. But . . .”

“But what?”

“It turns out he was interested in his father.”

Vivi Ann nodded. “He’s been obsessed with Dallas lately. Why did he need you to find out that tattoo thing? I would have told him if he’d asked. Or is he afraid to ask me? Is that it? It is, isn’t it? He thinks I don’t want to tell him anything about Dallas.”

“He wants me to petition the court for a new DNA test. The methods are better now. But we both know Dallas won’t agree to it,” Winona added quickly.

It was like getting smacked in the chest when you weren’t expecting it. Vivi Ann stood up slowly, unable to quite look at her sister. It took everything she had inside of her not to run. “I need to go talk to Noah. You should leave.”

“We’re okay, aren’t we?” Winona asked, rising.

“Sure.”

They both knew it was a lie, and a necessary one. Their reconciliation had always demanded a certain fiction, a tacit pretense that Dallas hadn’t really come between them. Now, of course, he was back, between them as clearly as if he’d been standing in the room.

Without saying more, she headed toward Noah’s bedroom. At his door, she knocked hard a couple of times. There was no answer, so she went inside.