Spilling Ink

Elsewhere it was evening. And that meant reservations and a packed Cobalt Crescent. That evening it was full of various socialites and other elites with whom Mac had no chance of ever fraternizing or perhaps even being in the same room at any other time. He gulped, looking up at it, the guards armed to the teeth and faces kept to an intimidating neutral. Somehow the atmosphere felt different than when he went here with Ink.

Sugar Belle had rented a limo for the two of them, picking Mac up at the house hours after Braeburn had left, much to his surprise and much to his siblings’ ire. She had dressed in her best outfit yet, a silvery, form-fitting gown that ended in translucent mermaid’s tails. Her face had been also spiced up. A fine layer of makeup, enough to highlight her features but not too much so as to make her look like she was wearing an actual mask, was set around her lengthened eyelashes and dazzling smile.

Mac couldn’t help but feel a little underdressed with his simple suit, but Sugar Belle had insisted it was okay. Still, looking at the other couples that came out of other limos, he felt a sense of detachment he could only explain as embarrassment.

He nearly ran into Sugar Belle when she stopped in front of one of the guards. The guard asked for their ticket to show their reservation, and as Sugar Belle dug into her purse for it, the guard looked at Mac for a moment, and his frown deepened. “You seem familiar,” the guard said.

Aw, crap; he recognizes me! “I jus’ have one of those faces,” Mac said, trying for a smile. The guard didn’t return one.

Sugar Belle showed her their ticket. He nodded and opened the door for them, letting them inside.

It was so much like that evening he had spent with Ink, he had half the mind to think he had traveled back in time to then. The same richness, the same suffocatingly high-class atmosphere, the same music, the same walls, the same paintings—they were all there; though, he supposed, he shouldn’t have expected anything to have changed. Heck, he even had to swerve out of the way of yet another white-apron-wearing waiter carrying a platter of boiled lobsters, just as he had on that very same night. And if he wasn’t mistaken, after they had spoken to another waiter, they were led to the same set of seats—he almost thought he was being played for a fool, then.

“Well!” Sugar Belle said cheerfully. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”

“It sure is…” Mac failed to hide his lack of enthusiasm, the gloominess seeping into his voice much as the high-class gossip seeped into the air.

Sugar Belle looked at him. “What’s wrong, Mac?”

“Nothin’. It’s just… it’s different,” he decided on, thinking that was a good enough answer.

Sugar Belle offered a bright smile. “I suppose it is. It’s not quite like the diners or any other place we’ve been to before, is it?”

“Eeyup.”

The waiter came by, read off the specials, which were not the same, thank goodness, and asked them for drinks. “Water,” Mac said. Sugar Belle gave something that sounded vaguely Prench, vaguely Latineigh, something he could not repeat. The waiter nodded, and then went off.

“This is lovely,” Sugar Belle said again, as if she needed to reiterate the point in order for it to be true.

Mac simply nodded. He was going over his head the potential price of the whole meal, how much he would be expected to pay. Oh, God, it would be a lot. Well, maybe he could work it off, but it would take a sizeable dent in his wallet.

He wondered if Santiago was around, if he was willing to fulfill another favor, but not one by Granny, but by him, Big Mac. Wouldn’t that be swell, he was thinking. But if all debts had been paid off, what chance was there in asking for a gracious act?

“Mac?”

He looked back at Sugar Belle. “Yeah?”

She was smiling, but her smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. “It’s okay if you feel intimidated by all this. Just focus on me, okay? Just focus on me.”

He simply nodded again. The evening went on.

***

When they came to the hospital it was all quiet. It was a strange sensation to enter into a hospital that had no sounds. All was a peaceful quiet, and that to Ink meant nothing good. If there were noises then there were people who were alive, and when it was quiet all she could think about were morgues and graveyards.

Shaking those dark thoughts away, she entered first, Braeburn trailing behind her. They had left the carriage outside, the horses on standby. The guards Braeburn had instructed to go home; their payment would be sent shortly. So they went in and they saw the the lobby was empty, and the guards were looking a bit bored.

She came to the receptionist. “I’m here to see my mother, Glory Quill,” she said, her breath escaping her far too quickly. “I… I was told it was very important.”

“Oh, yes. Head on down to the ICU—you know the way?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She went. Braeburn was finding it hard to keep up, because she was walking so quickly. She’d reached the end of the hall and was turning before she thought to slow, and even then she did not stop. Braeburn would have to catch up on his own time.

There were less beds full. That was what she first saw. She hoped that that meant only that the patients had been moved to far less intensive care areas, and not colder places and homes. Still it was all quiet save for the beeping, and even then it sounded dulled by the very air around them.

A curtain had been drawn around her mother’s room, blocking them from viewing. Nurse Golding was outside, and when she saw Ink, she came close and hugged her. “It’s good to see you, Ink,” she said, kissing the top of her head.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly and fiercely. “Is something wrong? Please, tell me—”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. In fact—” Nurse Golding smiled wide. Then she leaned back. “Glory? You almost finished?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Golding! Can’t a woman pee in peace?!”

Her. Oh my God.

“You have visitors! Better hurry up!”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…”

She was given a second, and then Nurse Golding pulled the curtain to the side. She was back on her bed, still thin, still covered in wires, still holding onto that breathing apparatus, but Ink was instantly drawn to her eyes. They were sparkling.

It was as though the air had been electrified. The two Quills stood there, staring at each other in shock, the beeping going off somewhere in the background, and Ink could feel Nurse Golding smiling, Braeburn confused, her mother still staring at her like she was seeing her for the first time—

… Is she? Oh my God.

Ink took a step. Her mother made a strange motion, and Ink realized it was her trying to get up; but she could not, for her muscles were flat and weak, and so she could only stare at Ink. Oh my God, Ink kept thinking.

She felt Braeburn come up behind her, and he said nothing, so she took another step. She stopped. They were now so close that Ink could have reached over and booped her on the nose. She wasn’t sure why that thought came into her mind. It felt right. It felt fitting. Her throat felt tight and constricted. Dry, too. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted to stay calm, but she could not.

Say something!

So, slowly, voice low and hopeful and terrified: “... Mom?”

Her mother stared at her… stared… stared… was silent.

And then, her lips broke apart into a smile. “Hello, Ink.”

***

“Mac, what’s wrong? Is the steak not cooked to your liking? I can flag down the waiter and he can have the chef cook it better.”

Mac was poking his food with his fork. It was a sirloin steak and it was cooked medium-rare. He didn’t mind that it was cooked this way. It was good, really, and so was the steamed broccoli, the mashed potatoes, the other green stuff he couldn’t pronounce; all of it, really, was excellent.

He looked up when Sugar Belle tapped her glass. “Ah… naw, it’s fine, Sugar Belle,” he said. “I… guess I’m not as hungry as I thought, heh.”

She frowned. “No, that’s not it.”

“It’s… not?”

“No. I can tell. You’re thinking about something, aren’t you? You always are.” Her frown deepened. “What, am I not interesting enough to you that you can’t just focus on me? You have to go off on your adventures through la-la-land now?”

He gaped at her, at the scorn in her voice. She seemed to realize what she had said, and let out a little gasp. “Oh… my. Mac, I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t know where that came from, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sorry if I came off as ignoring you.”

She smiled at that. “Aw… now that’s the Mac I fell in love with. Always so quick to forgive, aren’t you?”

Something in her tone bit at him, but he held his tongue, not wanting to confront it then.

He looked back down at his food, and suddenly decided he wasn’t hungry at all anymore. He put his utensils down, and took a drink.

Sugar Belle picked up a conversation they apparently had been having before. “So, I’ve been thinking about this study abroad program. You remember, don’t you?”

“Eeyup.”

“Yes, and it’s coming up soon. Well, not all that soon. Soon enough.”

“Thought it was happening after you graduated?”

“Well, that’s just it. That’s for the main program, but it’s also offering a bunch of other things for my major. Like, more experiences, more opportunities. I know, I know, that sounds like a pitch for college, but, well, what isn’t?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And, so, the thing is, these opportunities happen very early on; before I graduate, that’s when they’re open, I mean.”

“How early?”

“The earliest starts at the end of February.”

“Wow.”

“Right? I’m surprised. You know, the university said that they wouldn’t be able to scrape together enough funds, but I guess someone decided to dump a buttload of cash and, well, that’s why they’re able to put these things together.”

Her eyes reflected the lights above. They reminded Mac very much of Ink, actually. He wondered what she was doing right now, if she and Braeburn were having a better time than he was. Why did they have to come here? If only Sugar Belle had chosen someplace else.

“... but Daddy doesn’t want me to go alone. Says he doesn’t trust me to go out and do that alone just yet. You know him. He means well, but he can be a bit of a stickler.”

Mac didn’t say anything.

“So I was talking to him some time ago, and it took a lot, but I got him to settle on a compromise. He’d let me go and grab these opportunities, provided I had someone come along with me then.”

“That sounds fair.”

“It was the best I could come up with, the best I could get him to settle on. But, yeah. I need someone to come along, and soon.”

“Well, I’m sure Night Glider will be happy to help.” He took another sip. He was watching the back, where he saw Santiago talking to one of the chefs. Santiago looked over and saw him there. He frowned at Mac. He said something to the waiter, then moved out of Mac’s vision.

“No, no, see… well,” Sugar Belle said, “as much as I love Glider, she has other things she has to do.”

“What about your dad?”

“No, he doesn’t like to travel anymore.”

“Well, then, who?”

She giggled. “Oh, come on, you doofus! It’s not that hard.”

He found he didn’t like her calling him that, and he frowned. “Ya don’t have t’ tell me if you don’t want to, I guess.”

She noted his frown with one of her own. “W-well…”

Then she took a breath, steadying herself. She managed a smile. It was shaky. “I was going to make it a surprise for you later, but… I want you to come with me, Mac.”

He nodded. “Oh, that’s cool—”

Then he stopped. He looked at her. The words began to register. “... you want… me? To come with you?”

She nodded. “Yes, Mac. You. And only you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Santiago coming towards them. He was still frowning. Mac wondered if there would be trouble.

Sugar Belle didn’t notice. She cut up another piece of her meal, ate it. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I also know that you could use the travel. Going abroad, it’s such a grand thing, believe me. And I really would like to take these opportunities, Mac. Really. It would mean a lot. So you should come, you know. Since we are a couple and all.”

She was smiling brightly, but Mac wasn’t paying attention. He was torn between Santiago coming and what she was saying. “I mean,” he said, “I dunno. It’s jus’ so sudden.”

“The best things are,” she replied speedily.

“But what about my family?”

“You can send them postcards of your trip.”

“What about high school?”

“Mac, you’re almost done!” She laughed. “Don’t worry, it’ll be handled readily!”

Somehow he didn’t doubt that, but he was still disbelieving. “Sugar Belle, I—there are things I wanna do—”

“Well, yeah, of course there are. But shouldn’t I take priority? I want to be happy, Mac. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Before he could answer, Santiago was upon him. He was frowning at Mac. “Excuse me, mister and missus,” he said. “But could I talk to this gentleman in private for a moment?”

Sugar Belle looked up at him, clearly irritated. “Can’t it wait?”

“Sugar Belle, don’t talk to Santiago like that,” Mac was quick to reprimand.

“Santiago? How do you know him?”

“I’m an old family friend,” Santiago replied. “And he came here a few months back, too. Listen, Mac, I think it’s important we talk—”

“Hang on.” Sugar Belle put down her utensils. “What do you mean, he came here a few months back?”

Santiago didn’t say anything to her. “Mac, please. Let’s step into my office. Talk.”

Mac hesitated. Then he nodded. “Okay.” He looked to Sugar Belle. “Sugar Belle, I’ll… I’ll be back, okay?”

She frowned, agitated. “Fine,” she said curtly. “Go on.”

He left the table and Santiago led him to the back of the Cobalt Crescent, to where his office was. They left Sugar Belle alone.

***

Ink was crying. She was crying without making a noise, crying with her tears only. It was the kind of cry that was like you were emptying the well of your soul because it had become so full of emotion. And as she was crying, she was hugging her mother, too, hugging her and burying her face in the crook of her neck.

“There, there.” Her mother’s voice was weak, but it was hers; and more importantly, she recognized Ink. She recognized her for the daughter she had. Ink felt something warm and wet fall on her neck. Her mother was also crying.

When they pulled away, Ink was the first to speak. “I thought you forgot all about me,” she said, tears streaking down her face.

“Oh, honey. How could I ever forget you?”

And so Ink proceeded to tell her about that first time waking up. Her mother’s face was already pale, and yet somehow it grew paler still. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, God. Ink, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay. Ink, I don’t even remember waking up. I don’t remember much of everything after that night…”

“The medicine might have done something,” Nurse Golding put in. “That, coupled with the obvious trauma… well, Mrs. Quill, there were times we weren’t sure you knew where you were.”

She nodded. “Good God. If I had known before…”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ink quickly said. “No one could have.”

“But I did.” Here, her mother turned to her, her face a sheet of guilt. “Ink, the medicine I’d been taking before. You remember, don’t you?”

“I thought that was for dealing with heart problems?”

“It was.” She turned to Nurse Golding. “But that could cause other things, right?”

“I’d have to look over your medical records, but sure, they might have.”

Then Glory Quill turned back to her daughter. There were tears in her eyes. “I… I should have thought, maybe, that something could have happened—I even got a call that there might have been something showing up in—”

Ink shushed her. “Please, mom,” she said. “Please. It’s—the important thing is you’re okay! You’re back and okay and alive and—”

Her voice broke, and she began to cry again. They hugged. For a time they were hugging and crying.

When they separated once more, Glory saw behind her Braeburn. She smiled up at him. “I— I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Braeburn, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “A pleasure t’ meet you.”

Glory leaned in close to Ink. “Ink… what about that other boy? The tall one?”

“... you mean, Mac?”

“Yes, him. Why isn’t he here?”

Ink looked at her mom. She looked into her eyes, saw the confusing. And she thought, I should tell her.

So she took a deep breath and began her story.

***

“What’s wrong, Santiago?”

“Mac, is that… well, I don’t mean to presume, but, is that who I think it is?”

“Who, Sugar Belle?”

“Yeah, her. She’s the one who… well…”

“Oh.”

“Is she—”

“Yeah, Santiago. That’s her.”

They were in his office. It was quieter in there and there was a big oak desk set at the end behind which Santiago was pacing. He was pacing very quickly and was sweating, too.

“Santiago?”

“Mac, it isn’t my place to tell you who to date or anything, but…”

Santiago stopped pacing. He looked at Mac. “Are you sure you want to break her heart?”

Mac paused. “W-well, no, but, this trip, it means so much to her—”

“It’s admirable that even now you’re thinking of your date out there, but that’s not who I’m referring to.”

“What are you saying?”

Santiago was looking straight at him. “Macintosh,” he said. “Didn’t you see her eyes? Didn’t you see how they were shining? Did you see anything?”

“I don’t understand—”

“You do, you just don’t know it yet.” He started pacing again. “Ah, but maybe that’s the sentimental old man in me going off. But then again, maybe he knows some sense.”

Mac thought. Then he said, “You mean… Ink?”

“Good, good, you get that!” Santiago smiled at him. “Listen, ese, if life has taught me anything, it’s that you want a woman to look at you the way she was that night. Not just at you, what’s outside, but you, what’s inside. Do you remember how that night went?”

Mac did, and he said so. “Good!” Santiago cried. “That’s good. You remember very well how that night went. It went very well, didn’t it?”

“I guess so—”

“Don’t guess, hijo. Yes or no?”

“... Eeyup,” he said, thinking of that night, the way they had so easily been talking, they way they had been enjoying the talk more than the good food.

“And the way she was looking at you, ah, it made the waiter jealous.”

He came around the desk and put an hand on Mac’s. “I’m an old man, Mac. I recognize that. Maybe things like love aren’t like they were when I was in it, when I wore a younger man’s clothes. But if they are, then what I saw that night; oh, you could not mistake it, Mac! You ought not to! So let me ask again: would you want to break that poor Ink’s heart, by being with a girl you don’t love?”

Mac stepped back. “W-what? Whaddya mean? I—I do love Sugar Belle—”

“Do you truly? Or do you love the feelings she has returned to you?” Santiago shook his head. “She hurt you, Mac. You must not forget that pain. You have forgiven her, that is good, that is good of you—no, that is you, I suppose. But time has passed from then, hasn’t it? Are you sure you feel the same you did before the bad things happened? Can you say that with certainty?”

Santiago paused. “Hijo. You are hesitating. Why are you hesitating if you think you know?”

Mac couldn’t answer.

Santiago clapped him on the shoulder. “Please, at least think about her. You know, you couldn’t have seen it, but I saw the same kind of look in your eyes when you two were together. A spark, there was. It was beautiful. You only get that spark once and when you get it, it’s very true. Now. Best not to keep your date waiting.”

So Mac came out of the office, utterly bewildered, utterly occupied with what had been thrown at him. He returned to his seat in a daze. Sugar Belle watched him, but he hardly noticed her.

“Well, I hope you two had a very pleasant conversation,” she huffed.

Suddenly he focused entirely on her. His throat felt dry. “Ah…” He licked his lips. “Sugar Belle, I…” Then his voice was gone.

“You came here before, didn’t you? That was what that man was saying before you left.”

She stared into him. “And… I can guess that you went with Ink. Is that right?”

Anger emerged, and he found strength to put back into his voice from that anger. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No—”

“Because I think there might be somethin’ wrong. Is there?”

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She returned to her food.

Mac let out a breath.

It was quiet between them for a while.

“You never answered my initial proposal,” Sugar Belle then said, very quietly. “About going with me.”

He looked at her. The scorn was gone. There was something else, something deeper, something sadder. It was like looking at a doe, one that had hurt itself crashing through the brush. And he found he could not lie, could not put it off any longer.

He took a deep breath. “Sugar Belle, I—”

***

Braeburn and Nurse Golding had stepped out to give the two Quills their privacy while Ink recounted all that had happened since that fateful Christmas Eve. Ink spoke quickly and without much eloquence, telling only the facts. Soon she had finished covering the span of two months’ worth of events, and when she was done, she sat back on her mother’s bed and was quiet. The breathing apparatus, set momentarily to the side, was brought back up as her mother grabbed air.

Then she put it down and closed her eyes, thinking. “I… see,” she said. “I guess I’ve missed a lot?”

Ink managed a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“But… Braeburn? Are you and he…”

“No, no, we’re just friends—well, I mean…” She thought back to the lake, the bridge, all of it. “... I think we’re just friends, but…”

“But he doesn’t.”

“No, I guess not.”

“How does Mac feel about this?”

“Mac? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Well, he’s the other boy in your life.”

“Yeah, but he’s going out with Sugar Belle right now.”

“... whom you’ve told me hasn’t exactly been the best example of a girlfriend.”

“... she’s better now.”

“I won’t judge. I don’t even know her.”

Her mom grabbed for the apparatus again, but missed. Ink grabbed it and helped bring it to her face. She sucked in some air, then pushed the item away.

“So he’s going out with Sugar Belle.”

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Ink cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well… she kind of took your boyfriend away.”

“My what?!”

Her mom, though weak, managed a particularly snarky grin. “What? Ink, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t—he’s not—” She paused, thought quickly, then said triumphantly, “We only went on the one date and he never asked me out!”

“Well, it’s interesting that you’re calling it a date now. If I remember correctly, you called it a get-together.”

Ink was blushing and her mom was laughing. Things were mostly back to normal. But of course all this talk about Mac meant that there were thoughts and feelings returning, thoughts and feelings Ink didn’t understand. And her mother could clearly see the confusing such things brought to her.

“Ink?” she called.

Ink sighed. “It’s just… lately I’ve been a mess, Mom. About you. About me. About my writing. And… and about Mac. I just… I dunno. I don’t know how to feel about him, Mom.”

“It’s easy, Ink: do you like him?”

“Well, of course I like him.”

“But how do you like him?”

Now Ink looked at her mom questioningly. “What do you mean?”

Her mom was smiling. “Well, now. What do I mean? Think… think of this like a test of, um, poetic skill. You’re a writer, you should be able to get this. So… How do you like him? If you just like him, then, it should be an easy answer. But if you don’t just like him…” She let that hang.

Ink gaped at her. “Mom,” she managed to say, “I write stories, not poetry.”

Her mom laughed again. “But go on, try it! Try and see what you come up with. How do you like him?”

So Ink leaned back and thought about this question and her first thought was, The medicine must have done something to her now. But she wasn’t on any meds right now, or at least as many as before, and the oxygen levels were all good so her brain wasn’t bad now.

“Well…” she murmured, and she began to think more. It didn’t take as long as she thought it might. And she began to talk with whatever came out of her mouth.

“I… I read this story, once. It was about how this guy wanted to describe this girl to someone, but he couldn’t just say she looked like Jane Fonda, because she really didn’t. So he started talking about this movie he saw when he was a kid, about growing electrification in the poor Midwest, and how the farmers started lighting up their homes and roads with the light that was coming out. And this one farmer had the most electricity, and he had enough light when he went to milk his cows early in the morning, and his family could listen to the radio and have a toaster and a bunch of other things.”

She went on.

“And… there’s this other story, I read, about these two ethereal beings talking about meat talking. It was very weird but also really interesting. They were talking about how they couldn’t understand how it was meat, because they had no idea of what meat was, and by the end of it you realized that they were some strange fourth dimension alien pair, and that the meat was us humans.”

She dug a little deeper.

“We had a garden, right? We had a garden and there were plants growing in it. There was a plant growing. It was… it was green and red and yellow and it was called… a goblin plant, yes, that’s it. And I remember watering it every day for three weeks straight, hoping it would come up, but it turned out I was watering the weeds that were next to it, and I didn’t know that the goblin plant wasn’t getting all the water it needed. So when I started to water it properly, I watered it for another three weeks, and then it began to grow. It sprouted a lot of flowers, that plant.”

She paused.

“And… there was this story I was writing. It was a good story, I think, but… but things happened and I got rid of it. But sometimes I think about it and I remember that it was good, and I want to start writing it again, but I’m afraid to start it. And yet I still want to, sometimes. Like how people want to go skydiving even though they’re afraid of heights, sometimes; it’s like one of those illogical thoughts you have, from time to time, that just happen and they happen to make sense, too.”

Then she looked at her mother. “That’s… that’s how I like him.” And she believed it, too.

Glory Quill smiled at her daughter. She brought a hand out and brushed her cheek. “Ink Quill,” she murmured, “when did you become so beautiful?”

Ink nodded. The admission; it had been made. It felt like a huge load had been taken off of her shoulders.

Her mother nodded to the curtain. “Does he know?”

“No… not yet.”

“You should tell him. It would not do to lead the poor boy on.”

“But what about Mac and Sugar Belle?”

Her mother smiled at her, still weak, but still her mother, still sure of her. “Whatever happens next, happens next, girl,” she said.

She was right. Ink knew this. And though her heart felt heavy, the load was gone, and it was a settled heavy she felt.

She got up. She walked over to the curtain and pulled it open. She saw Braeburn there. She asked for them to talk in private.

He would take it well, in time. He was good like that.