Ryan smiled.
A real smile.
“First thing?”
I nodded.
Her smile widened slightly.
“She asked to see the tattoo.”
I blinked.
“AND?”
“He said he should have found a less permanent way to learn the lesson.”
In fact, I laughed.
The sound surprised us both.
Then Ryan shook his head.
“What he said last was worse.”
“That?”
For several seconds he looked through the windshield.
Then he said in a low voice,
“Ryan, I forgave you years ago. You’re the one still carrying the burden.”
Neither of them spoke during the rest of the journey.
A month later, Ryan finally made an appointment with a tattoo artist. For years I wanted him to cover up the portrait. For years I’d found reasons not to.
