Indigo (29 page)

I decide to ask her though, because I’m curious. “How many knives do you own?”

She cringes. “Let’s just say I have an…extensive collection.”

“What, like 4 or 5?”

She stays silent, and I look at her incredulously. “You have more?”

“Promise not to judge me?”

I nod, wondering how many she could possibly have. “I have 22 knives,” she explains. “A Taser, some medieval weapons, and I also have a bow and arrow, but I didn’t bring that to school with me.”

My mind spins and I latch on to her last statement. “A bow and arrow?” I’m so surprised I can’t do much more than repeat it at first. “Where do you even get something like that?”

“My Uncle Henry got it for me at the Renaissance Faire last year,” she says slowly. “He’s gotten me most of my weapons. My mom doesn’t really know. He…understands my compulsion I guess. You can never be too prepared.”

“Have you ever used the bow and arrow?” I imagine her running through the woods with a pack of arrows slung over her back, and the image makes me hard.

“I have a target I’ve shot at, but never for anything else.”

“Hm,” I say, “So you’ve got a thing for weapons huh?”

She clears her throat. “I didn’t before. Now…yeah, I have a thing for weapons.”

I wish I could promise that she didn’t need them when she was with me, but it doesn’t feel like the right thing to say. “I’d like to see it, the bow and arrow.”

“Really?” I wonder why she sounds surprised. “I’d love to teach you how to shoot it.”

“It can’t be too hard,” I reply. “It’s just a matter of pulling a string and letting it fly.” I’m good with tools, and usually catch on to most things pretty quickly. I’m convinced I’ll get the hang of it in no time.

“Sure it is,” she replies, and I narrow my eyes playfully at her, catching on to a placating tone.

I pull onto the highway, and tell her to plug her address in my GPS. Three hours to go. She’s settling into her seat when a thought strikes me. I’m going to see the place where her life changed forever. The crime scene of one of the most sensationalized kidnappings in American history. I look at the girl next to me, the girl I’m starting to really care for, and for the millionth time, wonder if I’ll ever really know her.

Not being able to stop myself, I reach out for her hand. It’s funny how something as simple as holding a girl’s hand could make me so deliriously happy, but I can’t help it. I think about one girl I was seeing back in high school, who would force me to hold her hand no matter what we were doing. I would dread it. Now, though, I’m starting to get why people like doing it so much.

INDIGO

When we pull off my exit three and a half hours later, my anxiety kicks in. I don’t know how my mom is going to react at my sudden appearance, especially because I’m bringing along a boy she doesn’t even know. I’ve been telling her about him for a few weeks now, and I convince myself that will help.

But that’s certainly not the only thing I have on my mind. I look at all the familiar buildings, trying to calm my nerves when the real reason I’m here sinks in. We pass the police station and I look away, dreading the inevitable confrontation I’m soon to have with Detective Waters. As long as he doesn’t try and convince me I should testify, and as long as I can convince him I don’t need anything resembling a security detail, all should be fine and I can move on with my new life.

I wonder then if someone really would try to stop me from testifying, but the thought gives me the shivers. Who would do that? It doesn’t make any sense. My real anxiety is for my mom, however, who I wish didn’t have to be caught in the middle of all this.

“The town is beautiful,” Kennedy says, when we pull onto one of the many ocean front roads. “It must have been awesome growing up by the beach. I’ve only been myself a few times.”

“I’ll take you down,” I offer quietly, my throat tight as we approach my house. He squeezes my hand, which is now sweaty after three hours of being locked together with his. God, how embarrassing. I extract my hand from his grip, and we both stretch out our fingers. I miss his warm touch immediately, but we’re pulling up to my house so now is not the time for hand holding anyway.

“You can pull into the driveway.” I direct Kennedy to park next to my mom’s car. I regret my decision of not calling beforehand, but everything seemed to happen so fast.

“Nice house,” he says, looking through his window. Then, “Is that your mom?”

When I look at the slightly taller version of me coming through the front door, looking at the car in consternation, I feel my eyes well with tears. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Without warning, I jump out of the car and walk around the front. My mom looks startled when she sees me. “Indigo, what on earth?”

Ignoring her question, I run into her arms and she immediately folds me into her familiar embrace. “What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling back to look into my eyes. “I thought I was going to pick you up this weekend?”

“I’m happy to see you mom,” I say, hugging her once more. “I couldn’t wait I guess, so we came early.”

“Who is we?” I see her look beyond me, and I turn to see Kennedy shutting the driver’s side door. He makes his way over to us, a small smile on his face.

“This is Kennedy,” I say when he gets closer. “Kennedy, this is my mom, Janet.”

Ever the gentleman, Kennedy reaches out a hand immediately to shake hers. “We spoke the other day, on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” my mom says, looking at me with questions in her eyes. She gives him a warm smile and then puts her arm around me. “Well I’m certainly glad you’re here, but I must say I’m surprised. Why don’t you guys come inside and tell me how this visit came to be.”

Kennedy goes to grab the bags while I walk toward the house with mom. Once I step inside, a delicious aroma washes over me. “Mom what are you cooking? It smells amazing!”

A flush forms on her cheeks as she starts to take my coat. “Just a simple chicken cordon blue recipe grandma used to make. It’s about dinner time, and I made enough if you and Kennedy are hungry?”

“Definitely, we road tripped here on gas station snacks so we could use a real meal.” I hang my coat up in the closet behind me, and when I turn back around there are tears in my mom’s eyes.

“Oh Indy, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, pulling me into another hug. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy you’re going to school and pursuing something you love but, well, your old mom misses you, that’s all.”

I give her a tight squeeze, her words easing the anxiety that seems to sit permanently on my chest. “You’re hardly old mom,” I joke, pulling back to look at her black mane of hair that’s identical to mine. She’s a few inches taller, same petite stature, but with brown eyes. Apparently I got my blue eyes from my father’s side, and the only other difference between us are the wrinkles around her eyes. They weren’t there before the kidnapping, but to me, they make her look even more beautiful.

“Well actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she begins tentatively. I see her look at something over my shoulder, and she gives my arm a squeeze. “We’ll talk over dinner. He’s very handsome by the way.”

What could she have to talk to me about? The screen door opens and temporarily distracts me from my mom’s words, and I watch as Kennedy walks in with one bag in his hand and one over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath and his stomach growls in response.

I laugh while I take my bag from his shoulder. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re ready for dinner. Let’s set these bags down first then we’ll eat.”

As we walk up the stairs, I keep glancing over my shoulder at him. It’s so weird to see him here, in my home. Like my past meeting my present. But as he follows up behind me, so confident, taking in his surroundings, it feels more like my present is meeting my past.

“What?” He finally asks, after the second time I turn around. We reach the top of the landing and I readjust the bag on my shoulder. His smile is curious and the thought of how hot he is slams around in my brain.

“Nothing, just strange to see you in my house that’s all,” I admit. “I haven’t had a friend here in a long time.”

KENNEDY

I’m not letting her get away with that one. “Are we back at friends again?” I make sure my tone is light, but I can feel my pulse quicken in anticipation of her response.

She smiles, which is a good sign, but then turns around when she answers me. “No, I don’t think we are.”

Pleased at her answer, I follow her down the hallway with a smile on my face. There are pictures of her everywhere, from all ages, in different costumes and ballet outfits.

“I know, it’s like a shrine to me in here,” she explains, seeing me eyeing all the photos. She pulls open the door to a small room to reveal a twin sized bed, wooden dresser, and two nightstands. There’s a multi-colored quilt on the bed, and a large blue area rug on the floor. Simple, but cozy.

“This is the guest room,” she tells me, sweeping her hand for me to walk in. “It’s where I’ve slept for the past couple years. The bed’s really comfortable and it’s right next to the bathroom.”

“It’s nice. Where are you going to sleep?” I place my bag on the bed and give her a searching look, hoping I’m not putting her out or taking her out of her comfort zone. I know we won’t be able to sleep together again and the thought is fucking depressing.

“I’ll just sleep in my mom’s bed. She’s working the overnight at the restaurant anyway.”

“Are you sure? I can just crash on a couch or something. And is your mom going to be okay leaving you alone here with me?”

“I’m sure,” she says, sitting down on the bed and looking at me from under her lashes. “I’m glad we’re here.”

Not being able to resist the call, and hoping it’s the right thing to do, I lean down and give her a gentle kiss on the lips. “I want to be where you are.”

Her eyes shine when she looks up at me, and without another word, she grabs my hand and we head into the hallway. We’re walking down the stairs when Indigo stops short in front of me. Instinctively, my hands reach out to steady her shoulders, and it’s at that moment I notice a man standing in the doorway.

“Who is that?” From her reaction, I wonder if this is an unwelcome face from Indigo’s past.

“I don’t know,” she stammers out. The man, who has an open friendly face, gives us a small wave. Indigo’s mom comes breezing around the corner in time to catch it. She doesn’t notice us when she lets the man inside, and looks startled when she turns around and sees us both standing there.

“Oh Indy, I didn’t see you,” her mom says, walking towards the stairs. I can tell she’s nervous and it makes me curious as to who that man is. Her eyes search her daughters for a moment before grabbing her hand. She waves over the man. “Honey, this is Jack McDougal, a friend of mine. We met at group. I invited him over for dinner tonight, that’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Group? I wonder what group she could mean as my eyes goes toward the man who is smiling warmly at Indigo’s mom. He looks friendly enough, red hair and freckles a dead giveaway he must be Irish.

“I’ve heard so much about you Indigo, I’m happy to finally meet you. Janet didn’t tell me you would be here today but I assure you it’s a pleasant surprise.” I watch his eyes rove over her scar, but politely shows no other signs that he notices.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Indigo says slowly, but relaxing under my hands. “You said you met my mom at group?”

He gives Janet a self-deprecating smile and nods. “I just started about three months ago, and your mom has been like a god-send to me. She made me stay, even when I wanted to quit. Now looking back, I’m glad I didn’t.”

Indigo’s mom is fairly beaming, and I can sense an underlying connection between her and Jack. I’m pretty sure there must be something a little more going on, and I wonder if Indigo can see that too. She doesn’t seem that nervous anymore, tempering my own hesitancy. For a few seconds I think about how in tune we seem to be, and when I look up, Jack’s eyes are on me.