Indigo (40 page)

Great. The first time I meet Frank DeBlaney, and he’s in a bad mood.

I nod quickly, and the make my way over to his office, shutting the door behind me. I reach over to shake his hand, making sure to give him a firm grip. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to do so earlier, as I promised your mom you’d be working directly under me. We didn’t count on the jury taking so long.”

“Oh, yeah, congratulations,” I say, thinking of the high profile murder case that the firm just won.

“I don’t care how long they took, as long as they came to the right conclusion in the end,” is his reply.

The room goes silent, his inquisitive stare making me a little uncomfortable. If this is how he acts in the court room, I’m not surprised that the firm has a 92% success rate. I’m about to ask him if there is something that he needed, when he suddenly narrows his eyes.

“You’re doing great work here.”

“Thank you.”

“Sometimes when I do friends a favor, it doesn’t always work out in mine,” he murmurs, still staring at me. “But I’ve been going over your notes, and the files you’ve been putting together, and I have to say, I’m impressed. You’ve got knack for this business.”

Oh, the irony of it all. I have to admit since working here, it hasn’t been as bad as I thought, but still, a life of law is just not for me. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity.”

He goes back to staring at me again, and I struggle not to squirm in my seat like a fucking kindergartener. “But you don’t want to be a lawyer, do you?”

My first instinct is to deny him flat out, but Indigo’s face flashes across my mind, and I realize I’m tired of lying. And I’m definitely not going to lie for my mother’s sake at this point either. “No sir, I don’t.”

He nods. “I figured as much. I’ve watched you today, and while like I said, your work is near perfect, I know a robot when I see one. I can tell when someone has the passion, and when they don’t.”

I don’t know what to say to that. He’s right. “You’re right. I don’t have that passion, although since working here, I have been enjoying hearing about the cases, and watching the trials. But…that’s as far as my interest goes, if I’m being honest, sir.”

“I appreciate honestly.” He taps his fingers on his desk. “What is your passion, Kennedy?”

“Art. Drawing, painting. I plan on declaring it as my major at the end of this semester.”

He nods, but then his eyes light up. “You know, I have an idea. I think there’s someone here you might be interested in talking to. When you get here on Friday, come by my office first thing. We’re going to try something new.”

I’m intrigued, and want to ask him what it’s about, but I can tell from his expression that tomorrow is the earliest I’ll be finding out. “Sounds good. Thank you, sir.”

We stand up and shake hands again, saying our goodbyes, but on my way out the door, a thought strikes me. “Mr. DeBlaney? How much do you know about the Indigo Olsen case?”

INDIGO

I look in the mirror, staring in disgust at the bags under my eyes. Needless to say, in the few weeks that Kennedy and I haven’t spoken, mixed with the impending doom of the upcoming hearing, sleep has been elusive. Not just sleep, but sometimes, sanity.

I’m used to the idea of the Dean as Kennedy’s mom, so the shock of the whole situation has died down. Now the sharp pain comes from missing him, but no matter how bad it gets, I don’t want to give in. Every time I feel myself starting to slip, wanting to answer one of his messages, I run through the dozens of times he had the opportunity to tell me, and chose to lie instead. How couldn’t he have known that broken trust is just one thing I wouldn’t be able to handle?

“Did you take your deep breath?” Sabrina asks, coming out from one of the stalls. She gives me a wry look as she washes her hands. Every Wednesday, before I have to walk into the class I have with Kennedy, Sabrina and I sneak into the bathroom so I can collect myself and put on a brave face. Not that it works. I’m sure it’s obvious to everyone how completely miserable I am.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”

We make our way down the hall, and enter the classroom just as the bell rings. On instinct, my eyes find Kennedys, and when I feel his intense gaze, my treacherous heart pulses in my chest. Grinding my teeth, we find seats on the opposite side of the room. I can still feel his eyes on me, and I do my best not to fidget, or worse, look his way again. The past three weeks without him beside me, making me feel safe, has been torture, and seeing him reminds me of all the good stuff.

But not enough to forget.

Professor Klaeger starts class by congratulating us for making it to the middle of the semester, and then makes an announcement that for the first time ever, the school is going to be participating in a fundraiser to raise money for the arts program, and our end of the year presentations are going to be featured at the event. Everyone else cheers, excited to have an even bigger audience for their work, but the news just sours my stomach. I haven’t been working on much for my presentation, and lately, my heart hasn’t even been into dancing. My mind feels pulled in a hundred different directions, everything on my mind is either stressing me out, causing insane worry, or breaking my heart.

When he dismisses us, I shoot a cursory goodbye to Sabrina, and head towards the auditorium, determined to throw myself into creating a routine. As I get dressed in my standard black leotard, tights and slippers, I throw my hair into a bun and grab my iPod. Scrolling through the music, wondering which song to choose, I land on one song that sometimes, I can barely stand to listen to. The words haunt me, scare me.

Christina Perri’s: The Lonely. It’s perfect.

Grabbing a speaker from my backpack, I set it up on the front of the stage, and for the first time, listen to the song all the way through. Something about it just hurts my heart, brings my mind back to a place that’s hard to go to. I almost turn it off, but stop myself at the last moment. No more running, from anything. Even though things with Kennedy didn’t work, I learned a lot about myself, and I don’t want to shy away from the things that scare me anymore.

Instead, I restart it, and position myself in the center of the stage. When the words start again, I move, not thinking about technique, or what might look best…I just dance. I let the slow and steady harmony work into my system, letting myself feel, and get lost.

I’m so far into my zone, it isn’t until the middle of the song that I see someone watching me.

Any inner calm I was building crashes around me, and I hurry to turn off the song. I don’t say anything as our eyes meet. How dare he come in here? Seeing him, being alone with him for the first time since everything happened reignites my anger.

“You didn’t have to stop,” he says softly, looking as bad as I feel. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“Well, you did. What do you want Kennedy?”

His jaw flinches at my rudeness, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know you’re still mad, but I have something to give you…”

I cut him off, shaking my head. “Enough! No more gifts Kennedy. I won’t accept it.”

“It’s not that type of gift,” he insists, taking a few steps towards the stage.

His nearness makes me feel off balance and I react instinctively. “I’ve realized something about you, something I have been wanting to say for a while. Have you noticed that you have been buying me gifts from the very beginning of this thing? The sweatshirt, the wood for my window, the cover at the bar, endless dinners…why do you do that? No matter how much I fight, you find some way to pay for everything. It’s uncomfortable for me!  I’ve told you no more, and you keep going? Why is that?”

He looks at me, his eyes blank, as if he doesn’t have an answer to that question, “I don’t really know…”

“I know why.” I cut him off loudly, gaining steam as I stare into his handsome face. The handsome face that lied to me for weeks. “It’s because of your mom. You told me your mom buys you everything! That it was how she showed her love for you. That’s not what love is Kennedy. It’s wrong.”

He takes a shaky breath, gripping the envelope he has in his hands. “I know, you’re right…”

“Your mom might have been able to buy your love, but you can’t buy mine.”

I shout the words at him, and the second they’re out of my mouth, I regret them. Especially seeing how his face absolutely crumbles when what I said really sinks in. He looks down, and when he looks up at me again, I see a dark cloud of disdain in his eyes as he looks at me, something I’ve never seen before from him. As if what I said has crushed him.

“If that’s what you think about me, then maybe I was wrong about you”

The emotion behind it scares me, and for a moment I contemplate running into his arms and apologizing for my cruel words. Anything to have him never look at me that way again.

He takes a deep breath, and places the envelope on one of the seats. “This is my boss Frank DeBlaney’s contact information. He wanted me to pass it along, and he has offered to take on your case, in the event that you might want to sue Joan Huff should she be released at the hearing. Or if you wanted to look into some options when she eventually is released. He has all the details of what you’d need to do and would love to hear from you either way.” I can feel my hands tremble as I watch him walk towards the doors. “They are a great law firm. And if things don’t go well at the hearing, or if they do, they are willing to help.” He doesn’t look at me again, and I stare at his back until the door closes.

KENNEDY

“That’s great man,” I tell Shawn, putting down my pencil to give his new song my full attention. “It’s different from what you usually write.”

His hand pauses on the strings. “Yeah, well, I’ve been feeling a little different this year.”

I know what he means. Since my fight with Indigo, I’ve been gloomy and avoiding her at all costs. Her words cut deep, and all I can think about is what she said to me about my mom. Is she right? I don’t know, and I hate the thought that if she is, she’s the one who said it out loud before me. I’ve been mulling over everything the past few days, and although she has every right to be angry at me, hate me even, the words about buying her love felt like a punch to the stomach. I’m still reeling, more so about the implication that she thinks I wanted to buy her off. After everything, how could she think that? My anger with her has lessened, but for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel so desperate to see her. I still
desperately
want her back, but I’m mad too. I need a few days, and it doesn’t help when I keep seeing her face everywhere.

The revelation that Indigo will be testifying at the trial has hit the news. The high profile kidnapping case is constantly being rehashed on national stations, everyone having an opinion to contribute, or speculation about what Indigo will reveal in her first-ever public appearance.

I can’t watch any of it. Not when I know I can’t be there to help her. She doesn’t need me anymore, and that hurts worst of all. Staring down at the third drawing I’ve done of her, I resist the urge to tear it to shreds. I put it aside right before I give it to the temptation, in time to hear a knock at the door.

In usual fashion, my mom sweeps in before Shawn or I get a chance to answer.

“Hey Aunt Ellen,” Shawn says warily, glancing at me. He knows I’ve been avoiding her as much as possible.

“Hi honey,” my mom says, walking over to give him a kiss on the cheek. She turns to me, and although I let her do the same, I pretend to fix my bedspread so I won’t have to look at her.

“How are you?” I hear her ask.

“Me? Fantastic.”

Not one to beat around the bush, my mom takes a seat on the bed and crosses her legs. “How long are you going to be upset with me Kennedy? We talked about this. I had no idea you were even friends with Indigo, let alone seeing her. If you would have told me, or matter of fact, if you would have told HER--“