Indigo (49 page)

They both come rushing in. Sabrina ignores his comment throws herself on my bed, talking a mile a minute like my mother. Shawn walks up, puts his hands on Kennedy’s shoulder, and they all start asking me a million questions.

When there is finally a moment of silence, in which I barely have gotten a word in edgewise, I lean back and close my eyes. I can’t help but smile, feeling the weight of all them, the people I love, on my bed. Nothing could be better, or could give me more peace. I crack my eyes open and clear my throat.

“So, what did you think of my performance? Did I or did I not totally nail the ending?”

EPILOGUE

KENNEDY—10 years later

I snap up my briefcase and quickly reach to the back of my chair to grab my coat. Glancing at my watch, I realize I have about twenty minutes until the show starts. I rush out of my office to the elevator, cursing my last appointment running late. I can’t miss this, not her first performance.

I wait impatiently for the elevator to reach the 8
th
floor, and when it finally dings open, I rush inside nearly knocking over Detective Stone in the process, who was already in the elevator.

“For God sakes, Keats,” he says jokingly. “If you didn’t do such good work, I’d toss you out on your ass just for that.”

I remember my first encounter with Thomas Stone, when he was just a rookie with something to prove. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were a rude son of a bitch. And now that I know you, I still do,” I growl back, my tone teasing.

He laughs. “By the way, your Dwyer sketch got a hit,” he tells me as we both watch the floors go down. “Some woman called, said she thought the drawing looked like her neighbor, and well, lo and behold. We just cuffed him, they’re bringing him in now.”

“I just heard.” I say, still elated over the news. “One down, a hundred to go.”

Being a sketch artist for the Norwalk police department isn’t always easy, and sometimes the guys aren’t ever caught. But ever since I saw what evil can do first-hand, and saw how badly it can destroy lives, I decided to use my talents to do as much as I can to stop them. I have Frank DeBlaney to thank for pointing me in the right direction.

The doors finally open and I give him a cursory goodbye as I try not to run out to my car. Opening the door, I throw my briefcase in the backseat, and try not to speed as I rush to the dance studio in the center of town. I pull up to the huge building and park in the empty spot right up front that she texted and said she had saved for me.

She always knows, and always thinks ahead.

I grab my camera and a huge bunch of pink roses from the back seat, rush out, wave to the man at the ticket counter, and am in my saved seat two minutes before the show starts. I breathe a sigh of relief and start fiddling with my camera settings, trying to find the one that will best capture my baby’s performance.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, are you Kennedy Keats?”

I turn around to see an elderly woman looking at me with interest. “Yes, I am.”

“I thought so. I recognized you from the papers all those years ago. I’ve been following your story.”

“I see. Well it’s very nice to meet you.”

Not wanting to miss any of the performance, I turn back around, but it seems she’s not done with just yet.

“You wife’s studio is amazing,” she tells me, motioning around her. “Best one these parts have had for years. I was lucky I got to see her perform in New York a few years ago. You must be very proud.”

My heart swells. “I’ve always been proud of her, I’m proud of everything she does.”

She nods. “Good answer, my boy.”

I smile, and then turn around to face forward again. Another tap.

“Say, if I give you this here program, do you think you could have that famous cousin of yours and his wife sign it? My granddaughter is a huge fan.”

It’s not the first time someone has asked me to get Shawn and Sabrina’s autographs. They’ve become quite the musical sensation, and I can’t wait to see them on our annual trip—this year we’re going to Hawaii. Even though they are always on tour, and have so many obligations, they still make time to see us several times a year. We’re as tight knit as we’ve always been.

I also always force Shawn to sign about a dozen CD’s, for occasions such as this when I get asked.

“I love your children’s detective series,” she says, whispering from behind, the change of subject throwing me, as the lights begin to dim. “The illustrations are incredible. Where did you ever get the idea for, Scarlett the Super-sleuth?”

“My daughter.”

A quick classical staccato song starts playing and thankfully, the woman leans back in her seat. I grin when I see Indigo’s 3-4 year old class, pointing their toes as they walk out on to the stage in their tutus. A tiny head of black curls catch my eyes next, and my camera comes up as the grin overtakes my face.

Just like mommy.

I watch her up there, see her trying to remember all the moves, wanting to be just like her mother, and it makes my insides ache with happiness. I try to capture her every move, wanting to remember this moment forever. Her first dance. I laugh, as does the rest of the audience, when they all spin on their tip-toes, and clap exuberantly, a standing ovation, when they file off the stage.

At the end of the show, I make my way backstage to Indigo’s office, as I know she will be a little busy now that the show has ended. I note the picture of Indigo’s mom and Frank DeBlaney from their honeymoon on Indigo’s desk, and still remember how much that relationship took me by surprise. Indigo and Sabrina insist they saw it coming from a mile away.

I swivel around in her chair, adjusting the roses, and smile at the painting of Indigo from the gas station, that’s hanging above her desk. I know it makes a few people uncomfortable, but Indigo insists she loves it there, as a reminder of how far we’ve all come.

The door clicks open, and even though I just saw her at breakfast, my heart skips a beat at the sight of my beautiful wife. Indigo walks in and gives me a big grin.

“Scarlett will be along soon, she’s taking a few pictures.”

I hold out the roses and pull her into my arms. “The show was perfect, love.”

Indigo snuggles into my arms. “I’m exhausted. I am happy though, everything seemed to fall into place, even if it was a bit hectic this time around.”

“The dances were great, I would love to see you out there again one day. I miss watching you.”

She smiles and it makes my heart pound, “Maybe I’ll have to give you one of my private dances later.”

I let out a breath and stare her down, wanting her as much now as I ever have. I still feel like the luckiest man on earth, in and out of her arms.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the male ballerinas from the advanced class is on the other side. Scarlett is in his arms, and with a smile he places her on the floor.

“Daddy!” She yells, her little legs carrying her towards me and her tutu bouncing. “Did you see me?!”

I kiss her curls and sweep her into my arms. “Of course I saw you! You were amazing. The most graceful little girl in the world. You’re going to be a prima ballerina one day baby.”

“Can I be a ballerina and a Super-sleuth?” she asks me, looking worried.

“You can be anything you want to be,” Indigo says, coming to stand beside us. “Daddy and I are so proud of you. You looked beautiful out there.”

I hand her one of the flowers out of Indigo’s bouquet and she shrieks in surprise, making Indigo and I laugh. A few moments later, we put her down, but before she goes, she pats Indigo’s tummy. “It’s okay little brother. You’ll be around to see my next performance, don’t worry.”

Indigo smiles and places a hand on her stomach. “I think he might be around soon enough to see Friday,” she jokes.

“I hope so. And I hope the pregnancy is a little smoother this time around. Last time after Scarlett came out and you fainted, I nearly had a heart attack. I can’t go through that again.”

“I can’t promise anything.” She laughs and then pulls me down for a kiss. “You know how I like to nail my endings.”

THE END