Society Rules (8 page)

Irritated with his self-acknowledged musical ADHD, Jackson ripped the cord free of the outlet, wondering how it was possible to load your IPod with the songs you love most, but then feel the need to skip over five to ten songs at a time once they were captured for your anytime pleasure.

The FM station blasted on, and a song that under most circumstances he would have changed immediately, assaulted him at high volume.

A much too slow and sappy song by Finger Eleven.

Jackson was familiar with the band from their much more energetic material, but as he reached forward to press the tiny scan button, rhythm of the acoustic guitar ensnared him, and the verse caught his attention . . .

. . . it’s
nothing
I
planned,
and
not
that
I
can
 . . .
but
you
should
be
mine,
across
that
line
 . . .

He froze with his finger still poised in the air.

. . .
If
I
traded
it
all,
if
I
gave
it
all
away
for
one
thing
 . . .
just
for
one
thing
 . . .

For perhaps the first time in his life, a song hit Jackson in an emotional way, instead of just to escape his thoughts, or to amp him up for action. He listened to the words, and he could feel them. It was like the song understood his torment and it made him feel better. He dropped his hand, and placed it awkwardly on the gear shift, deep in thought.

The music encouraged Jackson to return his head, both physically and mentally to the headrest; only raising it again hours later, when he spied Indie running out the back door of the facility, and jumping into her car in a fashion that was eerily similar to his own earlier dive for cover.

He glanced quickly into the rearview mirror and made a face at his reflection. His hair was impossible. The wild and windblown appearance probably wasn’t helping him make his case to Indie that he wasn’t some raging lunatic. He raked his hands hastily through the tangled mess, and sighed. It wasn’t going to get any better. Jackson started his car.

Chapter 5

Indie sat in her car for a moment and contemplated the events of the day. It hurt, knowing that there was absolutely no one in the entire world with whom she could confide about what had happened today. Not if she wanted to remain out of the psych ward. Not even in a state as ready to accept the strange and improbable as Vermont, would she find someone okay with this topic.

She sighed, and started her car.

Miss Maggie had told her that she couldn’t just act like today never happened. Well, she would see about that.

Get back to normal, she told herself, shakily. Stay in your routine, and everything will be okay.

Sure
it
will
, her uncooperative inner voice spoke sarcastically.

Indie drove briskly to the grocery store, determined to stay focused and grounded. She parked and jumped out of the car, walking fast, keeping her head down, afraid to make eye contact with anyone, lest they see the frantic gleam in her eyes.

Produce and cans, she tossed them carelessly into her cart with no real plan or thought, just going through the motions of your average shopper. She finally decided that she had enough supplies to make it look as if she were there for an actual reason, and got in line.

Almost immediately, she felt a warming sensation on the back of her neck.

Not unpleasant. Rather soothing, actually.

She exhaled deeply . . . a heaving shuddering breath, like after a good hard cry. In a flash, her body suddenly tensed, and Indie turned slowly. She knew exactly what, or rather who, she was going to see.

Sure enough . . . it was the man. He was standing much too closely behind her, his eyes brilliantly blue and focused sharply upon her.

This was too much. Indie started to walk away from her shopping cart and leave the store.

“Wait!” He had spoken softly, but it startled her like a shout, and brought her to an instant halt.

“Please . . . just tell me why you are stalking me. What do you want?” Indie stammered helplessly.

“Just a moment of your time, please . . . nothing sinister, I assure you.” The sound made her sway.

That soothing voice. The rhythm of his accent was like a soft song to her hypersensitive ears.

Indie shook the thought away and whispered, “Why though? Why would you want a moment of
my
time?”

“Don’t you want to talk about it, Indie?” She could see the concern in his eyes. Concern and a hungry yearning that made Indie feel restless and fidgety.

The way he spoke her name was like a physical touch . . . a caress. His soft voice made her shiver, just a little. Indie could not help but notice that his hair looked as if he had attempted to sort it out a bit, and failed.

It was still endearingly mussed.

God,
stop
it!
She commanded herself, wanting to scream. She clutched at her head with both hands as she backed away.

“There is nothing to talk about!” Indie spoke decisively, dropping her arms so that she could fold them defensively across her chest.

“Oh, okay . . . whatever you say,” he said with a slight shrug. “But I think you may change your mind.”

“Do you, now?” She tried to sound sarcastic, but it was pathetic, even to her own ears.

“Yes, I really do!”
My
beautiful,
defiant
one
, he added silently. For the second time, she detected the sparkle of humor in his teal-blue eyes. He then turned serious.

“You’ll have to agree that today was a lot to take in, and I’m sure it won’t make it to your dinner table tonight as a topic of casual conversation, will it?” He held her gaze, now projecting an elusive emotion in those eyes, and then exhaled sharply.

“Look, just know that I am here for you, when you
are
ready to talk about it.”

“
You
are here for me, huh? You, who I have no idea who you are . . . waiting for me to turn to you?” Indie placed her items on the counter to pay for them, and turned back toward him. “Well, I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were . . .”

He was gone.

A pair of teenage girls in the next line snickered at her and she felt her face ignite. She paid the bill, collected whatever it was she had purchased, and fled.

Her thoughts crawled frantically through her brain, their tiny sharp claws prickling as she guided her little green Volvo through town. How could a day that started out so ordinary, so like every other day, take such a turn for the surreal? Indie dreaded walking in the door to her house. She tried to picture the scenario:

“Hi
honey,
how
was
your
day?”
Will
would
ask
 . . .
and
she
could
reply
with
something
like,
“Well,
you
won’t
believe
this,
but
I
was
told
by
one
of
my
patients
today,
that
I
am
some
sort
of
alien! Ha.
Oh,
you’re
not
surprised,
are
you?
You’ve
always
suspected
as
much,
right?”

Indie silenced her internal monologue. The reality was this; she did not need to worry about hiding it from her husband at all. He was not going to ask how her day went.

He never did. Indie’s thoughts continued to race.

He comes home, eats his supper and hops on to the internet until his bedtime, she reasoned. This would be no problem. Then she sobered.

The twins. They would not let her off so easily. It felt like her skull was made up of crystal clear glass whenever they looked at her. They read her brain like a manuscript.

Well
, she breathed deeply,
I
have
to
face
them
all
 . . .
I
have
no
choice
.
I
have
to
go
home,
don’t
I?

She pulled in to the driveway and cut the engine. Everyone was inside. She could see the lights and hear the patter of nine-year-old feet, and giant stomping size 11 boots. Indie saw Will peek out through the window at her. She drew in another deep breath and let it out slowly.

And
here
we
go!

She readied herself for the worst, which would be the interrogation from the children. With an inaudible groan, she pulled herself out of the car and popped the trunk. She gathered the bags of groceries, picking up all five with her free hand.

Indie knew better than to expect a spontaneous offer of help from her husband. He would never think, all by himself, to help her carry anything. Oh, he would if she went upstairs and asked him to please bring up the groceries . . . but something about the fact that she would have to ask always exasperated her, so she just carried them in herself.

She was not into being a martyr; she did this knowing that he wouldn’t notice that she had, nor would he have any redeeming thoughts, like “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have gotten that for you!” No, it would not enter his mind.

Indie trekked up the stairs, the front door opening before she had to fumble her fully loaded arms to try to open it herself.

“Mommy!” It was Jake. “Can I carry something for you?”

“Yes, thank you, pup!” At least her boy was a gentleman. Cassidy appeared, and little helper that she was, began putting away groceries. Indie noticed at once the twins’ sneaky, corner of the eye glances, and sighed. And so it begins.

“Mommy, what happened to you today?” It was Cassidy, always the first to start. She spoke with a deliberate casualness.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, why?” Indie lied calmly and ineffectively. “Oh?” Cassidy stood with a loaf of bread in her little hands, seemingly lost in thought.

“What is it?” Indie asked wearily, although she did not want to encourage this line of discussion. Her daughter squinted up at her, in a way that made Indie’s head feel as if it were being pried open by some invisible tool.

“Cassidy, come help me with my homework!” Jake spoke suddenly, looking meaningfully at his sister. She broke off her mental attack, and looked at Indie reproachfully. Then she sighed.

“Fine, I’m coming,” and they left the kitchen together. Indie watched them leave, somewhat relieved.

She quickly made her way to her bedroom and shed her now crinkled scrubs, not noticing how the light blue color matched her eyes just so. Kicking them off, Indie didn’t bother removing her Reeboks. She jerked on her black running pants, and pulled one of Will’s undershirts roughly over her head.

Without a word to anyone, Indie sprinted out the door, pausing to grab her IPod on the way, looping the earphones around her head with one hand.

Ten circles around the block later, ears nearly on fire from the thought destroying volume of her music, Indie bounded back in the front door. Her tactic had worked; the loud and pounding music had made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. But now, here she was, right back where she started.

Her body almost collapsed under the realization. There was no way she was going to be able to summon the will to cook supper, although this made her feel guilty. Indie sagged visibly, her energy sapped.

Dominos Pizza was simply howling her name tonight, she decided, and dialed the number.

One extra large pepperoni pizza, light on the sauce and a side of wings; Will’s favorite. She chose the pay by phone option, including a tip, so that whoever answered the door need only take the food and place it on the table.

The kids were not big pizza fans, oddly enough, but they would deal with it. They almost never complained about anything. Indie remembered a bag of pre-washed salad greens in the fridge, and dumped it unceremoniously into a large bowl. She hesitated, then grabbed a lemon from a basket on the counter and sliced it into wedges, and brought down the olive oil. This was her children’s only acceptable “dressing”, but Indie approved. It was healthy.

Feeling slightly less guilty about supper now, she took a moment to poke her head in to Will’s office.

“I ordered pizza for you guys, and it should be here in a few. It’s already paid for, tip as well.”

“Didn’t you just go to the store?” Will asked absently.

“Yes, but I’ve . . . had a long day. I just don’t have the energy to cook.” He shrugged, never lifting his eyes from the computer screen.

“Well, then,” she cleared her throat. “I think I’m just going to take a shower and climb in to bed. I don’t think my stomach can take any food tonight.” He glanced up and gave her a quick smile, eyes distracted.

“Okay, I’ll take care of the kids for you.” Ugh, Indie made a face. He actually said it.

Will is going to take care of the kids “
for
me
.” How nice of him. And, as if, anyway!

Indie knew that when the pizza came, Cassidy would answer the door. Jake would get the plates, and tell Daddy the pizza was here. The kids would be done before Will was able to tear himself away from the computer. They will have already put their plates in the dishwasher, started their own bath, and would be brushing their teeth before he came out. His involvement would most likely be the unnecessary words, “time for bed,” as they were already climbing in.

Yes, Honey, thanks so much.

Indie was both annoyed and relieved. She knew she was not going to have any trouble hiding what had happened to her today, not from him, but at the same time, she wanted somebody to care. Not nine year olds, who she didn’t want worrying about Mommy’s mental health, but someone . . . grown up.