Worth a Thousand Words (23 page)

“Okaaay.” Sasha made another note in her book. Indigo wanted to laugh. This woman thought they were prudes, but so what—they were and it worked.

Sasha switched gears and turned her focus back to Yasmin.

“Stand up, Yasmin, and walk the length of the room for me,” she said.

Indigo sensed her sister’s nervousness, but Yasmin confidently followed direction.

“We need to work on your gait and your form a little bit, but you’ll get there.”

Sasha looked at the Burnses. “Would you be willing to let her attend a model training camp for preprofessionals in Upstate New York? It’s held the third week in August and lasts for a week. Parent chaperones aren’t allowed.”

Mama and Daddy traded questioning glances.

“What’s the curriculum, and who are the chaperones?” Daddy asked.

Sasha outlined the sessions that would be offered by some of the world’s top-rate models and industry professionals, including a class on etiquette, money management, the price of fame, and the threat of eating disorders.

“We’re serious about avoiding that with these girls, because an eating disorder can quickly derail their careers,” Sasha said. “We have counselors there to work with girls already struggling with this issue to ensure that while they’re working for us they receive regular support, and assistance, if necessary. We want them to be thin, but we also want them healthy.”

Indigo and Yasmin eyed their parents. Indigo was relieved when they simply nodded, without revealing what Yasmin had already been through.

They turned to Indigo, though, to get her thoughts about the camp.

“What do you think?”

“I think she should do it,” Indigo said. “If you’re going to allow her to launch a modeling career, this sounds like a great opportunity to learn about the pros and cons and what to realistically expect. It also would help her meet and befriend other girls her age who are doing the same thing.”

Daddy pursed his lips for a few minutes before responding. He looked at Yasmin. “Can you handle it?”

Indigo knew Yasmin understood the question he was really asking.

“I’m ready, Daddy,” Yasmin said. “I won’t let you down.”

Forty minutes later, a contract had been signed and it was official: Yasmin Burns would soon be gracing magazine spreads and advertisements across the southern region of the United States and occasionally other parts of the country.

When the family left Sasha’s office and stood alone on the moving elevator, Indigo gripped Yasmin in a fierce embrace.

“I’m so proud of you! This is exciting!”

Indigo turned toward her parents and saw that they were holding hands and speaking a silent language with their eyes.

“What?” she asked.

Mama looked at her and at Yasmin and smiled. “Nothing. We just can’t believe that both of you are growing up and finding your way in New York City, of all places. We’ve been preparing you for this day, but it’s still bittersweet.”

Yasmin leaned over and hugged Mama’s neck. “Like you told Sasha, where I go, you go, so we’re in this big city together. I’m still your baby, Mama. I don’t mind if you want to tuck me in at night every now and then.”

They laughed and departed from the elevator, all smiles.

Indigo had booked the family a hotel room in Lower Manhattan so they wouldn’t be far from the subway line they would ride to apartment hunt tomorrow, or from the heart of the city if they wanted to catch a show.

The price hadn’t been pretty, but Daddy had been willing to splurge.

“You’re getting married soon, Indigo, and Yasmin’s about to become Miss Cosmopolitan.” He laughed. “Let me treat you girls with what I can afford while it still means something to you. I’m guessing both of you will be rolling in more dough than I’ve made my whole career.”

The Burnses checked into their suite and relaxed for about an hour before Indigo got antsy.

“We should head over to the Theatre District and catch a show tonight,” she suggested. “I’ll go downstairs and see if they have any playbills.”

When Indigo reached the lobby, she strode to the brochure rack that contained theater information and perused the offerings. After a few minutes, she decided to take one of each pamphlet so the family could review them together and make a decision.

On her way to the bank of elevators, she looked toward the hotel entrance and did a double take. A man with a build, complexion, and haircut similar to Brian’s was leaving. He was casually dressed and rolled a suitcase behind him.

Indigo stopped and stared until he was out of sight. He never turned around, so she didn’t see his face, but for as long as she had dated Brian, wouldn’t she know him anywhere? And shouldn’t she also know if he had come to New York?

45

T
hings hadn’t been the same since New York.

  More than once, Brian’s parents, friends, and Indigo had told him he seemed lost in his own world. He consistently deflected their concern by questioning if they had secret fears about his joining the military in wartime. While he wouldn’t be required to participate in ground combat in Iraq or Afghanistan, there was a good chance that as a pilot he could be assigned to serve somewhere near there. Instead, he insisted, preparing for flight school and the looming wedding had him distracted.

But every morning and then again at dusk when he left home for a seven-mile run to keep in shape for flight school, his thoughts would wander. Sometimes he wished he could shut them off.

The next best thing to do was to drown them out with prayer. And he did, fervently asking God to change him, to heal him, to give him a solution.

He loved Indigo, but he hated himself. He wanted a wife and children—a normal life. But he didn’t want to live a lie.

For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed of becoming a Navy pilot and someday applying for astronaut status. That was still his goal, but if word leaked out about his college transgressions, or his recent temptations, those aspirations were as good as dead.

His mom and dad hadn’t said much, but he could tell they were worried. He knew that his mom was praying on his behalf, asking God to take care of whatever was troubling her son.

His dad was watching him closely, trying to make sure he kept a handle on his future.

“Pace yourself, Son,” he’d said more than once. “No need to burn out when you’re just getting started. You’ve got dozens of years to get it all done. Slow and steady still wins the race.”

Brian really didn’t know what his father meant by all of that, but he was grateful for any sort of pep talk.

This afternoon, he took the first exit into Jubilant and looked at the phone number and address scrawled on the piece of paper in the passenger seat. Aunt Melba had given him Ms. Harrow’s contact information, and he had called to ask her permission to cut some fresh flowers from her garden.

Five minutes later, her white brick rancher with green shutters came into view. He pulled into the driveway and followed the rose trail up the sidewalk. Before he could ring the doorbell, she opened the beveled glass outer door and welcomed him inside. She served him a glass of tea and told him the story behind the garden and how she had come to know Melba and eventually Indigo.

Indigo had shared the same details months ago, which was why he knew she’d appreciate these flowers versus a dozen storebought roses, but he listened anyway.

“I’m honored that you want flowers from my garden for Indigo,” Ms. Harrow said when she led him outside to the vast backyard. She gave him a pair of garden shears and fanned her arm out.

“Take your pick.” She also handed him a glass vase, with a white ribbon tied around the body.

Seeing Brian’s surprise, she laughed. “Yes, I keep a supply of vases and ribbons—you never know when you want to give someone a gift from the garden. I do that often, so I finally decided to stock up and stop running to the store every week.”

“You’re amazing,” he said.

Ms. Harrow blushed. “Thank you, dear. It’s not often that I hear such kind words from such a handsome man.”

She stood next to him as he surveyed the reams of flowers of all hues and heights, and struggled to decide what he wanted. She patted his arm and smiled at him.

“Take your time, dear,” she said. “I’m going inside to get supper started, but don’t feel rushed. I want you to pick what’s right for you and for Indigo—she’s a special girl.

“And while you’re here, take some quiet time for yourself. I know Melba and Indigo have told you this is a prayer garden too. I know for a fact that God dwells here—this has become my sanctuary.”

Brian watched her stroll into the house and waited to see if she would peek at him in a few minutes from the kitchen window. She didn’t, and when he turned his attention back to the view and space before him, he felt as if he were indeed in a sanctuary, a private garden in which he could meet God.

A sweet silence enveloped him, and he felt his heart rate slow. Brian realized in that moment that he had been doing all the talking in his prayers. Now it was time to listen.

He sat on the C-shaped stone bench near a bed of tulips and lowered his head to his knees. He closed his eyes and waited. No need to say a word. No need to cry. He just listened with his heart and with his soul and allowed God to pour the answers into him.

Half an hour later, Brian raised his head, inhaled deeply, and stood up to cut his beautiful Indigo some flowers. Four years ago today, they had officially become a couple, and he wanted to give her something special.

He picked four pink roses and a handful of purple daisies to complement them, knowing she’d be happy to receive something in her favorite colors. He also took a single red rose, to symbolize his never-ending love.

Brian pulled a $50 bill from his pocket and placed it on the stone bench under a small rock from the garden. He found one of his business cards from his engineering days in his wallet and scribbled a brief note on the back for Ms. Harrow, telling her to consider the money an offering for the upkeep of this special space, and thanking her for her kind heart and generosity.

He walked to his car with the vase of flowers and uttered another prayer.

Thank you.

Regardless of what loomed, God had shown him during that quiet time that he wasn’t alone, and he never would be, as long as he listened and obeyed.

46

O
asis was a new, fine dining restaurant in Jubilant, owned by two Everson College professors, and it was the perfect place to celebrate an anniversary.

The soft lighting created a romantic ambiance, and the live piano music was engaging. Formally dressed waiters discreetly hovered and appeared trained not to eavesdrop on their diners’ conversations.

If Indigo weren’t already engaged, she would have considered it the perfect spot for Brian to propose.

She looked at him now, sitting across from her, smiling at her. She cried earlier, when he gave her the flowers from Ms. Harrow’s garden. The fact that he had been thoughtful enough to find out where Ms. Harrow lived and to pick the flowers himself touched her.

She had so much to be thankful for. Her glaucoma wasn’t bothering her, she had a regular photo column in the local newspaper, her work would soon be featured in
O Magazine
, and she was heading off to the grad school of her dreams.

Life was so good, and so full, and she was blessed to have this wonderful man to share it with.

In the weeks since her late-night chat with Shelby, however,

Indigo had realized a pivotal truth: Brian was good, kind, and faithful, and he was everything a woman could want in a partner; yet he didn’t rate a mention on her list of the primary things that she couldn’t live without. She loved him, without question. But she had been asking herself lately if she loved him like Rachelle loved Gabe, or like Shelby loved Hunt, or like Mama and Daddy loved each other—hard and long, through thick and thin.

Rachelle and Gabe had overcome the rocky foundation upon which they began married life. Shelby and Hunt were navigating their bond through the rough winds that still caused turbulence among blacks and whites. Daddy had stuck by Mama when alcohol had its grip on her life, and she sometimes spoke of weathering the year he had a midlife crisis and seemed to forget he had a family.

Brian was her safety net, and ultimately, that was why she couldn’t marry him.

Not when she was surrounded by people who exemplified the beauty of a union formed with care. Not when God was showing her that if she trusted him instead of always doing what was safe, he would take her places and give her experiences more awesome than she could fathom.

She looked at this man now, whom she had loved since she was nineteen, and she didn’t want to let him go. But because she loved him, she would.

She and Brian chatted over dinner about nothing in particular—the training he had been doing to stay in shape for flight school, the exciting things on the horizon for Yasmin, Aunt Melba’s gradual return to styling hair, the apartment her parents had leased for her in New York.

“It’s about the size of a doghouse, and costs as much as a penthouse, but I can survive in it,” she said and laughed. “Speaking of New York, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I saw your twin at the hotel we stayed in during our visit.”

The waiter appeared with two forks and the miniature chocolate lava cake they had ordered.

Indigo dug in, but Brian seemed to have lost interest.

“What did you say?”

She swallowed her bite and resumed the conversation. “We checked into a Marriott hotel in Lower Manhattan and I went down to the lobby to get theater brochures, and a man was leaving the hotel who looked just like you.”

Brian frowned and looked sick. He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip.

“You okay?” Indigo asked.

Brian nodded and motioned for her to put her hands in his.

She laid her fork down and complied, not sure where this was going.

“Indigo, that was me you saw that day. I was in New York and never told you.”

“Okaaay . . . ,” she said, trying to keep her mind from racing with all kinds of scenarios. “Why didn’t you tell me? We talked that weekend. You didn’t tell me you weren’t in Austin. That whole time, that’s where I thought you were.”