Indigo (30 page)

“Kennedy. It’s nice to meet you sir.” I say immediately, reaching around Indigo to shake his hand.

He has a good natured smile when he greets me. “Nice to meet you. Boyfriend of Indigo’s from school?”

The label takes me by surprise, but before I can answer, Indigo tenses under my hands and cuts in, “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

She’s right, but it stings to hear her say so and I can feel the frown forming on my face. Janet’s eyes are on me, sympathy in their depths.

“Yes well, dinner’s almost ready,” she says, cutting through the subtle tension. “Let’s go set the table.”

We all head into the dining room silently, a group of people who barely know each other. Indigo hasn’t met my eyes after her declaration, and I make a plan to talk to her about where we stand after the meal. I said I wouldn’t rush her, but hearing her declare so firmly that we aren’t together is bothering me more than I thought it would.

I help Indigo set the table, while Jack chats silently with Janet at the stove. Indigo seems to not be meeting her mother’s eyes either, but Janet is sending her worried glances every few seconds. When she brings over the food and sets it down on the table, we all take a seat. It’s Jack who breaks the silence.

“So tell me Janet, where did you get the idea to name her Indigo? I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.” He takes two large spoons from the dish and scoops chicken onto his plate, and then does the same for hers. I peek over at Indigo and see she is observing them closely.

Janet smiles and then turns to Indigo, her eyes dreamy. “When she was born, she was barely five pounds. I went through the whole nine months with her and she was born exactly on her due date. She was just exceptionally small the doctor told us.”

Jack hands me the spoons and I grab some chicken, and then do the same for Indigo. She smiles at me for the first time since we came downstairs, and I try not to grin as I listen to the rest of the story. 

“Her fingers, her hands, she was like a doll. Everything was so delicate and unassuming, so fragile. Except of course,” Janet grins as she cuts into her chicken, “Her hair.”

Jack and I both laugh, and Indigo looks down at her plate with a smile. “I got it from you mom.”

“Her hair was as black as midnight,” Janet continues, “So dark that it nearly had a bluish tint to it, like a crows.”

We all laugh this time, Indigo rolling her eyes. “Really mom? A crow?”

“I had never seen anything like it,” Janet says reaching over and putting her hand over her daughters. “I wanted to give her a special name. Something different. And as I stared at her hair, Indigo just came to me. It felt right.”

“Good choice Janet. I’m sure Indigo here is glad you didn’t go with something like Cerulean, or even just plain blue.” Jack laughs at his own joke along with us, then takes another huge bite of chicken. “This is outstanding. I don’t know how I am ever going to be able to go back to microwave dinners after eating a meal like this.”

“It’s delicious,” I agree, swallowing my third bite. “Indigo and I have been surviving off goldfish and sour patch kids for the past few hours.”

Janet smiles at my compliment. “So what brings you two here early? And Indigo don’t you have class tomorrow?”

Next to me, Indigo sighs. She looks at Jack and I can tell she isn’t sure if she wants to say anything in front of him. He looks down at his plate and digs in as if to give her privacy. “I do. But after our phone call I just felt like I needed to come home. I couldn’t wait.”

Janet gives her a look that I can’t decipher, but then smiles again. “Let’s talk about that later. I’m interested to get to know your friend here. Kennedy, where are you from and how did you find yourself at Fairbanks?”

I pause for a moment, a sinking feeling filling my gut when I realize I have to somewhat lie to her mother too. “I’m from New York, about 40 minutes outside of Fairbanks. Like Indigo, I went because of the great art program.”

“That’s right,” she nods. “Indigo told me you’re an artist. I’d love to see your drawings sometime. What kind of art are you majoring in?”

“Actually,” I tell her, “I’m not declared yet. I’ve been going back and forth between law and art the past couple years.”

“A solid career, law,” Jack puts in. “Tried it myself, but I guess I didn’t have the smarts for it. I think it also had something to do with the fact that I hate our judicial system and the way it all works. No offense.”

“None taken,” I tell him. “I’ve always been leaning more towards art. I’d love to teach it someday.”

“A fellow educator,” Janet smiles.

Indigo’s eyes are on me, and guilt seeps in. I find I can’t look at her. What is wrong with me that I can’t just tell her?

“How did you guys meet?” Janet asks, looking towards her daughter.

“We have a class together,” Indigo says. “It’s where I met Sabrina too.”

“Yes I remember you told me that,” Janet says. “But how did you guys, you know, start hanging out?”

I can tell Indigo’s mom is trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on between us, and I can see that it’s making Indigo uncomfortable. “I’ll take credit for that,” I smile. “Indigo here knows I’m not a very patient person, and I was interested to meet her right from the beginning. I walked over and introduced myself that same day. And the rest, I guess, is history.”

“I see,” Janet grins at Indigo. “Well I’m glad you were there to keep my daughter company on the ride down. It’s been a while since Indigo’s had any friends over.”

“Mom,” Indigo whines. “Seriously?”

Janet winks at me and then Jack changes the conversation. “Is that your Jeep out front? What kind of engine you got in there?”

For the next half hour we all talk politely about my car, Indigo and I’s first few weeks at college, and Jack tells us a few funny stories about his job as an EMT. He seems like a nice guy, and I really enjoy Indigo’s mom’s company. The dinner ends with the atmosphere relaxed, and Jack invites me out for a cigar.

“Let’s let these ladies catch up for a few minutes,” he says. “I’ve got two Cubans in my car. Interested?”

Even though I’ve only smoked a cigar a handful of times, I feel like I should agree to give Indigo and her mom some privacy. “Sure.” I wave to Indigo, and follow Jack out onto the back porch.

INDIGO

I start picking up the dirty plates and bringing them to the sink, unsure of how to start the conversation I want to have with my mom. I’ve always been able to talk to her about anything that I’ve wanted to, but she’s never invited a guy over before, not even before the kidnapping. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“Indigo,” she calls out. I turn around and see that she is still sitting at the table. She pats the seat next to her, and I put the last plate in the sink before turning around and sitting beside her. When I get to the table, I rest my head into my hands.

“So do you like him?” I finally ask, realizing the weirdness of asking my mom that question.

She lets out a staggering sigh, and then smiles. “Yes. I do.”

My face scrunches up and she laughs, running her finger down my nose to erase the wrinkles. “I felt the same way about it at first. I haven’t dated in so long, I almost completely forgot what it was like to have butterflies in my stomach.”

A pang of sadness creeps in, followed by a wave of guilt because I know it’s because of me. Everything she’s ever done has always been about me and making sure I’m happy. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“I know that look,” she scolds me. “It’s been my choice not to date since your father. My life has been about you and I don’t regret a moment of that. I never will. This thing with Jack seemed to come out of nowhere, took me by surprise too.”

I lean my head on her shoulder. I know the feeling. “He goes to your group?”

She sighs. “He lost his sister. He hasn’t talked too much about it yet, but he’s making progress.”

“Was she taken, too?” I ask, knowing the group my mom frequents is a support group for individuals or families of kidnapping victims.

“She was. But it’s a different situation than yours. He hasn’t gotten too far with it yet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say honestly, obviously knowing all too well how something like that can change your life forever. “Have you told him about me?”

She gives me a sad smile. “Everyone knows about you Indigo. I made sure everyone in this country knew you were missing. He doesn’t judge me,” she says, her eyes going to the table. “Like some do.”

Because she left me home alone at 15. It doesn’t need to be said out loud. I’ve never blamed her for a moment. There are only two people to blame. “No one should judge you. You’re the best mom in the whole world.”

Her eyes are watery when she looks at me, and in them I see a world of guilt that nothing I could ever say will take away. I’ve tried. “Either way, Jack and I have been seeing each other for a couple months. I wanted to tell you before you met him. I know how you are with strangers, but then you showed up and I realized how excited I was to introduce you. What do you think of him?”

“He seems nice,” I tell her honestly. “In shape, good looking, slight Irish accent. You still got it mom,” I joke, and we both laugh for a few seconds.

The laughter dies down, and I know it’s my turn to make a confession of my own. “The call from Detective Waters freaked me out. I don’t want a security detail mom, and I don’t want him trying to convince me to testify again either. I want to get this out of the way and move on with my life. I’m tired of dealing with all of this. I want it to be over.”

“I know honey,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “It will be. But you already know what I’m going to say about testifying. When I think about that woman going back on the streets--“

“Stop,” I tell her forcefully. “I don’t want to get into that conversation now.” I lower my voice, feeling bad. “Please?” Typical me. Deal with things later.

I can tell she doesn’t want to drop it, and I know what she’s thinking. She’ll wait until the Detective is here, and then tag team me then. It’s the one thing my mom and I don’t see eye to eye on, and I know we never will. I’m glad I have Kennedy here to back me up, and I realize I’m very interested to know my mom’s first impression of him.

“I like him. He’s very polite,” she answers when I ask. “Handsome…”

I know she has something else to say. “But?”

She sighs again. “He likes you a lot Indigo. I can tell by the way he looks at you. I just want to know if you’re ready for that.”

I decide to be honest. “I don’t know but…I want to try.”

“And does he respect that?”

“He said at dinner he was impatient, but with me, he acts like he has all the time in world. I like him too mom. I trust him.” It feels so good to say that out loud to someone else, to put it out into the universe how lucky I feel.

The tears are back in her eyes. “It makes me so happy to hear you say that. You deserve that Indy. What happened in the past shouldn’t affect your future, and although I’m a little nervous because I’m your mom, I want you to fall in love, to be happy.”

“I didn’t say anything about love mom, we’re not even going out,” I tell her, a strange desire to keep the relationship simple in my mom’s eyes. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed, but I do.

“Oh yeah, you told us,” she says, looking at me from the corner of her eye. “I think you hurt poor Kennedy’s feelings when you nearly shouted it out like that back on the stairs.”

I wince. “Well, it’s true. We’re not together. He hasn’t asked me or anything.” Do I want him to ask me? I let myself think about it seriously, without all the tarnish from my past wrapped in it. I like him enough, I can admit that to myself, and I know he likes me. But could I do it? Could he do it?