Pinky Promises (The Promises #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  Indie blanched when she saw the number that popped up. It ended with far too many zeroes but had removed any of her worries regarding her dad putting himself out of pocket paying for baby things.

  So they continued looking, Indie’s stomach still churning whenever she thought of the money accrued over the years, just waiting for her to return to it.

  By the time nine p.m. rolled around, Indie was exhausted and battling eyestrain, unused to looking at a screen for so long. Marley had fallen asleep wrapped around her like a spider monkey, her hand still hanging onto Laker’s fingers. He’d fallen into a seat beside them, content to just quietly observe, only piping up when he saw something he thought Indie might like to see up close.

  “All right, we’re heading up, Dad. Thank you, for all of this. I’m…we’re so lucky to have you.” Indie stood, being careful not to jostle Marley. She smiled down at her dad, leaning over to kiss his head. “Goodnight, Dad. Love you.”

  Reagan blinked back the fierce sting of happy tears. “Love you too, baby girl. No need to thank me, all right? This money is all yours, for you and my grandbabies. I’m just looking forward to being able to spoil you all. Sweet dreams only, okay?”

  “Okay. ‘Night.”

  “I’m gonna hit the hay, too. I’ll just come up to use the bathroom,” Laker said quietly, taking Marley when it became obvious Indie was struggling to get her up the stairs.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, sighing contentedly at the sight of her daughter cuddling as far into Laker’s chest as she could, humming in her sleep. She clutched Mr. Bunny close, as usual, and whined softly when Laker tried to lay her on the bed. Grace had gone home to her own house, attempting to sleep without Indie for the first time, so the bed looked way too big with just tiny Marley in the middle.

  Her eyes flickered open, landing on Laker as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get her hands to release his shirt. “L-Laker!”

  A tear tumbled over Indie’s cheek as he perched on the edge of the bed, letting her settle tucked into his side. She sighed, mumbling his name once more as sleep welcomed her back into its folds.

  “You might as well stay there until she’s actually asleep, or she’ll just wake up again,” Indie whispered, smiling reassuringly when Laker cocked his head and mouthed, “Are you sure?”

  “It’s fine, honestly. She went to sleep late last night, and it’s way past her bedtime now, so she could do with a good rest. If you’d rather go to bed yourself it’s fine, honestly,” she stammered, remembering he’d said he was heading to bed. Embarrassed, she slipped off her hoodie and climbed under the covers in her leggings and t-shirt. “Sorry, you go on to bed. She’ll settle again, it’s fi—”

  “Hey, quit panicking,” Laker laughed quietly, lifting his legs up onto the bed and stretching out, his back against the headboard, his head tipped to the side to face her. “She’s comfy and settled; that’s good enough for me. I’ll hang out here for a bit, read your dad’s book or something.”

  Reagan always kept a book on his bedside table. He hadn’t touched the one currently taking up residence there for months, but Laker made sure the bookmark was secure before opening it to the first page.

  When he could still feel Indie staring at the side of his face a few minutes later, he turned to look at her in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I just…thank you. For being so good—” She stopped to yawn before adding, “With her. She loves you so much already.”

  Laker couldn’t get a response out in time, his mouth tipping up in a grin as Indie’s eyes slid shut and her breaths evened out. She was exhausted, and it was no wonder, really. With the soft glow of the moon sneaking through the blinds, and the soothing sounds of Indie and Marley breathing, Laker let himself relax.

  When Reagan poked his head through the gap between the door and the doorframe an hour later on his way back from a quick trip to get a glass of water, he couldn’t resist snapping a photo of the trio curled together on his bed; Marley snuggled between Indie and Laker. Indie had reached over Marley and had a hand resting on Laker’s hip, his arm crossed over hers so he could rest a hand on the now-visible swell of her belly.

  It was an adorable photo—one Reagan printed on photo paper and displayed in a frame he’d had tucked away for the day his girls were returned to him; all before anybody else woke up the next morning. He’d always planned to display a photo of himself and his children in it, but somehow, this image screamed ‘home’ and ‘love’ better than any posed photo he could organize.

  chapter twenty-two

  The next three weeks passed uneventfully, for the most part.

  Indie and Grace began to heal under the watchful eyes and tender loving care of their families. To everybody’s relief, Indie’s weight increased almost to the point that she looked healthy, her bump growing fast now she was getting three decent meals a day.

  The girls began attending twice-weekly sessions with their new psychologist, Ines, and the improvement in their behaviour and mindset was noticeable to all.

  The most obvious was Indie’s fear of touch.

  The day she finally allowed her dad to hug her without a flinch, grimace, or clenched jaw was an emotional one. It became a regular occurrence to see Reagan randomly stop whatever he was doing to embrace his daughter, the fissures in his heart sticking themselves back together one by one.

  Reagan surprised Indie with the arrival of the baby’s nursery furniture, sending her to Peter’s house for a day with Grace, Marley, Heidi, and Pippa. He’d managed to redecorate her bedroom right under her nose, keeping the door shut as he knew she wasn’t ready to venture in there just yet. She hadn’t noticed that when she went to bed, he was staying up each night painting the walls a pretty, sunny yellow and laying soft cream carpet. He’d also switched out her twin bed for a double, and moved it to make room for the crib in the alcove. A small, twin bed sat at the other end of the room, decorated with a bedding set bearing puppies of all shapes, colours, and sizes.

  Marley loved it on sight when he snuck her in for an early showing.

  The day he finally led Indie into the room, it was unrecognizable. She sobbed her way around it, touching everything and repeatedly thanking her dad. She paused in front of the crib, crying into her cupped hands as she took it all in. Marley pulled herself up on the side, trying to peek in over the bumper and bars.

  Slowly, a frown took over Indie’s face. “What’s different?”

  Reagan chuckled. He’d wondered how long it would take her to notice. “What do you mean, baby girl?”

  “I mean…it’s the one I saw on the computer, but…there’s something different about it. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I think you need to speak to a certain young man over there about that.”

  Indie turned, raising her head to look at Laker. He wore a bashful, slightly nervous expression as he reached up, tugging at the peak of his cap. “Laker? What does Dad mean?”

  “Well, I’d already started on it when you pointed out the crib online. I managed to tweak it so it’d look more like that one, and the stain was easy enough. To be honest, it was pretty close anyway. We must have similar taste.”

  Shaking her head, as though it might help clear the confusion clouding her mind, Indie cleared her throat. “Laker, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  Huffing, Laker let his head fall back slightly and stared at the ceiling as he admitted, “I made it. I made you the crib. If you don’t like it, it’s absolutely fine. I can sell this, and we can still get the other one, it’s no trouble. I just wanted to do something to help and surprise you, so…yeah.”

  A million thoughts flew through Indie’s mind as she turned her eyes back to the crib. Suddenly, she could see it. She could see the intricately carved details that had been missing in the crib on the laptop. And, come to think of it, hadn’t the bars been rounded? These were straight and flat, with softer edges which felt silky smooth under Indie’s fingertips. The soli
d panel that made up the back of the crib had a sophisticated, curly flourish dead in the centre, and smaller, matching ones on the inside of each end panel.

  “It’s beautiful, Laker,” she breathed, awed by the craftsmanship and thought that had gone into the gorgeous piece of furniture. “How? When? When did you make this?” He spent virtually all of his time with her or Marley. When did he get the chance to sneak off to build this? It clearly wasn’t a job he could’ve finished within a couple of hours.

  He shrugged nonchalantly, though she could see the beginnings of hope in his face as he peered down at her. “Mostly while you slept, or went to therapy. Sometimes I can’t sleep and I get restless, so I’d just go across to Aunt Sarah and Uncle Andy’s garage to work on it instead of waking everyone up by rattling around the house.” He sighed, cocking his head to the side just a little. “Do you like it?”

  “Laker, I love it! It’s perfect! So much better than the original, and I didn’t think that was possible. It’s so beautiful. You’re incredibly talented, do you know that?”

  It tickled Reagan, as well as Indie, to see the tips of Laker’s ears flushing pink at her praise. “Um, thank you. That means a lot. I’m glad you like it.”

  Marley tugged at Laker’s shirt, then pointed at the crib in frustration.

  “This is where the baby will sleep, Marley,” Laker told her, lifting her at the waist so she could see better. She grinned up at him, sitting Mr. Bunny in the cot beside the teddy bear.

  “Are you sharing, Mars?” Reagan asked, leaning in the doorway with the biggest smile on his face. “I’m sure your baby sister will love—”

  “No, brother.”

  All eyes swivelled towards Laker, his grin faltering. He stammered a few, unintelligible words before looking at Marley, still holding her up so she could lean on the rail of the crib. She had a defiant look on her face as she shook her head.

  “No sister. Brother.”

  Her voice wasn’t quite how a five-year-old’s voice should sound, but she hadn’t had the practice wrapping her tongue around words like a normal child, so it was to be expected. Her ‘brother’ sounded more like ‘brothuh,’ but it was clear what she meant. Indie’s tears halted momentarily as she turned, crouching to be face-to-face with her daughter.

  “Sweetie, are you…are you talking?”

  Marley nodded, a sweet, bashful smile on her face, but she didn’t answer again. She went the entire day before uttering another word.

  ‘Laker,’ she’d murmured as Laker tucked her into bed that night. Over the following few days, she began saying a few more words with more frequency. Ines Danton, the psychologist, said she was feeling more comfortable in her new home; more comfortable with her family, and it was allowing her to open up a little more. Whatever the reason, Indie was proud of every word Marley spoke.

  Indie attended another scan, and everybody was pleased with the results. The baby was catching up with the sort of size he or she should be at almost seven months. Both the sonographer and Indie’s OB/GYN were overjoyed when she shared the news at the appointment right after the scan, even though most were disappointed when Indie admitted that she still didn’t want to find out the sex of the baby.

  On the twentieth of June, exactly two months after the girls’ rescue, Reagan and Peter took to the cameras to release a public statement. It went viral almost immediately.

  Aged by over a decade of sorrow, yet healed by two months of joy, the men appeared completely different from the images of themselves back in 2004. At Riley’s suggestion, and with the hesitant agreement of the girls, Indie and Grace had also allowed a recent photograph of themselves to be released. It was taken on Archie’s birthday, with the girls tucked into his sides. The press had caught wind of Marley’s existence after she’d been spotted in the living room window one day, but they’d been surprisingly low-key with their digging and attempts to get information about her. So, despite Indie’s initial reservations, she agreed to release the photo of herself, Grace, and Archie—even though Marley’s profile was visible in the background.

  Also visible in the photo were Indie’s eyebrow scars, one far more healed than the other.

  Many journalists ruminated over the decision to release this picture in particular, some correctly deducing that it was because it was similar to the one used in the original campaign.

  With the thirst of the journalists somewhat abated, the family could concentrate on themselves and their recovery.

  Grace began spending more and more nights at her dad’s house. The separation was torture at first, but the girls gradually found it starting to get easier. Still, Grace and Indie far preferred being within eyesight of one another, which was understandable.

  ~ oOo ~

  The twenty-fifth of June dawned warm and sunny with not an inkling of a cloud anywhere in the sky. Indie woke first, as had become the norm, and was already well into the preparations for a fry-up—including bacon, sausages, eggs, and hash browns—when Laker joined her. This, too, was a routine occurrence.

  In the course of a few weeks, the pair had become close, their friendship rekindling over a shared love of cooking, a mutual appreciation of each other’s need for quiet time every now and then, and their fondness for Marley.

  With careful manoeuvring and cleverly thought out trickery, Laker often managed to get Indie to eat more food than she realised, boyishly requesting that she tasted everything before serving up. Often, Marley also taste-tested their creations, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar with a colouring pad and pencils, content to watch her mother and Laker working together.

  Each morning, Reagan, Peter, Archie, Carl-Roman, Chase, Heidi, Pippa, and Grace trickled into the kitchen, tucking into the food Indie and Laker cooked. Occasionally, they were joined by Laker’s Aunt Sarah and Uncle Andy, or Reagan’s neighbours, Mark and Josie Walters and their sons, Clarke and Dave.

  Now they were back from visiting Sarah’s relatives in Australia, they were keen to support the family they’d been friends with since moving onto the street. Far closer to his aunt and uncle than his parents, Laker had been exceptionally excited to introduce them to Marley. Indie had stepped back with a smile and a nonchalant wave, allowing him his fun when they arrived. They spent the entire day with the large, mish-mashed family.

  Mark and Josie Walters had moved into the house beside Reagan’s just a year before the girls’ abduction, but they’d been friendly and shared barbecues over the fence throughout the summer. When the girls went missing, they’d become a secondary pillar of support for Reagan and Peter whenever they needed help with Archie, Heidi, and Pippa. And, later, they had become that for Archie, too. Aside from his Pawpaw or Uncle Pete, Mark and Josie were Carl-Roman’s favourite babysitters. They’d brought their sons—ten-year-old Clarke and five-year-old Dave—over with them one sunny day mid-June and Indie bonded quickly with Josie, while Dave and Marley became instant best friends. They sat quietly together in the garden, content to play with Josie’s Boston Terrier, Bonnie. She was an elderly lady at ten-years-old, but she placidly chased the ball they rolled for her over and over, until finally, she collapsed in Marley’s lap for a snooze in the sun.

  Needless to say, Marley had never smiled wider. Reagan had taken great pleasure in filling his camera roll with pictures of Marley’s first meeting with a dog.

  ~ oOo ~

  “Aw, crap!” Laker hissed, yanking his hand away from the knife he’d been using to chop mushrooms. He’d gotten lost in memories of Josie and Mark’s visit. He was smiling to himself at the memory of Marley petting Bonnie when he missed the mushroom and hit his finger instead.

  The knife hit the sideboard with a clatter as Indie spun, her face drawn with horror at the sound of his obvious pain. She rounded the island to cradle his injured right hand in her small, gentle palms. Well versed in tending to injuries, Indie knew the small cut on his middle finger wasn’t going to need stitches or anything more than a dip under the water and a clean plaster.


  “Come here,” she urged softly, tugging him along behind her to the table where she pushed him towards a chair. His eyes followed her as she moved around the room on silent, sock-clad feet, all-but drowning in not only his grey jogging bottoms, but a pink t-shirt of his, too. He’d seen her wistful expression when she saw the windsurfer motif on the front last time he wore it, so, once it had been washed, Laker happily gifted it to her. She missed the beach, she’d admitted, and he’d been only too willing to give her the fabric representation until they could go to the beach for real.

  “Shit!”

  “Sorry,” Indie mumbled. Laker’s mouth turned down in a boyish scowl as she dipped his finger in a small bowl of cold water, cleaning the blood from around the cut before drying it with a tissue, holding it until the bleeding stopped. “It’ll be okay in a minute.”

  Bemused green eyes watched Indie glide back to the scene of the crime, scraping the bloodied mushrooms into the bin before wiping the board and putting it into the sink for a proper clean. The knife went in, too.

  Laker considered her as she deftly managed the rest of the meal preparations without effort, her multitasking skills allowing her to cook a loaf of bread, mind the sizzling bacon, and turn the sausages on the grill.

  “You know a lot about injuries, huh?” Laker asked after a few minutes, anticipating the way Indie tensed. They both knew he’d heard her recount of how she’d received every injury, every mark she’d gained in the past twelve years; accidental or otherwise.

  “Self-preservation.” Indie’s whisper was so soft that he barely heard it from a few feet away. But the words, when they did reach him, sent a shiver down his spine. He was glad Marley had chosen to sit in the living room that morning, watching cartoons on the big flat screen with Mr. Bunny. “Grace is better with them than I am…” Indie trailed off.