Worth a Thousand Words

by Stacy Adams

  How often would she have to have this procedure to maintain a normal life? What if the doctors were wrong about the disease’s progression? Should she get a desk job where her eyes weren’t central to her work?

  Maybe she should take the bird in her hand—marriage to a man she loved—and let whatever else happened, happen. She wondered what Shelby would advise her to do. But then, Shelby had never been one to make choices based on matters of the heart. She flew through boyfriends the way some women changed shoes.

  Indigo felt the knots in her stomach as she tossed around all of her options.

  She loved Brian, but she needed to be able to breathe without him. She had learned from the women she cared about most—Mama, Rachelle, Aunt Melba—that life got hard sometimes, and she’d be wise to make sure she could take care of herself.

  Before she could wrestle with herself any further, Dr. Woodman’s assistant returned and told her she could go.

  Mama and Daddy had been watching the clock in the eye clinic’s waiting room. They stood to greet her when she emerged from the post-op area and peered at her expectantly.

  Indigo shrugged and answered the questions they were asking with their eyes. “I’m okay; no pain or anything. Dr. Woodman says I’ll be ready to move forward with life by tomorrow.”

  She tried not to sound glum, but truth be told, she had only partially pulled herself out of the pity party she had lapsed into a few days ago, when Claude Ingram seemed so thrilled to bid her farewell. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he hadn’t acknowledged the pictures she’d left with him.

  Indigo knew the newspaper would still be produced and photos would still be published, but she alternated between not caring and wanting her absence to be felt. Then she’d pray and ask God to forgive her for feeling that way.

  “Ready to go?” Mama asked.

  “Sure.”

  They walked to the hospital garage and climbed into her parents’ GMC.

  Mama and Daddy were quiet on the drive home. When they were about five minutes away, Indigo brought up a concern that had been worrying her for a couple of weeks now.

  “What do you want me to do about grad school?”

  Mama shifted in the front passenger seat and turned toward Indigo. “What do you mean? You’re still leaving after the wedding, aren’t you? I thought that you and Brian had discussed it and agreed.”

  Indigo tried to gauge by her mother’s expression what she was thinking and feeling, but Mama had always been a master at masking her emotions. That skill had contributed to her ability to hide her alcoholism for so long. She’d never been loud and nasty, but shutting down and withdrawing from the family every chance she got over a period of years had caused just as much pain.

  “We’ve discussed it, but I would say the issue is still on the table,” Indigo said. “I’m still struggling with what to do, given the glaucoma diagnosis. I just don’t know. Should I still try to go?”

  “Why are you asking us?” Daddy piped up. “You’re all set to go, with a partial scholarship and all, and you’ve wanted to go for a long time. Why give up now? Dr. Woodman said this surgery should work.”

  “But what if it doesn’t and I’ve wasted all that money and time?”

  Mama peered at Indigo. “When did you start letting fear dictate your path? Haven’t we taught you that life is a series of what-ifs? Are you going to let your dreams go based on a possibility that things might not work out as planned, when there’s a strong chance that they will? Have you talked to God about it?”

  Well, yes—she had prayed. She had pleaded.

  Mama could read the answer in Indigo’s eyes. “Have you been listening?” she asked gently. “When you do that, you’ll know what to do. We’ve been saving money for your education since you were a baby, Indigo, even before you came to live with us. It was already earmarked, so don’t get all caught up in that. If you go and you spend it, you will have still learned something and had experiences that God wanted you to have, regardless of what may happen down the road.”

  Indigo closed her eyes and laid her head back on the seat. Mama was right. Why should she stop pushing forward now, when only God knew what the future held?

  If she chose to attend grad school, though, Brian would have to wait for them to live together as husband and wife. She wasn’t sure how she would broach that conversation, especially since the last time they talked, she hadn’t balked at his plan for her to join him in Pensacola after their wedding.

  That led to another unsettling question—would he agree to a long-distance marriage?

  20

  On most nights, Brian couldn’t purge the scene from his mind.

  It had been over three years since that romantic liaison, but every time he remembered it, he felt ashamed. His thoughts would float between that pivotal evening and his routine date with Indigo the next day.

  She had no clue, and for that, he had been thankful. Nothing was worth losing her. Nothing.

  Life was so regimented at OCS that he had not had much time to think about anything but memorizing rules and regulations and barking the required responses to his drill sergeant and commanding officer.

  When he wasn’t running or swimming or completing some other physical training activity, he was cramming material on engineering and naval equipment into his brain. He prayed daily to master every challenge so he wouldn’t get rolled back to another class. That would mean an additional three months here and would throw off plans for his wedding. Indigo would jump on the excuse to move to New York.

  In his first few weeks here, Brian had been ready to sleep like a baby by the time Gunnery Sgt. McArthur conducted nine p.m. taps to make sure all lights were out and that the officers were complying with mandatory silence.

  As the weeks wore on, his body adjusted to the rigorous pace and he was able to stay up as late as he wanted in the dark, quiet room.

  That left more time for ruminating and dreaming, and fretting over the past, and what the future would look like. If he passed OCS and was commissioned, he would be on the path to become a Navy pilot.

  But what was going to happen with his relationship with Indigo if she wasn’t ready to settle down? He didn’t want to be one of those lonely military men, pining away for a long-distance love and waiting for mail call, and he knew she wouldn’t be at a loss for people to see in New York. Or what if the Navy decided he just didn’t measure up?

  These were the fears that haunted him when he let down his guard. It hadn’t helped that he now came in regular contact with his former friend and fellow Tuskegee alum Craig Miller, who had been a superb athlete and academic all-star in the class ahead of him. Craig’s presence here at OCS brought back a flood of memories that Brian wanted to stay buried.

  He wondered if Craig had matured or whether he still considered himself a master player, who loved and left his conquests without a drop of guilt. He wondered if Shelby needed to be reminded of Craig’s reputation, just in case.

  The officer candidates were given more freedom around their sixth week of school, because they had passed the room inspection. They could now go out to the local pubs and restaurants on weekends, and they had an occasional evening free during the week.

  The downtime allowed them to finally get to know each other. His roommate, Todd Wayland, was a good guy. Greg Kemper could get anyone riled up.

  For Brian, however, the loosened rein was a problem.

  Now that things weren’t so regimented, Craig could freely interact with him and with Shelby. She didn’t seem to mind, but Brian wanted to know why all of a sudden he was “Officer Friendly.” The three of them had rarely spoken when they saw one another on campus during Craig’s senior year.

  “Why is he all in your face now?” Brian asked Shelby one evening, while they played cards in a recreation room on campus.

  “It’s no big deal,” Shelby said, and shrugged. “He just wants someone familiar to shoot the breeze with before he leaves. His class graduates in four weeks.�
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  Brian smirked and Shelby mimicked the gesture.

  “Trust me, I have no interest in getting tangled up with Craig Miller, of all people. Why are you so worked up about this anyway?”

  Instead of answering, Brian dealt the cards and changed the subject. “Are your parents coming up to visit next weekend?”

  Now it was Shelby’s turn to be evasive. “I don’t know—why? Did your parents want all of us to have dinner or something?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about having Indigo come,” Brian said. “She’s been so bummed out about the eye diagnosis and all that happened with the newspaper job. Plus, I want to see how much progress she’s made with the wedding plans.”

  Shelby nodded.

  “So if your parents aren’t coming, who is?” Brian asked. “You aren’t going to waste a weekend to actually have a good time, are you?”

  Shelby pursed her lips. “Actually, I have a new friend, and I was thinking of inviting him,” she said, making sure to keep her eyes focused on her cards.

  Brian sat up straighter. Why hadn’t he heard about this? “So you’re keeping secrets now, huh?” he said. “Who is the mystery man?”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Keeping secrets? You act like you have some say in my decisions. Don’t worry about it. If he comes, I’ll be sure to introduce you and Indigo. If my parents come instead, you’ll just have to wait.”

  With that, she played her final hand, a Joker, and won the game. She stood up and patted Brian on the shoulder on her way out of the room.

  “Good night, Officer Candidate Harper, Indoctrination Class zero-ten, zero-eight. I’m going to bed.”

  As he lay here tonight, struggling to keep memories from the past in the past, Brian wondered whether Shelby lay awake in her bunk too, and whether her dreams were haunting or hopeful.

  21

  Family meeting tonight at 7. No excused absences.

  Indigo sank to a new low when she saw the note posted on the refrigerator.

  Of course, she had nowhere to go, so being there wouldn’t be a problem. But the idea of being summoned to a meeting with her parents when she should have been “grown and gone” deepened her self-pity.

  It had been two weeks since she’d left the newspaper, and mostly, she spent her days pushing Aunt Melba’s wheelchair through the neighborhood on afternoon walks and halfheartedly perusing the bridal magazines Mama and Yasmin kept leaving on the kitchen table.

  This morning, she and Aunt Melba started out early to beat the record haze and humidity the weatherman was predicting.

  “You’re . . . quiet . . . extra,” Aunt Melba said five minutes into their usual circuit down tree-lined streets that showcased their favorite houses and flower beds. Indigo knew she meant “extra quiet.” Every so often, her aunt’s brain still got the words mixed up, and they came out in reverse order.

  “No particular reason,” Indigo said. “Just one of those days.”

  “You’ve . . . had . . . a lot . . . of . . . those lately,” Melba said. “It . . . will . . . get better. We . . . both . . . will . . . get better.”

  Aunt Melba’s confidence made her smile.

  “You will at a rate faster than me, it appears,” Indigo said. “You’re doing great, Aunt Melba. It won’t be much longer before you’ll be walking these blocks with me instead of having to ride.”

  Aunt Melba nodded. “I’ve already . . . talked to . . . God . . . about it,” she said. “. . . You?”

  Indigo pushed in silence for a few more blocks. What about her? She wished she could pour out her heart to Aunt Melba like she used to and get her honest feedback on everything. But she didn’t want to burden her ailing aunt with issues that seemed trivial in comparison to the effort to recover from a stroke.

  “I don’t talk to God like I know I should,” Indigo finally said. “I hate to admit it, but I guess I’m frustrated with him. I know I have no right to be. Who am I to be mad because things aren’t going so well in my life right now? I don’t want to feel this way, but I just don’t understand. I’ve always served him and been faithful.” She sighed in frustration. “I don’t understand.”

  Before Aunt Melba could respond, a woman across the street interrupted them.

  “Indigo Burns! How are you?”

  Indigo raised her eyes and smiled when she saw Vanessa Little-john, one of her girlfriends from high school. She was coming down the walkway from one of the brick and stone mini-mansions that Indigo admired when they walked this route.

  Vanessa, dressed in a classic short-sleeved navy pantsuit and open-toed navy pumps, trotted across the street and gave Indigo a hug.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages! You look wonderful!” she said to Indigo.

  “Well, you look fabulous,” Indigo told Vanessa, before introducing her to Aunt Melba.

  “What are you doing these days?” Vanessa asked. “Do you live in this neighborhood?”

  Indigo scrambled for a quick answer that wouldn’t require too much detail.

  “My parents live here,” she said. “I’m home with them for the summer, but I’ve been accepted to grad school in New York to work on my master’s in photography and the program starts in August.” She didn’t mention Brian, the wedding, or the fact that these days she was trying to keep her head up. “What about you?” Indigo asked.

  “My aunt and uncle live here,” Vanessa said and waved at the house from which she had emerged. “I’m house-sitting for them while they’re in Europe. My uncle landed a new contract for his company and he’s working there for six weeks. My aunt’s just there to shop! This worked out great for me, because my parents moved to St. Louis a few years ago and sold their home here. I landed a job at IBM and they decided to send me to the Jubilant satellite office until the fall, when they’ll transfer me to Dallas. So life is great!”

  Indigo mustered a smile and prayed the conversation would end soon.

  “It’s so good to see you, Indigo,” Vanessa said and gave her another light hug. “I always knew you would do great things. You keep up the good work.”

  Vanessa strode to a red Corvette parked in her aunt and uncle’s driveway and jumped in. She waved cheerfully as she sped away.

  Indigo stayed put for a few minutes after Vanessa was gone, staring at the house and processing what had just transpired. She wasn’t sure what she should be feeling, but she knew it shouldn’t be the envy she recognized.

  Where was the Indigo she always thought she was?

  22

  If Indigo didn’t have answers, it seemed her father did—for her and for Yasmin.

  “Why are we having a family meeting on a Friday night?” Yasmin asked in exasperation,when she, Indigo, and their parents gathered in the family room at the designated time. Aunt Melba had been invited but had declined to participate, citing the need for them to move forward as if she were back in her own home, which she hoped to be soon.

  “Tonight was best for my schedule,” Daddy said and leveled his gaze at Yasmin, warning her that she was bordering on disrespectfulness. “You got any other questions?”

  She shook her head, sat back on the sofa, and crossed her arms.

  Indigo sat in a similar position, waiting to hear what her parents had on their minds.

  Both of them usually led the discussion, but it seemed that Daddy wanted to have a talk with his daughters tonight.

  “I called this meeting because your mama and I have been watching both of you closely, and we’re worried about you.”

  Yasmin frowned. Indigo didn’t respond.

  “Yasmin, we know you want to be a model, and you have the beauty, the build, and the height to achieve your goal,” Daddy said. “But you’ve begun to play with fire in your quest to have your cake and eat it too. Forgive the pun, but it’s true.”

  Indigo had no idea where her father was going with this. She watched Yasmin’s reaction to see if the teenager did.

  Yasmin’s eyes grew wide. “Daddy, what are you talking about?” she asked
. “Can you speak plain English?”

  Mama chimed in. “We know you’re making yourself throw up after you eat, Yasmin.”

  The deer-in-the-headlights expression that filled Yasmin’s face told Indigo her mother’s declaration was true.

  “Yasmin!” Indigo said. “What on earth?”

  “Bulimia is serious, Yasmin,” Daddy said. “You can’t keep doing that to your body and think there won’t be consequences. You’ve got to stop or get help to stop.”

  Scenes raced through Indigo’s mind of her sister’s recent eating patterns and it all made sense: Yasmin gorging on pancakes for breakfast, eating several servings of cake back-to-back, constantly weighing herself on the bathroom scale, or running to the bathroom after a meal. God help her.

  Yasmin lowered her eyes.

  “Yasmin?” Mama prodded.

  The girl lifted her head and looked at her parents. “I didn’t mean to start this,” she said as tears spilled down her cheeks. “A girl at school who models in Dallas told me she does it to get ready for auditions and for her photo shoots. She insisted that it beats dieting. I tried it because I was curious, and it just got easier each time. Now I don’t know if I can stop.”

  Indigo reached for her sister’s hand.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Daddy said. “We’re not asking you to try to do this on your own. We’re here to help you. We’ll get you professional help if necessary.”

  Yasmin’s tears turned into sobs. She covered her face with both hands and sank farther into the sofa. Indigo slid closer and pulled Yasmin into her arms.

  “I’m here for you too, sis,” she said and hugged her. “You can beat this, okay? We’ll beat it.”

  She held Yasmin until the tears abated and the girl had composed herself.

  Mama walked over and held out her arms. Yasmin stood up and towered over her mother. She stooped to wrap herself in Mama’s embrace.

  When both of them had returned to their seats, Daddy looked toward Indigo.