by Stacy Adams
Brian stared until his mother coughed. He shook himself back to reality and extended his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Hunt.”
No other words would come.
“Likewise,” said the man. “Shelby’s told me all about you and how you helped her dream her way here. I can’t say I like the idea of her flying fighter planes or living all over the world while I’m stuck in New York City, but I’ll get used to it.”
His piercing blue eyes penetrated Brian’s. He ran a massive hand through his dirty blond hair and shifted from one foot to the other.
He was nervous, but Brian was in shock. How long had Shelby been hiding this . . . friend? Why hadn’t she told him she’d fallen for a Brad Pitt look-alike with a Greek last name?
He asked her silently, with his eyes. The defiant answer she returned with hers told him to mind his own business.
Brian saw Craig lurking in the background, standing near the restaurant door with his eyes fixed on him, and realized that Shelby’s unspoken advice was dead-on: Tending to his own business had to be his top priority right now.
30
I’m not keeping my promise until you keep yours.”
Indigo folded her arms and bit her lip to defuse some of her anger. She knew Yasmin couldn’t help it, but it was so frustrating to see this beautiful girl losing herself in a sickness that was so unnecessary.
She didn’t have a weight problem; she was naturally tall and willowy. And yet, here they sat, in a professional counselor’s office, trying to convince this child that if she didn’t work hard to get well, she wouldn’t be coming home for a while.
“You want pictures to go to the top modeling agencies in New York? Prove that you can handle it,” Indigo challenged.
The hospital psychologist, Dr. Danvers, shook his head and raised his palm to silence Indigo.
“You can’t bribe her into doing this,” he told Indigo. “This is more than just a conscious choice at this point. It started out as a way to control her environment, to maintain some sense of equilibrium, and now it has overtaken her will. Yasmin has to work really hard to get healthy, and it will happen only if she wants it to.”
The news was hard to hear.
Yasmin didn’t react. She sat between Mama and Daddy on Dr. Danvers’s office sofa, which was covered with an outdated baby blue checkered pattern.
“What does she need to control?” Daddy said and leaned forward, shaking his head in frustration.
Dr. Danvers leaned forward too and looked at Yasmin. “Can you tell them?”
She lowered her head and sighed. “I don’t know. Everything. Me. Something.”
Dr. Danvers nodded. “Good.”
Mama and Indigo looked at each other, puzzled.
“That was good?” Mama said. “What did it mean?”
Dr. Danvers sat back and weighed his words.
“It means . . .” He paused before resuming his explanation. “Yasmin was nearly a year old when she came to live with you after her parents were killed in the car accident, Mr. and Mrs. Burns.
“You two were grieving the loss of your daughter and her husband, and suddenly, you went from being doting grandparents to daily caretakers of Yasmin, Indigo, and Reuben. Then, apparently a hip injury caused you to become dependent on alcohol, Mrs. Burns?”
Indigo winced as Mama nodded. This had to be painful.
“That period was tough for Yasmin, because there was a sense of chaos in your home, a sense that nothing was predictable and safe. Everyone deals with issues like this differently.”
He leaned forward again and Indigo saw the sympathy in his eyes. “When was the last time Reuben came home?”
Silence served as his answer.
Reuben had flown from Seattle to Tuskegee for Indigo’s college graduation, but she still was smarting over the fact that he had declined to come home to Texas for her party.
“He seems to be coping by staying away, by creating a life outside of the pain of losing his parents and watching his grandparents deteriorate in other ways,” Dr. Danvers said.
Mama began to weep. Indigo left her seat and walked over to rub her shoulders. But this was about helping Yasmin, and apparently Dr. Danvers wasn’t going to dance around feelings.
“Indigo, how do you think you’re coping? What are you afraid to tackle? Whom do you push away? What do you avoid?” he asked. “When you can answer those questions, you’ll understand how, in your own way, you are controlling, or trying to control, your environment to compensate for the period during your youth when nothing was in your control.
“For Yasmin, this has manifested as a desire, a need, to control her body image and her weight. Some people become anorexic, and some eat and purge. Plus the fact that she wants to model means she’s seeing the images in the media of stick-thin women, and that has validated or at least given her an excuse to do what already brings her comfort.”
Indigo felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. In a matter of minutes, Dr. Danvers had laid out her and her siblings’ dysfunctions, when they hadn’t really known they were there.
Was this the real reason she was postponing her wedding? Was this why her photography meant so much to her? If she couldn’t hold onto anything else, she would always have the images she created and the memories that came along with them.
She wanted to run outside so she could use her cell phone and call Brian to apologize. But he wouldn’t be at the barracks on a Tuesday afternoon anyway.
Indigo pulled herself back to the present when Yasmin wrapped her arms around herself and began rocking back and forth.
“I want help. I don’t want to stay like this.”
Yasmin’s whimpered declaration made Indigo’s heart leap.
Dr. Danvers’s expression didn’t change. “That’s easy to say, Yasmin, but it’s going to take a lot of work. Not only for you, but for your family. You can’t heal and go back into an environment where no one understands the journey you’re on. In order for you to get well, the whole family has to embrace hard truths and make a commitment to understand each other better so you can all heal—starting today.”
Indigo looked at Daddy. He sat up straighter and seemed resolved. He wasn’t a Navy man like Brian, but tell him how he could fix something, and you could count him in.
“Starting today,” Daddy repeated.
Mama nodded and wiped her eyes. “The past is the past. We will heal, starting today.”
She reached for her purse and searched through its contents until she found her tiny black cell phone. Despite the fact that they were still in session, Mama dialed a code programmed into the phone, then put the receiver to her ear. Her face fell as she listened.
“Hello, Son.”
Indigo realized that Mama was trying to reach Reuben, and as usual, her call was being routed to his voice mail.
“Check your schedule and see when you can come home. It’s been a long time, Reuben. We need you.”
31
It was , and for a change, Indigo got a chance to sleep in. She stretched, then smiled when the aroma of Daddy’s pancakes and bacon wafted across her nose.
Normally about this time she would already be at the hair salon, welcoming Eboni’s and Carlotta’s early morning clients, but Rachelle had called yesterday and offered to fill her shoes.
“You’ve got a lot going on. Take a break,” Rachelle had advised.
Indigo was grateful for the support and eagerly accepted the offer. She needed a weekend off, and today, she was going to be productive.
She climbed out of bed and slipped into a robe before padding down the hall to Yasmin’s room. She suspected Yasmin wouldn’t want to join them at breakfast and be tempted by all that she smelled, but she thought she’d at least try.
“I’ll eat something a little later,” said Yasmin, who was awake, but still under the covers, flipping through TV channels with her remote control.
Her spirits had remained low since she had been rushed to the hospi
tal and had entered counseling. Her friends called constantly, asking her to come over or meet them at the mall. But since coming home two weeks ago, she mostly avoided them.
Rachelle’s daughter, Taryn, had been coming over quite a bit to hang out with Yasmin, and she seemed to be trying to get her cousin back in the swing of things.
This morning, Indigo invited Yasmin to join her when she met Nizhoni at the bridal shop in a few hours to try on wedding gowns.
“Maybe I will,” Yasmin said. “That sounds like fun.”
Indigo left the girl to her teenage pastime and headed toward the kitchen. Aunt Melba was in the hallway just ahead of her, moving in the same direction.
Indigo felt like cheering. It was so wonderful to see her walking, without any assistance.
Indigo cruised alongside her and gave her a hug. “How are you doing this morning?”
Aunt Melba smiled. “I am . . . blessed and . . . highly . . . favored.”
Both women roared with laughter. Long before her illness, Aunt Melba used to mock her customers who’d come into the salon and respond with that phrase.
Now that her speech had mostly returned to its normal pattern and she was able to be more physically mobile, she seemed to grasp and appreciate its full meaning.
“How . . . are you doing? I see that you took . . . the morning off,” Aunt Melba said.
Indigo paused and faced her, remembering that Aunt Melba was technically her boss.
“Is that okay? Rachelle is filling in for me.”
Aunt Melba waved Indigo away. “That’s more than fine. I didn’t make the comment . . . because I was worried. I only mentioned it because now that I’m feeling better, I’d like to start going to the salon with you . . . a couple of days a week, to get back in the swing of things.”
“Really?” Indigo didn’t conceal her excitement. She had been praying for this day. “That would be wonderful, Aunt Melba.”
Aunt Melba nodded. “I know. God . . . is really good.”
They entered the kitchen and found Mama and Daddy already eating. Both of them smiled when they saw Melba making her way to the table. Mama got up, fixed Melba a plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs, and set it in front of her.
Aunt Melba bowed her head in prayer, then picked up her fork. “I’ll eat this today . . . but how about some oatmeal and fruit . . . next time? I keep . . . telling ya . . . all of y’all in here . . . are going to end up with . . . stroke risks if you keep this up.”
Daddy chuckled. “We eat healthy most of the week,” he countered. “Can’t we splurge on the weekends? Eat up and be happy.”
“Feel up to going wedding gown shopping with us, sis?” Indigo’s mother asked Melba.
Melba took a few bites, then eyed Indigo. “You are the most . . . unenthusiastic . . . bride I have ever seen.”
She stared at Indigo and awaited a response.
“I’m glad you’re back, Aunt Melba,” Indigo said and patted her hand.
Mama looked from one to the other. “What do you mean, Melba?”
Aunt Melba set down her fork.
“Do you remember . . . how excited you were when Charles proposed? You drove me crazy . . . for six months . . . planning your wedding, talking about your wedding . . . dreaming about your wedding,” Melba told Mama. “That’s the kind of . . . excitement . . . you expect to see . . . in brides, but I don’t see it in . . . Indigo . . . that’s all.”
Mama nodded politely. “Well, they’ve agreed that Indigo will start grad school in August and they’ll move the wedding back to December, so it’s not as urgent as it once was,” she said. “But you’re right—it’s July now, so we need to start planning in order to get the location we want for the reception.”
But Aunt Melba wouldn’t relent. “If you aren’t ready, Indigo . . . that’s okay. Why rush it?”
Indigo felt her defenses rising and tried to stay calm.
“You are . . . one of the most . . . awesome young ladies I know,” Aunt Melba continued. “You knew as a child . . . that you wanted to be a photographer . . . and by ninth grade . . . had mapped out a plan . . . to become one. You received . . . early acceptance letters . . . to college and grad school . . . and landed internships . . . at some of the nation’s top companies. How many people . . . can say they were summer interns . . . for Time magazine or a national foundation?”
Aunt Melba shook her head. “But on this? You seem to be . . . as cool as iced coffee . . . when it comes to talk . . . of being Mrs. Brian Harper. What gives?”
Indigo sighed and sat back in her chair. She had lost her appetite and was tempted to join Yasmin in bedroom seclusion.
She looked at Mama, who seemed pensive. “Go ahead, Mama,” she said. “You can let me have it too.”
Mama shook her head. “I’m not quite as convinced as Melba that getting married is a tragic mistake. Brian is a good man. You don’t want to lose him just because you’ve had a rocky summer and things haven’t gone as planned. It wouldn’t be a big wedding at this point, anyway. Don’t let go of a good thing.”
Indigo’s eyes swung back to Melba, to hear her next volley, but Aunt Melba seemed to have decided not to bicker with her sister.
“I know I’ve procrastinated,” Indigo said. “Brian and I were going to map everything out a couple of weekends ago, when I was scheduled to visit him in Newport. With all that has gone on with my eyes, then taking over the salon, and now Yasmin, I’ve put my planning on the back burner. It’s not like me, but this summer hasn’t been typical.”
She looked at Aunt Melba. “Thank you for your concern. I know it’s out of love. But I love Brian, and I do want to marry him. He’s a great guy, and I know that he’ll find a way to support my photography.”
Aunt Melba peered at Indigo over her coffee cup as she drank the last few drops. “What about . . . grad school?”
“We’ve talked about that, and he’s not happy about having a long-distance marriage until I finish, but he’s willing to do it for my sake,” Indigo said. “We also decided that we do want a small wedding at this point—just friends and family. If we can get Reuben here from out of town, that would be enough for me.”
Mama and Daddy looked at each other.
“We hope we can get him here,” Daddy said.
“We’ll talk more later,” Aunt Melba said. “I’m here for you . . . whatever you need.” She changed the subject. “Irene, are you going . . . to let me cut your hair . . . into a cute style . . . when I’m back . . . at work?”
An hour or so later, after she had showered and dressed for the day, Indigo strolled into the family room to wait for Mama so they could meet with Nizhoni at Brides Central. She plopped on the sofa next to her aunt, who was flipping through a stack of magazines.
She wanted to ask the question that had been nagging her ever since Aunt Melba had the stroke: what advice had she been planning to give regarding marriage when she fell sick? But Indigo didn’t ask, out of fear that Aunt Melba might not even remember the conversation and might be upset by that fact.
“You’re ready to go home, aren’t you?” Indigo asked Aunt Melba instead.
“Yep,” Aunt Melba said, without taking her eyes off of an article in O Magazine. “My doctor says . . . I should be able . . . to live independently soon . . . but I don’t know . . . what his definition . . . of ‘soon’ is.”
Indigo rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re better, and that we can talk again. But I’m going to miss having you here.”
Aunt Melba patted her head and smiled. “You’ll know where to find me . . . and now that you know . . . all of my business secrets . . . and practices . . . you can keep me in line.”
Indigo raised her head. “No need to do that. You had everything in order. All I had to do was come in and keep things moving.”
Aunt Melba held the magazine article closer, then tapped at the page. “You need to do this.”
Indigo peered over her shoulder. “ ‘Photography
contest,’ ” Indigo read aloud. “ ‘Send us your three “slice-of-life” photos that best represent people in your community and win a temporary slot on the O Magazine photography team. No manufactured poses or formal studio shots. We want everyday people in their daily settings, living and loving life.’ ”
Aunt Melba put the magazine on Indigo’s lap.
“Do this. Today. The deadline . . . is Monday.”
“In two days?!” Indigo shrieked. “I don’t have time!”
Then she remembered where her camera was now. Locked in a desk at the salon, waiting for everyday people to come in and prepare to look their best for the people and the activities they loved. Maybe she would give this a try.
Indigo’s eyes wandered to the digital clock on the fireplace mantle. She jumped up from the sofa.
“Let me call Nizhoni,” she said. “I’m going to be late getting to the bridal shop today.”
32
Brian couldn’t believe he had fallen for the lie.
Meet with me on Saturday and we’ll hash this out. I’ ll move on and so can you. CM
The note that Craig had slipped him one evening after dinner shook him and gave him hope at the same time. Meeting with this guy was dangerous—there was no telling what Craig might have up his sleeve. But he was being commissioned next week; maybe he really wanted to put all of this behind him.
That’s what Brian had been praying for, for weeks now. Keeping Craig quiet was the only way to make sure he’d have a solid career in the Navy and a solid marriage with Indigo.
The military’s “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy concerning gays was still in effect. Not that Brian considered that to be his sexual orientation at all; but any hint or doubt on the part of his comrades or superiors would mean he’d never go as far as he’d like up the career ladder. He would be ostracized and worse.
The flip side of that was that Craig would be too. So why would he risk it all?
Maybe this face-to-face discussion would put to bed the demons Brian still wrestled with every night. He couldn’t take this into his life after OCS, or into his marriage. What would Indigo think?