by Tara Taylor
I dressed in a daze and went to the funeral with my mother. I was glad to have her with me.
I cried while the priest talked. Tears and more tears. I couldn’t stop them. It was as if a tap were on and leaking and the plumber was too busy to come and fix it. Her ex, Gary, was nowhere to be seen.
The pew was hard. The priest droned as he spoke, his words making no sense. I lowered my head and let the tears fall. This was wrong. All wrong. Yes, she said she would leave sooner rather than later, but … did she have to leave this soon? What would happen to Annabelle’s Angels? When the funeral was over, I stepped outside and immediately put on my sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes. Sobs caught in my throat again, and I held my stomach.
I had to go to the store. I had to feel her.
Mom wanted to drive me, but I insisted on going alone. I had to do this by myself.
Lights were on inside the store when I pulled up out front. Through the windows, I could see Annabelle’s mother standing at the counter, obviously deep in thought. I guess we both had the same idea.
The sign read CLOSED, but when I pushed the door, it opened.
Her mother looked up. “Indie,” she said.
“I had to come here,” I said.
“Me too. Everyone else is drinking and eating, but I needed to feel her one last time, and I figured this was where she would be.” She held up Annabelle’s brown book. “I found this in the back,” she said. “She wanted you to have it. She talked about you all the time, you know.”
I walked toward the counter, took the book, and touched the front cover. The worn brown leather warmed the pads of my fingers. I slowly flipped it open and immediately saw Annabelle’s scrawled handwriting. The book had been like an extension of her body, and now I had it. I had a piece of her. The book was full of her ramblings and thoughts.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Her mother gazed around the store. “She never had children, so this store was like her baby.”
“What is going to happen to it?” It had been like a second home to me, too.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She swiped at them. The small movement made my body swell with sadness, and my eyes welled up.
“Annabelle didn’t leave a will.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead and kept shaking her head. “Gary will get everything, and he is closing the store and selling it. They weren’t divorced.” Her shoulders started to shake. “Annabelle put too many things off.”
“Except leaving the earth,” I whispered.
“Yes,” said her mother, running her fingers across the feathers of an angel wing. “Except that.”
I got in my car and drove away from the curb. I was so confused. Why was all this happening? I slammed on my brakes when I hit a yellow light. The brown book slid off the seat and onto the floor. I heard a car behind me slam on its brakes as well, so I looked in my rearview mirror.
That’s when I saw her.
Annabelle.
She was wearing her funky tortoiseshell sunglasses, and her wavy hair was blowing in the spring breeze like she didn’t have a care in the world. She grinned at me. I quickly turned around to look over my shoulder. But she was gone.
A honk sounded behind me.
I floored the gas pedal, and my car lurched forward.
Leave it to Annabelle to show up and, without saying a word, tell me that everything would be all right. At the next stoplight, I bent over and picked up the brown book.
“I know you’re here with me,” I said. “I will carry on for you somehow. I can promise you that.”
Two days later, at the apartment, Sarah had her stuff in boxes.
We were all moving out by May 1, so that meant we had five days left before we parted ways. I had loved living in the apartment. Since I had nowhere to go and no job, I was returning to my house to live with Mom and Dad. In many ways, I felt as if I was going backward.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said to Sarah.
“Yeah. It’s sad to leave us, but I guess it’s time. We all have to move on and do something with our lives. It’s called growing up.”
“I’m going to cry,” said Natalie.
“Me too.” I plopped down on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Natalie asked me.
I shrugged. “As good as can be.”
“We did have fun at the Royal Oak,” said Sarah, changing the topic. She was good at diverting.
“We did,” I replied.
“I’ve got the photos to prove it,” said Natalie, holding up her camera.
“Only like a million,” said Sarah.
Natalie glanced at me. “Is Paul helping you move?”
“Yup,” I said. “Everything will fit in Mable. Henry included.”
“I’m glad you’re taking him,” said Natalie.
“I’m going to miss him,” said Sarah. Then she looked at me. “Speaking of missing someone. You ever sneak a trip to jail to see John?”
I shook my head. “I cut my cords with him. We’re over.”
Sarah held up her hand and I smacked it. “Well done, my friend,” she said. “Well done. Maybe we have all grown up.” She picked up Henry and rubbed her nose in his face. “Even you, little man. You are no longer the scrawny kitten we found whining in the bushes.”
That night I sat in my old bedroom with the purple walls, black bedspread, and Jim Morrison poster. It felt so weird to be back in the same house with my parents after living away all year and being independent. The confinement was wrong. All wrong.
The four walls of my childhood bedroom used to give me comfort, but no more. Now I felt trapped. Even Henry seemed a bit out of sorts, as if he wanted to go back to where he was king. There was no way Cedar was giving up her crown.
I sat on my bed cross-legged and put my pointer fingers and thumbs together. And I started to softly chant, just like Annabelle had taught me. My throat clogged. She had taught me so much. I still couldn’t believe she was gone.
I let my mind go blank and focused on keeping it white. It stayed white for the longest time. And I breathed; in and out. I kept breathing.
Keep breathing, Indie. Keep breathing.
I was totally bathed in the white light when I was thumped over the head with the word theology!
And it was in Annabelle’s voice.
Although I was startled, I kept my eyes shut and focused on the blank walls. “You have to give me more,” I whispered.
Ottawa, she said.
My eyes popped open, and I ran over to the new computer my parents had bought me for my birthday—it had been set up in my bedroom when I returned home. I turned it on and listened to it hum to life.
I logged on and searched the Internet for Theology and Ottawa. When it appeared on my screen that there was a Theology program at St. Paul University in Ottawa, I almost fell off my chair.
I read through the requirements and knew I didn’t have them. I didn’t have the grades to get in or the subjects or anything at all.
“Okay, divine team,” I said out loud. “You had better do some magic here ’cause this isn’t looking likely.”
Paul showed up that night on my doorstep, with a big bottle of soda and a huge bag of potato chips that he obviously bought at a convenience store.
“I’m done with exams,” he said. “I thought we could have a party.”
I laughed and opened the door. “Just the two of us,” I said. “Some party.”
“Your parents can join us if they want.”
“They’ve gone out.”
He followed me into the kitchen, and as soon as he had placed the stuff on the table, he pulled me into his arms. “I know you’re not ready to go out to the bar just yet,” he whispered in my ear.
“But you should,” I said.
“Nah. I want to be with you.”
Once I had filled two glasses with ice and soda, we sat at the kitchen table.
“How are you?” He ripped open the bag of chips.
“I�
�m okay. How were your exams?”
“I’m done. That’s all that counts.”
“Are you going back to work at the deli?” I asked, twirling my glass around.
He put his hand on mine. “Something will come up for you, too.”
“Funny you should say that.” I took a chip out of the bag but didn’t eat it. “There’s this school I might apply to.” I slouched in my seat. “But I don’t think I’ll get in. It’s in Ottawa.”
“Ottawa!” He pumped his arms. “We’d still be in the same city. You can’t get in if you don’t apply.”
“The application is super long.” I almost moaned. “I don’t know where to start. And I don’t have the qualifications.”
“I’m good at that stuff. Why don’t we go over it right now? I can help you.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Paul and I spent the rest of the evening going over the application. He was such a help that it made the job that much easier. He walked me through it step by step, and at the end of the night, I knew exactly what other documents I needed.
“Why do you want to go to this school?” he finally asked at the end of the evening. He stood at my front door, ready to head out. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said. “Not even close. You just don’t strike me as the nun type.”
I playfully slapped him. “I’m not going to be a nun.”
I’d been waiting for this question to come up all evening. “I heard the word three times in my head,” I said. “Once at Christmas, then in Scotland, and last time was after Annabelle died. I heard her voice in my head.”
He touched my hair, running his fingers through it. “That’s a good thing,” he whispered. “You need to listen to those voices.”
I looked into his eyes and the blue of those safe pools instantly calmed me. I smiled.
He put his fingers on my cheek. “Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For giving me confidence. I was the school geek. Then I kissed the pretty girl. I thought that only happened in movies.”
“It happens in real life, too.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him toward me.
My acceptance to St. Paul University for Theology wasn’t without its hiccups, but one thing Annabelle had taught me was if things were meant to be, they would work out. Yes, I received a rejection letter because my grades weren’t good enough. That was no surprise. But then at the bottom of the letter, it suggested I should reapply as a mature student.
So I went to Annabelle. “What next?” I asked out loud in my bedroom.
You need some reference letters. I heard her voice in my head. Get one from a friend of your parents and get another one from someone Catholic. That will go a long way.
That night I talked to my parents over dinner.
“Martha is Catholic,” said Mom. “She was a good friend of Annabelle’s.”
“That would be great,” I said.
“And I’m sure if you asked Joe Conrad, he would give you one as well,” said my father. “He’s not only Catholic but a professor at the University of Ottawa. He’s known you since you were little.”
I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I have nothing to lose.”
“And everything to gain,” said my father, winking at me.
I sent in my letters, and within a week, I had an appointment. I dressed like I was going to a job interview at some high-powered company: white blouse, dark brown pantsuit. I walked through the doors with confidence, but then I froze. What was I thinking? I couldn’t do this. I didn’t have the grades. I had never been good at school.
I had turned around to run out to my car when my ego voice spoke loudly and clearly: You can’t give up that easily.
I almost laughed out loud. Annabelle had told me this voice could help me with an interview. Land me the job. My ego could make me walk through the door and could give me confidence to go through the interview process.
I turned again and headed right to the reception desk to give my name.
I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
The girl who interviewed me was young, almost close to my age. I sat across from her. After a little ice-breaking chitchat, she asked me about my strengths and weaknesses and some other questions that I was able to answer because my father had grilled me. He said they were standard.
After 15 minutes, she stared at me.
“Why do you want to go to St. Paul’s?” she asked.
I sat there mute, unable to speak for a few seconds. What was I supposed to say? That I’d heard voices? Yeah, right. The woman would think I was a lunatic.
Finally, I opened my mouth and blurted out, “Because … because I’m being guided by something bigger, and I cannot explain it. I guess that’s why I’m here.”
The woman stared at me for a few seconds and looked down at her notes, then looking up again, smiled and said, “Thank you for your time. We will be in touch.”
I walked out of the interview room in a daze.
You sure messed that up.
I heard Annabelle in my head: Sometimes you have to tell her to be quiet.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I said as I walked out of the school. “Thank you for getting me here to this interview, because I couldn’t have done it without you—but I’m not going to listen to you bash me.” I held my head high.
Once I was outside, I looked at the blue sky, and as I walked to my car, I said, “And you, Isaiah, and divine team, and Annabelle, stop playing games with me, or I’m done with you, too.”
One week later, a letter arrived in the mail from St. Paul University.
I ran up to my bedroom with the letter and shut my door. My hands shook as I opened it. Two times I tried to look at it, and both times I couldn’t. My heart raced like crazy. My throat closed up, and I was sure I was going to pass out from lack of breath.
Finally, on the third try, I read the first line and screamed.
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…
I was going to school to study theology (something I still didn’t know much about), and I was starting in the fall.
Something bigger than me was pushing me, it was true, and I was moving forward.
Acknowledgments
From Tara
First, I would like to give my deepest gratitude to the readers and all your wonderful comments and support for the series. It is all of you who I am passionate about, and I will continue to share my insight about intuition with you so you can see how amazingly intuitive you already are!
A huge thank you to Hay House Publishing and the Hay House team! You have all worked very hard to launch this book into the world, and your dedication means the world to me. I appreciate each and every one of you. Much love to all of the lovely ladies in the NY office; thank you for making me feel so at home when I visit.
Patty Gift, I just love and adore you to bits, thank you for your love and support. I am deeply grateful to Sally Mason, your talent as our editor helped to really make this series shine, and Laura Gray, you are just amazing!
To my friend and writer Lorna, I am forever grateful for you and all the long hours you have dedicated to our series when you had your plate full with your other projects and books. Words could never express the gratitude I feel for you and your hard work. Thank you for everything, and I love you. We make a great team!
Much love to my family and friends who have supported me throughout this whole journey. My love to Jeff, Buddy, and Roxy always, you all keep me grounded when I need it and pull me away from my computer for much-needed breaks.
My gratitude to Megan Adams for her social media expertise, and many thanks to Judy and the Hasmark team.
Finally, to Cindy (a.k.a. Annabelle), I love you and thank you for giving me the strength to do what I do; this book is dedicated in your memory.
From Lorna
It always takes a team to bring a book to fruition. I
would like to thank the many teams at Hay House for creating such a beautiful book: marketing, promotion, creative design, and editorial. In among that group, I would especially like to thank my editor, Sally Mason. Her attention to detail in every edit was amazing and so appreciated. Her work definitely made a better book. I would also like to give a huge thanks to Tara Taylor for allowing me to pick her brain and for sharing segments of her life that I could weave into the novel. Tara’s generous spirit also gave me time and space to create, and for a writer that is so necessary and treasured. And, of course, I have to thank my family. They also understand when I’m writing and give me allowance to be absorbed and obsessed. Of course, my pets (my dogs, Molly and Snowball) are another story. They don’t care if I’m in the middle of a scene when it’s time to be walked!
Questions and Answers
Becoming Indigo, while a work of fiction, is loosely based on the life of intuitive Tara Taylor. To further clarify some of the situations in the book, the writer of the novel has asked Tara to answer questions about the character of Indie.
Lorna. How does Indigo see things?
Tara. There are three ways that Indie can see things:
1) She can physically see with her eyes, and in this book it would be like Green Lady. She can see her in a body, even though she is a lost spirit, and that is because she is in the in between and hasn’t gone to the light yet. She also saw Isaiah on the bus.
2) Indie can also see snapshots that come to her, and they are just pictures, like a still camera shot, or sometimes they flash and then they disappear. So it is like a photograph. In the novel, she heard liver and onions but she also saw a photo of Juanita with her grandson.
3) The third way that Indie can see is similar to a movie reel. What happens here is that she watches the scene play out, like she is watching a movie. When she was reading for the girls at Queen’s University, she saw the eggs and the hollow egg with nothing in it. And it was moving and bouncing, but there was nothing inside of it. But she did see it moving, and it wasn’t just a snapshot.