Melba towel-dried Indigo’s hair and helped her sit up so she could comb through it.
“Why’d you throw Reuben in the mix? What’s he got to do with anything?” Indigo asked Rachelle.
Rachelle and Aunt Melba exchanged glances.
“Child, you can’t see the forest for the trees, can you?” Aunt Melba asked. “We saw the mini-reconciliation between you two after Yasmin took off, but we’ve seen the animosity you’ve had toward Reuben much longer. Whatever you’ve been feeling couldn’t have gone away overnight.”
Indigo sighed. They knew her too well.
She looked from one to the other and tried to quickly formulate a defense. Instead, she crumbled in tears. Aunt Melba combed through her hair while she cried. When Indigo was spent, Melba gave her a clean towel to wipe her face and Rachelle handed her a small paper cup of water.
“Let’s skip the dryer today. I’ll blow it dry so we’ll have more time to talk,” Aunt Melba said.
Indigo composed herself and followed Melba over to her stylist station, where she sat in the elevated swivel chair. She expected her aunt to stand behind her and get to work. Instead, Melba pulled two chairs in front of Indigo and motioned for Rachelle to fill one of them.
“Feel better now that you got those bottled up tears out of your system?” Aunt Melba asked.
Indigo shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know.”
Rachelle sighed. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders right now, young lady. A lot. But I do believe God is going to give you the strength to handle it all. Some things are out of your control. We’re all praying for Yasmin and putting out feelers to find her. That’s the best we can do without having any idea of which direction she might have headed. New York City is so big, we need to pinpoint something.”
Indigo kept her indignation under wraps. If this were Taryn or Tate, she was certain Rachelle would be pulling out all stops. But she couldn’t fault her cousin’s perspective on this; Yasmin had made this choice. Even if they did find her, they couldn’t legally make her come home, since she was now eighteen.
“Then there’s Reuben. I’m still not understanding why you’ve been so angry at him,” Rachelle said and frowned. “He decided to move his family here to be closer to all of us, and no matter how much he tries to reach out to you, you continue to ostracize him. What gives?”
Indigo took a sip of water and tried to quell the anger and frustration she felt welling up. “You don’t understand, Rachelle. This is so much deeper than what you’re seeing now—today. When Reuben left a long time ago . . .” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure she could revisit those memories and articulate her pain without spiraling into tears again.
She took a deep breath and shook her head. “There’s some history there that I just don’t want to deal with right now. But yes, I’m angry at him, and I’m doing my best to forgive him and move on, because I know that’s what he and I both need to happen. That’s what Mama and Daddy need, and Yasmin too. If I were on better terms with Reuben, Yasmin would have been too. She only had an attitude with him because I did.”
Rachelle held up a finger. “Let me run to the car—I’ll be right back.”
When she returned, she carried a gift-wrapped package which she placed on Indigo’s lap.
Indigo frowned. “You’re giving me a gift because I’m at odds with my brother?”
“Just open it,” Rachelle said. “It’s a journal that I was sending to the daughter of a friend who starts a creative writing graduate program in a few weeks. I thought she’d appreciate the gift as a place to store her personal thoughts, unrelated to her coursework. But I want you to have it. You need it.”
“Why?”
“Because whenever you’re holding something inside that you’re afraid to explore or too emotional about to speak the truth to, you need to find another way to release it, Indie. Pick up a pen and this journal every day and just spend five minutes thinking about your relationship with your brother and dumping your thoughts, anger, and fears there. You know what? You can even talk to God on paper. He’ll receive it.”
Indigo hadn’t kept a journal or a diary in years, but Rachelle was right—she needed a way to release her pent-up frustrations so she wouldn’t find herself experiencing another unexpected crying jag. She needed to figure out what she wanted to say to Reuben, even if she never shared her feelings with him directly.
She tried to smile. “Thanks, cousin. Maybe I can do some of this en route to London.”
Rachelle looked skeptical. “Maybe, but you may prefer to do it in privacy. Trust me—you don’t know where your writing will take you. The stuff that comes out may surprise you or horrify you. You need to be in a place where you can privately deal with whatever comes up. It will be good for you though. Very cathartic. I’ve been there.”
Indigo nodded. “Gotcha.”
Aunt Melba pulled out the wedding stationery brochure and turned to a list of reception favors in the bridal magazine. “Now, on to the things we can help you do today,” she said. “Let’s quickly look through here and pick out our top three favorite invitations and reception trinkets, then I’ll blow dry and style your hair while we discuss them, okay?”
Indigo felt lighter than she had in days, maybe weeks. She stepped out of her seat and hugged Aunt Melba and then Rachelle. “You ladies are my angels. All the time.”
They pooh-poohed her mushiness, but Indigo could tell that her praise made them feel good. Mama couldn’t fill this role right now, but God was surrounding her with women who loved her enough to tell her the truth and give her the kick in the pants she needed to stay on track.
“Are we finished with the ‘love fest’?” Melba asked. “We’ve got a wedding in three months. The bride needs to get ready!”
Indigo laughed and flipped through the magazine and brochure and found the invitations she liked best. She pointed to them and passed it to Rachelle for her feedback. It felt good to be thinking about something hopeful for a change.
Yasmin was ever present in her thoughts, though. Wherever she was, she prayed that her sister was safe.
Bring her home, God, and give us a chance to help her reach her goals the right way. Keep her safe, sound, and healthy.
There was always the fear that Yasmin would lapse back into bulimia. Mama and Daddy hadn’t voiced that concern, but she knew they were worried. Yasmin might be eighteen and she may have traveled somewhat during her early modeling career, but she was still a green, small-town girl. Only God could keep the predators at bay, and Indigo had to trust that he would.
21
Reuben woke with a start and shuddered.
Not again.
It was three a.m., and he was drenched in sweat. Just like the night before and the night before that, he’d had another bad dream. Same characters, similar scenes, except this time Yasmin was taunting him from afar for not keeping his promise. She blamed him for her missteps.
He glanced at Peyton. The rhythmic rising and falling of her rib cage indicated that for once, she had slept through his drama. Good. One of them needed to get a full night’s rest. The dreams had returned full force since Yasmin ran away over a week ago.
Tonight, however, he was struggling against more than his routine nightmare. Reuben couldn’t catch his breath, his hands felt clammy, and his heart raced. The fear that he was dying threatened to overwhelm him, but he stayed as calm as he could by reassuring himself that the feeling would pass in a few minutes.
He couldn’t believe he was having a panic attack. Not again; not now. The move back to Jubilant was supposed to have cured this.
Reuben sat up straight and sucked in as much air as he could. He had to get out of here.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed and padded across the carpeted floor to his armchair, where he had tossed the pair of jeans he put on after work yesterday. He slid into them and pulled a T-shirt from the laundry basket he had left unattended at the foot of the bed. If he didn’t get some air, he migh
t pass out.
He grabbed a pair of sneakers and padded down the stairs, where he sat at the bottom and tucked his feet into the shoes.
Reuben didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to clear his head. He strode through the kitchen and opened the door leading to the garage, where he slid behind the wheel of his SUV and pressed the remote to raise the garage door.
Ninety minutes later, by the time he had driven from one end of Jubilant to the other, his heart rate had returned to normal and his chest no longer felt tight. But Reuben still didn’t want to go home. Driving calmed him, even as memories of the nightmare lingered.
He was amazed at how quiet and dark the city was. In Seattle, a few pockets of the city would be abuzz with activity even in the wee hours of the morning. The whole town of Jubilant seemed to be sleeping, with the exception of an all-night gas station or convenience store here or there.
When he had run out of places to cruise, Reuben pulled into the parking lot of one of those stores and laid his head on the steering wheel. He wished he could shut off the memories, but after a dream, they replayed in his mind repeatedly, like a video that constantly looped back to the beginning. He wanted to yell or cry or pound his head until the images stopped.
He raised his eyes and peered into the store. The next best thing would be to numb himself. That would have to do.
Reuben climbed out of the Acura and approached the door to the convenience store. Beer. Wine. Whatever. He needed something to make the dream fade. His thoughts turned to Mama and how he’d detested her retreats to her sewing room or to her bedroom, where he knew she was drinking away her sorrows or purposely clouding her memories.
How can I be doing the same?
He’d own up to being a hypocrite tomorrow; right now, he wanted the pain to stop.
Reuben yanked the door to the store, expecting it to open. Instead, it rattled.
The clerk behind the counter waved him away. “We closed five minutes ago!” he yelled and pointed to a clock on the wall that Reuben couldn’t see.
“What the—” Reuben felt like punching a hole through the glass. Not because he really needed, or even wanted, a drink; he just wanted some relief.
He climbed back into the SUV and laid his head back on the headrest. He sat there, boring a hole through the windshield with his eyes, trying to remember when he’d last been happy, before the dreams started.
They had become a part of his existence soon after he left Jubilant for college, usually occurring whenever he mentioned the car accident and his upbringing to a friend who sought to know him better.
Tonight, he recalled being visited by police at the hospital after the accident. He remembered being surprised at seeing both sets of his grandparents, who lived out of state. Though he’d only suffered a broken arm and minor scrapes and bruises, he had been admitted for observation to make extra sure he hadn’t sustained internal injuries.
The police and his grandparents begged him for information. They wanted to know what had happened, how Dad David had lost control of the van on a quiet stretch of Louisiana highway on a clear day. Reuben didn’t have answers. All he remembered was that while he and Mom were singing, everything suddenly went black.
While he lay in that hospital bed for several days, channel surfing and trying to get his bearings, he stumbled upon several TV news reports about the accident. The anchors shared details with the general public that, twenty years later, Mama and Daddy still hadn’t discussed with him.
Authorities determined that one of the tires on the Burnses’ van blew out, causing David Burns to lose control. Police told news reporters that it was Reuben’s desperate screams for his mother to live that had helped authorities find the family and their van in the sloping field, after a truck driver reported spotting broken railing and fresh skid marks in an area he had traveled just hours earlier.
Reuben remembered his grandparents and the hospital chaplain proclaiming that his survival was a gift from God, a sign that he had more living to do. If that were the case, why had he felt so dead inside ever since?
He had come alive when he first went to college in Dallas and realized he could reinvent himself, outside of being known as the courageous orphan survivor, or the child/grandchild of the ultra-holy Charles and Irene Burns. Another vibrant period had been meeting Peyton, whose passion for life and self-confidence pierced his heart. Her blindness didn’t intimidate him, and it hadn’t taken him long to fall for her. When Charles David was born, he finally understood the meaning of unconditional love. Life had been a joy.
Between those high periods, however, painful memories and guilt over broken promises ebbed and flowed.
Peyton kept urging him to talk to a therapist. Maybe she was right.
Reuben’s eyes widened at the sound of rapping on the passenger window. The overly tanned, plump face of the convenience store clerk was almost pressed against the window. Reuben peered into his gray eyes.
He glanced at the store and realized the man had dimmed the lights in the building and was heading to his car. Reuben lowered the window just enough to hear what the man had to say.
“Sorry I couldn’t let you in, sir, but I had already closed out the register for the night,” he said, and tried to study Reuben’s eyes.
Reuben shifted his gaze and nodded. “That’s okay, I’ll live.”
But the man didn’t leave. “Sir?”
Reuben was getting annoyed. He wished he had driven off after realizing he couldn’t go in. “Yes?” His reply was more of a warning than a question.
“Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but it appears that you’re searching for something.”
Reuben looked at the man and frowned. He appeared normal, but what was he talking about? Was this question a set up for a robbery or carjacking? Reuben sat up straighter in his seat and glared at the man.
The man raised his palms. “I’m not trying to cause trouble or start anything, I was just asking, because you seem to be in a crisis. I just wanted to suggest that you try prayer. Whatever it is, God can fix it. Really. And if you want, I’ll pray for you right now.”
Reuben was stunned. A stranger offering to pray for him, early in the morning, when he should be at home? He started the car and put it in reverse. The man backed away when the SUV began to move. Reuben slowly pulled out of the parking spot, then paused to show some respect.
“I need to get home, but thanks anyway,” he called to the cashier through the open window. “Send up a prayer in my absence. For the man with the waking nightmares.”
The clerk stood in the parking lot and gave Reuben a thumbs-up. “Gotcha,” he called out, his voice wafting through the windows. “God can fix that better than anything in the store would have!”
For the first time, Reuben decided he just might believe that.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into his driveway and his heart lurched. Peyton stood in the doorway, with the cordless phone attached to her ears. Tears crisscrossed down her cheeks.
Please, God, no. Don’t let anything horrible have happened to Yasmin.
He put the Acura in park and leapt from behind the driver’s seat, without bothering to take his keys or lock the door. When he reached Peyton, she was trembling. He’d never seen her so frightened in all the years he’d known her.
He opened the glass storm door and took her into his arms.
“I heard a car, I prayed it was you!” she sobbed into his chest.
“What is it, babe? What happened?”
Peyton pulled away from him and turned her face toward him. “I woke up and you weren’t here. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I kept calling your cell phone and there was no answer. It’s turned off, but it’s not in the spot where you usually keep it.”
Reuben frowned, trying to remember where he might have put it. In the midst of the panic attack he knew he hadn’t taken it with him.
“I knew you’d had another nightmare,” Peyton said. “I thought you’d gone and hurt yourself. Do
n’t ever do that to me again, Reuben! That little boy sleeping in there and I need you. We need you!”
She stepped away from him. Reuben reached for her arm and drew her close again.
“I’m sorry babe, I’m so sorry,” he said and held her. This time she didn’t resist. She clung to him.
It struck him that she’d been strong all these years because she knew he couldn’t be. She’d been trying to be brave enough for the both of them; but tonight, when he had left without a word and without being reachable by cell phone, the fragile balance had tipped.
Reuben held her until her sobs quieted and accepted the truth she’d been nudging him to embrace all along. This was about more than him, and a bigger problem than he could handle alone. He needed some help to get through this, or he’d never heal.
22
Max had orchestrated this dinner, and Indigo was still trying to guess his motive.
He knew she had somewhat reconciled with Reuben—her brother was still in their wedding and she wasn’t complaining— so what was this about? She asked him again, just before Reuben and Peyton arrived, to no avail.
“Just enjoy yourself, okay?” Max said. “Will that be so hard?”
She and Max and Reuben and Peyton now sat across the table from each other in Max’s kitchen, finishing their second helpings of tonight’s meal. Taryn had just called to report that Charles David was fine. He was spending the night with her at her parents’ house, and she had invited a neighbor’s four-year-old son whom she regularly babysat to sleep over too. The boys were preparing for a pillow fight.
“I doubt those boys are eating half as well as we are,” Reuben said.
Max had grilled catfish and shrimp. Indigo had prepared rice pilaf, green beans, corn on the cob, and a tossed salad.
“I didn’t know professional photographers could burn like this,” Reuben said and laughed.
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