by Stacy Adams
“The resident Goody Two-Shoes has made himself known,” Greg said.
Brian ignored him. He closed his eyes and pictured Indigo’s smiling face. He couldn’t have contact with her for the next three weeks, and he already missed her voice and her kisses. The thought of eventually being able to earn weekends off and see her once or twice before he received his commission would have to be enough to keep him focused.
Nothing was going to stop him from making his parents, or the future Mrs. Harper, proud.
15
Indigo watched Yasmin wolf down a third helping of pancakes and shook her head in disbelief. She and her sister were both naturally thin, but this was ridiculous.
She took a sip of coffee and noted the time on the microwave’s digital clock. 9:42 a.m.
Claude usually arrived at the newspaper at 9:50 a.m. sharp, just in time to gather what he needed for the 10:15 morning staff meeting. If Indigo timed it just right, she could reach the photo editor at his desk in about ten minutes and give him an update before he got preoccupied.
While Yasmin ate for three this morning, Indigo didn’t have an appetite. Her life was imploding. If she couldn’t see, how could she pursue her dream?
Mama returned to the kitchen and approached her. She hugged Indigo’s neck and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
“You’re going to be alright,” Mama said. “This is not the end of the world. It’s not a life-threatening condition and you’re nowhere near blind. Rachelle told you that over and over yesterday. So did Dr. Woodman.”
Daddy, who sat at the table next to Indigo, looked up from the newspaper.
“That was nice of that doctor to stop by the house with Rachelle to talk to all of us,” he said. “It was the first of many blessings that I believe will come out of this situation, Indigo. So don’t get yourself all worked up. God has the final say.”
Indigo looked from one of her parents to the other and tried to contain her exasperation. “I am twenty-two years old and I have glaucoma. There’s a blessing in that?”
She rose from the table so she could retreat to her brother’s bedroom to sulk.
Aunt Melba had joined the family at the table for breakfast and was finishing a second cup of hot tea. She called out to Indigo, causing Indigo to stop in her tracks.
“Wait.”
Aunt Melba had progressed from using a wheelchair to a walker, and her mind was as sharp as ever. Her challenge these days was that her speech didn’t always keep up with her thoughts.
Indigo turned to look at her aunt and pursed her lips.
“One . . . day . . . at . . . a . . . time . . . God . . . will . . . bless,” Aunt Melba said.
Indigo stared at Aunt Melba and allowed angry questions to race through her mind without uttering them. What about the School of the Visual Arts? What about her summer internship hanging in the balance? What about Brian? He had plenty of options and had no reason to settle for a wife with a chronic illness.
Before some of that turmoil bubbled over, Yasmin pointed to the digital clock.
“It’s 9:51,” she said and took another bite of food. “Thought you were going to check in with The Man.”
Indigo held up the cordless phone. “I’m going to the bedroom to give Claude a call. He’ll be all over the place after the morning meeting and hard to catch.”
When she had settled on Reuben’s bed, Indigo sat there in the dark for a moment, wondering what to do and say.
Mama would tell her to pray before she dialed his number. Brian, if he were here, would give her the same advice. Shelby would make the call for her.
“Time to be a Big Girl,” she told herself.
Claude answered on the first ring. “Ingram here.”
Indigo cleared her throat. “Good morning, Claude.”
“Indigo! How are things? Got good news for me?”
She paused and bit her lip. There was nothing to do but to do it. “Claude, I have glaucoma. In both eyes.”
The dead air unnerved her.
“Excuse me?” he finally said. “I thought that happened to . . . older people. My eighty-nine-year-old grandmother was recently diagnosed.”
God, please forgive me for the ugly words I want to say to this man right now.
She took a few seconds to gain control.
“Apparently my great-grandmother had it too,” she said. She wasn’t going into details about her family history. “I saw a specialist yesterday who says it’s the most common kind, open-angle, and it’s early enough that I haven’t lost too much of my vision.”
“Won’t it gradually get worse, though, Indigo?”
“Not if it’s caught early on, Claude. I’ve been given some prescription eyedrops, but my ophthalmologist is recommending that I have laser surgery to correct the problem, since I’m so young. It won’t cure the disease, but it will give me freedom from eyedrops for a few years and allow me to function normally. She’s willing to write a letter to you, verifying all of this.”
“Glaucoma? At your age? Well, how long would you have to be out for surgery? You only had another six weeks for your internship.”
Indigo heard him utter the word “had” instead of “have.” She couldn’t believe it. He was looking for a way to dump her. Rachelle appeared in the bedroom doorway and waved.
“Claude, I’m here now with my optometrist,” Indigo said. “The ophthalmologist is going to perform the laser surgery, but Dr. Covington was there with me yesterday and heard everything. She can give you more details if you want me to put her on the phone.”
“Sure,” he said. She heard him whacking a pen or pencil on his desk. She extended the phone toward Rachelle and mouthed “thank you.”
Rachelle held it to her ear and assumed her professional tone.
“Dr. Covington here. I understand you have questions about Ms. Burns’s condition?”
Indigo didn’t find any of this funny, but she couldn’t help but smile as she watched Rachelle handle her boss’s questions.
“The laser surgery actually will be done in the ophthalmologist’s office, in the exam chair, and will literally take no more than five minutes. Ms. Burns will be able to return to her regular duties as soon as the day after the procedure.”
Rachelle listened for a few minutes before responding.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss her condition in detail because of privacy laws, Mr. Ingram, but I’ll repeat that when she has surgery in two weeks, she can return to work the next day.”
Rachelle, who clearly had stopped by on her way to the office, plunged her free hand into the pocket of her white lab coat and listened.
“No,” she said, “it’s not normal for someone this age to be diagnosed with glaucoma, but it happens. Anyone diagnosed from infancy through age thirty-five is considered to have juvenile glaucoma.”
She listened again.
“You are correct—there is no cure, but because we’ve caught this early on, there’s also no reason that further vision loss will occur, and there’s no reason she can’t have a full life as a photographer, even during this summer internship.”
Before he could say more, Rachelle cut him short.
“Thanks so much for your concern, Mr. Ingram. If you need something in writing outlining what I’ve told you, I’ll be happy to draft a letter for you. Have a good day.”
She passed the phone back to Indigo and shook her head.
“Hello, Claude?”
“Yes, Indigo,” he said. “I’m so sorry to hear about the glaucoma, but it seems like you’ve gotten a handle on it. Are you sure you want to come back to work? You’ve got a lot on your plate, with the upcoming surgery and all.”
Indigo frowned. What was this really about? “The eyedrops should clear up the blurriness right away and I can be at work this afternoon, or tomorrow, if you prefer,” she said. “I’m fine and ready to return to work. There’s no reason for me to quit.”
“Bring me the letter from your doctor and we’ll go from the
re, okay?” Claude said. “Take today off and I’ll see you in the morning, Indigo, and sorry again about your diagnosis.”
Indigo hung up and turned toward Rachelle. “I feel like I have a scarlet letter or a contagious disease or something. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him.”
She flung herself back across the bed and buried her head in a pillow.
“Don’t let that man tear down your spirits, Indigo,” Rachelle said. “You got some tough news yesterday, especially for someone who will make a living using her eyes. But this is just an obstacle, not a death sentence. You’ll be fine, regardless of what happens with this newspaper. That’s not the medium you really want to work in, anyway. Let’s just focus on getting your eyes in tip-top shape so you’ll be ready for grad school in the Big Apple.”
Indigo lifted her head and looked at Rachelle. “That’s the other thing. Should I be asking my parents to shell out $26,000 a year for a prestigious photography program if I won’t be able to work in this field long term? That doesn’t make sense. Maybe I need to withdraw from school.”
Taryn entered the room and looked around, as if wondering why Indigo hadn’t turned on the lights or opened the blinds. But whatever her thoughts were, she kept them to herself as she rested her chin on her mother’s shoulder. “Hey, cuz,” she said to Indigo. “Yasmin just told me about your eyes. I’m sorry.”
The pity made Indigo angry. What was Brian going to say when he found out? Maybe now he’d be willing to wait on the wedding. Who wanted a half-blind wife?
She willed the tears to dry up, but they flowed anyway.
Rachelle pushed Taryn toward the door and looked back at Indigo before leaving.
“It’s okay to have a brief pity party, Indigo. This is tough news. But you’ve got to know that God is in this too. He wouldn’t give you dreams just to dash them. You’ve got to look within and figure out how to keep moving forward, despite the doors that close. That’s what the Indigo I know would do. Take some time for yourself today, then get up.”
When she was alone, Indigo pounded the pillow.
Life could be so unfair. She knew that, though, didn’t she?
The car accident that killed her birth parents when she was seven and led Yasmin, their brother, Reuben, and her to be adopted by their paternal grandparents wasn’t fair; her grandmother/ mother’s struggle with alcohol that had made living in this house suffocating and secretive hadn’t been fair. Now she had to deal with this—an unfair blow to her health at a time when she should be embracing opportunities and living to the fullest.
Despite these issues, she simply was supposed to trust God?
Indigo closed her eyes. She knew the answer to the question even if she didn’t want to accept it.
She wasn’t just supposed to trust him—apparently she had to, because everything else in her life that mattered seemed to be shifting like quicksand.
16
Brian had never felt the sun’s heat like this.
From now on, whenever he heard the term “buzz cut,” he would remember that day, one week ago, when he sat in the barber’s chair on base to get one. He had zeroed in on the humming of a sharp, electric razor while a stoic, bottle-blonde stylist with designer nails went back and forth across his scalp. He had always worn his hair closely cropped or in a microafro, but now he was a sneeze away from being bald. Friends had teased him for years about resembling actor Boris Kodjoe, and with this cut he could pass for brother man’s twin.
Except for the intensity of the sun that he dealt with during outdoor physical training, he didn’t really mind his new ’do. Today, though, he was sweating buckets during a brief walk across the lawn from his bunk to the main hall, where he intended to call Indigo for the first time since he’d left Jubilant. He figured excitement fueled his perspiration more than anything else.
He was allowed one five-minute call each week, and he had decided last Sunday, after talking with his folks, to alternate between calling them and his girl. He had so much to tell her.
But then, that must be the point of putting a time limit on the calls. With so few minutes to talk with loved ones, what indoctrination candidate would waste them spilling his guts about the rigors of OCS? It was better to use those precious seconds reassuring their family and friends that they were okay, a candidate officer had advised Brian and his classmates, and to receive some news about the routine happenings at home that might encourage them.
But when Brian dialed Indigo’s cell and she answered with some hesitancy, he wanted to do more than listen. If he could have crawled through the phone, he would have held her and told her he’d fix whatever had her sounding so troubled.
“What is it, Indie?”
“Nothing, babe—just missing you,” she said, but he knew better. Her cheerfulness was forced. “It’s so good to hear your voice. You taking care of yourself?”
Brian snorted. “I’m still standing. How about you? What has you so down? You miss me that much?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said. “I’m fine, Brian, I just found out that I need a little laser surgery on my eyes.”
“A ‘little’ surgery on your eyes? What in the world—?”
“I have glaucoma. We’ve caught it early enough that the surgery should correct the problem and keep it from getting worse. There’s no cure, but it hasn’t done too much damage. My vision is 20/60, but the laser surgery will reroute some fluid to take the pressure off my eyes and correct the nearsightedness so I won’t need glasses. Rachelle is looking out for me.”
“When did all of this happen?”
Indigo must have been concerned that the clock was ticking. “I’ll give you details later. I don’t want to waste the few minutes we have left talking about it,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t have told you anyway—you’ll be worrying about me when you need to be focused.”
She giggled. “I just wanna make sure you still want to marry me. I might opt for that instead of grad school, since I could be half blind.”
Brian could tell that she had thrown out the idea only half jokingly, to gauge his reaction. His heart softened.
“I love you, babe, bad eyesight and all. If you have to walk down the aisle to become my wife wearing Coke-bottle lenses, I’ll take you. Just remove them for the photos—and the honeymoon—okay?”
She laughed and he felt better.
“Seriously though, that’s a hard thing to hear. You’re really thinking about sitting out of grad school?”
Behind him, a bullhorn sounded, alerting him and the candidates on the other pay phones that they had two minutes left.
Indigo heard it too. She sighed. “I don’t know, Brian. Everything is up in the air right now. I don’t even know if I’ll finish the newspaper internship. I’m just taking it day by day at the moment. I don’t want to waste my parents’ money if this eye thing is more serious than we think.”
Brian heard her despair. “Tell you what—you take me with my nearly bald head and I’ll take you, whatever may come. We’re still on for August 25. Be there or be square. After I’m commissioned, you can work wherever I’m planted for flight school, and it’s looking like it will be Pensacola.”
Indigo didn’t respond. Brian imagined her sitting Indian style on the floor or sofa, twirling a piece of her dark brown hair and nodding, as if he could see her.
“Whenever they give you a moment, send me a picture of that bald head,” she finally said. “If you’re all shiny up there, I can’t imagine what Shelby looks like.”
Brian’s eyes darted around the stark white room that held a bank of telephones and a few tables. The space was small, but it was crammed right now with indoctrination candidates who didn’t want to miss the opportunity to connect briefly with reality.
He spotted Shelby at the opposite end of the room with her hands jammed into the pockets of the standard olive green jumpsuit worn by every indoctrination candidate on the campus.
Shelby’s hair had been drastically cut too. She looked like a puny
man without her usual bob or makeup to soften the angles of her face.
“She has two inches of growth left on top, babe, and her perm is sweating out.”
“Wow,” Indigo said.
Brian barely heard her response. He had a minute left before it was time to end the call, but his attention was drawn to the scene unfolding before him.
Shelby suddenly snapped to attention and assumed the one-thousand-yard stare, while a uniformed man addressed her. She seemed surprised, despite her effort to remain expressionless, and so did the man. Based on his uniform, Brian pegged him as a senior officer candidate, just a few weeks ahead of his and Shelby’s class in OCS.
Brian squinted at the officer’s profile, wondering why he looked familiar.
“Indie, my time’s up. I love you, baby. Don’t worry about the eyes. We’ll get through this. Keep planning the wedding.”
He hung up before she could respond, entranced by Shelby and the mystery man.
Brian’s eyes weren’t playing tricks. Shelby was talking to Craig Miller.
Craig graduated from Tuskegee a year ahead of him. When had he decided to become a naval officer? What Indoctrination Class was he helping lead?
Rigid orders wouldn’t give Brian an opportunity to ask those questions for another few weeks, but it didn’t escape his notice that Craig had made a point of seeking out Shelby. Both of them were grown, but Brian prayed right then that these two old friends would remain as formal—and as distant—as possible.
17
What you need right now is a piece of this.”
Yasmin strolled into the family room with two hunks of chocolate cake and placed one on the glass coffee table in front of Indigo. She smiled at Aunt Melba and her mother, who sat nearby, and held out the other piece for them to inspect.
“Would you two like some?”
Mama looked up from Wheel of Fortune and frowned at her youngest daughter. “Didn’t you have a slice after dinner? You keep on eating like that, talking about you gonna model. For whom?”
