Becoming Indigo

by Tara Taylor

  But I needed money, or I wasn’t going anywhere. And right now the thought of a trip to Scotland was the only thing that was keeping me going.

  I scanned down the help-wanted ads and found nothing at all that I could apply for. I groaned. I tapped my pen on the counter.

  Maybe I could babysit. Or dog-sit. Or house-sit. Or anything.

  I had to get to Scotland. Get away. Do something with my life. Forget about how I had treated Paul like crap. My stomach flip-flopped. I missed him, and it was a different feeling from how I had missed John. Paul had talked to me, not at me. And he listened to me, even when I was whiny or sad or boring. Best of all, he made me laugh. Annabelle was teaching me about something called manifesting; it was about trying to make things come true by thinking positively about them. I took out a piece of paper and started writing.

  I am in Scotland.

  I am in Scotland.

  I wrote and wrote the same line until my hand cramped and I heard Annabelle’s door creak in the back.

  I quickly shut the newspaper, crumpled up the paper I’d been scrawling on, and shoved it all under the counter and into my purse. I’d only saved $100, and that wasn’t nearly enough. Natalie and I were so serious about the trip and had done a ton of research, but I just couldn’t seem to put money in the bank. What was wrong with me?

  After getting my book last night from Sarah, and after hashing everything over with Natalie, I had gone to bed and kept Henry up by reading about Scotland until three in the morning. He liked it when I read out loud to him. Something was drawing me there. I wasn’t even sure what. The Scottish ruins begged me to visit.

  Would they heal me of the pain I was still in, months later?

  Voices sounded from the hallway, and I stood up and straightened my jeans. I didn’t want Annabelle knowing that I needed more work, because she would give me grief for spending too much money on her present. “It’s so quiet today,” said Annabelle when she came into the storefront with her client Susan. She was a regular.

  I pointed to the window. “It’s snowing like crazy.”

  Susan did up the buttons on her long, black wool coat and wrapped her tartan scarf around her neck. “Well, ladies. Time to brave the snow.”

  “I like your scarf,” said Annabelle.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I got it in Edinburgh.” She hugged Annabelle. “Merry Christmas. And thank you so much for all you’ve done for me. What would I do without you?”

  I watched the interaction, and it warmed me inside. Annabelle walked Susan to the door, and when she opened it, a waft of cold air and snow blew in.

  When the door was shut and Susan was gone, I started singing “White Christmas” in my best Bing Crosby impersonation. Annabelle joined in, and we made it to the chorus before Annabelle grimaced and put her hand to her chest.

  I immediately stopped singing and moved toward her, putting my arm around her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not feeling great.” Annabelle scratched the back of her neck. “I’m sure it’s just the flu.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “It seems like more than the flu to me.”

  “I think I’ll lock up for the day. I doubt it is going to be very busy because of the snow.”

  “Lock up?” That meant no overtime for me. I worked by the hour, and I was getting used to the extra time. “I can keep the store open,” I said. “You can go home.”

  As if reading my mind, Annabelle said, “I’ll pay you. Take the day off.” She glanced out the window. “I don’t like the look of the snow anyway and don’t want to risk driving in it later. I’d rather get home. And you need to go, too.” She wagged her finger at me. “Go see Paul. You have a present for him.”

  I tried to speak, but no words would come out. I had bought Paul a gift. But I had no idea when I would give it to him. I hadn’t seen him since the day we’d gone to the coffee shop, just after I got home from Kingston. Every time the phone rang, I ran to answer it. And every time I was in the pub, I would look for him. The days had folded into weeks, and nothing. A few times I’d tried to call him, but I hung up before leaving a voice message. To ease the void I felt without him, I spent my time planning my trip with Natalie. For both of us, it was an escape from our pain.

  “He’s a nice kid,” said Annabelle, breaking the silence. “I think you two might have been together in a past life.”

  “Me and Paul?” I laughed. Annabelle had been teaching me about past lives. I wasn’t quite sure yet whether I thought they could be possible. Could it be that I had lived in the past with a different body and experience?

  I eyed Annabelle. “You really believe in past lives, don’t you?”

  “I do,” she said. “We are old souls, my girl. We’ve been around a few times. There are those who are new souls, and it is their first time on earth, but not us. We’ve had many, many lives, my dear.”

  “Do you know who you have been?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah. I was a nasty old man in Germany who treated his children horribly. I think that’s why I don’t have children in this life. Sometimes we come back to rectify something we did in a past life.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  She wagged her finger at me. “You’re driven to go to Scotland for a reason, my dear. Often it’s that kind of feeling. Almost like you’ve been there before.”

  “Do you think Paul and I were together in Scotland?”

  She laughed. “I didn’t say that. Could have been anywhere.” She tapped her fingers and stared at me. Then she said, “You might have been brother and sister somewhere.”

  Brother and sister. I had sort of treated him like a brother. An uncomfortable silence invaded the room. Why had Annabelle brought up his name? Now I was thinking about him.

  And I desperately want to see him.

  Suddenly, the smell of his aftershave hit my nostrils. I quickly glanced at the door, but he wasn’t there. Hoping Annabelle hadn’t noticed anything weird, I bent down and pulled my purse out from below the counter, shoving the newspaper deep inside it, trying not to make any rustling noises. When I straightened up and looked at Annabelle, I realized that I could have screeched my fingers down a chalkboard and she wouldn’t have noticed a thing; she was deep in thought.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly, my words ringing through the room.

  She glanced at me, and I looked into her eyes, shocked by the sadness bleeding through her dark brown irises.

  “I’m so glad I met you.”

  “Me too.”

  “It’s nice to have someone around at Christmas. You’ve brought so much life to the store.”

  “I have your Christmas gift.” I reached below the counter for the small present I had managed to sneak into the store today.

  “Here.” I handed her a small box wrapped in silver paper.

  Just like a lightbulb turning on, Annabelle smiled, her beautiful brown eyes illuminating her face, and a wash of relief flowed through me.

  She ran her fingers over the shiny paper. “I have something for you, too, in the back. I’ll go get it.”

  When she returned with a gift wrapped in purple and silver paper, she was having difficulty breathing. I said, “You need to see a doctor.”

  “I did,” she answered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to quit smoking.” She pointed to the gift she had given me. “I think you’re going to like what I got you.”

  I shook the present like I did every Christmas gift that was for me. She laughed and rolled her eyes. “You are one crazy girl. But I love you.”

  Immediately, I stopped shaking my gift and looked at her. “I love you, too,” I whispered.

  That afternoon, as I was packing to head home for at least a week over Christmas, and getting Henry ready to meet Cedar, Sasha, and Sheena, I was surprised by a knock on the apartment door. Both Natalie and Sarah had already gone home, and I was the last one to head out. Who would have ventured out in
the snow?

  I picked Henry up and headed to the door.

  “Who is it?” I asked before turning the latch to unlock the door.

  “Paul.”

  My heart almost stopped beating. My throat dried. And I stood still for a second. Yes, I’d had this weird feeling I was going to see him, but I thought it would be a run-in at the mall.

  I pulled at the chain and clicked open the lock to see Paul, his hair dripping wet from melting snow, and holding a huge, and I mean huge, box wrapped in about three different types of Christmas paper.

  “Hi” was all he said.

  “Hi,” I said shyly back.

  After more than two months, he was standing in front of me. I had been waiting for this day.

  He shook his head, and water flew everywhere. And I laughed. Just like that, I laughed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s really snowing out.” He pushed his present toward me. “This is for you.”

  “You want to come in?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  I ushered him into the apartment.

  “I think you told me once that you loved Christmas,” he said.

  “I have a gift for you, too.”

  He looked surprised. “You do?” Then he grinned. “Let’s open them!”

  I took the present and, of course, shook it, back and forth, and up and down. “I can’t even guess,” I said. “What could be so light in such a big box?”

  “You’ll have to open it to find out,” he said. He laughed.

  I led Paul to the living room and the little Christmas tree that we girls had set up a few weeks ago. “Sarah said I was insane to buy a little tree from the Canadian Tire tree lot, but I had insisted. Christmas isn’t Christmas without a tree,” I said.

  “It sure is nice,” said Paul a bit sarcastically.

  “I like it,” I said. Yes, it looked like a Charlie Brown tree with its spindly branches and oversize decorations, but the price had been right, and the cheap silver balls and garland from the Dollar Store made it festive. We’d had fun picking out the decorations and kept the price tag at under $10.

  “I like it, too,” said Paul. “It’s perfect for you guys.”

  I reached under the tree for a little package. “For you,” I said.

  He took it and playfully shook it.

  “You’re just teasing me. Open it.”

  “You open yours, too.” He arched one eyebrow.

  I ripped at the paper and he did the same with his gift. He had his opened before me, because his was so small. When I had all the paper torn off, all I had was a big box with nothing in it.

  He waved his present in the air. “Movie tickets,” he said. “And popcorn gift certificates. Great gift!” He laughed. “Okay, this is sooo funny. Dig to the bottom of yours.” He pointed at the box.

  I looked deep into the box, and when I saw the envelope in the bottom, I laughed, too. “Movie passes,” I said.

  “Keep looking.”

  I peered into the box and pulled out another envelope, waving the contents in the air. “Popcorn gift certificates.”

  We both fell back on the sofa; we were laughing so hard.

  The same gift! We bought each other exactly the same thing without knowing.

  I turned my head to look at him at exactly the same time he did, and our faces were suddenly close. Like really close. He reached over and touched my cheek, and I leaned my head toward him.

  He kissed the top of my head, and we inched toward each other. And just like that, I was in his arms and his nose was pressed against mine. Warm air encased me, and tingles ran up and down my spine, into my legs and arms. His body shivered beside mine as he stroked my hair, slowly, tenderly. I touched his hand, running my fingers over his knuckles. When he leaned toward me, I didn’t back away but moved forward to meet his lips. We connected, and a beautiful heat flowed through me. I opened my lips, allowing his tongue to move inside my mouth. My body trembled, but in a really good way.

  When we broke apart from our kiss, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close, and I relaxed and rested my head against his chest.

  “I really am sorry,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered back. “I’ve had a few weeks to think. I’m sorry, too. I should have been there for you that night. You only acted the way you did because of what happened to you. So right now all I want to do is hold you in my arms and keep you safe.”

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  In the dark of the night, I sat under my family Christmas tree, staring up at the colored lights that twinkled in the magic of the night. I loved our majestic tree. I had awoken at 4:44, like I did every Christmas Eve since I was a little girl, and tiptoed down to sit under our tree.

  As I stared at the tree and the sparkling lights, I thought about everything, and it was as if little snippets of my life flashed through my mind. So much had happened to me this year.

  So much good, and so much bad, too.

  I had no idea why the bad had been so bad. I wanted to be mad at God still for all the bad stuff, but it was Christmas, and I had a hard time feeling anything but joy. Since all the little demons had been sucked out of me, I felt okay again and not as tired. Green Lady hadn’t returned, and I had stopped playing with what Annabelle called the occult. The Ouija board had been thrown in the trash.

  As I stared up at the tree, mesmerized by the colors and the glimmering of the little lights, my mind went blank, and I felt myself sliding down my long telescopic lens. I was alone in the room, so I let my mind go, let my body still, allowed the vision to appear.

  When I got the bottom and looked into the fishbowl, though, I saw nothing. No vision came. Instead, I saw white, like pure Christmas snow. My body stilled even more. I fixed my gaze on one little white light on the Christmas tree. How long I sat there with my eyes fixed on one bright light I don’t know. Time was insignificant.

  All was silent and then, like a bang, I heard the word theology.

  I blinked, and I was back in my living room, sitting cross-legged in front of my Christmas tree.

  I shook my head, got up, and went back to bed.

  I woke up three hours later and ran into Brian’s room. There were presents to open.

  As usual, we sat around the tree and Dad handed out the gifts, one by one, trying to make it even. My biggest thrill was watching everyone open the gifts I had given them.

  But I did notice that I had fewer gifts than Brian, and that shocked me. My parents never did that. Mom counted them out religiously so everything was even.

  Finally, after he had opened three to my one, my mom glanced my way. “We have a big gift for you, Indie. That’s why you don’t have many small ones.”

  She stood and pulled a card from the tree. “This is for you.”

  Puzzled, I took the card. I flipped it over and opened the envelope and screamed when I pulled out a plane ticket to London.

  “I talked to Natalie and Annabelle about this,” said Mom, her eyes beaming with excitement, “and we figured out a time that both of you can go. And we decided that flying to London would be best. Then you can go to Ireland and Scotland from there.”

  I jumped up and hugged her and my dad. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” I twirled around the room. “I can’t believe it!” I spun so much I got dizzy and winded, and I ended up toppling onto Brian, who laughed and started wrestling with me and pushing me out of the way.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even with the plane ticket paid for, I still had hardly any money in my account to spend on my trip. As usual, I had overspent at Christmas on gifts. Now, I had to save and save big.

  Again, I asked Brian if he needed any extra staff at Licks, but the opposite was true: they were letting people go because it wasn’t going to be busy enough in January. He promised me something in the summer, but that would be too late. My ticket was for April.

  I caught the bus to work, thinking about how I could make extra money. I stared out the windo
w at the streets, just thinking. The white snow of Christmas had turned to gray slush.

  When I got to the store, the door was locked, which was odd because Annabelle was always there before me. I opened the store and flipped on the lights.

  “Annabelle,” I called out.

  No answer.

  Maybe she got stuck in traffic. The schedule book said she had an appointment at 9:30. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was almost nine. She still had some time.

  I busied myself organizing the store, tidying everything. Ten minutes passed, then 15, then 20. The phone rang shrilly, and I answered it.

  “Annabelle’s Angels,” I said in my officious business voice.

  “Indie, it’s me.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “Annabelle. Hi. Where are you?”

  “I can’t come in today. I’ve got a wicked cold. I tried to get ready and was on my way out the door, but I think my fever has spiked.”

  “I hope you’re okay,” I said. I worried about her health all the time. She still hadn’t quit smoking. I had quit again, just to show her that it could be done, but it hadn’t been enough incentive for her.

  “I’m fine,” she rasped. “Just a nasty flu bug.”

  I looked down at the book. She had only one client today. “Should I cancel your appointment?”

  “No,” she stated. “I want you to do the reading.”

  “Me!” Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my heartbeat quickened. “I, uh, I don’t have my cards here.”

  “You don’t need cards. I’ve told you that before. I want you to use your God-given abilities.”

  “I, uh, I can’t do this yet.”

  “Indie, yes, you can.” She paused. “You need a second job, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but this isn’t exactly what I was thinking. And who will run the front of the store?”

  “Lock the door. Turn the sign around. It’s just one client. When you’re done, you can open the store back up.”