by JA Huss
I wait there for a little bit longer. Hoping—and not hoping—I will hear more. But then they really are fooling around because I can hear kissing.
I go back the way I came. Pick up my sheets, take them into the laundry room, and shove them into one of two commercial washers. Then I go back upstairs, put on my boots, and jacket, and come back downstairs making noise.
It’s juvenile. But fuck it.
I don’t care. I slam the door on the way out too.
But the last place I want to be is outside. Because that’s where everything happened that day. And everywhere I look there’s a bad memory waiting for me.
It’s raining again. Not hard, but a healthy drizzle. So I head to the pavilion. My one spot on this vast acreage of marshy woods that is all mine.
Of course, I have not been out here in four years and it looks it. Leaves everywhere. All the cushions, and pillows, and blankets that made this place feel homey and comfortable are gone now. There used to be mosquito netting around the perimeter in the summer. And in the winter, I would hang thick, canvas curtains all the way around to keep the wind out.
I don’t much like the hot, sticky summers but Louisiana winters are perfect. Adam and I used to watch football out here all fall. Then basketball all winter. And when Indie was still small and young, we’d have movie night with her. That was fun. And we’d all pile on top of that giant swing I made and just have a little bit of fun. Try and forget who and what we were.
It was good. It really was. Even when Donovan was here. I mean, that guy was mostly just a downer. But it wasn’t his fault he was only here after a job and most times Indie wasn’t herself.
I head towards the garden shed because if those cushions and curtains are still here, that’s where they’ll be. It’s not a shed. Shed is just an easy word to describe it. It’s a pretty big building. Probably started its life as a barn a hundred years ago. It’s been renovated though. Concrete floor now. Nice drain in the middle so we could hose off the floor when it got too dirty. And it’s got a huge door, which is metal and rolls up like a garage door these days, but probably started out as some real nice wood back in the day.
Adam packed everything up real neat after we abandoned this place. Well, hired someone to do it, I guess. White sheets on all the furniture the way you see it done in movies. Which is so Adam. He’s so fuckin’ proper. So fuckin’ orderly. So fuckin’ conscientious. So fuckin’… Southern.
My point is that all the outdoor cushions are inside those special bags you buy for such cushions when you want to put them away and keep them nice over the winter.
But then I realize they are all piled up inside something and my heart seizes up. Like a fist just reached into my chest and gave it a squeeze.
I walk over to the crib and trace my fingertips down the dusty white wood of the headboard. Indie picked this crib out. She wanted this crib for her little girl so bad I could see the longing in her eyes when she, and Adam, and I were walking through that baby store when Indie was six months pregnant.
She wanted everything to be perfect. All the beautiful things were on her mind back then. Everything was pretty.
Magnolia Accorsi was born the second week of June, nearly bald, and with yellow skin because she was jaundiced. But next to her mother, she was the most perfect thing I had ever seen. And I would just like to state for the record, I did not vote for Magnolia. I mean, Jesus Christ. I couldn’t decide if the name was pretentious, or Bohemian, or just plain Southern. I wanted to name her something very simple. Like Ella. Or Amy. Or, if I was gonna go a little crazy, maybe Katherine with a K.
But that baby girl didn’t have a chance in hell of ever being simple. And now that I think about it, the name makes sense. Indie and her flowers.
I made everyone call her Maggie, though. Or Mags. I would say, “Hey, Mags. How you doin’ today, sweetie?” And she would turn her head towards me and smile. And sometimes giggle. And you know what? All those years I missed of Indie’s childhood just faded away when Mags did that. Those missing years didn’t matter anymore because little Mags was the spitting image of her mother.
It was like I got a second chance.
Indie did not move to Ole Miss with Nathan because Nathan broke up with her just a few weeks after Maggie was born, stating that she and the baby belonged at home, not in some second-rate family dorm room. And he deserved a chance to figure out who he was while away at college.
Indie was heartbroken, of course. But we were there. All three of us because Donovan was making an effort to be home most weekends.
And then Nathan went away to Ole Miss and didn’t bother us again for two whole years.
But when he finally did work up the nerve to bother us again—he did it in a very big way.
“What are you doing?”
I startle and turn to see Indie standing in the doorway, immediately positioning myself between her and the crib. There’s a tractor in the way too. And lots of equipment and boxes. So I’m pretty sure she can’t see the crib.
I don’t want her to remember like this. I don’t want those memories to hit her in the chest like a fucking fist when Adam isn’t even here yet.
So I say, “Hey, Indie,” like none of this is a big deal. “Will you go into the house and get some blankets? I’m gonna hook the TV up, and hang the curtains, and put all the cushions out. We can eat dinner out here tonight and watch a movie like old times. That would be nice, right?”
Indie smiles for a moment, maybe picturing this idea in her head and deciding she likes it. “Yeah, OK. I’ll be right back.” She turns, but then she stops and looks over her shoulder at me.
“What?” I ask, afraid maybe she did see the crib.
“You know… you’re always welcome to join us.”
I huff a little, because I know what she’s talking about, but I say, “What?” again. Like I don’t understand.
She rolls her eyes and turns away. Starts walking back towards the house. But then she calls over her shoulder. “You know what I’m talking about, McKay. I’m not playing games with you.”
I do a little salute to her back. Yes, ma’am. I do. Just… not in the mood to have that conversation right now, thank you.
Adam talked about this once. Just once. Just before Indie’s twentieth birthday.
Look, I’m not stupid. I know what Adam wants from me. From us. Well, maybe not Donovan. But definitely me and definitely Indie.
There has always been this bond between Adam and me. Sometimes it was like brothers. Other times it was like friends. But every now and then, when we were teenagers, mostly. I would catch him watching me. And when I did this he would not avert his eyes. He would not play it off. He would just stare.
So this time, right before Indie’s twentieth birthday, he came up to me outside. I was fishing on the river. Or… pretending to. Just thinking mostly. Because that was right about the time Indie started to unravel.
Adam took a seat in the sand next to me. Bent his knees up and rested his forearms on them. His hair was a little too long still from the shaved-head incident. He just didn’t wear it the same after that. So he was looking at me from under some hair that had fallen over his eyes.
And he said, “We could…”
He paused then. I remember that pause. Because for some reason I knew what he was gonna say. I just fuckin’ knew. So I was holding my breath. Because I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t sure what to say, or how I felt, or anything.
But he didn’t catch that. Or maybe he did, and decided to ignore it. Because after he was done pausing, he said, “We could just all be together, McKay. You. Me. Indie. I think it would make her happy. Maybe even… change her a little. And it would solve a lot of problems.”
I looked at him. Turned my head, but nothing else. And just looked at him.
He sighed pretty heavily and went back to staring at the water and we were silent for a little while.
He got up to leave. Just figured he was gonna let his offer hang th
ere, I guess. And I decided I actually did have something to say about that.
“I don’t think it’ll work.”
He was on his feet now. So he was staring down at me. “Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“Why not, McKay?”
“Because we don’t even know that’s what she wants.”
“I’m not really asking about her, McKay. I’m asking about you.”
Which I knew. Obviously. I’d know this man since I was nine. “I don’t know if that’s what I want, either.”
“Me? Or her?”
And then there was nothing else to say but the truth. “You.”
“Oh.” That’s all he said. Just that and he walked back home. Left me there to fish.
And you know, if he was asking me again today, I might have other opinions about it. A four-year separation will do that to people.
I turn back to the crib and start picking up the bags of outdoor cushions and throwing them over the tractor towards the open door.
But her offer lingers in my head as I work. It rattles around in there like an echo. You’re always welcome to join us.
Is that how it ends? The three of us sharing her like that?
It’s not like we haven’t done that before.
Just the one time. But I know she and Donovan had a little affair a few months before the very bad day when everything changed. Donovan was always the one I figured she’d go to because they are only five years apart. He had just turned twenty-five and she was nineteen when I first caught them together.
They were in the laundry room and I watched the whole thing. They knew I was there. Indie did, at least. But it was almost like… she wanted me to watch. She was trying hard that year to entice me into something more than friendship.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it. I did. I wanted to rip her fucking clothes off and fuck her into next week.
It just felt so… wrong.
That’s why she was with Donovan that day in the laundry room. That’s why she wanted me to see it. And even back then—even when she was sitting on top of the washing machine with her jeans pulled down her legs and her knees bent and hiked up to her chest so Donovan could gain access—even then I stayed.
If I thought I could walk away and leave her with Donovan and Adam, I would.
But I can’t.
There is no girl in my future not called Indie Anna Accorsi.
I’m throwing cushion bag number twelve when Donovan appears in the doorway and catches it. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? I’m gonna fix up the pavilion. Why don’t you make yourself useful and start to get all those cushions out?”
“Did she see that?”
I look at the crib, then back at Donovan. “If she did, didn’t mean anything to her. She didn’t say a word.”
“Well, this is risky, McKay. We have a plan. And I, for one, would like to stick to that plan.”
I’m on my last bag of cushion, so I don’t toss it, just carry it over to Donovan and stand in front of him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you—”
“Don’t fuck with me, Donovan. You’re hiding something. I can tell. So what is it?”
He hikes a thumb over his shoulder, motioning to the house. “Is this about what happened back in the kitchen?”
“No. It’s not. It’s something else and you know it. So don’t try to change the subject. What the fuck are you hiding?”
He sighs. I’m really not in the mood to discuss the intricacies of how Indie fits into our adult lives, so this was mainly a diversion away from that subject. But they were whispering in the kitchen. I can’t let that go.
“OK. But you can’t be mad at me.”
“Mad about what?”
Donovan looks over my shoulder. Maybe at the crib. Maybe at the tractor. Then his eyes find mine. “She came to see me.”
“Who?”
“Indie.”
“When?”
He lets out yet another long breath. Shoves his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Twice, actually.”
“And you didn’t tell us?” I’m… kind of stunned about this revelation.
“The first time was about two years ago. She stayed the weekend with me. And I was gonna call you guys on Monday, but when I woke up, she was gone.” His eyes go soft, like they’re pleading with me to understand. “I was gonna call you. I swear. But then she wasn’t there and I felt like… like maybe you didn’t need to know. I get it, McKay. I understand how you feel, but I have feelings too. And I love her just as much as you do. I looked for her, but…” He takes his hands out of his pockets and shrugs with them.
“And the second time?”
“The second time she just… she was just… watching me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Outside my apartment. I saw her on the street from the front window. It was raining and—”
I laugh. It’s always raining. The air outside the shed is a mist of drizzle right now. Calm, but with the threat of more to come.
“—by the time I got downstairs, she was gone. And then… I started thinking I made it up. So I didn’t call that time, either.”
“When was that?”
“About a month ago.”
“Hmm. She was watching me too. For ten days, she said. What do you think it means?”
“I dunno, McKay.” He looks over his shoulder at the house. Indie is coming down the porch stairs holding a bundle of blankets in her hands. He looks back at me. “I think she remembers. Some things, at least. But maybe not the things we want her to, ya know? So we need to be careful.”
“You don’t need to tell me that.”
“I just left another message for Adam. He didn’t respond.”
“No surprise there. She wants to kill him. Did she tell you that? She came back because she thinks he took Nathan and did something with him and now she wants revenge.”
“Yeah. She told me. She says she wants us to help her. She’s just mixed up, McKay. She’s not gonna kill him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I started talking her through it. She understands. Or at least she’s starting to.” Donovan turns and calls out to Indie, because she’s close now. “We’re having movie night? I can’t wait.” And then he picks up a handful of cushions and walks off to start putting the pavilion back together.
I watch them as they meet up under the protection of the high-pitched pavilion roof, smiling and joking like there’s nothing to see here. Then I turn back to the shed and walk behind the tractor as I take out my phone, bring up Adam’s contact, hesitate for a moment, then press call.
It rings four times, then the voicemail picks up. “You got me. Leave a message.” I hang up at the beep and decide to text him instead.
When are you getting here?
I stare at my phone for a few moments, watching as it says ‘delivered’. But it doesn’t say ‘read’. I haven’t talked to Adam in a while. So that might be his phone settings. But then again… maybe he just didn’t read it.
And he doesn’t answer back. So. Whatever.
I make several trips over to the pavilion and drop off bags of cushions while Donovan and Indie unpack them and start placing them in their appropriate places on the outdoor furniture. And pretty soon the pavilion is starting to feel like home again.
The next time I look at my watch it’s after three and I’m starting to get hungry.
Cooking was always part of my job here. I was the one who made Indie’s meals when she was growing up. But when I start hanging the curtains around the pavilion Donovan offers to make dinner tonight. Indie thinks that’s a good idea and wants to help. So they go inside and leave me to finish up.
I’m just threading the last pole through the curtain grommets when my phone dings in my pocket.
I almost fall off the fuckin’ ladder. Because the notification chime tells me it’s Adam.
I fish my phone from my pocket and stare at the screen.
His text says: Is it safe?
What do you mean?
You know what I mean.
I think about this for a moment, not really sure how to answer.
Adam must get antsy because he texts me again. Does she remember, McKay?
No. She doesn’t remember.
Then I can’t come.
I press call, because I need to have a conversation with this dude and I don’t want to waste time typing.
He picks up on the first ring this time. “What?”
“You have to come. We can’t do any of this without you, Adam.”
He sighs. And I can just picture him running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What are you guys doing right now?”
“I’m putting the pavilion back together and Indie and Donovan are starting dinner. Where are you? Are you close? Far? Can you make it for dinner?”
“I don’t know. Let me think. I’ll get back to you soon.”
The call drops and I just stare at the screen for a moment, conflicted. I want to call him back and set him straight. But there’s no way to justify Indie’s behavior over the past few years. I didn’t tell him that Indie came back to me asking to help her hunt him down, but he has to know she blames him for whatever is going on up in her head.
She always blames him.
If she had seen Adam yesterday, she would’ve… well. I mean, I have to be honest with myself here. She probably would’ve killed him. She would’ve tried, at least.
Can Indie kill us? I mean, you know. Hand to hand type shit. Anyone can pull a trigger, I guess. But if it came down to some kind of fist fight. Some kind of mixed martial arts type shit… would she win?
Yeah. She would.
Not because she’s better at it than we are, but because I would not be able to finish her. I would pull my punches I would let her win, or, at the very least, I would let her walk away.
And somehow I don’t think I’d get that kind of reciprocal consideration from Indie. Because if she was going to kill us, it would not be her doing it.
