The Fortunes of Indigo Skye (37 page)

"Just a sec," I say. I wiggle my own hand down
with hers, work at the band. "Can you just--"

"Ow, ow, ow," she says.

"Ow, ow, ow," Chico says.

"Okay, wait, now just--"

"There, it's coming loose. It's coming off!"
Mom says. The band releases. I retrieve my arm, and then Mom removes
hers.

"Man, that was mildly disgusting," I say. I
flip on the water to wash my arm, but Mom practically knocks me over.

"Oh, you're home." She flings both arms around
me. She starts to cry again.

"I thought you'd be pretty mad," I
say.

"Oh I am mad, I am. You have no idea how mad at
you I am. But, Indigo, don't you understand? I'm your mother. No matter what you
do ... You children are everything to me," she says.

I hug her hard. "It's the hormones talking," I
say.

"Indigo, if you ever do anything like that
again, I swear ... I love you more than life itself."

282

"I love you, too. I'm so sorry." This time, I
mean it.

She holds me away from her, looks at me
seriously. "Oh, In. All right. All right. But things can't go on the way they
were. You know?"

"I know," I say. "I do. Where is everybody?
Where's the TV?"

"Severin's getting a pizza. He's given up on
all that protein drink junk. And Bex is playing at An Ling's. After you left,
she sold the TV to the Navinskys for fifteen hundred dollars. I told her she
could have the money for tsunami relief," Mom says. She wipes her teary face
with the back of her hand.

"I only paid a thousand," I say.

"Yeah," Mom says. "Bex knew that." Mom points
to the receipt, stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a watermelon. "She
told me she had an epiphany. She used that word! I can't believe I was ever
worried about her," Mom says.

My world is not large, but it is
deep.

I go straight to bed. I am exhausted, and it
feels so good to lie my head right here, on my own pillow. In the morning, I
make peace with Severin and Bex. The red Porsche in the driveway
helps.

"I leased it," I say. "For the
summer."

"That's a fine-looking car," Severin says.
"Fast," Bex says. "Real fast, I bet."

"Oh yeah. You're right about that. I forgot to
mention," I say to Mom. I reach around in the glove compartment, hold up two
pink slips. "My foot got happy."

"Speeding tickets?" Mom says.
"Two?"

"And the first guy let me go with a warning," I
say.

"I'm glad someone stopped you," Mom
says.

283

"Brian
should have stopped her," Bex
says. She nudges Mom with her elbow.

"Brian?" The name is familiar. Brian ... Brian
... "Officer Brian?" I say.

"He's called Mom three times," Bex
says.

"He wants to go out. I didn't really feel like
it with you gone," Mom says.

"But now that she's ba-ack," Severin says. He
says it like that--ba-ack.

"Enough," Mom says.

"Let's tell him she likes to watch Mr. Rogers
reruns," I say. She does, too.

"Just because he's peaceful!" Mom says.
"Briii-aan," Bex sings.

"Well, I was going to turn the car in early to
the leasing company, but there'd be some penalty ...," I say.

"Yeah," Severin says. He is running his
fingertips along the door ledge.

"So I thought maybe you could drive it until
then," I say to him.

"You're kidding," he says. His eyes are
wide.

"Indigo," Mom says. "What about what we talked
about? How things needed to be different? I don't want all this crazy
spend-ing-"

"This is just for the summer," I say. "I told
you, I've got a plan." I fold up that very plan, written on the back of one of
the speeding tickets, and put it in the pocket of my shorts. "This is just one
small, temporary indulgence. Trust me, all right?" I say.

"All right," she says.

And then I put the keys into Severin's
palm.

284

***

Trevor, it's me. Please,
I say.
Please pick up. I'm hack.
And then,
Trevor! I'm so sorry. Please
forgive me. I don't know what happened. I just got stupid.
But he doesn't
call back.
Trevor, please, oh please, oh please. Just talk to
me.

I go to Trevor's house, but no one is there,
and the van his Mom uses to transport the kids is not in the driveway. I drive
to his work. I see Bob Weaver in the parking lot, and my heart thuds with
nerves. But Trevor is out on a job, Larry Jakes tells me. They've been
especially busy, end-to-end deliveries.

I leave two more messages. I want to see him so
bad that I just drive around in my VW, in stupid hope that I might see the
delivery truck somewhere. I do this for an aimless, desperate hour, until I get
sick of myself, and decide to clean up my other mess. It's much easier to take
apart your life than it is to put it together again.

The bells on the door jangle when I walk in,
and Jack jumps up, his tail wagging like a grandfather clock on high speed;
black Lab
tick-tock tick-tock
happiness.

"Oh, you good old boy. Yes, you are a fine
boy," I croon as I scruffle him under the neck and look around for Jane. "Look
at that wag, huh? You got the finest wag," I say. It's the lunch shift, and none
of the Irregulars are here. Nikki is working, and she tells me Jane is in the
back.

"Jane?" I call.

"One of the fucking coffee machines broke,"
Jane says to me. She is standing in front of one of the two large refrigerators,
turns to face me with a carton of cream in her hand. "Is this the return of the
prodigal daughter?"

284

285

"I'm looking for a job," I say. "I'm an
excellent waitress with great experience and a newfound sense of humility. And a
huge appreciation for my old boss."

"Oh, Indigo. I'm so sorry." She shakes her head
at herself, little
why?
and
how?
shakes. She sets the cream on the
counter. "I was such a bitch. I've been under such stress with this place.
Financially? I didn't want to say it. To everyone. To
anyone,
except my
mother, and Nick, who's polite enough to keep his mouth shut. I've been
struggling to keep the doors open. And I love this place. More than anything.
This place, the people in it. And then you got that money, and it just felt
somehow unfair, you know? God, I'm sorry."

I remember Jane and Nick, at the curb long ago.
The things she didn't want to tell me. "Jane,
I'm
sorry. I was acting
like a brat. You didn't deserve that."

Jane holds her hands together, prayerlike,
under her chin. "Can you start tomorrow morning? You haven't been replaced, of
course, and everyone is cranky and complaining. Nick only has tea, bobs that
damn bag up and down, up and down. Oh! Trina got her car back--"

"No way! That's great!"

"Not so great. The engine died and her cousin
wanted her to refund his money. She told him she spent most of it and gave him a
few thousand bucks, but it's dead and has a new bash on the front fender. We've
missed you, Indigo.
I've
missed you."

"I can't tell you how much I've missed you,
too."

Jane holds her arms out, hugs me hard. I hug
her back. A lump starts in my throat. I blink away tears. "The weird thing is,
this place isn't the same without you," Jane says.

"I'm not the same without it," I
say.

286

***

Trevor? Please don't hate me. I can't tell
you how stupid I was. You were right--I never gave us the chance to handle it.
I'm so, so sorry.
Another message.
Please--hate me, but don't ignore me.
Please just answer.

My insides are starting to curl with panic,
like a newspaper lit with a match. I just want to see him again. I know if I see
Trevor and he sees me, I might stop being this person he hates and be just me to
him again. I drive past his work, stalker-style, but he hasn't come back for
another pickup yet.

I head home, wind back up by the freeway, and
then I see something that gives me a surge of happy. It isn't Trevor, no, but it
is a large yellow foam rectangle walking along the gravel road, a blotch of
orange cheese oozing from the top; he's making slow progress, and he's maybe two
miles from Old Country Buffet. Could burritos get lost? Could they meander from
their post, become disoriented in a sea of foam with only a slit mesh window to
see from? Might they go astray in overcooked confusion, like the poor old people
who wander from the nursing home?

I slow. Roll down my window. "Hey! Breakfast
burrito! Going my way?"

"Indigo! Is that you? Thank God. This asshole
kid who's a pickle spear during the lunch shift swiped my clothes. I've got to
walk home like this."

"Can I give you a ride? Do you think you can
fit?"

"Hey, it's worth a try. God, I'm hot as hell in
this thing."

"Well, if you were cold, I'd have to send you
back to the kitchen."

287

"Ha, ha. Hey, it's great to see you. You better
get yourself back to Carrera's and fast, because the place is tanking without
you. Can you-- If you just give some of this egg a shove ..."

I get out, push and shove all of Leroy into the
passenger seat. He has to sit straight, his head way up by the dome light. But
we get him in.

"Where are we headed?" I ask.

"I live over by the hatchery. Just a few blocks
from Carerra's."

I shift into first, no problem, but punch a
fistful of foam going into second and fourth.

"See that house? The little white one? Red
trim?"

"It's so cute, Leroy." It's a tiny house
sitting by itself, set on a large plot of land at the end of a curved street.
Tucked way back in a group of dark, shady trees. There's a crate on his porch,
recently delivered.

"Home sweet home," Leroy says.

"Man, what's in the backyard?" The yard is
taken up, it seems, with some enormous box of plastic. "It looks like a
greenhouse," I say. But, a
greenhouse}

"Thanks for the ride, Indigo. Man, I sure
appreciate it. That little shit at work ..."

"Leroy, what's that for? What are you growing
back there?"

"I hear the accusation in your voice. Get me
out of here, I'm wedged in."

I sigh. I cut the engine and come around to his
side. I offer my wrists, and he holds them tight as I pull him upright. "I'm not
accusing. I'm just trying to understand, is all."

"You think it's pot. Well, it's not exactly
hidden, is it?"

"I'm guessing if that was full of pot, you
wouldn't need a second job," I say.

288

"No one knows about this at Carrera's, or
anywhere else. Even my mailman's not sure what's in there. I've seen him
snooping around."

"Why the big secret?"

"I don't know. I really don't know. I guess I
think people might make fun. And it's not a joke to me."

"Tell me."

"Don't laugh, okay? I'll show you, but you
gotta promise not to laugh. It's something I care a great deal about. This is
where my extra money goes."

"Okay."

"Stay put. Let me change a sec. I'd invite you
in, but the place is a mess."

"No problem."

Leroy waddles to his front porch, fishes around
a hanging flower basket for a key that must be hidden there.

"Can I help you get that?" The burrito looks
tippy as Leroy's arm reaches up.

"No, I got it."

He disappears inside, and is out in a moment,
wearing shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, tattoos freed once again. "God, it's
good to be out of that thing. Follow me. So, you're maybe the second or third
person I've ever shown this to."

"I'm honored," I say, though I don't really
know if that's true yet. I have no idea what to expect. I follow Leroy through
the greenhouse door. I suck in my breath. I realize it's true--I
am
honored. I can't believe what I'm seeing. "Leroy. Wow."

The greenhouse is full of bonsai. Bonsai--rows
and rows of all different and perfectly shaped trees. Little trees, little mossy
patches of green lawn and miniature houses and itty-bitty fishermen.

288

289

Bigger trees, in huge, ancient pots. Groomed
and formed into serene shapes, peaceful, quiet forms.

"It's a hospital. They're sick. Some of them
are hundreds of years old. I've got a little reputation on the Web, you know,
for being able to cure them. So people send them ..."

"This is amazing." And I mean it. It
is
amazing. There are so many of them. Each and every one is different. I walk down
one aisle. They are little worlds unto themselves. A tiny tree growing on a
rock, a larger one in a garden of pebbles.