Sugarcane and Indigo

Bad News Comes In Threes

My fist hovered above the wood of the door as I struggled with how to tell Indigo. The file was clenched tightly in my other hand. What are you supposed to say in a situation like this? How could I tell Indigo that someone we knew, someone we'd probably trusted had harmed his sister?

    I swallowed my fear and knocked quietly, hoping with all of my being that he wouldn't answer. Maybe he'd still be under the influence of Sheriff Buchanan's gift. Maybe I could wait another day before telling him. But it was all for naught.

    "Come in," Indigo called from somewhere deep in the house.

    I pushed open the door and stepped into the parlor. It felt wrong being in this house, like going back to your grade school and seeing the chairs which used to fit you perfectly now being much too small.

It felt like I had outgrown it.

    Everywhere I looked I saw Violet. Over there, I thought, in the corner by the pink wallpaper was where she'd stand to count for hide-and-seek. And over there, I thought, used to be the coat-rack she'd hide behind to scare me as I was getting ready to leave. I walked further into the house, past the entranceway to the dining room where Violet would insist we eat next to each other. Past the kitchen where she had tried to bake me a birthday cake when she found out Grammie didn't like to celebrate it. Past the stairway that led up to her bedroom where I'd sleep over almost every Friday night. All around me everything was saturated in the memory of her.

    Had this house always felt so empty?

    I looked into the living room for Indigo and there he was lying on the faded green couch with a rag over his eyes.

    I trailed over to him and hesitated.

    "Sit down, Lavender," he whispered, moving his legs for me.

    I hesitated for a second longer but relented, dropping down next to him. He moved his legs into my lap and relaxed back down into the couch. I took the opportunity to study him while he couldn't see him me.

He really was beautiful, I thought. He had grown into his features like I always suspected he would. As a child he was gangly. He'd skitter around the room, bursting with energy, flashing you smiles that danced too close to a smirk, looking as sweet as brown honey. But now his anxious energy had solidified into a cool self-confidence. He wore his face like he was always expecting a blow and he'd refuse to look away while it came. It was a hard mix of determination and bitterness and just a little hope. It shone out from within him, glowing like a light.

Indigo was someone you loved in theory. Someone you loved in beautiful, momentary glimpses of could-be's that preyed on that sentimental, fool part of you that still believed in fairy tales and true love and happy endings. I remember thinking as a child, in that way only children thought of the future like it was a far-off distant thing, that one day we'd end up together. I remember thinking it was inevitable like a sunrise. Like he was the burning sun and I was the horizon he'd conquer. It all seemed so simple when we were children, like time was so thick it could've been spread like jam.

It was easier before I understood that he was an outsider.

    I looked around the room and noticed that the house was strangely well furnished.

    "Did you have a moving truck drop of all this furniture?" I asked.

    Indigo shook his head, "Mama didn't want anything in the house after Violet disappeared. Said it reminded her too much of the life we once had."

    I debated with myself for a second, wondering if I should ask what I wanted to ask so badly.

    "Spit it out, Lavender. I can practically hear you think."