Our tranquil street in the Columbia City section of Seattle always appears gloomy after a heavy rain in the winter. Most of the trees have completely disposed of their vibrant orange-, brown-and auburn-tinted fall leaves, leaving bare, spindly branches that hang ominously over wet gray pavement.
Drew pulls into our tiny driveway and yanks the key out of the ignition. A terrible quiet blares louder than the pop-pop of pyrotechnics at a rock concert. Here we all are. Ready to walk into our traditional Craftsman-style house to watch a real-life horror show. Death seems to loom in the air, thick and impenetrable. Our house certainly appears foreboding. I mean, it’s always been the worst-looking house on the block anyway, with its red-painted door peeling around the edges, and faded yellow siding in desperate need of patchwork and repair. Not to mention every house in the neighborhood but ours is decorated for the holidays with glittering lights, Nativity scenes, illuminated menorahs or tacky holiday inflatables. To add to our home’s appeal, or lack thereof, Mom fired the gardener because she said he wasn’t doing anything but blowing leaves around, so, ironically, our front lawn is littered with wet leaves turning to mulch. I feel like people can sense there is something deeply troubling going on here. I focus on the one evergreen that stands beside the house like a beacon of hope. Don’t worry. Some things never die, it seems to say, its pine needles blowing ever so gently in the wind.
“Indigo, Drew and I need to speak with the boys. Explain things a bit. We’ll be in soon.”
I clumsily snatch my bag off the floor, already over this whole one-armed Indigo situation. I pull open the van door and mumble, “See you inside,” before cutting across the grass, my Uggs sloshing and sinking down into the scatters of wet leaves as I walk.
I climb up onto the porch, push open our large front door and trudge inside. Getting in and out of the house is a lot simpler now. We used to have to leave a change of clothes in a large trash bag and change in the foyer closet before we could enter the house—Michelle’s orders to keep Violet’s lungs free from possible infection. But ever since Vee’s decided to bow out gracefully from life, the rules aren’t so much enforced anymore.
I toss my bag onto the floor, kick the door shut with my foot and notice Pastor Jedidiah Barnabas sitting on the couch beside Alfred in our dimly lit den. I’ve only ever seen the pastor on a giant screen murmuring about energetic downloads or some other spiritual mumbo jumbo, so it’s sort of surreal to see him this close. He’s a short Caucasian man, with pale blue eyes and sparse strands of dark brown hair. He wears jeans, open-toed Birkenstock sandals and a tan corduroy jacket over a crisp white dress shirt.
“Indigo?” He stands respectfully. “Honored to officially meet you.” When he speaks it’s slow and overly articulated. He steps toward me with arms outstretched, swiftly enveloping me in a tight hug.
“Hi.” I cough into his shoulder as I get a mouthful of corduroy.
He pulls away and looks me squarely in the eye since we’re about the same height. “How you must be feeling.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I bet you can’t even imagine.” I think of giving him the sun analogy but remember Susie Prouty almost falling down a flight of stairs at school to get away from me last week and decide against it.
“Since you attend New Faith International Church of Love and Light, you’re aware I receive messages from the beyond.” He takes a deep breath and exhales so forcibly, a blast of his breath blows into my eyeballs. I blink in surprise. “Energetic messages that are transmuted from the higher planes and downloaded into my alignment.”
“That...makes sense.”
“As a result, I can see into the spirit realm. I communicate with guides, ascended masters and archangels and am here to help direct Violet as she transitions. Does that sound good to you, Indigo?”
The door is pushed open. Drew, Michelle and the boys enter from outside.
“Pastor Jedidiah.” Michelle slides in between us. I step aside, relieved to let her take center stage. “Can we get you something to drink? Coffee? We feel so honored and deeply blessed to have you—” she covers her mouth “—here to...to...” Tears erupt and flow like hot lava. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming. Michelle bursting into a fit of tears is pretty common these days.
Pastor Jedidiah envelops Michelle in a warm embrace similar to the one I just received. Drew follows suit, wrapping one arm around Michelle while the other hand waves angrily at the boys. Understanding the signal, they too step forward and wrap their arms around their weeping mom.
I’d join in, but group hugs aren’t really my thing. Besides, this is a perfect opportunity to make my escape. I surreptitiously step around them and move through the den, scooting past Alfred.
“Indigo?” Alfred holds up a sheet of typing paper. “Letter? You write it yet?”
“Not now, Alfred.” I literally run down the narrow hallway across the old and fraying carpet runner that lies over our fifty-year-old hardwood floors. I make it to the end of the hall in record time, but just as I lay my hand on the antique brass knob of the guest room door, it swings open and Mom steps into the hallway, lips tightly pursed, eyes void of emotion.
“Indigo.” She shuts the door before I can even see inside.
“Mother,” I reply.
“How are you feeling?” She’s asking the question but there is a distance and coldness to her voice. As if she’s not really present. Or doesn’t care either way. Or both.
“Fine, Mom. How’s Vee?”
“As well as can be expected.” She glances up at my mess of hair. “I packed you a brush and hair gel, Indigo. Did you not think to use them? You could’ve put your hair into a high ponytail.”
Did she forget that my arm is kinda broke? “I did the best I could. Sorry.”
“Did the pastor see you looking like this?”
“Well...he saw me. So, I guess.”
She heaves the heaviest of sighs. “I want everyone in the den so we can discuss how this is going to work.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Mom, you guys aren’t seriously going to let her do this, are you?”
“Indigo, I’m not in the mood.” Her voice cracks. I sense she’s approximately three seconds from one of her classic screech-and-screams. “Do what I asked you to do!”
I yank on strands of my matted hair. I don’t want to push Mom to her limits or anything. And God forbid my concussion has to endure a screech-and-scream. I just want... “Okay. Let me talk to Violet super quick.” I try to move around her but she blocks my path with an outstretched arm.
“You can’t go in there. This is precious time for Violet and Dad.”
“Oh. Okay. I won’t go in.” I wait. Hoping she moves because she thinks I’m about to move. Then I can bum-rush Violet’s room and tell her all about the voice. Mom might scream after me but who really cares. My sister’s life is on the line. But Mom doesn’t budge, standing like Heimdall guarding the entrance into Asgard.
“Indigo, have you lost your natural mind?” she whispers. “So help me God, child, if you don’t do what I asked you to do.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going.” Geez luss! I shuffle back into the den, where Pastor Jedidiah now sits on the love seat beside Michelle. She’s downgraded from a Category 5 cry to a tiny tropical-storm whimper. Drew hovers over the boys, who sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, looking lost, dazed, confused and...quiet—certainly a first for them. I’m sure Michelle threatened their lives before they came in.
Alfred dangles his letter when he sees me and mouths, “Write it, Indigo!”
I look away.
“I have a message that’s currently downloading from the higher realms.” Jedidiah inhales dramatically and holds his breath for so long I start to wonder if he’s gonna black out and hit the floor like I did earlier this morning. Michelle must be wondering something similar, because she stops whimpering and stares into Jedidiah’s face, eyebrows raised.
“Pastor? Are you okay?” Michelle asks.
He exhales at last. Slowly. Painfully slow. When I begin to contemplate if he’ll ever speak again, he murmurs, “Life is a stage and we are all players in the game of life. Acting out scenes, if you will, which were chosen specifically on the other side. We are lining up gems in the best possible order. In an attempt to move on to the next level.”
Alfred looks up. “That sounds like Bejeweled.”
Michelle glares at Alfred.
He shrugs. “What? It does.”
Jedidiah opens a shoebox on the coffee table, with a bunch of items stuffed inside. He removes what looks to be bound sticks of wood. “These are Palo Santo Holy Sticks. Palo Santo has been used for thousands of years for healing.” He ignites the sticks of wood with a lighter from the pocket of his corduroy jacket. Wisps of smoke swirl up toward the ceiling.
Alfred coughs. “You sure that stuff’s safe to ingest?”
“Is it like medical marijuana?” Nam asks.
Michelle moves to open a window. Cold air blows into the den.
“Babe?” Drew asks. “Can you close that? It’s freezing outside.”
“But this smoke could irritate the boys.” Michelle rubs her belly. “And the baby.”
“No, no.” Jedidiah places the bundle of sticks under his nose and inhales deeply. “See? Smoke from this species of Palo Santo is better for you than oxygen.”
As the boys gaze wide-eyed at Jedidiah while he waves the sticks of Palo Santo back and forth like an aircraft marshaller, I stare at Drew as he struggles to force the window shut, recalling the year when our Christmas tree fell and smashed straight through it. Though Mom and Dad quickly got the window fixed, they never did replace the screen. I stare at the open space, thinking about the dense bushes that surround our house like a moat...a thick moat of bushes...and leaves. Hundreds and hundreds of leaves.
The voice said to do something drastic. Take control. Be bold. Be daring.
A thought occurs to me. A glorious thought to rival all the thoughts I’ve ever thunk. I race up the steep, creaky wooden stairs that lead to the second floor of our house and tear off down the hallway.