The Voice has stopped communicating with me. No matter how many questions I ask...he won’t respond. No matter how much I talk...he’s not listening. Or maybe he is listening and choosing not to respond to screw around with me. Maybe he’s mad at me for lying. Or maybe he was never real to begin with. It doesn’t matter anymore. The mustard seed of faith has been planted, has rooted and is growing like a wild weed. We are getting to the Wave and Violet will live. That’s all there is to it.
Speaking of people not talking to me. Add Michelle to the list. Though in truth she’s not really talking to anybody but Pastor right now. Ever since the sun set and a blanket of darkness hijacked the sky, he’s been passing stones behind his blanket cubicle. So even though it’s late and clearly past everyone’s bedtime, nobody can sleep through the screaming. With each whimper, shriek, grunt and howl, we all sink a bit farther into our seats. This trip has turned into our very own horror movie.
“Straight through,” I explain to Mom as she listens to my fake instructions from The Voice. “We stop for nothing but gas and restroom breaks until we get to the Airbnb in Hodell. Tomorrow we arrive at the ranger station in Kanab, Utah, where we’ll see if our numbers are called for the lottery.”
“I can’t drive for that many hours,” Mom explains. “It’s too much for me. I’m already exhausted.”
“Then let Drew drive while you rest.”
Mom shakes her head. “He’ll kill us all.”
“He can do it,” I reply simply. “The Voice says he can.” The lies just rush out of me like projectile vomit.
Mom nods. “What’s this about a lottery, Indigo? Explain it to me.”
“It’s protected and preserved land. Only a few get to hike the Wave. Our numbers have to be called.”
“And what if they’re not called?”
“The Voice said not to worry about it. It’s all taken care of. Everything is taken care of.”
“Okay, Indigo. Anything else?”
“Have faith,” I say like I am Moses incarnate. “Mustard seed faith, Mom. It’s really all you need.”
“Pastor, hold it for longer. I know you can hold it.” Michelle’s trying her hardest to speak softly to Jedidiah as we barrel down the highway with Drew at the wheel, driving like a cast member of The Fast and the Furious, but we can all still hear.
“I’m trying,” Pastor cries.
“Try harder. The longer you can hold it, the easier it’ll move down the canal.”
I scoot out of my seat and head down the aisle to sit beside Violet, struggling to keep my balance as Drew switches lanes every two seconds to pass a new vehicle.
“Hey, Vee? Feeling better?” I ask.
“Hmm?” Violet is somewhat awake. I take her hand and hold it in mine.
To our right, Mom rests her head on Dad’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, but I know she’s not asleep. It almost feels insensitive to even think about sleep when Pastor is suffering so.
“I’m sorry...” Violet whispers. “If I was mean.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Michelle says...it’s a side effect. I...wasn’t myself. I’m—”
“Violet, stop.” I smile even though I feel like crying. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.”
“You need to squeeze the tip of the penis,” Michelle instructs him.
Brandon and Nam howl with laughter near the back of the bus.
I cringe. Brandon and Nam’s giggles, hoots, snorts, cackles (or any other synonym for being insensitive to another human’s pain) are more than I can bear.
“Did she tell him to squeeze the tip of his penis?” Nam asks loud enough for the whole bus to hear.
I turn to Violet. “Sis?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
She nods, eyes half-closed.
I walk down the aisle and slide in beside Nam and Brandon. They have to squish together to make room for me.
“Hey!” Brandon growls as he’s forced up against the window. “Fall back, Auntie. Dang.”
“Yeah, Auntie,” Nam agrees. “Go sit somewhere else. What’s your issue?”
I lean forward so no one else can hear me but them. “My issue is both of your big mouths.”
Their eyes widen.
“Is the word penis funny to you, Brandon, because yours is so small?”
He shakes his head, the orange frames on his glasses sliding down his nose. “I—I dunno.”
“What about asshole? Is that funny? Because that’s what you and Nam are being right now. Little assholes. Laughing at a man who donated his wheelchair, his bus and his time. For adults who work nonstop like Pastor Jed, time is money. And you wanna know how much he’s charging us for all of this?”
Brandon shakes his head so hard, his glasses fall onto his lap. He snatches them up.
“Zero dollars,” I hiss. “He has done nothing but give to us and be good to us and all you monster brats have done is laugh at his pain and misfortune.”
Brandon’s literally shaking now. Good. Serves the little turd right.
“So here is how things are going to go for the rest of this trip. You two are going to behave like little angels instead of demon seeds from the depths of hell.”
“Whatever.” Nam folds his arms across his chest. “Mom says all they need is two signatures to have you committed. I heard her tell Dad that you belong in a straitjacket. You’re not the boss of us.”
“I may not be the boss of you.” I drum my fingers on my cast. “But I am the boss of my collection of photographs. You guys know how I’m always taking pictures, right?”
Brandon and Nam exchange horrified looks.
“I have memory cards on board, filled with embarrassing photos of you two.” I cock my head to the side. “Like, Nam...remember when you pooped your pants at the Georgetown Morgue haunted house a few Halloweens ago? I have photographs of your shit-stained sweatpants.”
Nam hangs his head. Brandon cracks up.
“Oh, is that funny, Bran? Because I have a dozen frames to go along with my vivid memory of your mom testing out a YouTube makeup tutorial on you. I wonder how all of second grade would feel to see you wearing Plum Dandy eye shadow and Crème de la Crème lipstick?” I ruffle his mop of curls. “I actually liked the look on you. It made this Einstein hair-don’t you got going on really pop.”
“Hey!” Brandon’s bottom lip quivers. “That’s private.”
“Is it?” A smile stretches across my face. “I’m monitoring your behavior from now on. Call each other booger monsters or call Pastor Farty-Mc-Fart-a-Saurus and I’ll upload a pic onto the embarrassing family photos website and send a mass email to all the parents on your class email lists. Each disturbing thing you say and/or do.” I hold up one finger. “One pic.” I tap them gently on the cheeks. “Starting now.”
“But, Auntie—”
I scratch my chin. “Perhaps I’ll start with the photo of you, Nam. You know, when you came off the waterslide at Wild Waves without your swim trunks? And you had to run naked, snot-faced and crying to get a towel from your dad? Your ashy behind on display for all of Seattle to see? All footage captured by...” I tap my chest. “Yours truly.”
“Auntie, you can’t show those pics.” Nam’s voice is weak.
“I can do whatever I want.” They both seem to cower in fear. I pinch their cheeks. “I’m watching.” I lean forward and whisper, “I’m listening. Ready. Set. Go.”
I scoot back down the aisle into the seat beside Violet. She’s sitting up now, rubbing her legs vigorously. “Where’d you go?”
“Just chatting it up with Bran and Nam. Good times.”
“Practicing being nicer?”
“You could say that. Are your legs cramping up? You cold? I can get more blankets.”
“I’m not cold.” She stretches out her neck to make sure no one is looking, then rolls up her pant leg. “Look.”
I lean forward to examine her legs. Her calves are swollen. Abnormally so. It looks grotesque. It looks...deadly. A shiver rushes up my spine as I remember the words from The Voice:
Michelle is right. She needs to get to the hospital.
She pulls her pants back down and the bus rumbles on in the dark. I know that Violet’s swollen legs are a clear sign she’s taken a turn for the worse; somehow she knows it, too.
“You can’t tell Michelle, Indigo. Okay?”
I look at Violet. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen her appear a mess. Her hair is pretty much all over her head, her painted nails are chipped, her lips dry, eyes red and swollen. Dark circles are under her eyes.
“I’m serious, Indi. You can’t tell her. When we get to the Airbnb, insist to sleep in my room. Insist to do... everything she normally does at night.”
“But I don’t know what to do. I’m not a nurse.”
“I can talk you through it.” She pulls her messy hair into a bun on top of her head, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes and her sunken cheeks. “Suggest she sleep in Pastor’s room...because of his kidney stones or something. Tell her... Oh, I know. Tell her it’s God’s orders. Yeah. Blame it on the voice in your head.”
“So you basically want me to lie?”
“Indigo, you lie all the time. And if I’m going to make this hike, I can’t have her hovering, scaring the shit out of me with all the medical jargon. It’s too much.” She sips from a bottle of water. “What does God say, anyway? Is he...talking to you...now?”
Should I tell her? Tell her that I haven’t actually heard from The Voice since I ignored his advice? Explain that The Voice has pulled a Troy Richmond and bailed faster than I can say Hey, wait up? Then I’d have to admit that The Voice suggested she be hospitalized. Admit he warned me this very thing was going to happen. I bite the skin around my thumb. “I...don’t hear him. Right now, I mean.”
Drew picks up the microphone. Clears his throat. “Good evening, family. Thanks to my expert driving, we made up some time from the few delays and are about fifteen minutes from the Airbnb in Hodell. Gather your things. Put on your shoes. You’re not free to move about the cabin just yet. But get ready. Ten-four.”
Michelle is now kneeling in front of Violet and me. “Vee, I hope you don’t mind sleeping in Pastor’s room. We’ll pick one of the rooms with two beds. I can sleep on the floor. Doesn’t really matter to me. I only wanna be able to keep an eye on you two. I don’t imagine he’ll pass another stone tonight. Might even be the last of ’em.”
Violet kicks me.
“Ow!” I turn to Violet. “That hurt.”
“Accident. Sorry. But...isn’t there something you wanted to tell Michelle?”
“Um.” I turn back to Michelle. She’s glaring at me. “Uh, yeah. The Voice in my head...says I need to stay with Violet tonight. Just me and her. She and I. We. Sorry.”
Michelle laughs. Not a ha ha laugh. The kind of laugh that says This is some bullshit. “Okay, well, I have to wash her incision. Help her take a bath. Give her her medicine and basically check on her every hour on the hour. Something you’re not equipped nor qualified to do—”
“Indigo can do it. I’ll talk her through it all. Plus, God’s with her,” Violet explains.
“And you’ll be close. It’s a house,” I add. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll walk four steps to the next room to find you.”
“Fine.” Michelle sighs. “I officially give up. You win, Indigo.”
She moves down the aisle.
“Michelle’s gonna murder me in my sleep.”
“That was brave.” Violet squeezes my hand. “Thank you, sis.”
As we turn into the driveway of the Airbnb in Hodell, Utah, I’m a bit surprised to see how remote it is. It’s basically the only house in sight. It’s miles and miles of dirt and rocks on acres and acres of land. A vast nothingness. In the distance are mountains, but it’s really too dark to see details, so they look more like ominous shadows, reaching high into the sky. Or maybe they look like monsters, lined up and ready to attack.
Drew turns off the ignition and all eyes turn to take in the Airbnb house that will be our home for the night. It’s a nice-sized colonial, well lit, relatively new construction with concrete pavers that lead to the front door. Also worth noting: it’s surrounded by about a hundred American flags.
There are two different flagpoles on opposite ends of the lawn, both with flags blowing in the wind, half-mast. I always thought a flag flying half-mast meant someone died. I really hope that’s not the case for this place.
One monster-sized flag hangs from the side of the house, dangling from the roof to the ground.
There are a dozen tiny flags hanging from the porch railing.
Holiday lights in the shape of flags on the lawn.
Red, white and blue flowers line up to look like flags.
“This is creepy AF,” Alfred whispers, leaning his head up against the window.
“It’s not creepy.” Dad sounds...well...creeped out, but he’s trying to keep a positive spin on the weirdness. “It’s patriotic.”
“And I know my baby girl,” Mom adds. “She probably researched the best Airbnb with the best reviews. Right, Violet?”
Violet shrugs. “Actually, Mom, since it was short notice... I didn’t have a ton of options that were wheelchair-accessible.”
“Oh, shit,” Alfred says.
“It was either this or a lodge and barbershop combo closer to the trailhead. But that one had a review that said it had bedbugs and sometimes roaches.”
Hmm. Bedbug bites and roaches or...whatever the hell lies beyond this red, white and blue striped door. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I say. “The Voice says we got nothing to worry about.”
That seems to relieve everyone’s tensions.
Violet’s situated in her chair and lowered on the lift. I rush outside to meet her.
“This is remote,” Dad says as everyone else disembarks and takes in the splendor of the middle of nowhere. “I wonder if you get Wi-Fi out this far.”
Nam approaches Mom. “Grandmother, can I help with your bag?”
Mom frowns. “Huh?”
“Your bag looks heavy and I’d like to assist you,” Nam repeats.
“And I’ll take your purse.” Brandon steps up beside Nam, gripping his backpack with one hand, his other hand extended.
Mom rears back, eyes the boys suspiciously. I’m sure she’s imagining them taking her bag and purse and setting them both on fire. “No. I got my purse and my bag, thank you very much.”
“If you change your mind, Grandmother...” Brandon looks over at me for approval. I hold up my camera with one hand and smile. He swallows. “Please let us know.”
I push Violet’s wheelchair across the concrete pavers to the front door of the large colonial. As if the owners are peeking through the peephole watching and waiting, the front door swings open upon our approach. A cheery, white-haired husband and wife step onto the porch.
“We were beginning to think you guys weren’t coming,” the man says with a friendly chortle.
I’d say they are about Mom and Dad’s age, give or take a few years. The two seem warm, kind and normal. That is, until they step into the light and get a nice good look at all of us. Their eyes bulge. They stop cold, panicked expressions creeping onto their faces.
Alfred and I exchange looks. We know this scene. It’s played out before many times. That moment when a white person is surprised to see the people they’ve been communicating with over the phone or internet...are black. It’s obvious that this sweet little country couple was not expecting a motley crew of African Americans to step off a bus covered with eyeballs.
Mom knows the look too, because she steps forward and presents her best newscaster voice. This is a thing in our family. When white people look at us crazy or get that judgmental oh no, it’s black people look in their eyes, we overenunciate and overarticulate like we’re in speech class.
“Good evening.” Mom sounds like a new hire on Dateline. “We apologize for the delay. Utterly thrilled we made it safely. Utterly.”
The wife exhales. Mom’s Dateline act seems to have relaxed her a bit. “Oh, yes. We’re happy, too. I’m Sandi. And this is my husband, Bob.”
“Sandi and Bob, it’s a pleasure to meet ya.” Dad’s playing the game as well. Using his ultrawhite, Bryant Gumbel voice.
Alfred and I roll our eyes. I should ruin it all and declare, What’s crack a lackin’? How y’all be doing up in Hodell!!
“Well, come on in,” Bob finally says, as if he’s got no other choice.
They usher us into the home.
Inside, it’s much more disturbing than a few hundred American flags on the lawn. First off, the walls are all painted red. I’m sure it’s in homage to the United States, but it mostly feels like we’ve stepped into the hell waiting room. Like, Y’all have a seat, please. Satan will be riiiiight with you.
Second. There are paintings hanging on the walls. So many that it looks more like a museum than a home anyone would want to live in. My eyes study those hanging in the foyer:
A Native American holds a human scalp in one hand, a tomahawk in the other.
A slave ship with hundreds of slaves lined up and chained.
A public hanging?
“Welcome to our home. You’ll have full use of the place,” Sandi explains. “When we have renters, Bob and I stay in the apartment above the garage so you all can have privacy.”
“Now we would like to remind you,” Bob starts, “we don’t allow any sort of drug use or drug paraphernalia.”
Mom’s jaw tightens. “I am sorry? No one in our family participates in recreational drug use, if that is what you are insinuating.” Uh-oh. Mom’s stopped contracting verbs. This can’t be good. She only does that when the black-girl-with-an-attitude is struggling to be tamed. Plus, I can see her left hand twitching. I know she wants to place that hand on her hip and add, Say it again! Say you don’t allow drug use again, Bob!
“Oh, no, no. Not insinuating at all,” Sandi exclaims as if Mom thinking that is absurd. “It’s what we say to all the renters.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Dad’s got just the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his voice, but Bryant Gumbel seems to still have control of his vocal cords.
Drew drifts to the photograph of the American Indian holding the tomahawk and human scalp. “This painting.” He shakes his head. “This is terribly offensive.”
“But a nice companion to the slave ship.” Alfred’s still leaned up against the door like he’s about to run out of the house and search for a Holiday Inn.
“Oh, the artwork on our walls is of course for sale, and also in tribute to American history. A local painter does them for us,” Sandi explains nonchalantly.
“American history wasn’t always pretty.” Bob wraps an arm around Sandi.
“We’re very patriotic,” Sandi declares with a head nod.
“You don’t say?” Michelle responds coolly.
Pastor Jedidiah clears his throat. I’ll admit, it’s nice to see him standing up straight. “It’s a beautiful home. The paintings do a nice job of reminding us that our country has quite a story to tell.”
“Thank you,” the wife says warmly to Pastor. You can tell she’s happy we have at least one white person with us.
“Is there somewhere nearby we can grab dinner?” Michelle asks. “My boys are hungry. We haven’t eaten.” Michelle isn’t pretending for these people. Her head is cocked to the side with an expression on her face like... I really want you people to try me. I double dog dare you.
“The nearest convenience store is about a twenty-minute drive up the 99 North,” Bob says cheerily.
“And if you go twenty minutes south, there’s a Cracker Barrel.”
“A Cracker Barrel?” Alfred repeats.
“They close at ten, honey,” Bob says.
“Oh, you’re right.” Sandi snaps her fingers. “What about stew? We have some stew left over from dinner. You people are welcome to it.”
“You people?” Mom repeats.
“Let it go,” Dad whispers.
“I like stew.” Alfred finally takes a step away from the door. “What kind of stew is it?”
“Rabbit,” Sandi declares proudly. “With chestnut dumplings. Rabbits run wild, so we’re lucky to be able to eat them fresh. We set traps. Then we boil them.”
“You guys boil rabbits?” Brandon asks, his voice shaking.
Drew grabs his keys. “What’s east and west? There’s gotta be somewhere we can eat.”
“Nothing east,” Bob replies. “But west... Let me think here.” He rubs his chin. “Can’t seem to think of anything west either.”
“Now, we do have a freezer full of food,” Sandi offers. “A few frozen pizzas left.”
My mouth waters at the thought of a fresh slice of pizza.
“Is it rabbit pizza?” Alfred asks.
“Sausage, pepperoni and cheese, I believe.” Sandi smiles.
Alfred raises his hand. “We’ll take it. We’ll take the whole lot.”
“Help yourself.” Sandi yawns. “Now we’ll let you people hold down the fort so we can get some shut-eye.”
“There is that you people again.” Mom’s Dateline exterior is beginning to crack.
“Hold down the fort?” Drew repeats. “Is that a dig because I’m Native?”
Bob’s jaw drops. “You’re Native American? Let me guess—Cherokee?”
Drew shakes his head. “No.”
“Chickasaw? Choctaw? Ahh...” Bob grins. “I bet you’re Navajo!”
“Oh, we love the Navajo!” Sandi exclaims. “Bob’s grandfather was four percent Navajo on his Ancestry DNA test.”
“I’m not Navajo,” Drew replies.
Bob shrugs. “Well, whatever kind of Indian you are, we think it’s fantastic. Our country honors our Natives.” Bob and Sandi give Drew a synchronized salute.
Brandon reaches up to touch one of the paintings.
“Don’t touch that, Brandon,” Michelle scolds him.
“It’s one of my absolute favorites.” Sandi moves to Brandon and kneels in front of him. “That’s Christopher Columbus.” She talks like she’s hosting an episode of Sesame Street. “Do you know who he is and why he’s important to our nation’s history, little one?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brandon nods. “My dad says Christopher Columbus was a murdering, lying piece of shit, who is probably burning in hell as we speak.” Brandon looks over at me with eyes of panic. “I mean, piece of garbage.”
Drew doesn’t even bother scolding Brandon. In fact, he smiles.
For a brief moment, Sandi’s speechless. Then she stands. “Oh, my.” And slowly backs away to Bob.
“If you people need us, just give us a holler.” Bob holds two thumbs up and he and Sandi rush toward the front door.
We watch them exit.
“You see that, Isaiah?” Mom snaps. “You people?”
“Hold down the fort?” Drew repeats. “And these paintings should be criminal.” I’ve never seen Drew look so upset.
“Sorry, everyone,” Violet cries. “I didn’t know. I feel terrible.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s demeanor switches. “It’s fine.”
“Yeah, Violet,” Drew says. “It’s extremely offensive, but cozy.”
Everyone chimes in to make Violet feel better about the American history horror shit show we just walked into.
“I kinda like it,” Dad adds, dragging luggage down the hall. “The red walls make it warm.”
“Yeah.” Alfred flips his cap back. “Like hellfire.”
Dad gently slaps Alfred on the shoulder. “Son. You’re not helping.”
“Where is the freezer and where are the pizzas?” Alfred replies. “I’ll help by loading them up into the oven.”
“I know that’s right.” Mom and Alfred move into the kitchen with the boys close behind. “Careful with the freezer, though. I am not in the mood to see a bunch of frozen bunnies.”
“Think I’ll hit the shower and the bed.” Jedidiah pushes his palms together and bows. “It’s been quite a long day. Namaste, Indigo, Violet. The two most beautiful colors of the rainbow.”
“Namaste, namastah.” I bow back. “Pastor, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Indigo.”
“What does namaste mean?”
“Wonderful question indeed. It means the light in me recognizes and honors the light in you. In other words, no one is greater than the other. There is no true leader. We are one.”
For some reason his words make me look over at Michelle. She looks away. “I like that, Pastor,” I reply. “Namaste.”
“Pastor.” Michelle steps in front of me. “Take a downstairs room so I can be close to you and Violet.” Michelle squeezes Violet’s shoulder. “I know you’re with Indigo, but I’ll be in to give you your medication and check your O2 sat. Then I promise to leave you alone.”
Michelle and Pastor move deeper into the house.
“Indigo?” Violet says.
“Yeah?”
“Can you push me into the bathroom? I’m about to throw up.”
I push her as fast as I can and we move into a large bathroom at the end of the hall. When I shut the door, I jump back and gasp. Hanging on the wall: a five-foot crucifix with a bleeding Jesus surrounded by a string of blinking Christmas lights.
“Are you okay, Indi?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Could you turn on the water?” she asks. “I don’t like for anybody to hear.”
I twist on the water in the sink and claw-foot bathtub, trying my hardest not to focus on the crucifix soaked in fake blood.
“And can you help me?”
I rush to assist her. Guiding her out of her chair so she can kneel beside the toilet. Once she’s situated, she lets loose, heaving into the bowl. She throws up for so long she’s finally just dry heaving. I flush the toilet, stand, grab a few paper towels, wet them with cool water from the sink and hand them off to Violet.
She accepts gratefully and wipes her mouth and face. “In the bag, hanging on my chair, is a toothbrush and toothpaste.”
“On it.” I search inside the neatly organized bag, grab her toothbrush and paste and stand beside her while she brushes her teeth. “Want me to take you to one of the rooms? So you can lay down?”
She places her toothbrush on the counter. “In the pictures online, they had a beautiful backyard. Let’s go to the backyard. That okay?”
“Of course, Vee. Anything for you.”
The back porch highlights a massive expanse of land. The night sky is blanketed with thousands of twinkling stars as far as the eye can see. Out here, there is no light pollution, so it’s as if you’re staring straight into space. Like you can reach out and gently glide your hand along the line of stars, the way you’d slide your hand across ivory piano keys. I imagine the stars would hum a tune just the same. The air is crisp and clear. The night comfortably still. The mountains in the distance are like giant armed guards protecting our well-earned moment together. Though I know the moment won’t last for long. Someone is always checking on Violet. Tending to her needs. Not to mention, I can smell the scent of baking pizzas filtering outside. I’m sure it’ll be only a moment before we’re called to eat.
My camera is still slung around my neck, so I flip it on and point it toward the sky.
“I’ve never taken shots of stars before,” Violet says. “How do you do it?”
“You start with as wide an f-stop as the lens will allow. I like a shutter speed of about twenty seconds. Manual mode—”
“But wouldn’t they be blurry like that?”
I smile. “The secret—turn the white balance off and set the optical resolution to the highest setting. Bada bing. Bada boom.”
Click-click-click.
“Here. Take a look.” I pull my camera strap from around my neck and hand it to Violet.
She scrolls through the photos. “So gorgeous. How did you know that?”
I shrug. “I like to play around with different settings until something works.”
“You’re so brilliant. I wish I was as good as you.”
“Huh? You’re way better than me. Your photos are brilliant.”
“My ‘brilliance’ comes from books...and memorizing what people tell me to do. You come up with everything on your own. You’re...a natural.” She continues scrolling through my photos. She laughs. “Omigosh! Look...at all these. You took all of these and I didn’t...even realize.”
“You like them?”
“It’s me and Dad.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “We look so happy. You captured that...so well.” She pauses to adjust her sleeves. It’s no longer the color of the day for us, since Michelle had to go and cut off her olive T-shirt, so now Violet wears a black-and-gold hooded Hamilton sweatshirt. “Oh, the marathon!” She grins. “Top five highlights of my life, for sure. I mean, afterward...wasn’t so great. But crossing that finish line.” She keeps scrolling. “Willy! You got shots of Willy? Gosh, he was so sweet.” She lowers her head and begins to cry.
“What’s wrong, Vee?”
“I’m just... I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry? Why?”
“I feel...bad.”
“Like you’re gonna throw up again?”
“No.” She cries. “Indigo, I’ve been...a terrible sister to you.”
“Violet, you’re the best sister ever. Please don’t cry.” I lean forward and grab her hand.
She shakes her head. “I pushed you away. I shouldn’t...have shut you out the way I have these past few months. I...” She pauses to wipe her nose.
I dare not interrupt. I’m barely even breathing. I desperately need her to continue. She has shut me out. It’s true. And for so long, I’ve wanted to know why. What did I do wrong? Why did I have to lose my best friend?
“I knew I was hurting you, Indi. I guess... I guess I didn’t care.” She sniffs. “Or maybe on some level... I wanted you to hurt, too.”
“Violet. You don’t mean that.”
“See? I told you I was terrible. I do mean it. I didn’t think it was fair that I was dying. I felt so cheated.” She secures her cannula behind her ears. “I always thought that if I worked hard and did everything right... I thought life would bless me for it. I had it all figured out. And then this happens. And you...” She quiets for a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t admit it.”
I sit in a stunned silence. All this time I’ve been thinking it’s not fair that I get to live while Violet dies, and it turns out...she’s been thinking the same thing. I heave a heavy sigh. Far off in the distance, I can see wild horses running at the base of the mountains. It’s the closest thing to real-life magic I’ve ever seen. Aside from the sun, I suppose. If only every living thing could be so free.
“I get it,” I start. “You don’t have to say it. I’m basically a screwup, so why am I the one who gets to live?”
“Indigo—”
“It’s cool. I’m not mad at you for thinking it. I think the same thing, too. It’s why I was going to kill myself.”
“Kill yourself?”
“It’s why I was climbing the building.”
“But Mom said you were trying to take a picture for me.”
“Lies. I was planning to jump but then I chickened out and fell on accident. I wanted to die, too.”
“Indigo? I don’t understand.”
“It was to even the playing field! To right this terrible wrong. You shouldn’t be dying. It should be me. I know that’s what you were going to say and it’s okay. I’m not mad at you for thinking it.”
“Indigo, that’s not what I was going to say. Are you insane? You think I want you to die?”
“If there was a choice to be made. Yeah.”
“Indigo?” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Why do you think I work so hard to be better than you?”
My eyes squint in confusion. “You don’t. You’re just better.”
“You’re wrong. I study all day and night. Take extra classes. Read massive amounts of books...and all you do is lift your camera, and click-click, it’s perfect. You intuitively know. You don’t have to work at being brilliant. I do.”
“I’m not brilliant.”
She laughs again. “Indigo. You are.”
“But you get better grades than me.”
“That’s because I study. You never crack open a book. If this trip...were under different circumstances...and... I saw you capture the night sky so vividly the way you just did...wanna know what I would have done? I would...have found a class online or...somewhere. I would have learned how to take a better photo of the sky than you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it, Indigo. You always think I’m one step ahead of you. But the truth is... I...always worked hard to catch up. You’re the leader. You always have been.”
I hear the words she’s saying. But they’re not quite sinking in. Me? The leader? Impossible.
“If there was a choice, Indigo, I don’t think either one of us should die.”
“Then why were you going to kill yourself?”
“Indigo, death with dignity isn’t suicide. It’s physician-assisted dying.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
She takes another pained breath. “If you were in pain...and a doctor had medicine that could end your suffering...wouldn’t you want to take it?”
I lean my head back on the patio chair and study the thousands of stars I can see lighting the night sky. All those suns in faraway galaxies. Suns whose light will someday dim. What a waste. “I do get what you’re saying, Vee. I guess I just believe in waiting on miracles.”
“Me too, Indigo. Why do you think I’m here? Because when you told me about the voice...suddenly living...seemed like the best idea ever.”
“So you do want to live?”
“Of course I do.” She starts to cry again. “It would’ve been so unfair. With so much space between us. I was gonna die.”
She was gonna die. Without a proper goodbye. With us more disconnected than we’ve ever been. “I’m sorry I’m living and you’re dying. Violet, I would give anything to switch places with you. You know I would.”
Tears spill onto her lap. She pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands in her delicate Violet way. “But would I do the same for you? You’re so selfless. I have always envied you.” She turns to me. “That’s what I was going to say. Not that I wish you were the one dying. But that... I’d give anything to be just like you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Her words leave me speechless.
“Promise me something. If this doesn’t work out and—”
I shake my head. “No. This will work out. You’re going to live and we’re going to have our whole lives together. We’re gonna travel the world. Me and you, Vee.”
“But...if something should ever happen to me, I want one thing from you. One promise.”
“Anything,” I whisper.
“Forgive me.”
The door to the back patio slides open and Mom sticks her head out. “You girls come eat because Nam and Bran are snarfin’ down pizza slices faster than I can blink. Better hurry before it’s all gone and nothing’s left but rabbit stew.” Mom gasps. “Look at that.” She points.
The herd of wild horses race back across the plain. Violet grabs my camera off her lap, fidgets with the settings and takes a few quick snapshots of the animals. She stops to scroll through the photos. “Ahh, it’s too dark. And they’re moving so fast. You can’t really see the detail.”
“Try setting the shutter speed to freeze motion.”
Violet makes the adjustment.
“It’s better if you’re moving with the camera,” I add. “But if you blur it, you might get something cool.”
Click-click-click-click.
Violet reviews her photos. “Ahh, so nice.” She hands the camera to Mom. “Look at these, Mom. Indigo was right.”
Mom looks at the pictures over Violet’s shoulder and nods. “Stunning, Violet. You’re an amazing photographer.” She squeezes her shoulder. “You two come eat. I’m heading back in. It’s freezing out here. Violet, you’ll catch pneumonia. You don’t even have a coat on.”
She moves back into the house, sliding the patio door shut with a soft click.
“See that?” I say, when I’m sure she’s out of earshot. “She said that to get to me.”
“Said what?”
“‘Violet, you’re an amazing photographer.’ I mean, you are. But that was a dig. Trust me.”
“Mom may be set in her ways, but she’s not...diabolical. She doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“I think she does.”
“Why don’t you talk to her? Tell her how you feel.”
“Right. How would that conversation go? ‘Hey, Mom, I think you secretly hate me and wish I was the one dying.’”
“Indigo.”
“You know it’s true. If she could make a deal with the devil she would, and I’d be the one in that wheelchair.”
“I disagree. I think Mom...is afraid of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s...not equipped to be Lynsey Addario’s mom. She doesn’t think she’s good enough. Your destiny...it scares her.”
“She told you that?”
“No. I just...know.”
“But we have the same destiny. Why doesn’t your destiny scare her, too?”
“Because you’re the leader, that’s why.” Violet shivers. “It’s cold. I’d like to go in...if you don’t mind. That okay, Indigo?”
“Don’t mind at all, sis.”
I stand, slide open the patio door and push her back inside.