Indigo: The Saving Bailey Trilogy #2 (3 page)

Clad saved me from killing myself—from killing so many others—because I don’t think I honestly would’ve stopped at my Bullet List. Either way, I was going to die; so what did it matter how many people I took down with me?

Clad went to prison for me. That’s where he is right now, as I lie comfortably on the floor in Goodwill, with my boyfriend to keep me company. When I go back home tonight I will be thinking of Clad and how he gave up part of his life to save me. I will scream out, a werewolf in the middle of the night, calling for him and he won’t come. No one will come. Mom has earplugs that block out all my midnight howls.

“I have to see him,” I say to Spencer, closing the romance novel we have been reading together.

On slow days, which is just about every day at the thrift store, we spread out on our stomachs, prop ourselves up with our elbows, and read through novels yellowed and aged by the sun. The man on the front cover of the one we are reading now reminds me of Clad, his long brown, wavy hair flowing in an invisible gust of wind.

“Do you think he even wants to see you?”

“He went to prison for me. I’m pretty sure he wants to see me.”

“He went to prison
because
of you,” Spencer corrects me. “Why have you waited so long?”

“I’m scared. Spence, what if he’s angry with me? I’ve just been putting it off because I’m terrified of what he might be thinking.”

“I bet he’s thinking, ‘Fuck, I shot the ceiling of our school for that girl and she hasn’t come ‘round once to visit! What a waste of good ammunition.’” He chuckles.

“I
wish
the situation was that light,” I say.

“Don’t worry; he could never stop loving you.”

“But I don’t love him the same way I love you, got it? He’s just a really good friend.”

“I got it,” Spencer says.

I lift myself off the ground, my elbows raw from propping me up on the threadbare carpet. It’s getting close to our lunch break, and I’m just about to ask Spencer if we can go early, when a man with an infant girl cradled in one arm walks through the door. Spencer jumps up to greet him.

“Hello, welcome to Goodwill. Is there anything I can assist you with, sir?”

The man is short and compact. He is dressed in a faded blue Hanes T-shirt, carpenter Levis, a plaid button up shirt tied around his waist, and uniform black Reeboks on his feet. The baby is swaddled in a white, pink and blue striped hospital blanket. I take a step back from the smell that is coming off them.

“I need a dress,” the hobo grumbles, “for the baby.”

I recognize him as the homeless man who sits outside Circle K with a cardboard sign that reads, ‘Have baby need money for formula and diapers.’

“How old is she?” I ask, stepping closer to catch a glimpse of the tiny face peering out at me curiously through the blanket.

“Ten months.” He shields the baby’s face with her blanket and walks toward the baby section of the store.

“I can find her a dress,” I say. “May I hold her?”

“Uh huh,” he says gruffly.

With reluctance, he places the baby’s warm little body in my arms. Her eyes are a steely grey and her hair is twisted in golden ringlets, like a baby angel. I’m in love with her from the moment she squeezes my finger with her hand no bigger than the size of a silver dollar.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, bringing her with me to a rack of infant dresses.

“She looks just like her mama,” the homeless man says, pulling out an ugly, frilly pink dress. “How about this?”

Spencer has pulled off to the side, recognizing that this is my field of expertise.

“I like this one.” I hold a white lacey dress up to the baby.

“It’s… very nice,” the man says, apprehension clinging to his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks away from me; fumbling with a baby coverall he sighs. “I… uh, don’t have money. I can’t afford it.”

“It’s free; I’ll even dress her for you.”

To my delight, his eyes twinkle; smiling broadly he shows me his decayed teeth and inflamed gums.

I lay the baby on the counter next to the cash register and remove her onesie. She gawks at me in wonder with her stormy eyes. I gently put her arms through puffed up sleeves that she is not chubby enough to fill out. The dress that would fit a Barbie doll hangs loosely on her. “It’s a little big, but she’ll grow into it,” I say, handing her back to the man.

He is all too happy with the ill-fitting dress. “Thank you so much. She looks like a doll.”

I look to Spencer for guidance but he is busy organizing the bookcase for the fifth time today, his back turned to me.

“Does she need food?” My voice catches in my throat. “Do you need money?”

“Oh, the dress is plenty. That’s all I could ask for; you’ve been so kind already.”

I dig into my pocket and find a wadded up ten dollar bill. Forcing it into his palm and closing his fingers around it, I say, “For the baby,” and kiss the baby’s curls.

“I’m forever grateful,” the man says, holding out his hand to me.

I shake it and smile. “I don’t think I got your name,” I say.

“Thomas,” he says.

“Bailey.”

Spencer exhales loudly as Thomas exits the store.

I turn to him. “That poor baby,” I gush, “she’s so frail. Do you think she’ll be okay?”

He blows dust off of a book jacket.

“Will she be okay?” I repeat myself.

“Reminds me of
you
.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“You can’t even afford to feed yourself and you just gave that drunkard all the money you have.”

“I don’t care if I eat. She’s a baby, she can’t fend for herself!”

“No,
you
can’t! Why do you worry about someone you couldn’t possibly help? Do you really think he’s going to spend your money on her, or do you think he’ll blow it on alcohol and drugs?”

I shake my head, holding back tears. Spencer has not been this harsh with me since the day I refused to let him call Children and Families.

“If I gave your mom ten dollars, what do you think she’d spend it on, you?
Yeah, fucking right.
She’d waste it on vodka and cigarettes. The only thing you’re feeding is that man’s addiction.”

“Addiction to what, homelessness? Just because he can’t afford food and a roof over his head doesn’t mean he’s an alcoholic or a drug addict!”

“Honey,” Spencer says, “I just don’t like you giving away your money to someone who’s going to waste it. I know you meant well.” He puts an arm around my waist, tugging me into him. “God will take care of the baby, she’ll be all right.”

“My mom hasn’t touched alcohol in half a year, Spence,” I say.

“I know, I know. Calm down.”

“Can we eat lunch now?” I ask, moving my head from under his chin.

He smiles at me and laughs. “Yeah, I’d say lunch is over-due.”

I linger at the front of the store, straightening the rack of baby dresses while Spencer goes to the back and retrieves our sandwiches.

“Your mom makes the best sandwiches,” I say, when he hands me mine.

“No doubt,” he agrees. “Why don’t we eat at the park? It’s too nice out to eat inside this moldy old store.”

We climb into Spencer’s truck, the dashboard and seats are covered with textbooks and binders, leaving no place for me to sit except on top of them. “What’s all this?”

“Nothin’ it’s just…oh, it’s nothing.” He pushes the books off my seat and onto the floor.

I pick one up and read the title,
CPR
.

“Medical textbooks?”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I know my dad isn’t going to let me go to medical school, but I found these books in the dumpster, out back. Someone donated them and Dad just threw them away.”

“Why is he so against you becoming a doctor?”

“My mom and dad don’t believe in medicine…they believe in natural remedies to cure ailments.”

I flip through the pages, placing myself as the injured in each picture. Doctors and nurses demonstrating how to cast a broken limb or insert an IV. My bones ache, the needles slide into my veins, cold latex hands touch my body.

“You okay?” Spencer’s hand lands on top of mine and I jump.

“You could fix me up if you were a doctor. You’d be gentle, wouldn’t you? Everything would be practically painless.”

“Again?” he says between clenched teeth. “You think you’ll get hurt again? Bailey, I don’t know about you, but I, for one, cannot take anymore.”

“I just meant—”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off. “The idea of you getting hurt like that again makes me want to throw up.”

“I’m just saying, Miemah has been laying low for a while, what if she’s—”

“Shut up!” he screams so sharply that I flinch. “Don’t remind me of that day.”

“Why?”

“Because he wasn’t there. He ditched you because he was jealous of us; he let his jealousy kill you.”

I slam the book closed and Spencer tosses it off my lap.

“It won’t happen again. Not ever again. Don’t make me think about it.”

I stare bullets at the book.

“
I
went through it, not
you
,” I say.

We arrive at the park and he unlocks both our doors, not budging from his seat. “Get out,” he says.

“
Spencer
.”

“I need a moment.”

I take both our sandwiches to the picnic table under the tree, and lie down on the table. I look up at the bird’s nest. The eggs hatched long ago and the babies have left the nest. The dad has stayed on, his mate having returned. Her wing appears broken, but she remains faithfully at his side. I nibble at the crust of my sandwich, not really hungry.

Spencer shuts his truck door and mulch crunches beneath his sneakers as he comes to lie beside me. I make room for him on the picnic table.

“You couldn’t see yourself; you don’t even remember the times you were crying because your ribs hurt or because you didn’t want to be drugged again. You have to understand how hard it was for me. It reminded me of Lydia—not you, just the situation. Another girl suffering in a hospital and, once again, me not being able to help her.”

“I’m sorry.” I look into his eyes and see that they are red and puffy from crying. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I will never stop being sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You couldn’t help what Miemah and Trenton did; I just wish you wouldn’t make me relive it.”

“Do you hate Clad for not being there?”

“No, I hate him because he’s Clad.”

We both laugh. Then, his face turns serious again.

“I lied to you, Bailey.” The corners of his mouth droop with the weight of his words.

I loop my fingers around his. “What about?”

“When I said I wouldn’t take my own life if you died.”

“You built our relationship on a lie?”

“When your mom called me and told me about you being in the hospital… and how you might not make it…terrible things were going through my head…” He takes in a deep breath. “I attempted suicide.”

His words are bricks, piling up on my chest and I am crushed beneath their weight. “Stop, don’t tell,” I place a finger to his lips, “kiss me instead.”

Spencer gently pushes my face away from his. “I hung a noose from my ceiling fan before I even drove to the hospital to see you. I gave up because you did. I broke my promise.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I scream at him, covering my ears with my hands.

He yanks my hands away and in my ear he yells, “I hung the noose and put it around my neck. Guess what happened next? Guess!”

I shake my head.

“The fan broke!”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“The fucking fan fell from the ceiling.” He slaps angrily at the air.

“You stupid boy,” I say. “Trying to end your life over someone as trivial as me!”

“Would you stop believing that, already? That you’re nothing. You are everything to everyone. Even to Miemah, you are her world. Don’t you get it; if you were gone, everything would cease to exist. Who would Miemah torment, who would Clad obsess over, and who would I give all my love to?” he says. “Who would play soccer with Sarah?”

“Miemah could make someone else’s life hell. Clad could find another pretty girl to obsess over, you could give your love to your music, and Sarah could play soccer with or without me.”

“Yes, but you make everything so much more enjoyable.” He grins.

“I don’t want to think about you dying,” I moan.

“I’m sorry I told you. But I couldn’t stand feeling like a liar.”

“It’s okay,” I let out a breath, “I’ll just take it in, like I do everything else.”

“I love you,” he says kissing my cheek.

Then, we both start laughing at the idea of his fan falling from the ceiling, him attached.

“It’s pretty ridiculous, isn’t it?” he says.

“Totally.”

“Are you better now?”

I pick a piece of cheese off my sandwich, placing it on my tongue as if I’m waiting for it to melt. “In what way do you mean,
better
?”

“You were going through some considerably dark times… maybe you still are. I know Clad being gone hasn’t helped, and my suicidal confession probably just knocked your happy meter down a few notches.”

“I’m not better, but I’m happy whenever I’m with you… as long as you don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself.”

“I won’t speak of it again,” he says, locking up his lips and throwing away the key.

Our sandwiches lie in our laps uneaten; neither of us feels hungry anymore. “Seems like my mind doesn’t know how to do anything other than feel depressed, now.”

Spencer sits up, tracing my collar bone with his fingers he says, “Don’t get lost in the dark because you’re too afraid to turn on the light.”

I have slipped into the dark waters before, allowing them to wash over and submerse me. I know how easy it is to fall into a depressive rut, to dig yourself into a hole too deep to climb back out of. The longer you stay in the hole, the harder it becomes to make your way out, the sides caving in, filling with dirt and burying you alive.

I invite Bailey to stay the night because I want to break the pattern she has created for herself. If I change things up, maybe she will remember what it’s like to not feel melancholy every minute of every day. If I can pull her out of the somber fold she has remained in for the last six months, I think I can save her.