CHAPTER FIVE - McKAY
PRESENT DAY
Indie is always with me. Even when she’s not.
She is my world.
And if taking it all back means she never came home to us here in Louisiana, then I don’t take it back. Not even a little bit.
It’s selfish, but I don’t care.
She is mine. I raised her. I took care of her. I taught her how to survive.
And maybe it wasn’t enough, but it kept her alive this long.
So I did something right.
“Are you ready to get out?”
I get a long, soft sigh as a response.
“I’ll get you some clothes.”
I get up and walk out of the bathroom and into the small bedroom before I sigh as well. We’ve been here before. So many times. And every single time I say to myself, I can’t do it again. I just… can’t do it again.
And each time I do it. And we come through it.
Because that’s the only thing we can do.
Get past it. Move on.
But this time feels different.
She pulls the bathtub plug and the sound of water rushing down the drain fills the small apartment. “Did you call Donovan?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Are you going to?”
“Sure.” I open a drawer and pull out a pair of sweats and t-shirt that says ‘Babette’s on the Bayou’—a tavern that has, somehow, become my local haunt.
When I turn around Indie is standing in the doorway wrapped up in a towel. And I swear to God, I lose my breath.
She was a pretty child but as a woman she is beautiful. She just doesn’t know it.
“Are those for me?” She points to the clothes in my hand.
“Yeah.” I throw them to her and she catches both with one hand. “I’ll let you get dressed.” Then I push past her and go back to the living room.
“Call Donovan. I need to talk with him.”
“I will. But I can’t promise anything. He doesn’t really answer my calls these days.”
“He’s too busy being a fancy plastic surgeon in LA?”
“I guess. But I’ll give it a try.” I grab my phone off the small dinette table and flip through my contacts to find his name, then press send.
It rings. And rings. And rings…
“This is Dr. Couture. I’m not on call at the moment, so if this is a medical emergency please call nine one one or find your way to the nearest emergency room. If this is personal, please leave a message.”
“Donovan… uh.” I turn away from the bedroom and lower my voice. “I need you to call me. Indie is here and she needs to talk with you.” I hesitate. I have a lot more to say to this guy, but… probably not the best time to get into all that. So I just end the call.
“He didn’t pick up?”
I spin around and see Indie standing in the hallway. Leaning against the wall like she was listening.
She’s already dressed. The clothes are far too big for her. But she absently ties a knot in the extra length of the t-shirt and cinches it tight until her belly is showing above the folded-over waistband of the pants. The elastic around the ankles has been slipped up to her knees and the overall effect of all these alterations is one of familiarity.
Indie, age sixteen. Happy, seemingly well-adjusted teenager. God. I wish I could go back in time and do it all again.
“No. But he’ll call back. Don’t worry. Are you hungry?”
She sighs again. This time loudly. “Sure.”
“Go sit down. I’ll warm up some pizza for you.”
“You don’t have to feed me like a kid, McKay. I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
“You’re always gonna be my responsibility, Indie.”
She goes into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and helps herself to a Ziploc bag of leftover pizza. Doesn’t heat it up, or even bother to get a plate. Just takes the whole baggie over to the couch and flops down. Two seconds later she’s shoving cold pizza in her mouth and smiling at me.
She thrusts the baggie in my direction. “Want some?”
“Nah.” I walk over to the chair opposite her and sink into it. Rest my elbow on the arm and prop my head up with my hand as I watch her eat. “I went out to eat earlier.”
“I know.” She chews. “I saw you.” Then she tugs at her t-shirt and says, “You ate here. Burger, well done. And fried pickles on the side. That shit will kill you, ya know. Is Babette your special friend?”
I can’t tell if she’s joking, or jealous, or angry. “Did you see Babette?”
“I didn’t get anyone’s names, if that’s what you’re asking.” And when she says this her acquired Southern accent is more pronounced.
“She’s like eighty-seven years old.”
“So you’re not into her?” She says this around a mouthful of pizza, trying to hide her smile.
Joking then.
“No. I’m not.”
“Good to know. God, I’m so hungry. When was the last time I ate?”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“Why? Does it make you nervous?”
“No,” I lie. “Just asking.”
“Hmmm.” She chews. “About ten days?”
Ten. Fucking. Days. She’s been stalking me for ten days and I never saw a thing.
“I’m damn good at my job.” Her words echo my thoughts.
“I know. You learned from the best, right?”
“Past your prime now, old man.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Indie.”
“I’m joking. God. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m hiding a shank in my sweatpants.”
“Where did you put the gun?”
“Somewhere safe. Don’t worry. Why? You got kids or something?”
“Do you think I have kids?”
She stuffs more pizza in her mouth as her answer.
My phone rings on the table and I’m way too happy to hear that sound, because I jump up and cross the room before it gets to the end of the Ramones ringtone. I tab accept and say, “Hey. Thanks for calling me back.”
“Put it on speaker,” Indie calls from the couch. “I want to hear everything.”
I turn away from her, ignoring her request. “I need you, Donovan. Now. How soon can you get here?”
“Hi, Donovan!”
“He says hi,” I tell Indie back. Even though Donovan hasn’t said a fucking word yet. Not even hello. A few beats of silence on the other end of the phone. “Donovan? You there?”
“I’m here.”
“I need you.”
“I… I can’t get away right now.”
“You’re not on call. Your fucking message said so. I. Need. You. Now.”
“It’s a four-hour flight. And it’s already pretty late to make it there tonight.”
“Three and a half. And take your fucking jet.”
“Three and three quarters,” Indie calls out. She does not miss anything, does she? And why this surprises me, I don’t know. Because I’m the one who trained her to be that way.