Crashing Into Blue

Chapter 29

It's only fitting that the day Indigo and I have been dreading for the past week, the day that's been unmistakably circled in red many times over on both of our calendars, is a humidity skyrocketing beach day. Today, there is no breeze rolling off of the ocean, cooling the sweat that has formed on our skin, causing a delicious shiver to run down our spines. Instead, the sweat just drips down our backs, causing our clothes to stick tightly against us. Every time I peel my t-shirt off my back, I get more and more nervous.

"Where is he?" Indigo asks as she fans herself with her hands on our front porch swing.

I check the time on my watch. Davis was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, to pick us up and take us for dinner. He called our landline earlier in the day from the Conch Royale, the only hotel that we have in town; most of the resi's rent or own their vacation houses, but people who only spend a few days here, who are typically first timers to this part of the coast, stay at the Conch. We barely heard the phone ringing over the noise of our jam session; safe to say, we were playing loudly and probably a tad aggressively. Our mom vacated the premises, returning to her seclusion, long before our angst could spill over. That was probably the best move, as Indigo was still being grouchy with her ever since she broke the news to her about Davis's trip. Silently, I thank her for taking the brunt of that shot; I don't think I could have handled it on top of the already overwhelming feelings I'd been battling. I needed Indigo, my constant, to be on my side, not pissy with me.

I ran out of the rock room, nearly slipping on some sheet music with my sock clad feet, to grab the phone before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" I said breathlessly into the phone, guitar slung low in front of me.

"Delia? It's me, um, dad," Davis said.

"Hey," I said back into the phone, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

Wouldn't a girl who hadn't seen her father in over a decade be excited? I thought one would be, but it didn't explain why I was feeling so empty.

"So, we made it in alright; Oliver was just the best on the plane. Put that kid in front of some colouring pages and give him crayons and bam, silence for hours on end." I felt myself absentmindedly nodding along, zoning in and out of the conversation.

Davis said nothing for a few moments. All I could hear was Indigo slamming the cymbals repeatedly. Clang, clang, clang. I heard a drumstick hit the floor.

"So, where are you staying?" I asked Davis, trying to move the conversation along. I'm sure he had a reason for calling, but it didn't seem like he was up for saying much; it looked like I had to be the one to ask the questions to keep us rolling.

"At the Conch Royale, since we're only staying for two weeks. I was wondering if you and your sister were free for dinner tonight? I made a reservation for five at the steakhouse inside the Conch, I hope that wasn't overstepping."

For once, we actually had no plans. It seemed like our faux boyfriend plan had slowed down a little, or taken a momentary hiatus, ever since our last group outing, the disastrous mini golf date. I get a headache just thinking about it. I feel myself absent mindedly rub my forehead.

Before long, I agreed to dinner at the Conch. What did we have to lose? Also, we wouldn't be able to avoid him for his entire trip, even though Indigo wanted to try it out to see how long we could make it for. She thought she could remain incognito for the length of his entire trip. She also thought I could play both of us, with me pulling off a Lindsay Lohan in the parent trap level of acting. Maybe it would have been possible when we were younger and had similar haircuts and dressed in matching outfits. Back then, people always had trouble telling us apart. We never attempted a swap because our mom knew us, and our tells, too well; I bite my lip when I lie and Indigo scrunches her nose. I always hoped our dad would be able to pick up on those little things too, as if by instinct. Like recognizing like.

But as I'm standing on our porch with the second hand ticking by on my watch, and therefore the minute hand getting closer and closer to telling me he's a full half hour late, I'm wondering if he had decided to avoid us. I mean, why break a pattern that been over a decade in the making? He can just enjoy this little impromptu vacation with his new family. I bristle at the thought, pushing down the accompanying emotional baggage, and I turn towards Indigo, the words forming on my lips that would end this entire endeavor. But as I make my way to the front door, Indigo close on my heels, our shadows are thrown out before us, our shapes taking up residence on the white paneling of our house. We turn around, and headlights blind us. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, and through my fingers I see that Indigo has closed her eyes, almost as if she is basking in the light, enjoying the moment of burning intensity. Soon enough, we're thrown back into darkness and dots flash in and out of my vision. I blink them away rapidly, not wanting to miss a moment of what's coming towards me, because it's something I've never seen in the flesh.

He's tall, with a lean build. He has wavy dark brown hair, which is cut in a short fashion. He's clean-shaven, with not even a hint of five o'clock shadow on his face. He's wearing a white button down shirt and a navy sports coat, which matches his navy pants. His shoes are black leather and shined to the point that they seem to be reflective. But even as I take this all in, I can't seem to look away from his eyes, since they're the same brown that Indigo and I share, that Oliver has in all the photos that have been carefully tucked in with our letters. It takes me by surprise, as if I didn't truly believe that we all shared this trait. We obviously didn't inherit the grey of our mom's eyes, but I also didn't want to accept that we've always had this piece of Davis with us. But now, I can recognize the nervous look I see in his eyes as he approaches the porch as the one I see reflected back at me before a performance. As he gets closer, I can see my nervousness morph into Indigo's resolve, all the familiar expressions that I see every day flickering across his face.

He's finally made it to the front steps, and he puts a foot down onto the first wooden plank. It creaks underneath his weight. Nobody makes a move to get closer to each other, as if we're all individually assessing how to move forward in this new situation.

Davis breaks the silence first, which I was hoping he would. "Well, it seems like you two aren't little girls anymore."