Before I could stop myself, my voice rang out in the kitchen harsher than I had intended to sound. “Indigo isnota club girl.” Club girls were a necessary part of club life, that was just a fact. When we needed to blow off steam, they helped us relax and forget our troubles, even if it was only for a night. They were here for a good time, not a long time; it was sex and nothing more. We had rules about when club girls could be around and where they were allowed access within the compound for a reason. The girls understood their place here and were free to say no or leave at any time. They understood that the Crows would protect them while they were here and that they had no claim on any particular brother. Indigo wasn’t a club girl. I had no idea what she was, to be honest.
Both women paused what they were doing at my words, my mother transferring cookies and Indigo cleaning flour off the countertop. My mother raised an eyebrow at me. “Is that so? Well, what is she then, Priest?”
I opened and closed my mouth, unable to pull my foot out of it fast enough to come up with a response.
“I see,” my mom said with a smug tone.
Indigo unwittingly broke the tension between my mother and me by doing a pirouette and saying in a sing-song voice, “Don’t worry, Lorna. I defy expectations and labels.” She spun once or twice before dropping her arms and adding, “Plus, I’d never want to be part of a club withMindyin it.” She spat out Mindy’s name like it tasted foul in her mouth, and shockingly, a sneer crossed my sweet ma’s face as she agreed with Indi.
“That girl is a real nasty piece of work.”
This was the first time I’d heard my mother speak about any of the club girls. The ole ladies typically pretended they didn’t exist, keeping a firm line drawn between women who were “wife” material and women who…weren’t. It was old-fashioned and kind of bitchy, but I understood it. Since club girls come and go on a pretty regular basis, we hadn’t had to deal with much drama or many catfights, and if one of our married brothers was stupid enough to fuck around with a club girl and get caught by his ole lady, then he deserved whatever hell she sent his way. As the prez’s ole lady, Lorna held a position of authority with the women affiliated with Los Cuervos. She didn’t often like to pull rank, having never been a fan of needless drama and fighting. I appreciated that about her, and I knew my dad sure as hell did too.
“Well, hun, since you like the snickerdoodles so much, maybe we can make your favorite dessert for family dinner next time?” Ma looked hopefully over at Indigo, her loneliness plain to see.
“If you asked me today, I’d say snickerdoodles are my favorite,” Indigo said with a mouthful of cookie. She swallowed thickly, her pink tongue darting out to lick the crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “Growing up, I wasn’t ever allowed sweets, so I’m not sure yet what my favorite is. Living on the streets and eating out of dumpsters on the regular, I didn’t have a lot of opportunities to sample desserts. People throw away a ton of food, but shockingly enough, not a lot of it is dessert. Go figure.” Indigo shrugged and stuffed another cookie into her mouth.
My mom gave me a look, and I knew yet another person on this compound was about to fall under her thrall. The girl had a knack for endearing herself to people; she was crazy enough to be entertaining but not so crazy she was off putting. Indigo was a heady mix of innocent charm and gritty experience, and I could see my ma forming an attachment to her as we spoke.
“There’s nothing for it then. I guess we’ll just have to bake our way through this cookbook so you can decide which dessert reigns supreme.”
Indi’s eyes grew round as she chewed. “Really? You’d do that with me? I wasn’t being humble when I told you I have absolutely no experience cooking unless you count microwaving burritos. Most people don’t. Count microwaving, I mean. Are you sure you have time with all your first lady duties?”
A smile, small but mighty, spread across my mother’s face. “I have more than enough time. Priest can help you carry this batch up, and I’ll bring the second batch up after it’s cooled. Thank you for visiting with me today, Indigo. I really enjoyed it.” It was hard to reconcile the zombie I found at the kitchen table earlier today with the woman standing before me now. An overwhelming sense of gratitude for the girl I tortured only a few weeks ago washed through me and made my throat feel tight. How did she make Ma smile like that, so easily? More importantly, could she do it again?
Indi helped my ma package cookies for transport, and I stood there like a tool watching them chatter and move about the kitchen. “You two head up to the clubhouse, and I’ll be there soon with the second batch.” I kissed my ma on the cheek and strode forward so I could put my boots back on and hold the front door for Indigo, who waved over her shoulder at Ma.
“See you at dinner, Lorna!” Indigo was all smiles. I couldn’t tell if it was a sugar rush or if it was spending time with my ma, but she practically bounced next to me as we headed back to the clubhouse. “You’re lucky, you know,” she said. “To have a mom like her.”
I nodded. “Ellis and I grew up with two parents who loved us, in a safe home. Things weren’t perfect, but I’ll always be grateful that they gave us that.” Gravel crunched under our boots as we continued our walk back. I could see that the parking lot had started to fill with bikes and vehicles as Los Cuervos family members started to arrive for dinner.
Kids played tag in the scrubby grass and gravel area off to the side of the clubhouse under the watchful eye of a few parents who took the opportunity to chat with each other. Darkness crept in slowly, shadows grew longer beneath the Joshua Trees and creosote bushes as twilight replaced the amber glow of the afternoon sun. As we approached the clubhouse, I gently grabbed Indi’s elbow. “Hey, I, uh…before we go in, I have a question to ask you.”
“If it’s about the snickerdoodles, yes, we have to share.” Indi rolled her eyes and huffed, “Lorna said if we bake it, we have to share it; dessert tastes better with friends or some hippie-dippy crap like that. In my opinion, the only thing that tastes better than one cookie istwocookies.”
I tried and failed to suppress a smile. “No, it’s not about the cookies. I was wondering…how did you get my mom to be more like a person and less like a zombie? I tried to talk to her earlier, but it was like she wasn’t there at all. I want to help her come back to herself.” I kicked a larger piece of gravel farther out into the lot. “I just don’t knowhow.”
Indigo tilted her head back and looked into my eyes like she had been the person with the question and the answers were somewhere within their depths. Licking her lips, searching for any remaining sweetness from her cookies, Indigo gathered her thoughts. “Lorna was sitting in the kitchen, but she wasn’t reallythere. Like, her body was, obviously, because I could see her…but one look at her face, and I knew she had gone away in her mind. I do it too, sometimes.” She shrugged her delicate little shoulders. “When your ‘hereandnow’is too much to bear, you feel like you’re drowning. Slipping away into a happy memory or a fantasy can be like sucking in a deep breath of air before your grief and trauma drag you back under the surface. Lorna…she’s treading water. She’s fighting, but her grief weighs her down.”
“I know she’s disassociating. I’ve tried getting her to talk to a therapist, but she doesn’t want to talk to a stranger. I need to know how you got her to snap out of it.”
“I’ve noticed she likes to sit in the kitchen. I took a gamble and asked her about your sister,” she said. I tried to school my face so the pain that resurfaced every time Ellis was mentioned didn’t show. However, I must be off my game because Indigo reached for my free hand with hers. “I asked her if she taught Ellis to cook, and Lorna told me about how she started baking with Ellis when she was so little she had to push a chair up to the counter so she could reach everything. Lorna said that snickerdoodles were Ellis’s favorite cookie because—”
“Dad told her they were Santa’s favorite kind.” I swallowed harshly and hoped Indigo couldn’t see my eyes water. I’d never live it down if Igot caught holding hands and crying like a little girl. I’d lose all my badass biker points.
“Yeah.” Indigo squeezed my hand once and let go. “I think talking about happy memories with Ellis instead of dwelling on the pain of her loss helped Lorna keep her head above water long enough to rest, even if it’s just for a little while.” Indigo walked a few steps toward the kitchen door before turning back. “People have nothing but wonderful and kind things to say about Ellis, you know. I didn’t get to meet her, but I think I would have really liked her. It’s a sign of a life well lived, I think, to have so many people sing your praises that a complete stranger feels a connection to you and misses a friend they never got to know.” Indigo gave me a sad half smile and turned to walk into the kitchen. Instead of following her inside, I had to take a minute to breathe and collect myself.
I tried to resent the fact that Indigo seemed to know more about helping my mom than I did. I tried to hate that she’d seen me vulnerable and sought to comfort me. I tried to be angry because rage tasted so much better than sorrow. I tried, and Itried… and I failed. Much to my surprise, and quite frankly, relief, I only felt gratitude that Indi helped my mother to smile even if it was only twice. Twice was worth it. It made me wonder what had happened in Indigo’s life to give her such insight in how to cope with grief. I wanted to ask that and so many more questions, but I didn’t feel like I had the right. After the confessionalincident,I wasn’t sure if Indigo would ever answer my questions about her past, nor was I completely confident that I deserved to hear them.
Chapter 22
Indigo
Mondays…cue the eye roll, am I right? Except I didn’t roll my eyes when I thought about Mondays because, for once in my life, I actuallyhada reason to dislike the first day of the workweek…and I kind of loved that. Also, I didn’t have a Monday through Friday workweek since I worked at a bar, and it was open seven days a week. I didn’t care, though. I was so excited to have a real job, an indoor home, and friends that I’d work every day for the rest of my life if it meant I got to keep it all. My time in the basement taught me not to take anything for granted. A few months ago, I lived next to a dumpster and fought Creepy Steve and my garbage kitties for trash snacks. I was Queen of the Alleyway but barely kept myself alive while hiding from Uncle Roark. Now, I had my own room, real human friends, a job, and my best bitch Sheila. From where I sat, life was pretty freaking great right now.
Opening my door, intending to hustle to Sheila so I could spend time with her before Cricket joined me to carpool, I almost stepped on a smallwhite paper bag on the floor. I jerked my foot back and peered at the bag curiously. Hmm... I’d seen people leave bags of dog shit at people’s doors in movies as a prank, but those were usually also lit on fire. This bag was not in flames. Thinking about flames made my mind instantly jump to Pyro and his stupid lighter.
The jackass had tried to be sneaky when I was watching a documentary in the common room the other night and attempted to light my braid on fire. He crept up behind me, unaware that his scent—ripe BO with undertones of lighter fluid and ignorance (aparfum de loserif you will)—tipped me off that I was no longer alone. The softsnickof the lighter had barely reached my ear when I dumped my secret late-night treat, a large frosty glass of Yoo-hoo, directly behind me. My hair, and Pyro’s lower half, were completely drenched in milk chocolatey goodness.
