The Tremendous Turmoil of Indigo

Chapter 10

The weekend ended way too soon for Indigo. Friday was a blur. Saturday was a distant memory and Sunday was a dream she wished could be extended. Monday beckoned her early in its arrival, she pulled herself out of the easy comfort of her warm comforter and soft pillows. Being cognizant once more, she remembered the discussions and actions of life that nagged at her mental and tainted the present.

Indigo had a gift that her husband didn't possess. She could hear Zane's cries in the deep clutches of REM sleep. His cry wasn't like the girls. Greer's was rhythmic and dull while Thyme had a wail that could raise a dead man from the grave. Zane's cry was low and hushed like a car engine left running to warm during a wintry morning. She didn't know why she possessed such power to hear him when no one else could; maybe they had a connection since he was delivered while she was unconscious.

She trudged through the dark hallway, tying the ribbon of her silk robe—the first floor was cooler than the second. She jogged up the stairs, picking up on Gambit's sloppy lapping of water from the kitchen.

She walked through the threshold of the room closest to the stairs. The battery-operated owl nightlight cast a dim glow off the muted blue and dark gray room. She was called to the wrought iron crib by a lulling cry like a siren's song to a boat of sailors.

Sleepiness couldn't hide her smile as she lifted Zane in her arms, "Good morning Z-Bear." She whispered, cradling him in her arms as she made her way to the changing table. His cry leveled out to a moan as his big brown eyes stared up at her.

"Let's get this stinky thing off you." She said gently laying him down on the vintage, minimalistic changing table. It was an old chipped piece of furniture they found while helping Tate pick through some things in the rental storage unit his dad kept.

Out of his stripped, fox illustrated onesie Zane's crying started back, his legs kicked wildly, "I know. I know. It's a little airy up here." She knew where the cold air was coming from. Thyme was a hot child, overheating at night and winter was the season that disturbed her rest the most. The churning heater all hours of the day made her restless at night and sometimes she rose from the bed and opened her window.

Indigo's skills at diaper changing would put the best Nascar pit crew to shame. The soiled diaper was off, every trace of poo was gone and the fresh baby was in a new diaper and back in his jammies in less than two minutes.

"That's my baby." She cooed, lifting the one-year-old to her chest. Zane's head fell on her shoulder—he exhaled from his little nose and warmed the crook of her neck. "Is that better?" She patted his cushioned bottom as she crossed the nursery to the little stereo on the night side. She pushed down the hard button to the black boom box that was a Christmas present of hers when she was eleven years old. A robust, soulful voice sliced through the quiet of the room.

Indigo swayed her youngest child as she sang along with the singer wafting her eyes over the mural painting on the wall opposite Zane's crib remembering the time of its creation. A black drawing of an acacia tree one would swear was peel and paste wallpaper spread in the middle of the deep orange wall. Lounging under the umbrella tree with a mane that would be coveted by all in the Serengeti was a lion cub climbing on his back.

"It took me a month to finish." Tate's clear words pulled her eyes from the wall and to him.

"You told me." She turned towards him. The faint brushes of soft eyelashes against her neck, letting her know that Zane was awoken, "A light sleeper just like daddy, uh." She gently moved him from her shoulder back to her cradling arms. Zane's searching eyes glared up at her, "Are you going to stare at me or come in?" Her inquiry wasn't to her son.

Tate leaned against the doorframe flooding his arms over the white t-shirted chest, "I love this view." He exhaled deeply, dropping his sight to the floor briefly. "Are you ready to talk about what's been on your mind since the crawfish boil?"