Free Indigo by Gina Linko

way. It was right bumpy. A long ride in the back of our truck. Anyways, we got to the hospital and Clara’s wrist was completely healed. Those medical doctors done looked at me and Dodge like we was crazy.”
    “Huh,” Mom said. No one spoke for a long moment. Finally, Mom asked what I was thinking. “Were there other times?” Her voice was respectful, not necessarily believing.
    “Oh sure,” Mrs. Twopenny said. I was thinking of the crawdad. Of Rennick. “Ruth couldn’t always fix things. Didn’t know exactly how it all worked, could only do it when she saw blue, never did quite know what that meant but …” Mrs. Twopenny’s voice got very small now.
    My mouth fell open. I dropped the pencil. She saw blue .
    “Our old reverend called her a witch,” she whispered.
    Mom said something. Something about how God works in mysterious ways, but I didn’t hear it.
    I rewound the tape, listened to it again, and then I let itplay out. Mrs. Twopenny talked at length about her daughters, her life, and it was interesting, but no more talk of the touch. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Saw blue. The touch.
    And then, near the end of the tape, she talked about her grandsons. Two of them.
    Cale and Rennick.
    It was easier to track him down than I thought it would be.
    Holly, one of Mom’s favorite nurses, answered the phone at Chartrain. “Does Mrs. Twopenny have a grandson that’s my age?”
    “Yes. Rennick. He lives with his grandfather, Mrs. Twopenny’s husband. Why?” Holly sounded like she had maybe said too much. I knew there was always the patient confidentiality stuff.
    “Nothing, Holly. Thanks.”
    I used Mom’s laptop, found the Twopenny house.
    And even though I knew that it would be easier to call him, I didn’t want to. I had to do this in person. This was too huge. He knew stuff. Major amounts of stuff. I was convinced of that now. His mother had the touch, or whatever you wanted to call my curse.
    I started up my mom’s minivan, glancing behind me at the empty seat that Sophie used to ride in. She used to love to sing in the backseat of the car. Mom and Sophie had had this ridiculous fascination with all things Elvis. I couldpicture Sophie singing along with him in her car seat—her high little voice teetering over the lyrics of “Jailhouse Rock.” I sighed and typed Rennick’s address into Mom’s GPS.
    I found the Twopenny house easily. It was out in the country, past the Garden District, near the Audubon Zoo in the woodsy part near Lake Calhoun. The road had ancient live oaks lining each side of it, bending toward each other in a canopy of kudzu. The street turned from pavement, to gravel, to really just a worn path, and then I could see a cluster of four houses ahead at the end of the lonely cul-de-sac. The Twopenny house was small, painted an obnoxious yellow, but it looked well maintained, happy, if that’s possible. And it was nestled right at the edge of the lake.
    I walked up the white-painted porch steps and knocked three times on the door. No answer. I hadn’t been counting on this. I took a deep breath and knocked again. Nothing.
    But I knew that I couldn’t just leave. I would lose my nerve, and he knew things. I had too much to talk to him about. Too much to ask. Too much that mattered.
    I sat down on the porch steps and decided to wait. It was hot and clammy out, but the porch offered a little bit of protection from the sun. I cracked my knuckles and waited, making a mental list of what I had to ask him.
    Your mother had the touch?
    How can I control it?
    What is it?
    Who else do you know who has the touch?
    How do you know it’s electrical?
    I got up, brushed off the seat of my shorts, and walked along the side of the house, peered into the backyard. The far side of the property backed right up to the lake, with a small patch of woods to the west. A gorgeous little arbor sat down near the lake, with an old-fashioned swing hanging from it, magnolias creeping up on all