Indigo- The Complete Series Page 2

  Lucy took the gloves off and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m okay,” she murmured, confused by the experience and her lingering headache. She never got headaches, even after hours of using magnified loupes to analyze the minute details of a work of art.

  “Did you eat anything today?” Greg asked.

  “Um, no. I worked through lunch.”

  “I thought so,” Greg said. “Let’s get some fresh air and something to eat.”

  “Okay.” She still felt a little dazed.

  After eating half of a turkey sandwich, Lucy wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin on the teak wood slat table. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she scanned the gardens surrounding the museum’s patio café. It was midsummer, which meant the garden was an explosion of flowers in full bloom. Tour groups crowded the courtyard and the shouts of children reverberated off the surrounding buildings.

  “What’s on your mind?” Greg asked, pushing his empty plate away. “We’ve finished eating and you’ve barely said a word.”

  She massaged her temples. “I’m sorry. My head still hurts a little.”

  He nodded in sympathy and shook the ice in his glass before taking a final sip of his iced tea. “Any plans for the weekend?”

  “Not really.” She evaded his question, because she didn’t like discussing her limited social life.

  Greg leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. “Don’t tell me you plan on working on your dissertation over the weekend?”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you,” Lucy answered with a smirk. “My parents are hosting Fred Hanson’s retirement party Saturday night. Does that count?” Her parents had been involved in fundraising for the Preston for years. Lucy took pride in the fact she had landed an internship at the prestigious museum without her parents’ influence. And even though her internship was in the education department, she hoped to get a coveted job in the Preston’s research department after completing her Ph.D. in art history.

  Greg snorted. “Spending a Saturday night socializing with the Preston Board of Directors is not what I would call a good time. That’s work stuff. Although,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “you’ll get to meet Edward Pierce.”

  “Have you met him?” Fred Hanson, the former director, was a rigid traditionalist who lacked the vision to guide the Preston into the twenty-first century. The staff hoped Edward Pierce would bring a fresh perspective to the museum.

  Greg shook his head. “No, he’s kind of a mystery. He’s got an East Coast pedigree, but he’s only worked at smaller museums. This will be a big leap for him, so we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Lucy sipped her iced tea.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Greg chuckled. “He’s single.”

  Lucy choked as she swallowed her tea. “Don’t start, Greg.” She coughed, wiping the dribble from her chin. “I don’t need a matchmaker.”

  “And I hear he’s quite handsome.” Greg waggled his eyebrows.

  Lucy picked an ice cube out of her glass and tossed it at him. “You’re as bad as my mother.”

  He dodged the ice cube and changed subjects. “So, the research for your dissertation is almost complete.”

  “Hardly,” Lucy said in a sarcastic voice.

  “Lucy, I check in with your adviser every month. Greg tilted his head, looking up at her. “I know you’ve turned in your outline and drafts of the opening chapters. Ahead of schedule, I might add.”

  Lucy held his gaze. “That’s right. So, what’s your point?”

  Leaning his elbows on the table, Greg said, “You have a promising future, but you push yourself too hard. Trust me, the work will be there, but your personal life might not. Finding a balance between the two is important. I’ve been at the Preston for twenty years. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I love doing research. I have friends and I go out whenever I want to.” This statement wasn’t entirely true. She did love her research but lately she preferred to stay home. “How about you? Do you have any plans this weekend?”

  “Me?” he laughed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I’m a forty-nine-year-old, overweight man who married his college sweetheart. We don’t have an exciting life. When I’m not at work, my wife has a mile-long to-do list and my four boys are involved in baseball. All we do is go to baseball games during the summer.”

  “I bet that’s your idea of fun.”

  “Fun?” Greg laughed and shook his head. “The games are fun, but the amount of driving we do every weekend is ridiculous.”

  “And yet you do it anyway,” Lucy said with a smile.

  “I’m a happily married man and a proud father.” He shrugged and grinned. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.” Greg’s smile faded as he studied her for a few moments. “Seriously, though, what happened when you held the cross?”

  “It was nothing,” she said, looking away. “I hadn’t eaten, and I got a headache, that’s all.” Lucy opened her purse and took out a small bottle of ibuprofen.

  “You fell on the floor, Lucy. You turned white as a sheet and your eyes were wide as saucers.”

  She shook out two tablets and swallowed them with her drink. “I was just deep in thought.”

  “You didn’t look like you were thinking.” Greg’s brow furrowed. “You looked frightened and you were crying.”

  Lucy stared at Greg because she had no idea how to answer his question. She stood, but her legs were shaky. Tucking her purse under her arm, she said, “I should get back to work.”

  “Work,” Greg said, rolling his eyes.

  When they returned to the office, Greg said, “I want you to take the afternoon off.”

  Lucy sat down at her desk, shuffling through a pile of papers, finding it difficult to concentrate on exactly what she was looking for. “I’ve got to finish updating the information for the children’s tours. It’s due next week.”

  “It can wait until tomorrow.” Greg reached over and turned off her computer. He crossed his arms before saying, “Your work here has been excellent. You never refuse an assignment, no matter how small. Your passion and dedication to this museum has been noted. But at this rate, you’ll burn out just as you’re getting started. Go home, get some rest, and start fresh tomorrow.”

  “Really, I’m—”

  “Fine?” he said, finishing the sentence for her. “Go home.”

  Her headache had subsided, but she was still a little frazzled. “Okay. If you insist,” Lucy said, taking her purse.

  “See you tomorrow,” Greg said with a smile as he returned to his desk.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucy

  Lucy was fortunate to have an easy commute to and from the museum, navigating the winding back streets in her old Mercedes-Benz SLK as she arrived at the cottage in Santa Monica. Her great-grandparents bought the property during the 1930s as a family vacation home. At that time, Santa Monica was no more than a sleepy village, but soon the town became a haven for the wealthy and real estate prices soared. But rather than sell the cottage, Lucy’s parents insisted she live there until she finished college.

  After she had parked her car in the carport, she walked up the path to her front door and stopped to inhale the scent of lavender in her small garden. Stepping inside, she looked around at the spotless living room and sighed. Her mother’s cleaning staff had been here today. There was an enormous vase of irises on the coffee table, and even the couch pillows had stylish divots.

  Lucy dropped her purse and computer bag on the couch, walked into the kitchen, and peeked inside the refrigerator. “Mom strikes again,” she muttered. This morning it had been almost empty, but was now brimming with groceries. She opened a bottle of sparkling water, picked up her phone, and called her mother.

  As soon as her mother answered, Lucy grumbled, “Why do you insist on always treating me like a little girl?” Lucy held one of the pillows close to her chest. “I’m almost twenty-f
ive, and even though I’m living rent-free, courtesy of my generous parents, thank you very much, I think I’m capable of keeping the cottage clean and feeding myself.”

  “You have an unpaid internship at the Preston,” her mother said with an irritating huff. “You still need our help.”

  Lucy closed her eyes, hoping for patience. “I have money saved, Mom.”

  “Why do you want a Ph.D.?” her mother sighed. “It keeps you cooped up in that cottage when you should be out meeting and dating men.”

  “We’ve been over this a million times. I want my independence from you and Daddy. Getting this degree is important to me, that’s why I’m using some of Gramps’ trust fund. Maybe I’ll date more when I’m finished, how’s that?” She did want to meet someone one day, but so far no one special had captured her attention.

  Her mother huffed before changing strategy. “Do you like the irises?”

  “You know I do. But, it’s too much. I don’t need you to send your staff to clean my cottage, and I don’t need you to send me flowers.” Lucy’s tone was harsher than she intended. “I’m sorry, Mom. I do appreciate how much you do for me. Let’s not argue, okay?”

  Her mother let out a small sigh and paused for a moment. “Okay. So, why are you home early?”

  “I got a headache.” Lucy rubbed her temple as the last remnants of her throbbing head persisted. “I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Besides, I think you’ve been working too hard.”

  Lucy laughed. “It’s an internship, remember?”

  “Well, maybe it’s too much for you. Listen, tomorrow’s Friday. Why don’t you call in sick and come with me to the spa?” her mother said in a cheerful tone. “It’s been a long time since we’ve spent an entire day together.”

  It was useless to argue. “It sounds wonderful, Mom, but some other time. I’ll get to bed early, and I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “All right. But I’ll hold you to scheduling another spa day.”

  “Good night, Mom,” Lucy muttered.

  “I’ll see you Saturday night. And Lucy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wear your black Carolina Herrera dress to the party.”

  “Fine.” Dressing up in designer gowns was not something she enjoyed. Lucy wasn’t overweight, but she waged a persistent battle to be thin, and these expensive dresses her mother insisted on buying for her emphasized Lucy’s inability to be a size zero. “You’re planning to ambush me with another eligible bachelor, aren’t you?”

  “You never know who you might meet at the party,” she said with a girlish giggle. “I love you. Now go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Good night, Mom. I love you too.”

  Lucy took another sip of water and looked around as she leaned back into the couch. The cottage was small but tastefully furnished with soft yellow-painted walls and white curtains. The original glass window panes rippled as late afternoon sunlight filtered in and filled the room.

  She pulled her computer out and set it up on the dining room table. She had lots of work she could be doing, but she wasn’t motivated to do a thing.

  She jumped when her phone rang. Colleen.

  “Hey,” Lucy answered with a grin.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “What’s up?” Lucy asked, taking a sip of water.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Lucy replied. Did she sound that bad?

  “Lucy Bianchi, I’m your best friend, and I’ve known you since the first day of kindergarten. Now tell me what’s wrong.” As the eldest of five children in a boisterous Irish family, Colleen Murphy had a knack for calling out a lie.

  “It’s nothing.” Lucy sighed, tucking a curl behind an ear. “I was at work this afternoon when the cross arrived. You know the one, right?”

  “Yeah. Is it as beautiful as you expected?”

  “It’s gorgeous. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I had a weird reaction to it. The longer I looked at it, my head hurt, and my vision got blurry.”

  “Did you skip lunch again?” Colleen scolded.

  Lucy set her water bottle down with a grin and changed the subject. “Enough about me. How’s your mom and dad?”

  “He’s doing as well as can be expected after a stroke. His therapy is going well, but my mom gets frustrated at times. I swear every time I see him he looks at me as if it’s his fault I had to drop out of the Ph.D. program to help my mom. Having an M.A. in art history is not as impressive as your Ph.D. will be, but desperate times, etcetera,” Colleen said with a humorless laugh.

  Lucy shifted topics to help get her friend out of her funk. “Tell me about your art appreciation class. Is this group of students easier than last semester?”

  “No,” she whined. “A few students seem interested, but most of them are stoner surf bums, who either don’t come to class or sleep in the back of the room. Right now, I’m trying to avoid grading a stack of critique essays of one of Thomas Kinkade’s cottage paintings.”

  “Kinkade? Isn’t he too kitsch?”

  “I thought it would be an opportunity to apply their critiquing skills and compose glowing essays that tell me how ordinary his paintings are. But guess what? Most of them love his paintings.”

  “Then why did you give them the assignment?” Lucy laughed.

  “It was supposed to be a fun idea. It’s a serious class, but it’s the summer session. I guess it backfired on me.” The sound of papers shuffled in the background. “Do you want to know the scariest thing about this assignment?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think I’m starting to like that damn cozy cottage,” Colleen grumbled. “Well, I better get back to grading.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Colleen said. “We’re going to see Indigo tomorrow night at the Backbeat.”

  Lucy grimaced and then laid her head against the couch and sighed.

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Colleen reprimanded.

  Lucy squeezed her eyes tight. “I’m sorry. Will you be mad at me if I cancel?”

  “Cancel?” Colleen yelled through the phone. “Do you know how hard it was to get these tickets? We’ve been waiting months for this show.”

  “I know. But we’re going to my parents’ party on Saturday night, and I feel like spending an evening at home.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

  “Yeah. But if I go to the party, I have less time to work on my dissertation.”

  “Come on, Lucy,” Colleen said, almost begging. “Break out of that research tower you’ve built for yourself. Let’s go out and have some fun.”

  Knowing that Colleen would never back down, Lucy said, “Okay, I’ll go.”

  “Excellent. Now go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. You never know, you might be out past midnight tomorrow.”

  “No way,” Lucy exclaimed. “If we go to the concert, we do not go clubbing afterward, okay? I really do need some study time.”

  “All right,” Colleen growled. “I’ll bring you home right after the concert.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, Miss Lucy, I promise,” Colleen said.

  “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll pick you up at your place. Oh, and don’t forget to wear the Indigo T-shirt I gave you.” Colleen ended the call before Lucy could reply.

  Lucy tossed her phone on the table. She pulled up the image of the cross and considered it for a few moments. What had happened when she held it? And what about all those fragments of images? Perhaps it was because she hadn’t eaten, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the reason. She turned off her laptop and went to take a shower.

  ***

  Lucy’s sleep was disrupted by a vivid dream in which she was holding the cross, and all those fleeting images flashed before her again. B
ut just like at the museum, it was impossible to focus on any of them. After tossing and turning for hours, she had a nightmare she was held down by her arms and legs. She was unable to see anyone, and she resisted as much as she could, but she couldn’t move and felt utterly helpless.

  She shot up in bed, gasping for air. The window was slightly open, and despite the cool breeze that filled the room, she was covered in sweat. Lucy was disoriented, but as her breathing calmed down, she looked around at her bedroom. Nothing had changed, and yet she could have sworn she had been in a different physical location.

  “What’s the matter with me?” The dream about the cross she could understand because of what happened at the museum yesterday, but the nightmare was particularly disturbing. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. Could the dream be linked to what happened that night years ago? Maybe, but it felt connected to something even more frightening.

  She turned on her phone to see the time. “Great,” she moaned. It was only four thirty in the morning.

  Instead of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Lucy changed into yoga pants and a clean tank top and padded into the kitchen to make some coffee. Sitting down with a steaming mug at the table, she answered a few emails, but stopped because she was having difficulty concentrating as her mind wandered back to her nightmare. She ran her hands through her unruly hair in frustration. The lightening sky caught her eye and for a few minutes she paused to take in the shift from night to day. Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she paid attention to a sunrise and that troubled her. Maybe Greg was right and she was pushing herself too hard.

  Lucy returned her attention to her laptop and opened the first chapter of her dissertation. She should be practical and use this time to finish her edits, but all she could do was stare at the blinking cursor which patiently waited for her to get started.

  Her gaze drifted from the computer screen to look again at the coming sunrise. There was no fog this morning, and a band of violet appeared on the horizon. Lucy’s mouth fell open in wonder at what was certain to be a spectacular sunrise. Without a second thought, she grabbed a hoodie and headed to the beach.