CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 16
Ian drove straight from the session with Connor to the town’s main supermarket. He could have ordered another meal from Castaways, but he wanted to show a bit more imagination. The way Kari had spoken this newcomer’s name, Indrid Anand, suggested a special bond. He bought the deli’s own kiln-smoked salmon and fresh-baked bread. At the bottle shop next door, he selected a pair of California whites and added a bottle of French champagne. He then walked down to a Lebanese restaurant that anchored the outdoor mall’s far corner, and ordered traditional meze, a myriad of small dishes. He hoped Kari and her guest would approve.
Back home he put the wines in the fridge and the bread and the meze in the oven to warm. He mixed together a cabbage salad with mayonnaise, lemon, and a hint of horseradish, then hurried into the bedroom to shower and change. He returned and spent a few minutes cleaning the front room before the doorbell rang.
Kari arrived bearing flowers and a very nervous air. Her guest, however, was something else entirely. Indrid Anand was a rather small woman and held herself impossibly erect. Ian guessed her age at midsixties, but he could have been off by a decade either way. Her dark hair was laced with silver; her eyes were piercingly alert. She accepted Ian’s welcome with solemn grace, inspected him a long moment, then stood in the stubby foyer and swept her gaze over the living-dining area.
She declared, “This is a woman’s home.”
“My late aunt’s,” Ian replied.
“A woman of taste and heart,” she said, nodding approval. “She was close to you?”
“The only real family I ever had.”
Indrid’s gaze rested on the framed poster of Ian, a promo shot for his second album. “And you cared for her as she did you?”
“So much.”
“I am sure you were both enriched as a result.”
“We were, yes.” Ian assumed the formal air he adopted before his European events. “Please. You are both most welcome.”
The meal flowed from there. Any awkward moments that might have arisen between Ian and Kari were avoided by them making Indrid the focus of their attention. Just the same, they shared a few intense glances, along with small smiles and occasional comments. As Ian removed the first course, he caught a glimpse of Indrid nodding approval to her friend.
Toward the end of their second course, Indrid asked about his aunt. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to Ian to describe the role she had played in his life. Which led naturally to why he was here at all. In Miramar. Trying to find his way back.
Indrid proved an excellent listener. Neither by word nor gesture, but rather with a stillness and intensity. He genuinely liked speaking openly with this woman. Even when it hurt to confess, even when he wondered if he was dominating the conversation, and perhaps pushing Kari away again. Even then.
When he finally went silent, Indrid responded by murmuring, “Good. Very good indeed.”
The words propelled him from the table. “I would call my situation anything but.”
“You misunderstand me.” Indrid rose with him, and Kari followed. Together they began the process of clearing the table. “Of course, I am sorry for the distress you’ve faced over these many months. But to have arrived at this point, and to know you are there, this is a singular achievement.”
Ian would have said the kitchen was too small for the three of them. Yet here they were, moving in sync, the ladies loading the dishwasher while he made coffee. “Achievement.”
“Indeed so. Very few artists ever realize this wall you’re confronting even exists.”
It seemed his role now was to repeat each key term. “The wall.”
Indrid closed the dishwasher and leaned against the counter. “This awareness is quite rare, especially with someone at your level of fame. You understand?”
“I’m trying.”
“The temptation is to remain willfully blind. Most artists glimpse the internal storm, and they flee. They rush into whatever comes next, the concert, the photo op, the drugs, the . . . whatever. You must have recognized this, no?”
He was glad for the need to pull out cups and saucers, retrieve milk from the fridge, anything to avoid meeting the woman’s dark gaze. “Why does it make me feel so ashamed to admit that?”
“Because you are being honest and open both. And doing so with a stranger. For which I am indeed grateful.”
He stared at the coffee maker, intensely aware of the women now standing to either side. “Sometimes I wish I had done just that. Run into the next big thing.”
“But you didn’t. And your task now is to accept that you are strong enough to be aware. To face this struggle. Accept it as both real and vital.” Indrid tapped one long fingernail on the back of his wrist in time to her words. “This is an opportunity. Your spirit is telling you, you have taken this previous course as far as you possibly can. Now it is time for the next challenge.”
“That absolutely terrifies me,” he confessed.
“I am sure it does. But you are taking the right steps. Forging ahead. Making your way through the wall.”
Ian poured them coffees and indicated the sugar and milk. He did not bother making one for himself. Just then, his stomach would not have taken it well. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because, young man, I have witnessed this struggle before. Not often. But enough to see the signs of success in you and your words.” She accepted her cup and moved back to the table. When Kari joined her, Indrid went on, “I often wonder if this is perhaps why so many artists die young. They’d do anything rather than take this dread step, examine themselves honestly. They seek a way to flee altogether.”
Ian remained standing. “What do I do now?”
“Precisely what you are currently doing. Accept the quest.” She patted the table by his empty chair. Only when he was seated did she continue. “Simply because you can’t see the road ahead, this does not grant you a reason to stop walking. You understand what I am saying?”
A big breath, then, “Can we talk again?”
“My dear young man.” Her smile took in the two other people at the table. “It would be a distinct honor to share this journey with you.”