Page 132 of Creeping Beautiful

But she put the dress on early too. A birthday dress.

It was a gift I had been giving her since she turned eleven. I think it was maybe McKay’s idea, at first. But it became my thing over the years.

He and I were still trying to understand this girl and how best to raise her up to be able to do the things the Company was asking her to do, but also the things we’d want her to do, if we ever did manage to take the Company down.

And yes. She was my weapon. But I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted her to be as well-adjusted as she could. Live a nice, almost-normal life in between jobs.

It was hard. I’m not gonna lie. It was very hard. McKay had brothers, but he was the youngest. Population control was something the Company took seriously so the how the McKay family got three boys, I never did understand. Nor did I ask. Probably should’ve. But it didn’t matter in the end. McKay’s whole family was killed when the Company fell. Gun dealers were one of the first targets. Supply chain and all that. But that wasn’t the only reason they were first on the list.

Anyway. Back to the dress and the cupcakes…

Everything about that day was weird from the start. Indie’s birthday was a big deal for us, as well as her. Ten was young by anyone’s standards. A ten-year-old wasn’t much use in our line of work. A smart, capable twelve-year-old like Sasha Cherlin—that was something else entirely. But Indie was no Sasha. She would never be Sasha. Sasha’s father took very good care of her from day one. I wouldn’t go so far to call that man one of the good guys, because he went along just like everyone else and Sasha was dragged into this fucked-up life by his actions, but he did his best and his best was damn good.

Indie, on the other hand, didn’t have that kind of upbringing until she came to live with us. And the first year was mostly us trying to calm her down. Tame her into something that resembled a child. So we did holidays right and by the time her eleventh birthday rolled around she was making good progress.

McKay was planning a party. He wanted something special because we couldn’t do anything big. She didn’t go to school so her only friend was Nathan.

Back then we were much more tolerant of Nathan. He was a very good influence on her in those days.

We came up with this idea that her birthday would be a garden party in the pavilion, which had quickly become her favorite place once McKay was done building it. She would lie on that swing all summer long in the evenings after dinner.

I hired a seamstress to make Indie a special dress for her birthday. And every year we would dress up and have a nice dinner outside. Then we would go down to the lake and float candle boats across the water and send paper lanterns up into the sky.

It was quite magical, even for a cynic like me.

Her twentieth birthday would mark the tenth time we had this little celebration and I’m sure she was excited about it. Maggie was there and she had a special dress too. One made from the same fabric as Indie’s.

But this was a nighttime thing. We didn’t do it in the morning. And Indie never baked anything for her birthday. McKay always bought a cake from a bakery a few towns over. I can’t recall a single time we had cupcakes.

So I should’ve known.

Everything we did for Indie was based on consistency. That was why she had to be home for dinner every night. That was why she had to go to church every Sunday. That was why she had a bedtime and a ritual to go with it.

Same was good. She did well with same. She needed a routine. We made her wake up at the same time every day, even on the weekends. We made her do her lessons at the same time every day. This was how we kept her in check and maintained control.

And everything about her twentieth birthday was… different.

She woke up earlier than usual. And I don’t know why I woke up. Maybe it was the sweet smell of baking cake that drew me up from sleep, or maybe it was Maggie’s laugh drifting up the stairs.

I threw the covers off and got out of bed, not even bothering to put a shirt on. When I opened my door, I saw Donovan sleeping in his room. I don’t know why that guy doesn’t close his bedroom door when he sleeps, but he doesn’t. It’s weird, I think. To sleep with your bedroom door open. But whatever.

I rapped on his door. “Get up. Indie’s already downstairs.” And then I went down the hallway to McKay’s room. His door was closed, but not locked. So I opened it up and paused for a moment.

He was sprawled out diagonally across the mattress with the covers all twisted up in his legs. Face buried in his pillow, hands underneath.

“Get up, McKay. Indie’s downstairs cooking or something. She’s trying to start this day without us.”

He moaned and rolled over. And I waited. Because he wasn’t wearing a shirt either and for a dude, McKay was kinda nice to look at. I have been wishing for that man’s abs for as long as I could remember. He had like a… twenty-four pack. And that fucking asshole didn’t hit the weights half as hard as I did.

But he made me smile. McKay kept everyone happy around here. Not just Indie.

He cracked one eye and looked at me, his face all lopsided from the effort. “What?”

“Get up. She’s downstairs doing something in the kitchen. Can’t you smell it?”

He made a big production of sniffing, then turned back over. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

I was just about to head downstairs when I noticed Indie’s room. She had the smallest bedroom on the second floor. There were lots of other bedrooms in the house. Two on the west side on the first floor. We didn’t really use that wing. And then another one up on the third-floor attic. We didn’t use that space, either. So when Maggie was born she just moved into Indie’s room. We put the crib along the longest wall where there was no window. And she had just recently grown out of that so now she had one of those little toddler beds. I didn’t even know that was a thing until a couple months ago when McKay and Indie came home with it.