In the Wind
by Lilliana Anderson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2016, Lilliana Anderson
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various places/products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission and is by no way sponsored by the trademark owners.
SYNOPSIS
New Adult romance, for 18+ only due to sexual content and adult themes
A storm raged the day she moved to our small town on the east coast of Australia. When we saw her, she was staring up at the sky with her arms outstretched, letting the torrential rain pour down on her as she laughed and spun around with absolute abandonment. Zeke and I watched her, mesmerised, until she spotted us and went still. It was that moment that everything changed for us. Up until that moment, Zeke and I were best friends - it was all we’d ever been, even though I’d always wanted more. Shea changed all that when she moved into the house next door.
If there was such a thing as magic then Shea held its source. She was light and laughter and everything everyone ever wished they could be. We were spellbound. Awestruck. Desperate to bathe in her light.
She would teach us about life. She would show us what was really inside our hearts, while forcing us to see the world through her free-spirited eyes.
She would teach us about love.
She would teach us about heartache.
She would teach us about loss on the day she disappeared…
She always said that one day she’d follow the wind again. Perhaps that’s what happened, perhaps that’s where she went - in the wind…
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Disclaimer
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5
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8
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28
Epilogue
THE END
Books by Lilliana Anderson
About the Author
1
Screens.
They were forever in hands.
Smartphones.
Everyone I knew spent the majority of their life looking at one. It was a wonder they bothered with windows at all anymore. We could black them all out and no one would notice. They’d simply sit in their darkened boxes, staring at glowing screens and swear they were ‘connected’.
Except me. I was probably the only eighteen-year-old girl in existence who chose not to own a phone. If you wanted to talk to me, you’d have to do it the old fashioned way – face to face.
I lifted my eyes to the charged air as the lights flickered and thunder rolled around us like a discontented beast.
“How can you keep staring at that when there’s a magnificent storm happening off the coast?” I glanced at my best – and probably my only – friend, Zeke, who kept his dark head bowed as he shrugged his shoulders and continued scrolling through his Instagram feed, pausing occasionally to look more closely at photos from whichever busty model type or band member he’d chosen to follow recently.
Instagram made him the ultimate voyeur.
“You can get struck by lightning through a window, you know,” he pointed out, his head still down, his thumbs still scrolling.
“Where’d you learn that? YouTube?”
He grinned, glancing up at me for the first time through his too long dark hair. It hung down past his liquid black eyes as he peered through the soft falling strands. His gaze was positively heart stopping.
“Probably,” he admitted.
Returning my attention to the window, I watched as rivulets of water streaked down the glass as the rain continued to beat down. It was torrential, as if someone was standing on the roof and spraying a hose on the world as opposed to the clouds leaking their usual shower of liquid. Out on the ocean, flashes appeared in the dark sky, cracking the horizon in zigzag patterns that lit up the water, creating colour where there seemed to be none before.
Blue. Purple. Silver.
“Seriously, Zeke, come and see this. It’s like the gods are at war.”
Conceding, he set his phone to the side and climbed off my bed. Coming to sit beside me, he folded his long jean-clad legs knee first on the window seat I’d been occupying and pressed his face up against the glass.
Flash. Pause. Boom.
I smiled, caught up in the magnificence of Nature’s wrath then clutched his muscular forearm as I spoke in hushed awe. “Did you see that?”
He didn’t respond, and I turned my head, noticing he wasn’t even looking out to the ocean like I was.
“Dawn?” He said my name as a question, his voice sounding preoccupied as he leaned closer to the window, his gaze lower than mine. “Who is that?”
Leaning closer to him, I followed his line of sight and saw movement in front of the house next door. It had been vacant for most of the year. Its previous occupant was an elderly lady by the name of Joan. But, her family had moved her into a nursing home and put the house up for sale when she’d fallen and cut her head open on the edge of the stairs. It wasn’t anything terrible, but her family thought it best to keep her under constant guard. So, off she went, never to be seen again. It was sad because I liked her. She baked ANZAC biscuits for me and loved to talk about the Golden age of cinema, which was something I was in love with too. It had been an odd combination – an old lady and a teenage girl – but, I’d really enjoyed visiting her. It felt odd seeing someone moving into her house.
“Looks like we’re getting a new neighbour,” I stated, watching as moving van rattled to a stop out front.
“Do you think it’s just a summer person?”
We watched as two men rushed through the storm and began to unload furniture protect by sheets of plastic, carrying a long couch up the path to disappear into the soft yellow glow of the house.
“No. I think they’re moving in.”
Flash. Pause. Boom.
A few feet away from the moving van, in the centre of the lawn, a girl twirled about like a child. With a smile on her face, she tilted her head back and let the rain thump against her skin, her hands above her head as her long saturated hair flicked about her like a windmill. Spinning. Spinning. Laughing. Laughing.
Zeke and I pressed our heads together. Watching. Watching. It was hard to tell from this distance, but she appeared to be our age, which is what made the sight that much more wondrous. Most eighteen-year-olds did everything they could to behave like an adult in order to be taken more seriously, and here was one who obviously didn’t give a fuck about being taken seriously at all.
As we continued to watch, it was as if we held a collective breath, afraid that if we made any sort of noise the spell would be broken, and the girl on the grass below, who looked like freedom itself, would be gone.
“Who do you think she is?” Zeke whispered, his voice filled with wonder as he continued to stare. Transfixed.
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“I have no idea.”
Turning my head, I allowed my breath to exhale as I took in the expression on Zeke’s face. The way he watched her. They way he looked at her. Zeke and I had been friends since he moved in across the street in second grade. And in all that time, he’d never looked at me the way he looked at her in that moment.
Reaching up, I tucked a stray lock of my dyed black hair behind my ear and tried to ignore the pang in my chest as I forced my eyes away from Zeke and down to the twirling girl. Even I had to admit that she was quite magnificent, like a breath of fresh air in our small seaside town.
When she suddenly stopped twirling, she looked up at us, somehow sensing our eyes. She smiled then gestured for us to join her.
“I’m going to say ‘hi’.” Zeke scrambled off the window seat and was out the door in a streak of denim and faded red from his t-shirt. He’d moved faster than I’d ever seen him move to get to her. When I looked back at the girl, she was still looking up at me, seemingly unbothered by the rain and wind lashing about her face. She cocked her head to the side – a curious creature – and kept her eyes on mine. She had light eyes. I could see that even in the dim light of the storm and from the second floor of my family home. I lifted my hand, and I waved – just a small wave, barely even a finger wiggle. In return, the girl beamed, took a hold of her dress in one hand then spun around in sheer abandonment. She had so much joy inside her that I couldn’t help but smile back.
She stopped spinning when Zeke stepped out in to the rain with her, and she waited until he walked toward her. They spoke. They smiled. She held out her hand.
I stepped away from the window. I didn’t want to see anymore.
***
On the Eastern edge of Australia, tucked away between the headlands, is a picturesque suburb of less than fifteen hundred people called Hargrave Cove. Unless you live in the area, you’d have no idea we existed, for we’re hidden on the edge of a national park in the Illawarra region. The winding road you’d drive along to get to us is so steep that you feel sure you’re imminent death is just around the corner. It’s enough to turn many away. But, those who brave the treacherous drive become addicted to our shores, wishing they could live here, coming back time and time again to our pocket of paradise.
To cater for the summer tourists, we have a sprinkling of bed and breakfast establishments, one hotel, a caravan park, countless holiday rentals to cater to the high demand, and typical to most Australian towns, more pubs than one town really needed. But, Aussies love to drink, so all of them have managed to stay in business over the years – even in the quiet season.
Our homes are built on the edge of two hills that create a windbreak against everything but a direct headwind, and the wildest of summer storms.
They say Hargrave Cove is the kind of place postcards are made of. The sand is white. The water is clear. And almost every window has a sea view.
It’s the kind of place those living outside of Australia dream about. It’s also the kind of place most Australian’s dream of as well.
Unless of course, you’re me, and you’ve lived here all your life and have never, ever fit into the seaside way of doing things. I couldn’t wait to leave.
This summer would herald my final months of failing to fit into the sun and surf culture of Hargrave Cove. Zeke and I had graduated high school only weeks before, and with our university acceptance letters on the way, we were so close to saying goodbye to this place and starting a whole new life in the city where there was more than sand and pubs to offer, and the people actually wore shoes. Finally, our social life wouldn’t revolve around the tiny group of kids from our high school, drinking cheap beer and cask wine while passing a joint around a bonfire, thinking the epitome of cool was knowing all the lyrics to Nirvana’s greatest hits. It was all so lame. I was so over it. I couldn’t wait for Hargrave Cove to be nothing more than an introductory page in ‘The History of Dawn Tucker’ – I was destined for bigger things than bonfires and surfing. I felt it in my bones, and while Zeke and I sat on the outskirts of popularity, we had planned our future, far, far away from here.
This was just the beginning…
2
“Dawn!” My eyes cracked open when mother called my name from downstairs. “Dawn!”
I rolled to the side, peeking out from under the bed sheet as daylight assaulted my eyes. What time was it? A quick glance at the old fashioned alarm clock – one of those brass ones with the bells on top – that sat on the white built in shelves on the wall furthest from my bed, informed me that it was only eight in the morning.
“It’s holidays!” I yelled, pulling my sheet back over my head. It was way too early to be up. What the hell was she even doing up? Normally she was passed out in bed until lunchtime after yet another desperate date from some guy she met online.
“Come downstairs, petal.” Petal. She only said it when she was trying to be nice to me. She’d started calling me that when I was young. I remember her sitting me in front of her dressing table mirror and brushing my golden hair, telling me I was going to grow up to be a beautiful rose, just like she was. Would you like that? she’d ask, Would you like to be as pretty as mummy? I’d nod enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than to grow up and become as beautiful as my mother. But, as I grew, my lack of popularity confused her, my hair was thick and didn’t hold much of a style, and my face never became quite as pretty as hers. I had a pointy chin and a dimple in one cheek that never completely vanished, my dark blue eyes were too big, and my lips were too full. I looked odd while she looked like a model, and really, at close to fifty, she still does. Her frustration with me grew when the more she tried to change me – to fix me – the more I pushed back, until I didn’t really look like her daughter at all. I became a black haired rockabilly version of someone she didn’t even know – someone she didn’t want to know. Perhaps my looks reminded her too much of my father. I didn’t know. I just knew I’d disappointed her. She hadn’t been expecting to have a daughter with brains.
“You have a visitor, Dawn.”
I sat up. A visitor? Besides Zeke, no one visited me. And Zeke would have just come straight up to my room.
Pulling the sheet off my body, I stood up and straightened my nightgown before running my hands through my knotted black hair, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I trotted down the cool wooden staircase.
“Hi there.” That girl from last night greeted me from where she stood in the entry hall. With her hair dry, she looked like summer itself. I felt as though I paled in comparison to her natural beauty and even felt a slight jolt of jealousy when I noted my mother looking at her in admiration.
This is what she wanted, I thought. This is the kind of daughter she’d wished for. Not me.
Like this girl, I was born a natural blonde, but mine didn’t stay that way, and by the time I was thirteen, it had become that dark caramel colour that needed to be lightened so it didn’t look mousy. That’s what my mother had said anyway. Eventually, and much to my mother’s dismay, I chose to dye it black to match my constant mood. It was more fitting, and I thought it made my dark blue eyes pop more and set me apart from everyone else’s idea of beauty in this town. As I grew and came to except that I was different, I found it helped that I looked different as well. It served as somewhat of a warning to those who thought I cared.
So, while my hair colour now came from a bottle, this girl’s waist length hair was every shade of blonde there was, and you could tell there was nothing artificial about it as it fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and golden, indicating she spent way more time outdoors than indoors, and on her face, she wore zero make up, had eyes the colour of the clearest part of the ocean. Her smile was white, her teeth naturally straight. She was tall – close to six foot, and she was slim without being skinny. She was exactly the kind of person Hargrave Cove wanted. She’d fit in perfectly here. I wasn’t sure what she’d want with me.
“Can I help you with somethin
g?”
She extended her hand. “I’m Shea. We met last night. Well…” She laughed. It sounded like the tinkling of bells. I narrowed my eyes. “We kind of met anyway. I was the girl spinning in the rain.”
“I remember. And now you’re the girl standing in my entryway. Is there something you wanted? Zeke isn’t here.” I don’t know if it was the fact Zeke ran to her so willingly the night before, or the fact she looked like the boho version of every girl who never had any time for me. But I wanted her to go.
Another smile. She didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care that I was trying to dismiss her. “I was looking for you. Since I just moved to the area and we’re neighbours and all, I was hoping you’d show me around.”
I lifted my arm and pointed lazy out the window. “The beach is there. The surf club is there. The shops run along Beach St. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”
“Dawn,” my mother interrupted. “Why don’t you take Shea out and show her what you kids like to do. It will do you good to get some sun.”
I looked down at my own pale complexion, kept that way with copious amounts of sunscreen and a penchant for sitting in the shade. “Eighteen is an adult, mum. I’m not a kid anymore.”
My mother waved off my comment with an exaggerated eye roll. She’d obviously slept with her makeup on and had mascara smudges under her eyes. How embarrassing. Sometimes I wondered which of the two of us were the adult in this relationship. Ever since my dad moved out to pursue a relationship with a dental nurse named, Missy, she had reverted back to a flirtatious teen. I couldn’t even tell you the amount of men she’d met online and had a one-night stand with. I’d lost count and stopped listening when she talked about it. My input was to make sure she always had plenty of condoms in her purse. However, even that had come at a price. Someone at the local pharmacy had noticed my regular transaction, and as a result, I spent the last year branded as a slut. Thanks, mum.
In the Wind Page 1
