by Kight, Ruthi
Knotted Roots
By
Ruthi Kight
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Ruthi Kight
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, e-mail [email protected].
ISBN-13: 978-1482782042
ISBN-10: 1482782049
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
SPECIAL THANKS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK AT MICHELLE KNIGHT’S DEBUT NOVEL, “TWISTED SNOW,” RELEASING SUMMER OF 2013!
DEDICATION
I dedicate this book to the two people who have known me the longest: my parents. Dad, you will never know just how much your support means to me. You have lifted me up and made me believe in myself once again. Thank you for all that you have done. Mom, I know you are up in heaven smiling down on me. I miss you every waking moment and I wish that you were by my side right now as my dreams come true. You two are the best parents that a person could ask for. Thank you for always having faith in me, even when I lost faith in myself.
PROLOGUE
Decisions. A part of our lives that we inevitably have to deal with. When we’re kids, our decisions seem simple, until we look back at them later. We wonder what would have happened if we had chosen a different best friend, or a different lunch box, or a different infatuation. As we get older, the decisions become more complex, and the results become more skewed. It’s no wonder that most of us have a hard time sticking to a decision.
My biggest problem at the end of my junior year of high school was which boy I wanted to be seen with in the Hamptons (Carter Raine, of course). Or which designer I wanted to design my summer wardrobe (Michael Kors, no doubt). I had everything planned out, including how each small detail would impact the next. I was a planner. Life needed a plan, sometimes down to the minute.
Imagine my surprise when my whole plan got thrown out the window. My summer plan, my life’s plan, hell, my Monday plan, all of it was trashed in the blink of an eye. My parents made a huge decision for me that day. When it happened, I was pissed. Forget that, I was beyond pissed! I wanted to revolt against them and sneak away to my best friend’s house. I planned to lock myself in her room until they changed their minds. I was prepared.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how life down South could irrevocably change me. I won’t tell you where I ended up, but I will tell you how I got there: I let go of my plans. I stopped living by a calendar and just started living. See, there’s this great thing called spontaneity that I lost somewhere along the way. What I found last summer changed my life, in more ways than one.
CHAPTER ONE
“I want to scream! They are such idiots!” I yelled in frustration. “Why would I want to spend my summer in Podunk South Carolina? I swear! Have they lost their damn minds?”
“Don’t they realize that the summer before senior year is very important to your social standing? If you don’t go to the Hamptons with me you’re going to be a social outcast when you come back,” Amber replied, the anger and frustration evident in the fire of her tone.
Amber had been my best friend since we were in diapers. She always had my back, no matter what injustice I was suffering from at the moment. I could always count on her understanding and knew she would be just as upset as I was. That’s what best friends did, right?
“I tried to tell them that last night! I even told them that I would still be out of their hair if they just let me spend the summer with you and your parents. But they said I needed time away from this world, whatever that means,” I huffed as I slammed my locker shut.
I threw my pink messenger bag over my shoulder, careful not to catch my long, chestnut curls in the strap. At five-foot-nine-inches, I normally towered over Amber, but today she was wearing her heels, which brought us almost to eye level with each other. We had been told our entire lives that we looked like twins, except for the height difference. We both had naturally curly hair, always worn long, with green eyes. Mine were a shade darker than hers, but it was such a minor difference that people rarely noticed. While it may sound nice to have a best friend who looked so much like you that you’re mistaken for twins, it really sucked when you dated someone new. You always wondered if they found your best friend as attractive as you.
We started walking down the almost empty hall, careful not to trip over all of the discarded items strewn about from the many lockers that had been cleaned out. The students of Hucklebee Academy believed themselves to be above cleaning, especially after themselves. When you come from money there was always someone there to clean up after you, so what’s the point?
“Maybe if I go over and talk to them, they will change their minds. I mean, South Carolina? What in the hell are you supposed to do there all summer?” asked Amber, as she side-stepped a large pile of boxes in the middle of the hall.
As we walked amongst our fellow students and friends I couldn’t help but think that next year would be completely different. All of my friends would spend the summer together, attending numerous parties and barbecues in the most exclusive area in New York, while I spent my days suffocating in the humid heat of the South. Would they accept me back next year if I missed all of the social gatherings? What would happen if they didn’t?
I shivered as the thought that my future in the social strata was about to be threatened. “Come with me to the condo. It’s worth a shot, ya know?” I said as we pushed through the large double doors of our private school. The New York heat was breath taking, but I remembered stories from my mother about the heat in her hometown of Perry Point, near Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. She said that you could taste the moisture in the air. The humidity was a tangible being by itself, as it smothered those that dared to spend their summer days outdoors.
She rarely spoke of her life before New York. Before Dad. It wasn’t a secret that her mother, Betty, still lived there, but I had never visited. I barely even knew my grandmother. My mom told me that I had met her when I was almost a year old, but my memories from that age are a little fuzzy. Okay, not fuzzy. More like flat out non-existent.
If she couldn’t stand to even talk about her hometown, then why would she expect me to want to spend my summer there? I never gave much thought to what her life had been before she met Dad, but if her lack of disclosure was any indication, it wasn’t all that wonderful. My rea
l concern was why she expected me to just cancel all of my plans to spend my vacation with a woman I didn’t even know, in a place that she apparently hated? It wasn’t fair, if you asked me. But of course they didn’t, obviously.
As we made our way to my condo we talked about all of the festivities that had been planned for the Hamptons. The annual White Party, of course, was the major hot topic. We had never been invited until this year, so that was definitely a point to make to the parental units. There were numerous barbeques, yacht parties, and luncheons that I couldn’t miss. Apparently my social stratus had not been factored into the equation, a point I intended to rectify as soon as I got home. My reputation would surely plummet if I had to spend three months away from civilization. They couldn’t be that heartless…could they?
* * * *
I heard yelling as we approached the mahogany door that led to the inner sanctum of our home. I looked back at Amber, who was so engrossed in her iPhone that she didn’t seem to notice the ruckus that poured through my front door. I slipped my key into the lock, careful not to make too much noise, and turned the key silently. As I opened the door I heard a loud crash. It sounded like a thousand pieces of glass hit our expensive granite floor. I flung open the door and rushed in, and all thought of a sneak attack flew out the window.
I wasn’t prepared for what greeted me inside. My mother, still in her fluffy pink bathrobe, sat on the blood red sofa, her face cradled in her hands. My father, his face red with anger, stood over her, and his hands shook as he appeared ready to attack.
“Dad! What is going on?” I yelled as I threw my bag on the floor. I rushed to my mother and sat down beside her, and I began to run my hands up and down her back. “Mom, are you okay? Why aren’t you dressed?”
“Roxie, this is between your mother and myself. Please take your friend and go to your room,” Dad said as he tried to slow his breathing and calm down.
“Um...I think I’m going to head home. Call me later Rox,” replied Amber as she quickly shuffled out the front door. The door slammed as she rushed out, the sound echoed through the now silent house. I looked up at Dad and noticed that the veins in his forehead were bulging again. I hadn’t seen him this angry since the Visa bill came in the mail last month.
“What’s going on? Did Mom do some more retail therapy today? ‘Cause she told me that she was going out to buy me some new clothes for my forced vacation to the armpit of the south,” I asked, as I hoped my lie would help to diffuse the situation between them.
“Roxie, this has nothing to do with you, or shopping. Go ahead Cal, tell her. I’m sure you are just dying to smear my name some more,” Mom stood and pulled her bathrobe closed around her small frame. She looked more fragile than normal. The bones in her hands appeared as if covered in a film instead of thousands of layers of muscle and skin.
“Leave her out of this Angela. This isn’t the time or the place to tell her,” replied Dad. The air crackled between the two people in this world who meant the most to me. Evidently this was much bigger than a simple shopping spree.
“What’s going on? Please tell me! Does this have to do with why I’m being shipped off to Grandma Betty’s for the summer?” I asked, as tears threatened to explode from beneath my lashes. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew that I had hit the nail on the proverbial head. I glanced from one to the other, twin looks of guilt on their faces in full view. I crossed my arms dramatically and tapped my foot, just in case they didn’t already know that I was seriously fed up with their crap.
“Roxie, your mother and I have something that we need to discuss with you. We wanted to wait until after the summer, but it seems that’s not possible now,” he paused and drew a deep breath. “Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”
Have you ever been sucker punched? Like the air has been physically forced out of your body? That would be exactly how I felt at that moment. I couldn’t breathe and my mind decided to take a vacation to la-la land at the same time. The only thing I could do was to stare at them both, suddenly unsure who the hell they were. My parents would never get divorced. My parents were perfect for each other. All of my friends wished their parents were as cool as mine, so how in the hell could something like this happen? People don’t envy dysfunctional, do they?
“Di...di...vorced?” I stammered. The word felt foreign on my tongue. “But...I’m so confused. Why?”
My dad heaved a huge sigh as he prepared to answer. “There are just some things that are left alone for now sweetheart. This is one of those instances.”
“I have a right to know Dad.”
His gaze shifted to my mother as his eyebrows drew up in question. “Care to explain to our daughter why we’re getting a divorce? I mean, this is your doing, after all.”
I looked at my mother’s face and noticed for the first time that her light blue eyes no longer shined. There were more wrinkles than I remembered seeing a few weeks ago. She wouldn’t look up to meet my father’s gaze. Her delicate hands wrapped around a crumpled tissue as she stared down at her bare feet.
“Mom? What’s going on? You guys are scaring me,” I said before I put my hand on hers. Her skin felt dry and rough. Someone desperately needed to moisturize.
“It’s...complicated baby,” she replied. “I’m so...sorry... you had to find out like this.”
“Complicated? How complicated can it be?” When she didn’t meet my eyes I turned to face my dad’s intense glare, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. I stood and faced him. “Tell me. I can handle it.”
He looked down at me and tried to smile, but all he managed to do was grimace. “Your mother and I...well...we no longer feel...we no longer feel the same way that we once did.” He paused briefly and looked over my shoulder at my mother. He returned his attention to me and continued, “We are... no longer in love. That happens sometimes.”
“How do you just fall out of love? That’s ridiculous! You don’t just stop loving someone like that,” I said as I snapped my fingers.
“Cal...Just tell her. No sense in lying to her.” My mother’s voice was thick with tears, but I couldn’t bear to look at her. I kept my eyes focused on my dad. He had always been the stable one, my rock, in this world.
“No. If you want her to know, then you tell her. It’s your dirty little secret.” He spat the words out as if they left a rancid taste in his mouth.
I looked between them, no longer sure of who these people were. The venom that spewed from my father’s mouth scared me, but it was the pain in his eyes that gripped my heart. Did I really want to know what had happened in their relationship to get to this point? Only part of my heart could answer that question with a definitive yes.
“I’m not doing this,” my mother said, as she jumped up from the couch. She tied her robe tightly around her body and squared her shoulders. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. This is over, so let’s just drop it.” She spun on her heel and stormed away from us.
I heard the door at the end of the hall slam. She had closeted herself in their room again. There was no telling when she would resurface, and I had no idea if she would stay here or not. My heart sputtered at the thought of waking up without either one of them here, in our home. I couldn’t stand any longer. My knees were weak from shaking. I collapsed on the couch that my mother recently vacated.
My dad fell to his knees in front of me, his rough hands grasped mine, and engulfed them in warmth. “We wanted to wait. I wanted to wait...I’m so sorry baby. Guess this is another thing we have failed at.”
My ears were set ablaze at his pitiful words. This was NOT the man who had raised me. The man who had taught me to be strong-willed and opinionated. The one who told me to never say sorry unless I truly meant it. And even then he claimed it was a sign of weakness. Yet, here he sat as he wallowed in his own pity. No. I couldn’t deal with that side of him.
I ripped my hands away and jumped to my feet as I backed away from him and his neediness. “How dare you,” I growl
ed. “My entire life you told me not to show weakness. Not to let someone else control how I felt. And yet here you are. Pathetic.” I ran away, down the long hall to my room at the end. I slammed the door, hard enough the framed pictures on my walls shuddered under the impact.
I rushed to my bed and threw myself down, the tears that had threatened from the start slid down my cheeks. No heavy sobs escaped, just whimpers. I could not allow great, heaving sobs to escape my body. I could not be weak like my parents. If they couldn’t make a relationship work, well that was their problem. But I wanted nothing to do with any of it. The thought of leaving home scared me, but at this point anything was better than being here.
I hadn’t seen my Grandma since I was a year old. Would she even recognize me now? Would she care?
CHAPTER TWO
The drive to the airport was tense. I could feel the anger as it rolled off of both of my parents as they pretended to be civil for my benefit. Did they seriously think they could fool me? I had heard their yelling every night for the last week as they drove that wedge even further between themselves. I knew that the smiles on their faces were fake, as well as the breezy tone that they each used when they addressed each other. Their act was causing me to become angrier as we moved through traffic to reach the airport. I decided to text Amber again and hoped that she would respond this time.
Where were u? U were supposed 2 come say goodbye this morning. I stared at the phone after the text went through. This was the fifth time I had texted her since last night, and hadn’t received a response. I knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t respond, but I couldn’t help but keep trying. She was supposed to be my best friend, so why hadn’t she responded? Why hadn’t she been there this morning to say goodbye? That’s what best friends did, right?
“Mom, did you remember to call Grandma Betty and remind her when my flight would land? I don’t want to be sitting there all day waiting.” I knew she had, but I wanted to be absolutely sure. Plus, it was a way to get her to talk; hopefully it would break the tension that surrounded them both.
