This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Ripple
Copyright © 2013 by L.D. Cedergreen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author/publisher.
Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., www.gobookcoverdesign.com
ISBN-13: 978-0-9893783-0-07
For Melissa
Prologue
I stood at the cold dark water’s edge, my reflection staring back at me from the glasslike surface. The reflection of a girl that I no longer knew. I breathed in the overwhelming scent of pine and recognized the tranquility that surrounded me. The soft hum of the city in the distance, the echo of an eagle’s cry overhead, the steady drum of my heart—the only sounds that could be heard in the quiet serenity that was present all around me.
Inside an entirely different scene existed. Whirling thoughts, like hurricane-force winds, blew through my mind while a dark, thunderous storm was raging inside my soul, cutting the power to the central organ of my existence—my heart. I was destined to weather this storm on my own. After all, like Mother Nature, I was the controlling force behind these conditions.
I threw a stone into the mirrored surface of the water before me and watched the small circular wave expand from the point where it broke through the stillness.
It was hard not to think of the stone as the choice I had made, the choice that inevitably created waves in the smooth waters of my life. The first lie, like the first ripple in the water, seemed so small but quickly became more significant. Each wave growing in size and depth, impossible to stop. The effect from that one choice spread through my life like the ripple moving across the surface of the water.
I longed for the stillness.
Home
It has been said that the past has a way of catching up with us. That we can’t run from it no matter how hard we try, but I had hoped that didn’t apply to me. I had hoped that the blood, sweat and tears that I had poured into creating a new life for myself, that my will to keep moving forward and to never look back, would somehow save me from this age-old notion. But inevitably—usually when it is least expected—the past has a way of staring us right in the face.
~
There were reasons why I avoided this town, the place where it all began, the place that I called home for the first eighteen years of my life. I had been born and raised in the confines of this rural setting, the place that a whopping 1800 other people called home. I had accumulated a lifetime of memories—some good, some bad—in this small town, but the ones that kept me away, the ones that I had been running from for the past ten years, were the only memories that I could recall while I parked my rental car across the street from the largest church in town.
Damn, it was cold, I thought, pulling my jacket tighter around me as I walked from the car to the church. One of the many things that I did not miss about this place was the freezing-cold winters. At twenty-eight, I was now living happily on the warm shores of Southern California. I had become comfortable with the constant seventy-degree temperature, gladly forgoing the extra layers needed in winter here in eastern Washington.
I glanced down the desolate street lacking any sign of life this time of year and noted the lack of color as well. Everything was frozen in place. Not just from the plummeting temperature but also frozen in time. Not much had changed since I had left home. Small towns were like that. I could see the drugstore still painted in the same red-and-white color scheme, matching its striped awning, and run by the same family. The few taverns still opened their doors each afternoon to, sadly, some of the same patrons that had become “regulars” years ago. The small family-owned restaurant where I had earned many paychecks during summer breaks remained, as did the car dealership that my grandfather had owned for as long as I could remember. Although now the showroom sat empty, and the large windows that once showcased new shiny sedans were covered in dust.
I sighed at the thought of my gramps. He was the reason that I was home. He had passed away last week, and I now found myself walking across this cold desolate street with a heavy heart to attend his funeral. I was asked to say a few words about him. My grandparents were such a big part of my life. My gram left us just last year. She had been suffering from Alzheimer’s for quite some time. I think that my grandfather died of a lonely heart; he lost his whole world when he lost my grandmother. They would have celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year.
My family already waited inside for me. I had stayed behind a few extra minutes to write down the thoughts that I wanted to share today. I really just wanted to speak from my heart but at the last minute had decided that I should write something down so that my emotions didn’t get in the way. I didn’t enjoy speaking in front of people. I could feel a lump rising in my throat just thinking about it, the weight of the folded paper in my pocket feeling heavy like a brick.
I stepped inside to see my family gathered in the lobby holding onto one another for support. My mother, so young and full of life. My older sister, Marie, her husband, Reid, and my younger brother, Scott. My dad would not be here. It was odd since it was his father we were mourning, but he had been estranged from us all for some time.
I quickly hugged my mother, trying to draw warmth from her as my hands and feet were nearly frozen.
“Are you ready to go in, Kendall?” she asked with concern in her eyes.
I softly nodded. Only my mother called me by my full name. Everyone else called me Kendi. I removed my coat and slung it over my arm, as we all filed into the church and found our seats in the front pew reserved for family members. I let my eyes drift across the first few rows of the church to the rest of my family. My uncle Mike, aunt Margaret and aunt Natalie, along with my many cousins and their children, were seated among us. Although the circumstances were incredibly sad, I smiled at the sight of the many relatives that I had known my entire life.
While I was growing up, we were such a large, close-knit family. All my childhood memories were branded with their faces. Every birthday, holiday and summer vacation spent at our family’s lake cabin included them. My grandfather had been at the helm, the one who held us all together, despite where our lives seemed to steer us. It was hard not to notice how much we were all drifting away, caught up in our own lives, since Gramps had lost his strength to pull us as one. And now he was gone.
As I rested my back against the hard wooden pew, my eyes scanned the front of the church, taking in the beauty of the various colored flowers surrounding the altar—the deep red of the roses, the red and white amaryllis, the white calla lilies, and the beautiful array of yellow, pink and purple freesia. Suddenly my breath caught in my throat, and I froze, my eyes taking in more than my heart could bear. Marie must have felt this new tension within me and reached over to squeeze my hand. I could not turn away to look at her, my gaze fixed solely on what was only a mere ten feet from where I sat.
It was him.
He was sitting in a chair near the altar, facing us. He had his head bent down deep in thought. I would never mistake that hair for another’s. A complete but beautiful mess of thick dark wavy locks. I knew instantly that he was nervous, as I watched him pull a long curl down over his forehead and roll it between his fingers. I knew more than I cared to remember about him. At that moment, he released the lock of hair in his fingers and looked up, his eyes squarely meeting mine, as if he had sensed that I was there. I should have known that I couldn’t run forever, that there
was something completely inevitable about the moment. The moment when my past caught up to me. I looked into his familiar blue eyes, lost in their depth, as it all came rushing back.
The Beginning
I strolled into Spanish class and sat down at my usual seat. He was sitting in the desk next to me with a smug grin on his face. Mrs. Samson, our Spanish teacher, instructed us to pair up for conversation practice, and he immediately reached out and pulled my desk over to him. I knew him well, as I know everyone in this small town. But in my sixteen years of life he had never paid that much attention to me, until now. I looked over at him, shocked by his forwardness. He introduced himself as Manuel, his Spanish name in class, although his real name was Adam. He started sitting next to me in this class a few weeks ago, which was the only class that we had together, since he was a year older than me and this was an elective.
His flirting was becoming more and more obvious, and my playing-hard-to-get role was getting weaker every day. He was the only guy that I had ever deemed beautiful —knowing that this was not a label that most males were comfortable with nor were they worthy of it. He was tall with an incredible athletic build, deep blue eyes, dark hair and a smile that reeked of confidence, but his matching deep-set dimples removed any trace of arrogance.
Feeling a bit flustered, I continued our conversation in Spanish and, after what seemed like several minutes, responded with my chosen Spanish name, Isabel. I blushed at the sound of his laugh, feeling like he had caught me getting lost in my own thoughts, hoping that he couldn’t sense they were of him. I hated that he had this effect on me. He was “that” guy, and I was just me.
I had many close friends, and had dated a little here and there, but I wouldn’t call myself popular. I was an average student, with great “academic potential” according to my guidance counselor. I had dabbled in sports when I was younger but decided that I wasn’t coordinated enough to pursue anything seriously. Adam, on the other hand, was everything that I wasn’t. He was popular, his flawless athletic ability placed him as a starter on all the varsity teams, and he was a great student. And of course, his yumminess attracted every female glance in the school. I didn’t want to be one of “those” girls—the girl that swoons over him every time that he walks into a room. I had far too much self-respect for that, didn’t I? If he wasn’t so nice, it would be easier.
The flirting continued and eventually evolved to friendly lunch dates. Our high school had an open-campus policy, so we were free to drive to nearby food establishments for lunch. It was a relatively warm fall day. Adam was backing out of his parking space in the student lot. We were heading to lunch, as we had countless times before, and I was scanning through radio stations trying to find a good song to listen to on our short drive to the diner. Adam didn’t seem to be himself; he was more uptight than usual and—if I didn’t know any better—nervous.
“Can’t you just leave it alone?” he asked, clearly annoyed with my obsession to find the perfect song.
One of my habits that drove him absolutely crazy and usually earned a few minutes of harmless banter whenever we were in the car.
I gave him an eye roll and continued to scroll through the stations. Satisfied with the new Garth Brooks song that was playing, I turned up the volume and settled back in my seat.
Adam reached over and turned down the music a few seconds later.
“Hey, I like that song,” I complained, as I batted his hand away from the volume control.
“Relax. I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
I looked over at him, giving him my full attention. I was surprised by his serious tone. This was new, I thought to myself.
“So what do you think is going on here?” Adam asked. He reached over and placed his hand on my thigh, a more-than-friendly gesture that sent chills down my leg, as he glanced over at me.
“What do you mean?” I asked in return, not sure where he was going with his question.
“I mean, between us.”
I could feel his hand brushing softly up and down my thigh. I instinctively put my hand on his, and he laced his fingers in mine. We were getting so comfortable with one another, but I still felt butterflies in my stomach every time that he was this close to me.
“I really like you and can’t stop thinking about you. It drives me crazy to be around you and act like you’re just my friend,” he continued with a huge grin on his face. “I was just wondering if you felt the same way.”
“Um...I’m definitely feeling the same way,” I said a little too quietly as I swallowed the lump in my throat. I squeezed his hand reassuringly and could hardly contain the ridiculous grin that spread across my face or the warm blush that I felt on my cheeks.
He let out a loud sigh as he glanced back at the road. “Well, now that we’ve straightened that out, I was wondering if you wanted to go to homecoming with me? You don’t already have a date, do you?”
Wow. Homecoming. “No date yet. I don’t know though. I’ll have to think about it,” I teased, drumming my fingers against my lips, as if it was a difficult decision. I was ecstatic, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. He playfully pinched the inside of my thigh as I squirmed away from him, trying hard to contain my laughter.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging for too long.”
Warmth spread throughout my insides as I took in his apprehensive expression. His feelings were becoming clearer by the minute.
He pulled into Susie’s, our favorite lunch spot, a small diner known for its great burgers and shakes. After helping me out of the car, he grabbed my hand and led me inside to our usual booth. My best friend, Morgan, and Adam’s friend, Rick, were already seated in the booth, waiting for us. They had become friends by default now that Adam and I were spending our lunchtime together. We ate as a group often, but most of the time Adam and I went to lunch on our own. I got the feeling that Adam preferred to be alone with me, but I felt much more comfortable when I had Mo—as I had nicknamed her years ago in elementary school—to help keep things on the lighter side.
“What took you guys so long?” Mo said with a teasing look in her eyes that only I would notice.
She had been interrogating me for days about what was going on between Adam and me, with my reply always the same. “Nothing, we’re just friends.” She had insisted that he had the “hots” for me, and, after Adam’s conversation with me in the car, I knew that Mo was right. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that Adam was interested in me in that way, so I pushed aside these thoughts.
“Sorry, I had something important to ask Kendi, so I may have taken the long way to get here,” Adam said.
“What was so important?” Mo asked with questioning eyes directed straight at me.
When I was silent, Adam filled her in. “I asked her to go to homecoming with me.”
“Homecoming, huh?” Mo asked, raising her eyebrows at me.
Adam nearly interrupted her, admitting that I hadn’t given him an answer yet and hinting that maybe she could convince me to go. Feeling completely embarrassed with the table’s attention solely focused on me, I elbowed Adam in the ribs. He grunted, holding his side while flashing me a dramatic hurt expression. I rolled my eyes at him. Another habit of mine that drove him crazy.
“Why don’t we all go together?” Rick suggested. Turning to face Morgan, who was sitting beside him in the booth, he lowered his voice to inflect a more sincere tone. “Morgan, will you go to homecoming with me?”
“I would love to go with you,” Morgan said with perfect composure as we all laughed at Rick’s lame proposal, although the look she flashed me screamed excitement. We both knew that she had been anything but impervious to his boyish charm and rugged good looks. She had been overly supportive of my new friendship with Adam, shamefully admitting to me her long-standing crush on Adam’s best friend.
“Well, there you have it, Kendi. Now you have to go with me,” Adam said, raising his hands in the air to imply that I didn’t have a choice, his di
mples melting me in my seat.
“Well, I guess if I have to...” I toyed with him in hopes that he knew that my answer was yes all along. I had already admitted that I liked him, but that was enough honesty for one day.
After lunch Mo whined about needing girl time and asked if she could drive me back to school. I watched the guys drive away in Adam’s newer black BMW as I hopped into Mo’s beat-up red Honda Civic. As soon as the doors were closed, she leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh. “Oh, my God, do you know how awesome this is going to be?”
Morgan had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. She was pretty and full of contagious energy, always wearing a radiant smile. She had the most beautiful long blond hair, lying perfectly down her shoulders in large ringlets. I was always envious of her hair. While my dark hair was long with natural blonde highlights that most people would pay good money for, it was very fine and couldn’t hold a curl despite how much product I tried to train it with. Morgan had flawless skin and eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. She was the same height as me but a little heavier.
It was an ongoing joke between us that, if we could combine her face and hair with my body, we could be one helluva supermodel. I had been blessed—although at times it felt like more of a curse—with a body that would make a cast member of Baywatch proud. Not to say that my face didn’t hold some sort of beauty, but I was very ordinary in the looks department.
Mo was very daring most of the time and was always convincing me to do crazy things with her. I think that this derived from her stern parents and strict upbringing. She was definitely rebelling against their authority at every turn. Typical teenage stuff I guess.
My mother was very open and trusting, and I lived on a much longer leash. That is not to say that I didn’t get myself into a bit of trouble as well, but my mom was much more understanding than Mo’s parents. My mother’s one policy that was never to be broken was that I must always be honest with her. She loathed dishonesty and reminded me constantly that lying would always be my worst offense.
Ripple: A Novel Page 1
