by K. K. Allen
A Summer Solstice Novel
The Summer Solstice
Enchanted
K.K. Allen
Copyright © 2014 K.K. Allen
All Rights Reserved
www.KK-Allen.com
Facebook.com/AuthorKKAllen
Twitter.com/KKAllenAuthor
This book is dedicated to my son – my biggest motivation to succeed. And to my principal supporters who encouraged me to take something that was just a fun hobby and share it with the world. You know who you are. Thank you.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
STAY TUNED FOR MORE
Chapter One
As the air around me begins to swirl and the ocean waves before me grow, I stand still. Allowing my feet to sink beneath the sand, I watch in solitude. There are voices – no – screams on the other side of the beach. It takes me a moment to turn my head in that direction. All I see in the near distance are orange billowing flames and a screen of black smoke that is suddenly suffocating me. My hands rush to my throat – I can’t breathe – and I’m falling into the sand. I am bound to this spot, sand holding my feet prisoner as I attempt to make out what is going on before me. The screams grow louder as I grow weaker. Then I collapse.
I gasp and throw myself back against the white Escalade’s leather seat. My eyes fly open and I suck in a deep breath of air as if I’ve been choked.
My breathing returns to normal but I’m unable to shake the reality of my dream. A warm hand rubs my bare arm.
“A dream?”
The voice beside me is calm and understanding. I turn to look briefly at the shorthaired blonde woman who speaks to me. I shake my head, still groggy from the short nap. “That was not a dream. I don’t know what that was.”
Charlotte places her hand on the steering wheel and faces forward into the looming darkness. “You’ve been through a lot Katrina. I expect you’ll have many more unpleasant dreams.”
I shake my head and turn to look out the window. I hope not. The thought echoes through my head.
I squint, barely making out smokestacks in the near distance as Charlotte drives along the coast. The distance from the Tampa Airport to Apollo Beach is just over 40 minutes but it’s as if we’re moving through quicksand.
For almost 16 years now I have lived with my mother Grace in Spring Lake, North Carolina – until three short months ago when my mother left for the store and never returned.
I’ll never forget that hollow, rhythmic pounding of the door. Assuming it was my mother who’d forgotten her keys again, I sauntered my way across the two-bedroom box of an apartment we shared to answer it. Two sheriffs and a woman from Department of Child Protective Services stood in the doorway to deliver the news.
I insisted they had it wrong – that my mother was just around the corner. And then they described her bicycle – a blue vintage bicycle with a brown seat and large woven basket. That was when my entire world went black.
My mom’s life was taken by a heart attack. After 36 years of healthy eating, frequent exercise, and regular doctor visits, her life was stolen, and mine – changed forever.
The only life I’d ever known was that with my mother. Alone. My dad – or Paul as she called him – was never part of my life, abandoning my mother and me soon after I was born. So I have never known what it’s like to have a father. But my mom always said that she was enough for me and I believed her.
We were close through the years, though some would call her overprotective. I was homeschooled – public school was never an option. The only friends I made were the ones I’d find playing at the basketball court after school let out. I’d go there as often as my mother would allow.
We rode our bicycles everywhere because my mom didn’t believe in the luxury of having a car. There’s enough to do and see in the distance we can travel by bike, she’d say. After our homeschooling sessions we’d cook together, play a game, and settle in for the night with our favorite shows. Our weekends were filled with much of the same.
I have no idea what to expect, moving off to a city I’ve never heard of with my estranged grandmother.
Turning back to Charlotte I am reluctant but curious – I forge ahead. “Tell me about my grandmother.” Charlotte is my grandmother’s caretaker. And now, I assume, she’s mine as well.
A hint of a smile plays on Charlotte’s face before she answers me. “Rose,” she begins, and the name lingers in the air just long enough to raise the hair on my arms. “I imagine you two have a lot to discuss when you meet tomorrow.” It’s as if the thought of Rose and me meeting is to be a happy occasion. I am anything but happy.
Charlotte turns down another dark road and continues to speak, as if she senses that I want to hear more. “Rose is well-respected in Apollo Beach but you will see that. She is very involved in preserving the community. Since she is one of the oldest living residents, people often look to her as the leader.”
From the corner of my eye I see Charlotte glance at me – her hesitation evident. “I really shouldn’t give you details about your grandmother. You can form your own opinion when you meet her. I can tell you that she’s excited to meet you finally. It’s all she’s spoken of since…”
An uncomfortable silence fills the car and I turn away. Rose didn’t attend my mother’s funeral but she did send her condolences with Charlotte – her condolences and a large check to me with an offer to move in with her.
My initial response to move in with my grandmother and transport myself to Florida’s West Coast was a resounding “no.” Things changed quickly, however, once I realized that I couldn’t bear to live in Spring Lake without my mother.
My foster family forced me to enter the wild and crazy world of public school where I was excluded from lunch tables and chatty circles between classes. It was as if I were a ghost walking through the hallways. My peers rarely noticed me – but when they did, they laughed. How else would they react to an orphan? I kept a stone face and continued to walk past their rejection of me. If I thought about it any more, I would fall apart.
After three months of constant efforts of my grandmother to move in with her, I eventually gave in and decided to give my new life a try.
“Welcome to Apollo Beach.” There is an unmistakable excitement in Charlotte’s tone.
Just as she says this, I see a sign for Apollo Beach Drive.
Apollo Beach is the kind of place you hear about in specialty magazines or in afternoon specials on the Travel Channel. There is an immediate sense of distinction and exclusivity in this coastal city just south of Tampa.
We drive through Main Street, past the colonial-style homes and make a few short turns, eventually leading us through a large main gate. Houses the size of museums whizz by. I take in their long winding driveways and immaculate lawns. My stomach churns. No one needs a home this big. There are handcrafted sculptures at the front of almost every home. Soon enough, I come to grasp that my grandmother’s home is among one of these monstrosities.
My mom had mentioned briefly something of my grandmother’s wealth. But this is not what I had pictured. “I had no idea…” the sight now looming before me silences my voice.
“Welcome to Summer Estates,” Charlotte beams. “You are home, Katrina.”
It isn’t until this moment I realize how formal my name sounds to this woman. I look at Charlotte closely for the first time since I’ve met her. She is beautiful. A
round my mother’s age, with a nice figure and flawless skin, perfect hair, and shining light blue eyes.
I give her the best smile I can muster under the circumstances. She really has been kind to me. “You may call me Kat if you’d like.”
Charlotte smiles and turns off the car. “Leave your things. I’ll have them brought up shortly.”
The peaceful sound of a water fountain comes from the base of the steps. I notice a large circular fixture made of marble and recognize Apollo and Daphne at the center. I only know this from my Ancient Greek Mythology class last year. I follow Charlotte up the brightly lit, rounded marble steps, taking each stair carefully, as if not to disturb the stone at my feet.
The home in front of me – more like a mansion – is as big as my entire four-story apartment complex. I’ve never seen a home this large. Am I seriously going to live here? Just thinking about my new home sends a shudder down my spine. I don’t want this. I was perfectly happy in the small apartment that my mom and I shared.
“Do you like it?” Charlotte asks me, hope filling her voice. She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “The residents here take pride in their homes. I think you’ll love it here.” Charlotte continues to talk about a rock pier and private beach where neighbors gather for festivities.
I am barely listening as I follow Charlotte up to the front doors of the Mediterranean home. I expected something nice and luxurious, but not this.
Charlotte unlocks the large double solid mahogany doors with hand crafted leaded glass. I regard the elaborate shiny brass door handles. She pushes the doors out to give us space to enter and I inhale sharply. A circular foyer greets me. In the center of the room sits an elegantly sculptured round glass top table with a vase filled with white, blue, and yellow fluffy flowers are its centerpiece. We walk straight past the foyer and bright white room with light blue accents. It almost reminds me of heaven.
“This is the great room,” Charlotte says proudly. “Your grandmother likes to have her tea here in the afternoon.” I hear Charlotte speak but I barely acknowledge her words. My eyes, transfixed, catch sight of a large set of windows that overlooks the waters of Tampa Bay. I’m drawn to them and the bits and pieces of memories my mom shared with me surrounding Summer Estates.
I can hear Charlotte tiptoe out of the room, as if she understands I need a moment.
Time passes as I stare down at the water. I take in the Bay front before me as the moon towers high over the water’s reflection. For a split second I forget why I am here in the first place. Memories of my mom flood my mind as I stare out into the vast empty space before me.
This is the beach. My heart catches in my throat as I recall a story my mom had once told me about how she met my father Paul and fell in love.
The last thing Grace remembered was waking up on the sand in Apollo Beach, right in front of the Summer’s home when she was 16 years old. There had been an accident, but Grace could never recall what brought her to Rose’s home. Grace didn’t know where she came from or who her parents were.
Rose insisted on caring for Grace, at least until they could help her find where she came from. Rose’s son Paul, a boy Grace’s age, carried her into their home. The mysteries surrounding Grace’s appearance on the beach that day were never uncovered, and Grace became a permanent member of the Summer family home.
Grace had a crush on Paul from the moment she laid eyes on him but Paul looked at Grace as just a strange girl who lived in his home. But the more time he spent with her and got to know her, the more he began to look at her differently. They became friends first and then one day when they were taking a dip in the Bay, Grace got caught in an undertow. Paul was right there to save her. He pulled her out of the water and held her in his arms. And then he kissed her.
In that moment Grace and Paul fell in love. And as they continued to live under the same roof they tried to keep it a secret from Rose and George, but it was no secret. Once they graduated from high school and turned 18, Paul proposed to Grace and they were married. They were married for just over one year before Grace found out she was pregnant. That’s when the fighting began. And once Grace had the baby, Paul disappeared. And a heartbroken Grace took her baby and moved to Spring Lake to start a new life.
My mother never told me more than that, so I always believed that she was too upset at my father’s disappearance to ever want to talk about it. And though my mother did tell me about living at Summer Estates with my grandmother, she conveniently left out the mansion part.
It’s hard to imagine that I’m about to live under the same roof as the woman who raised my mother. A woman, for whatever reason, hasn’t been in my life until now.
Just the thought of my mom brings sadness to me now. I touch the Bay-facing glass that wraps wide around me as a tear runs down my cheek.
There are quiet footsteps behind me, shaking me from my thoughts. I turn to face Charlotte and she gives me a patient and considerate smile. “Your belongings are in your room. It’s late. But I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow. Would you like to see your room now?”
I nod my head. Exhaustion overcomes me.
Charlotte leads me up the winding white marble staircase to the second floor. We take a right and stop at the far end of the hall. Holding my duffel bag tight in front of me, I allow Charlotte to push open the double doors to my new room.
My room is over abundant in riches with floor-to-ceiling windows that cover the rounded wall facing the Bay. The bed clearly belongs in a castle, with its thick four posts and handcrafted wood. A dresser lines the side wall along with an oversized vanity mirror that looks as if it was chiseled cautiously from hand.
Charlotte then opens the double doors, which I assume lead to the bathroom and I’m right. With an oversized walk-in closet and a pearl garden tub sitting next to a glass shower, I should feel like the luckiest girl in the world. But I am numb to feelings such as luck.
“Make yourself comfortable, relax and I’ll be back with some hot tea.” I go to stop her and tell her that’s not necessary but she has already left.
Fresh from a shower with a white fluffy robe cloaking my body, I step in front of the oval mirror. My damp brown hair has been tossed wildly around my face and neck. I take a brush to it, wishing that it were longer so that I could pull it up into a bun. I look at my complexion next. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at myself in months. My skin is pastier than normal, and my dull, pale blue eyes with a hint of silver are bloodshot from lack of sleep. My cheekbones are strong but the corners of my mouth are turned down slightly, frozen in grief.
You’re stunning, Katrina. Your smoldering eyes, your radiant smile. I never want you to hear you call yourself anything but beautiful. My mom would speak of boys that would knock down the door for me and girls that would envy my beauty – one day. But I see none of what she sees. No boy has ever looked at me as if I’m beautiful.
As we enter the bedroom I see my suitcases on the top of my beige comforter and a sterling silver tray with tea, a note, and two pills. I sit on the bed and read the note. It’s from Charlotte.
Kat,
Here are some pills to help you sleep. Take them if you wish. If there is anything else you need please use the phone on the bedside table and dial 8 to reach my room directly. Welcome home.
Charlotte
Not wanting to wait any longer to escape this overwhelming reality, I throw on my under clothes and tank top, chug down the two pills with the tea, and climb under the covers. It doesn’t take long for me to drift off…
I sit in front of the mahogany vanity that towers before me. It’s a monument much like everything else in my room. If the objects aren’t generous in size then they make up for it in their beauty and fragility. Staring at my new reflection in the large oval mirror I notice that my face is fairer than I’m used to, and it glows magnificently. My eyes are a bright and unusual shade of silver. My dark brown hair is soft, long, thick, and flowing down past my shoulders.
I take in my
groomed features with awe. I reach for the glass to touch the girl in the mirror. I watch every move of my hand as it creeps towards the glass. My reflection follows in perfect synchrony. My hand rises to my face in time with my mirror image. And I move a piece of hair from my head. My reflection follows happily.
My lashes are longer. My nails, now that they’re near my face, appear manicured and long. And that’s when I notice it.
A necklace lies across my neck as if it’s made for me – but not just any necklace. The green crystal reflects the light of the sun that streams through the massive balcony windows. I move to touch the necklace – lifting it gently from my neck.
My heart pounds like a steady drum. The image smiles at me, with an almost evil glimmer in her eye. I gasp. She does not gasp with me, but smiles even brighter. There are silver streaks of madness in her eyes that freeze me to a still. Her eyes narrow and turn so that they no longer meet mine. They stare just to the right of me, over my shoulder where an antique vase sits, holding fresh flowers.
I watch as the vase lifts with every move of my reflection’s finger. The next sound I hear is a terrifying scream. I jam my palms to the sides of my head to muffle the horrible sound coming from my reflection’s voice. My mirror image isn’t smiling anymore. Her mouth is grotesque, shaped into a scream as the sound escapes her. The vase shakes violently and with a final change in pitch, it shatters in midair, spraying my bedroom with glass.
I am still covering my ears. My eyes are pinched closed and I’m screaming too. I continue to scream until someone shakes me. My eyes shoot open. I’m ready to defend myself from the attack of the girl in the mirror until I see a new light. This bright white light does not belong to the scene I was just a part of and I’m not sitting at my vanity. I am lying in bed, covered from head to toe in sweat. And now that I realize it was all a dream, I am crying in Charlotte’s arms. She shushes me, comforting me as I sob into her arms.
“It was just a dream, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.” The mesmerizing sound of her voice and light rocking of my body is soothing enough to get me back to sleep quickly.
