Generations I: Book of Enlightenment

by Mia Castile

  Mia Castile grew up in a small suburb of Indianapolis, Indiana. She still lives near her childhood home with her husband and two children. She was passionate about writing long before she was passionate about reading, but has learned the two go hand in hand.

  Generations came to her in a series of dreams. As she wrote the dreams in her journal, she realized there was a story to tell. What began as a simple story has turned into a Saga that has out shone her wildest expectations.

  Learn more about Mia at the following:

  http://www.miacastile.com

  http://www.facebook.com/mia.castile

  http://www.twitter.com/miacastile

  http://www.goodreads.com/MiaCastile

  http://www.entwinedpublishing.com

  Continue, for a preview of The Ocean, Mia Castile’s Debut Novel

  The Ocean

  A Novel

  By Mia Castile

  Chapter 1

  As If It Wasn't Enough

  Gianna

  I hugged Mitchell goodbye. I hoped it wasn't the last time I would ever see him, but a small voice told me it might be. I felt lost. We stood in Chicago’s O'Hare Airport, waiting the final moments before I would head off to security.

  “You've got your ticket, right?” He nervously checked his pockets as if he were looking for something, pausing only to push his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. My mother had made a good choice with Mitchell. He was a lawyer, and we lived in a northern suburb of Indianapolis. We had come to Chicago for a final shopping trip before I was exiled to Florida. I was leaving my gated community to return to the first home I had ever lived in. We had struggled over the years, and when it seemed like we were finally happy, boom! Cervical cancer. My mom had passed a month earlier, and though my brother Alex had already been in St. Petersburg for three weeks, I had dragged out the relocation for as long as my biological father, Oliver, would allow. Now, the man I had wished for the past four years to be my father, the man who felt like my real father, was being forced to tell me goodbye.

  “Yes, I’ve got it right here.” I held it up to show him.

  “Good. One more thing, Gianna.” He finally found what he was looking for in his front pocket. He pulled out a small velvet drawstring pouch. I watched him warily because I hated surprises.

  “I've been looking for this for a week.” He started to chuckle. “Your mom hadn't worn it in years, but I think she would want you to have it.” He loosened the top with one hand, cupping my hand with the other as he tipped it over. Out fell a small white gold ring. I knew this ring. It was my mother's wedding gift from her father when she'd married Oliver, my father. In cursive, LOVE was carved on the top of it, the letters connecting and blending into the band. I remembered the story she'd told Alex and me growing up. “My father, a hardworking man, told me that as long as I was loved, I would find my happiness. I was loved by him, and I am loved by you, so no matter where we are, I am happy.”

  I just stared at it as I said, “I thought she lost this a long time ago; she stopped wearing it when I was still young.” I sighed, still admiring it, as I slipped it on the middle finger of my right hand.

  “She thought she had too, but I found it in the attic as I was going through some things from before we lived together. It must have slipped off when she was packing the boxes. After I found it, I misplaced it too.” I laughed at his absentmindedness. Mitchell was a brilliant litigator, but sometimes he had trouble finding his shoes in the morning when they were in the shoe rack in the mud room where they always went. I didn't know how he'd survive without us.

  “There are more things I'm having shipped to Florida, but I wanted to make sure you had this. It's important that you know your mother will always be with you, watching over you and smiling. She was very proud of you and Alex.” A single tear threatened to escape my eye. I willed it to stay, at least until I was out of his sight. He had wanted to adopt us when he first married my mom, an act that my father had refused to allow. I couldn't forgive Oliver for that. To be honest, there were a lot of things I couldn't forgive him for. But for that, I wouldn't forgive him. Mitchell promised to visit over our fall break, and I nodded in agreement. I hoped my father wouldn't find a way to prevent that from happening. Mitchell represented stability and integrity, everything that my real father did not. So I hugged him goodbye, trying to remember everything about this moment.

  When I found my seat on the plane and buckled myself in, I finally allowed the brimming tear to escape. I sat between a kid who looked as if he were in college and a man in a suit with his laptop open. The business man had huffed annoyance when he realized mine was the middle seat. I didn't like the window seat; I always got dizzy looking out the window. I never liked the aisle seat after a mishap with an airline attendant and drink cart a few years before. The result was three broken fingers on my right hand. It usually wasn't a problem because I sat with Mom and Alex.

  Thinking about them together, I allowed another tear to escape my eye. I leaned my head back and looked up at the air vent, waiting for the plane to move, to do anything. Nothing happened. Tear three escaped my eye. The kid on the other side of me looked like he wanted to say something to me, but I ignored his glances. Instead, I closed my eyes and found myself in a happy memory. I closed them tighter, and I could smell the floral arrangements. I saw the four of us standing there on the sandy beach with the wind blowing in our hair, my mother and I wearing flowered halos around loose soft curls, Mitchell and Alex in khaki shorts and button-up Hawaiian shirts, sand between their toes. I saw the Hawaiian justice of the peace smiling at the newly married couple who were so in love. They were married the second day of a three-week family vacation. We'd never been anywhere for a vacation before that. How my mother had found Mitchell was a mystery to me even now.

  Another tear slid down my cheek. I opened my eyes to the air vents again and looked down at the ring that said LOVE. I felt a strange sensation, like my mother was wrapping her arms around me in that moment. I closed my eyes again.

  The captain came on saying we'd be leaving shortly, and then the flight attendant began speaking about safety procedures. I reached under my seat and grabbed my messenger bag. I found my iPhone and put the ear buds in my ears. Drowning out the flight attendant, I played the loud rock music. I went to my mobile email and sent two messages. First to Alex, it was simple and short.

  Alex,

  Arriving on time, don't be late!! Phone off now but will turn it on when I land. Luv u

  Gia.

  The next message I sent was to Mitchell. He wouldn't get it for another three and half hours. Even if it made it to his phone before then, he wouldn't check it while he drove.

  Mitchell,

  I couldn't say all the things that I've wanted to tell you these past few weeks but thank you, for loving my mom, and for loving us. Even though we couldn't call you dad, you were our dad. Thank you again for the ring; it means the world to me to have a part of Mom with me. I will call when I've settled in.

  luv –Gia.

  I switched my phone to airplane mode before I glanced at the boy by the window just long enough to see he was still watching me. I leaned my head back as we took off and let the music fill my ears. My eyes unfocused, and I didn't look at anyone or anything. It was me and the music for the rest of the flight.

  Finally, we landed. I gathered my guitar and luggage. As I exited the sliding doors from the baggage claim, I was assaulted by the heat and bright sun. I turned on my phone. I had a new text message.

  Truck won't start. Find a cab.

  “Great,” I sighed. I walked up to the first cab I saw. There, leaning against the passenger side door, was a short, skinny Asian man in his forties.

  “Where to?” he asked in a thick accent.

  “St. Pete.” I half smiled.

  “That far. You pay, and not stiff me for going so far?” He didn't crack a smile. I dug out my wallet, opened it enough so he could see in as I fanned a row of twenties.

  “Do
you mind if I see your ID?” I asked as I put my phone on picture mode.

  “No. I don't mind, looks like we don't trust each other.” I took his ID and took a picture of it. I texted the picture to Alex with the message:

  This is my cab driver.

  “Hey, you've gotta make a living and I'm a sixteen-year-old girl traveling alone,” I smirked as I typed and he helped me load my luggage in the trunk.

  “Where, St. Pete?” he asked as we both climbed into the car, him behind the wheel, and me behind the passenger seat.

  “Can we go to the St. Pete Pier first?” I was feeling overwhelmed, and I was not looking forward to the reunion with Oliver.

  “No problem, your dime, or twenty.” Ah, a joke! I smirked again and put my ear buds back in my ears as we drove away from the Tampa Airport. I didn't feel like much more small talk. I watched the scenery change from large city, to beachy forest, to small town. I was here. I was home. We drove up and parked by a meter, the LCD screen on it flashing that it had expired.

  “You feed that thing.” The driver nodded toward the meter as he reached for a newspaper in the passenger seat.

  “I will and feel free to leave the meter running.” He looked at me in the rearview mirror with a shocked expression, but he reached and turned it off. I got out and fed the meter. First, I walked to the pier. It was an old gray worn wooden platform with an equally weathered wood railing encompassing it. A few older men sat on a bench with fishing poles, their lines strung out and disappearing in the wavy water. I remembered the last time Alex and I had stood at the end and watched dolphins dance in and out of the water in the distance. He was seven; I was six. This was the only ocean I had ever seen. Alex told me it wasn’t the ocean; it was the Gulf of Mexico. To me it was just an ocean.

  I stood there for a long time watching the Gulf’s choppy water. The breeze chilled my legs beneath my short jean skirt. My black blouse was thin, and my skin goose-bumped under it. I walked the length of the pier to the path that led to the beach. I slipped off my sandals and carried them in one hand. In the distance there were people jogging in pairs, some with dogs. A group of boys were playing football in the distance, and a couple was having a romantic afternoon picnic. About half-way between the couple and the boys I sat down, tucking my skirt under my thighs and pulling my knees up to my chest.

  I watched the waves roll in. They rolled out, in, out, as they had always done. There was something comforting in that, knowing how constant this place was even after all these years. This was where I came as a little girl. As soon as I realized I could escape, I came here. Sometimes, I just sat here for hours watching the waves until Alex would come for me. He only came after our father was finished hitting our mother and had either passed out or left to tend the neighborhood bar he owned. Alex never told our parents where I went to escape. It didn't matter where I was in the house or what the time of day, when my mother screamed to us “LEXIE, GIA RUN!” we ran. We each had our hiding place from him. He never came to look for us; he really didn't care. Alex would creep back to check whether it was safe to return. He was always the braver of the two of us; then when he was sure it was OK, he'd return with me. The two of us would put our mother back together, icing her face, bandaging any scrapes, picking up the broken dishes or furniture. I don't remember when it began. I just remember it always happened.

  I was lost in thought, so of course, I didn't see the football hurtling toward me. I was entranced by the waves and my memories, but I snapped out of it when I heard, “Hey, look out!” I turned my attention to the direction of the voice. I saw the football sailing toward my head. I leaned a little too much, landing on my side as the football barely missed my head. Sand was everywhere, in my caramel-colored hair, all over my skin, and down my blouse. I was utterly mortified. Running toward me was a tall tan boy, shirtless and wearing long cargo shorts. His messy dark hair that framed his face and white teeth smiling at me captured my attention first. His hazel eyes sparkled, and I gazed at them longer than what I probably should have. I stood, dusting myself off, trying to avoid his gaze and failing miserably. He reached for the ball and as he straightened up, he appraised me from my bare feet up to my eyes, which were scrutinizing him as well. He realized I'd watched him sum me up and looked away briefly, his face darkening slightly with a blush.

  “Sorry about that. My buddy,” he pointed to another shirtless boy who was waving both hands while yelling “sorry” to me, “has got no aim. Or the best aim in the world, depending on how you look at it. I'm Travis.” There was that perfect smile again.

  “Gianna, it's OK.” I fanned my shirt a little as sand continued to fall out of every crevice of it.

  I picked up my sandals as he asked, “Are you new to town or on vacation? I don't remember seeing you around.” He shuffled the ball between his hands.

  “Just arrived, but now I have to go. Thanks for saving me from the football.” I smiled and took a step back from him, captivated by his eyes.

  “No problem. Anytime. Really.” He stood there and watched me as I inched away. Finally, I turned and walked away. I didn't look back. It was really hard, but I'd seen all the sappy movies where the girl regrets looking back because she usually gets caught by the boy who is still watching her leave. When I made it back to the pier, I turned to walk the final section to the sidewalk, and then I couldn't help myself; I looked over to see if he'd gone back to playing with his friends. He still stood there, shuffling the ball in his hands and staring at me. His focused look suddenly turned into a great big smile that reached his eyes. I chuckled and shook my head, suddenly understanding why it was so much cooler not to look.

  I made my way back to the cab. The cabbie looked up from his paper as I climbed in. I told him the address as I leaned back in the seat, but he didn't say anything. It was three streets over and down two blocks. I watched the scenery pass by the window. The neighborhood looked different but still felt the same. He pulled up in front of a house, and I sat there mesmerized by it. I remembered it as blue. Oliver had painted it an olive green color, and the trim was bright white. The porch had a green wooden floor with white pillars along a white railing. A dark cherry wooden door made the home seem welcoming and inviting. My mother's flowers still lined the walkway and flower bed in front of the porch. I was frozen.

  “This it, right?” The man turned to me, confused.

  “This is it,” I sighed. He popped the trunk and opened his door to get out, taking one more look at me. I just kept staring at the house as a flood of memories came back to me.

  “Come on girl, or I turn the meter on.” I tore my eyes from the house and turned to him. He laughed out loud at my expression and got out of the car. I got out also, leaving some sand on his seats. He helped me take my luggage to the porch where I paid him, giving him a nice tip. He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

  As he pulled away, I stood there just looking at the door, willing myself to go inside. Finally, I took my keys out of my messenger bag and found the hot pink key my dad had made and sent to me. Alex's had been army green camo. We talked about switching, just to mess with him, but then thought better of it. I had to give him a D for effort though; he'd gotten the girlie part right. Taking a deep breath, I went in. The living room looked the same, but different. It had the same furniture, but the colorful walls I remembered were freshly painted white. I called out to Alex, then to Oliver, but there was no answer.

  “Great,” I sighed. I lugged my heavy suitcases upstairs. After three trips I finally stood in my tiny room. The walls had been freshly painted white also but were bare. It looked like the entire house had been painted. I looked at my single bed. It had a new pink comforter with two pink pillows on it. I despised pink.

  I began to unpack. My closet was too small. My dresser had no decorations on it and too few drawers. I unpacked half of my bags and decided that I needed more storage. I changed my clothes and texted Alex.

  Where are you

  My phone sang a pop song almost i
mmediately when Alex called me back. I answered it. “I just got back from the parts store. Oliver is sporting some junker.” He didn't even say hello, just jumped into the conversation.

  “Um, yeah, my flight was fine. Thanks for asking. Do you think you can take me to the store to get some Rubbermaid storage boxes?” I sat down and surveyed my new smaller living space that looked like a tornado had ripped through it.

  “It might make it to the store. How do you like your comforter? I helped pick it out.” He was now standing in my door way. He took his phone from his ear and put it in his pocket. He surveyed my room and stifled a laugh. I grimaced in response.

  “Tell me you didn't.” I glared at him. He seemed to have grown in the three weeks we’d been apart. He was taller than me, with auburn hair, a spray of freckles across his nose, and green eyes that had the girls in Indiana swooning over his every word. The grease stains on his shirt gave him an older look. Eighteen months though, he was only eighteen months older than me. I had to keep telling myself that because sometimes it seemed like I was older than him.

  “No, I didn't, and I told him how you hate pink.” He plopped down on my bed beside me and looked at his dirty hands, annoyed.

  “Where is Daddy Dearest anyway?”

  “Working. I know it sucked grabbing a cab, but trust me; it would have been worse to be abandoned by the side of the interstate because Bessie would not have made that trip. Let me change and wash my hands; then we can go. How much money do you have? Enough you think?”