Grace didn’t know where she had come from or who her parents were. All she could remember was her name, her age, and that there had been an accident, but she couldn't recall any specifics.
Rose insisted on caring for the young girl, at least until they could help her find out where she came from. Months later, the search for Grace’s past was finally exhausted, and she became a permanent member of the Summer family. It was all such a strange and fateful turn of events, especially for the boy who had pulled her out of the water.
Grace had a crush on Paul from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, but Paul looked at Grace as no more than the strange orphan girl who lived in his home. Unbeknownst to him, he’d already fallen for her. And the more time he spent with her, the more he began to see it for himself. 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—then he kissed her.
From that moment on, Grace and Paul fell madly in love, and as they continued to live under the same roof, they tried to keep it from Rose and George. It was no secret.
Once they graduated from high school, Paul proposed to Grace, and they married a year later. Just six months after the wedding, on an autumn day, Grace found out she was pregnant. After Grace gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, the fighting began. Paul disappeared, and a heartbroken Grace took her baby and moved to Spring Lake to start a new life.
Beyond that, I don’t have any of the details. While I’ve always been curious about my father and grandparents, I could tell how upsetting the few conversations we’d had were for my mom. Quelling all that curiosity is partly what fueled my emotions during incidents like the one that happened with Steve.
I don’t know how long I’ve been swimming when I push up from the water and open my eyes. I blink and spin in a full circle, trying to get a glimpse of the beach. Nothing. Only water surrounds me for as far as I can see. Panic sets in, sending my heart crashing into my ribs so loudly that it’s all I can hear. I swipe the water away from my eyes and try to make out something, anything, that will give me a clue as to how to get back. Surely, the lights from the homes along the beach would be enough for me to find my way home. But I’m still coming up empty.
How could I have swum so far out that all shoreline sights would be lost? I don’t even swim that well, according to my old gym teacher. But there’s no mistaking the eerie darkness as I desperately search my surroundings.
I take a deep breath, trying to get my heart to slow enough for me to utilize my senses. When that doesn’t work, I do what my mother taught me when my anger first started to get me into trouble. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Deep and slow, in and out.
“You can do it. You are in control, Katrina. Never forget that.” I can almost sense her calming presence, hear her gentle but firm words, and feel her warm hand as it run up and down my spine.
When I open my eyes again, a stillness takes over my senses. Even the water around me seems to go completely calm as I suck in a deep, comforting breath. Then I see lights from the bay shore. Next I hear music coming from one of the neighboring homes. Finally, I feel the current pushing me in the direction I need to go. Relief rushes through me.
I swim back to shore and step out of the water on wobbly legs, then I throw on my clothes and look over at my grandmother’s manor. Once again, I’m hit by its size. Even from here, it stands out from the others, especially from the homes that have been robbed of a sandy beachfront and are instead protected by a retaining walls of rocks.
Still reeling from my swim, I decide to walk it off before returning to Summer Manor. I trudge along the shore, escaping the quiet darkness of my thoughts and focusing instead on my surroundings. The music I could hear earlier seems to be coming from up ahead. I continue in that direction, and eventually, I catch sight of a group of guys are playing what seems to be a competitive game of volleyball, while a group of girls cheer them on from the pool deck above. My focus is drawn to a bronze statue of the earth goddess, Gaia, resting at one end of the pool. Her hair rises to the sky in the shape of tree roots with birds perched atop them. She’s pressing a handful of feathers to her chest, her chin cast down.
Turning back to the game, my eyes lock on the ball as the guys lob it into the air, passing it back and forth more than a dozen times before one of them finally misses.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Alec. Let me see you try that again,” one boy taunts. “I won’t miss this time.”
“C’mon, Brett,” one of the girls says with a laugh. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
Brett tosses a glare up at her then flips her off.
Meanwhile, Alec is chuckling while playfully tossing the ball into the air and catching it. “We’ll see about that.” Alec winks.
A fluttering erupts in my chest. The boy, Alec, is gorgeous, with a charming full-blown smile, short wavy hair, tanned skin made evident in the house lights they play under, and an athletic build that has me curious as to his age. They all appear to be around the same age as me, but I can’t be sure from just one glance.
A moment later, the game is back in session. There’s some laughing, some grunting, and even some cursing each time one of them misses. While Brett looks to be in a competitive match, Alec seems to be just having fun with it. But when Alec jumps into the air and brings his palm down hard on the ball, my jaw falls open as it zooms over the net, angling for the ground at Brett’s feet.
Brett is already diving for it, anticipating its landing. I hold my breath and imagine the ball denting the beach while he overshoots his aim and misses it completely. Miss it. My mind echoes the words as my gaze follows the movement of the ball. I’m so focused on what’s going to happen next, it almost feels as if time slows. Miss it, my mind chants. Miss the ball.
Brett slides too far forward, causing his clenched fists to miss the ball completely. The ball comes down hard, smacking him square on the head. A resounding pop sounds through the air, and the girls from the balcony above laugh hysterically.
They all seem so focused on the game, I have every intention of walking away unnoticed, but I’m not fast enough. As if he senses my presence, Alec turns and finds me in the darkness. He tilts his head then—to my horror—takes a step in my direction.
All I can think to do is run. Maybe it’s my soaked-through clothes, my bare feet, or the sheer and utter embarrassment that floods me from being caught snooping on the group of friends, but I can’t seem to make my feet move. I’m glued to the spot, stunned as my gaze locks on the boy moving in my direction. Our eyes connect, and it’s like my insides freeze too. There’s an unmistakable intensity to his gaze, reminding me of the runner from earlier. But this is different, like an electric current slithering through every nerve ending of my body until I can’t deny it anymore.
A jolt zaps through me like lightning—so hard and fast, I drop to my knees. Pressure mounts behind my eyes as I force them closed and press my palms against my ears. My mouth opens, as if I’ll scream, but no sound follows. The pain is excruciating, and a flash of bright white light illuminates my darkened vision. It flashes over and over and over. I don’t know how many times it strikes, but each one feels like a mini-electrocution.