Riptide (3 page)

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Sea Swept

A Sneak Peek...
 

Sea Swept
A Novel By

Erica Cope

Whispering Waves

              It was going to be one of those nights—the ones where the calming lull of the ocean refused to let me sleep peacefully.
              The gentle swooshing of the waves washing across the sand was hardly as soothing to me as it was for most of the world. Probably due to the fact that I was positively terrified of any large body of water.
              Throwing the covers back, I fumbled clumsily for the switch on my bedside lamp. When I finally managed to find it, the dim light exposed the culprit behind my restlessness—I had left the window open. No wonder I couldn't sleep.
              I was almost positive that I had closed it before I went to bed, but I guess I must have forgotten. I left the window open most of the day because if I didn't, it grew so stifling hot that I couldn’t bear to be up here. My room was at the very top of a renovated light house which gave it a lot of character, but my parents hadn't believed in central air. They had said it was because they wanted to “maintain the authenticity”.
              They had found it charming. I mostly just found it inconvenient. Aunt Sarah kept promising to have one installed, but until then an electric fan was my best friend.
              Leaving the windows open during the day didn't bother me so much since the typical daytime noises drowned out the whispering of the waves. But at night when the world grew silent the whispering inevitably grew louder. Most nights I was convinced that the waves were screaming at me.
              I knew that sounded crazy though so I never mentioned it. Some nights when I was exhausted after a long day, I fell asleep before remembering to shut the window and I managed to make it through the night undisturbed. Those nights were rare though, and obviously tonight was not one of them.
              The moon reflected off the waves in a glowing line of soft white swells. It was such a stunning scene that I knew I had to paint it immediately. I had a quiet fascination with the ocean despite my intense fear of it. The way the light and the dark interplay on the ocean's surface seemed to reflect my own contrasting feelings. I knew that I was terrified, but I couldn't explain why. I think I was fascinated by the mystery of it all.
              I knew I'd easily be able to capture the way the reflection seemed to dance on the smooth surface of the water. It was pretty calm tonight which is why I was so surprised I was awoken. If my window would've been closed I doubt I would have stirred at all. But I was up now so I might as well take advantage of it.
              I readied my palette and when I glanced back out my window something in the water near the dock caught my eye. I couldn't quite know for certain because of the darkness, but something made me think the silhouette—whatever it was—was looking at me.
              Again, I knew that was crazy but it made me paranoid enough that I grabbed the spotlight I always kept on my desk to try to get a better look. This wasn't the first time I had let my paranoia get the best of me. With shaking hands I flipped it on and aimed the blazing beam in the vicinity of where I was certain I had seen something. But somehow in the seconds it took me to do so, it—whatever it was—was gone.
              The creepy feeling that someone out there was watching me wasn't new but it still left me feeling unsettled. I had felt that way for as long as I could remember. A growing unease continued to settle over me even as I took several deep breaths, attempting to clear my head. Though I knew such thoughts were irrational, I still had a difficult time shaking them.
              Even then I think a part of me always knew that someday—somehow—the sea would eventually find a way to consume me.

Incoming Tides
             

              “Good morning sleepy-head.”
              My Aunt Sarah's voice was entirely too cheerful for this early in the morning. I rolled over burying myself further beneath the covers hoping she'd just go away, but of course, that never really worked.
              She pulled back the covers and said, “Addie! It's nearly 10 o'clock. Get out of bed lazy bones!”
              “Ugh! It's summer now! I'm supposed to be sleeping in!” I whined. School had ended on Thursday and it was finally summer vacation. I lived for summer vacation. School sucked. I mean, did I really need all those Math and Science classes? Calculators exist for a reason. Honestly, I was good with giving up English and History too—after all, there's always spell check and Google.
              School just wasn't my thing. Art was. My aunt on the other hand was absolutely convinced that I'd never be able to make a living as an artist regardless of how many times I tried to convince her that there's a reason all the greats were at one point considered to be a 'struggling artist'. It was sort of a rite of passage. She didn’t buy it. She had it in her head that my parents would want me to choose a more practical career, so she made it her mission to make sure I stayed on the right path in life.
              As far as she was concerned I needed to keep up my grades so I could eventually get into a good college and major in something boring like Business Management like my dad or Pre-law like my mom.
              Luckily I still had a couple of years before I had to worry about that.
              Honestly, I didn't see what the big deal was about going to college. Sure higher education is a great thing, but I don't necessarily think it’s right for me. I didn't really believe that my mom and dad would be this hell-bent on me attending either. After all, Mom practiced law for less than a decade before she and my dad purchased this rundown lighthouse in hopes of restoring it to its former grandeur. Apparently it was a dream of theirs. Unfortunately, they didn't get to see it finished.
              “Come on, get up. You can't just sleep the day away.”
              “Why not?” I asked clutching my pillow to my head. She might have taken my blanket, but I didn't really need it any more since the heat was already rising. I wouldn't be able to stand being up here for much longer anyway, but that wasn't the point. It was summer vacation! I wanted to get up of my own accord, not because my aunt wanted me to.
              “Adella Louise McKay get your butt out of bed this instant!”
              Uh-oh, she was using my full name and her stern “mommy” voice she only broke out on rare occasions, meaning she meant business. I
              I hated it when she used my full name. I had once asked my mom why she chose such an awful name. She shrugged and said it just came to her, like it had been whispered on the waves. I figured she must have been high on pain medicine.
              “Fine,” I grumbled. “I didn't sleep well last night.”
              “Bad dreams?”
              I shrugged noncommittally. I had learned to use bad dreams as an excuse for my insomnia early on. Nightmares about the boating accident that killed my parents seemed far more reasonable that being afraid of the sounds of the ocean. Who was terrified of the soothing pull of the waves on the shore? Weirdos, that’s who.
              I remembered not wanting to go out on the boat that day and the epic tantrum that had ensued. I had never been fond of the water. I never wanted to swim or splash around in the tide like most kids. My parents pretty much forced me to get in the boat with them that day. They thought all I needed was more exposure to conquer my fear. As if living with the Atlantic Ocean in my backyard wasn’t enough exposure
              Despite my fit, I had found myself sitting on the boat, pouting and clutching my life jacket for dear life. I had been so mad at them for forcing me to get out on the water that I had refused to speak to either one of them. Lately I wondered if I had somehow
known
something horrible was going to happen that day.
              Sometimes I felt like it was my fault—that somehow my anger had caused the storm. The fluke hurricane that had seemed to form suddenly out of nowhere, but maybe I just remember it that way because I was so little at the time. It was stupid, of course, but I could never shake the feeling that I was to blame for the death of my parents.
              “Did you drink your tea last night?” Sarah asked. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
              When she became my guardian, I think she was so worried she’d screw me up that she became extremely cautious about everything. I was nine when my parents died and my insomnia became a problem shortly afterward. She was so concerned over it she told my pediatrician.
              He had said I would outgrow it eventually—that it was to be expected after suffering the level of trauma I had experienced. He had recommended therapy and sleeping pills, but my aunt wasn’t a fan of modern medicine. Her new-age, hippy mindset hadn't liked the idea of putting me on any kind of unnatural medications.
              That's when she had concocted a blend of herbs that was supposed to help me sleep at night. She swore by the “bedtime” tea she had created specifically for me, but so far, no such luck. If anything, my sleepless nights had become more frequent the older I got. Of course, it could have been because the aroma (as well as the flavor) of the tea was similar to that of an old shoe so I avoided drinking it whenever possible.
              “I think I might have forgotten,” I lied.
              “Well that's your own fault then.”
              “Gee, thanks for being so understanding,” I quipped.
              She threw open the curtains and pushed the window wide open. “It's a beautiful day. Go enjoy it!”
              “There's nothing to do,” I griped, not for the first time.
              “Adella,” she scolded in her stern mommy voice again. It was hard to take her too seriously since she was only about ten years older than me. She was more like the big sister I never had than my guardian. She was very pretty with dark brown hair that was cut short and angled toward her face. It was a cut that I could never pull off with my thick waves. She even let me borrow her clothes like I imagined a big sister would. I took full advantage of that perk because I pretty much sucked at shopping.
              It's not that I didn't enjoy it, because I did, just like most other almost-sixteen-year-old girls. I was just never any good at knowing what was “in style” and how to put outfits together. Plus, I never wanted to spend the extra money on designer clothes since they would inevitably just get ruined with splatters of paint.
              I couldn’t help myself. When the inspiration hit me, I very rarely took the time to change my clothes for fear that the image would fade from my mind before I had a chance to get it on canvas. Luckily for me, Sarah and I were fairly close in size now so it was a perk to be able to share clothes with her when I had a reason to dress up.
              Complete with the thick, black-framed glasses she wore, she looked more like a funky college student than a mom, but she had taken on the role whole-heartedly. She looked a lot like my mother, which I guess made sense considering Aunt Sarah was Mom’s little sister, but we didn't look anything alike. My hair was an awful in-between color that wasn’t quite dark enough to be brown but not entirely light enough to be blonde either. Sarah called it ‘dirty blonde’, which described it pretty accurately and was just as attractive as it sounded. It hung down to the middle of my back and, despite the lackluster color, fell nicely with soft, natural waves.
              But it was more than just our hair color that was different. She and I really didn't have any similar traits. Her eyes were a deep brown, mine were a stormy gray. Her nose was a little long and narrow, whereas mine was petite and slightly upturned. Even though we looked nothing alike, most of the time she was mistaken for my older sister.              
              She had been only nineteen when my parents died—just beginning her adult life during her freshman year of college. I felt a twinge of guilt every time I thought about that. That accident had changed both of our lives. I had lost my parents; she had lost her sister and any semblance of the future she had dreamed of and planned for herself.
              She dropped out of college and moved across the state so I didn’t have to leave the only home I had ever known, then she took over my parents’ duties as keepers of the lighthouse. She said she didn’t want to disrupt my life any more than it already had been. Truth be told, despite my intense fear of the ocean, I was glad that she didn't make me leave because it felt like I was supposed to be here. I never disregarded how lucky I was to have her. Even if she was annoyingly chipper this morning.
              My phone buzzed from where it sat on the bedside table. I reached over and grabbed it to see who it was.
              Asher: Bonfire 2night. U in?
              “Who is it?” Aunt Sarah asked leaning over me to try to sneak a peek.
              “Nobody,” I answered vaguely.
              “Ohhh.” She smiled knowingly. “Must be Asher.”
              I just rolled my eyes and typed out a quick response. Sometimes I thought she was more excited about this new thing I had going on with Asher than I was. It was hard to get too giddy about something when you weren’t really sure what it was. Asher was the twin brother of my best friend, Lindsay, so it was kind of a weird situation. She swore she didn’t care that we were dating, but that was the thing, he hadn’t actually declared us official so I wasn’t really sure what was going on between us yet.
              Me: IDK
              I stretched my arms up as I finally got out of bed.
              “I'm going to take a shower,” I told her.
              “Sounds good, lazy bones. I'm heading out. Going to run a few errands before meeting a friend for lunch.”
              “Okay—wait, which friend?” I asked with a scowl on my face. Sarah balked under my glare, which pretty much answered my question. “No!” I complained.
              “What?” She feigned innocence.
              “You’re going out with him aren’t you?”
              “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” She waved her hands in the air and refused to make eye contact with me.
              “Yes you do. Ew! Why him?”
              “He asked!” she defended. The downside to having a super hot aunt as a guardian? She got hit on. A lot. By everyone that met her—which unfortunately for me, included my English teacher. I fell backwards on my bed, hiding my face again under my pillow. “Oh Addie, don’t be like that,” she said as she pulled the pillow away.
              “Ugh! It’s so gross! He’s old!”
              “Watch it, young lady! He’s only a year older than me.” She cocked an eyebrow and tried to hide the smile forming on her lips.
              “But he's my teacher!” I complained.
              “Well, technically, not anymore,” she offered with a shrug. She was right of course, he wouldn't be my teacher in the fall, but the point was that he, at some point, was my teacher and that was just weird.
              “C'mon Addie. It's been forever since I've been out on a date.”
              “It's not from lack of invites,” I pointed out.
              “Yeah, well a girl's got to have her standards.”
              “And Mr. Cooper qualifies?” I asked skeptically.
              “Tom's a really nice guy, Addie.” She looked so hopeful and I knew that if I really threw a fit about it she would cancel her plans with him, but that she didn't really want to.
              “Fine. Whatever.”
              “Thanks for your ‘blessing’.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling so I knew my 'blessing' was appreciated. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You'll be okay?”
              “Uh, yeah. It's not hard to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
              She just laughed. “Okay, see you later Addie-cakes.”
              I showered, but decided I wasn't really up for going anywhere today so I pulled on some yoga pants and my favorite t-shirt. I twisted my hair up into a knot on the top of my head and decided to finish working on the painting I had started the night before.               It was difficult to remember the exact coloring of the night sky that had caught my eye, but I knew that I could get it right. It just might take me a while.
              It was easy for me to lose track of time while I painted. There was something soothing about the process of blending colors on my canvas. More often than not, I would sit down to work and before I'd know it hours had passed and the day was over.
              My phone buzzed and a quick glance told me it was Asher. I still hadn't given him an answer about tonight so he was probably going to be pretty upset with me, but right now I didn't really care about that. I just wanted to paint. To feel the soft bristles of my brush stroke against the canvas as I brought to life the picture inside my head.
              I had just finished adding the moon reflected in ripples on the surface of the dark water in my painting when my phone buzzed again. It was only after seven so the bonfire was probably just starting. I guess I'd have time to make up for avoiding his calls earlier after all.
              “Hey, I was just about to call you,” I answered the phone. It was a total lie, but he didn't have to know that.
              “Are you coming down?”