Knotted Roots
Authors: Ruthi Kight
Knotted Roots
By
Ruthi Kight
This is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product
of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright
© 2013 Ruthi Kight
All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission
requests, e-mail [email protected].
ISBN-13:
978-1482782042
ISBN-10:
1482782049
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SPECIAL
SNEAK PEEK AT MICHELLE KNIGHT’S DEBUT NOVEL, “TWISTED SNOW,” RELEASING SUMMER
OF 2013!
I dedicate this book
to the two people who have known me the longest: my parents. Dad, you will
never know just how much your support means to me. You have lifted me up and
made me believe in myself once again. Thank you for all that you have done.
Mom, I know you are up in heaven smiling down on me. I miss you every waking
moment and I wish that you were by my side right now as my dreams come true.
You two are the best parents that a person could ask for. Thank you for always
having faith in me, even when I lost faith in myself.
Decisions.
A part of our lives that we inevitably have to deal with. When we’re kids, our
decisions seem simple, until we look back at them later. We wonder what would
have happened if we had chosen a different best friend, or a different lunch
box, or a different infatuation. As we get older, the decisions become more
complex, and the results become more skewed. It’s no wonder that most of us
have a hard time sticking to a decision.
My
biggest problem at the end of my junior year of high school was which boy I
wanted to be seen with in the Hamptons (Carter Raine, of course). Or which
designer I wanted to design my summer wardrobe (Michael Kors, no doubt). I had
everything planned out, including how each small detail would impact the next.
I was a planner. Life needed a plan, sometimes down to the minute.
Imagine
my surprise when my whole plan got thrown out the window. My summer plan, my
life’s plan, hell, my Monday plan, all of it was trashed in the blink of an
eye. My parents made a huge decision for me that day. When it happened, I was
pissed. Forget that, I was beyond pissed! I wanted to revolt against them and
sneak away to my best friend’s house. I planned to lock myself in her room
until they changed their minds. I was prepared.
What
I wasn’t prepared for was how life down South could irrevocably change me. I
won’t tell you where I ended up, but I will tell you how I got there: I let go
of my plans. I stopped living by a calendar and just started living. See,
there’s this great thing called spontaneity that I lost somewhere along the
way. What I found last summer changed my life, in more ways than one.
“I
want to scream! They are such idiots!” I yelled in frustration. “Why would I
want to spend my summer in Podunk South Carolina? I swear! Have they lost their
damn minds?”
“Don’t
they realize that the summer before senior year is very important to your
social standing? If you don’t go to the Hamptons with me you’re going to be a
social outcast when you come back,” Amber replied, the anger and frustration
evident in the fire of her tone.
Amber
had been my best friend since we were in diapers. She always had my back, no
matter what injustice I was suffering from at the moment. I could always count
on her understanding and knew she would be just as upset as I was. That’s what
best friends did, right?
“I
tried to tell them that last night! I even told them that I would still be out
of their hair if they just let me spend the summer with you and your parents.
But they said I needed time away from this world, whatever that means,” I
huffed as I slammed my locker shut.
I
threw my pink messenger bag over my shoulder, careful not to catch my long,
chestnut curls in the strap. At five-foot-nine-inches, I normally towered
over Amber, but today she was wearing her heels, which brought us almost to eye
level with each other. We had been told our entire lives that we looked like
twins, except for the height difference. We both had naturally curly hair,
always worn long, with green eyes. Mine were a shade darker than hers, but it
was such a minor difference that people rarely noticed. While it may sound
nice to have a best friend who looked so much like you that you’re mistaken for
twins, it really sucked when you dated someone new. You always wondered if
they found your best friend as attractive as you.
We
started walking down the almost empty hall, careful not to trip over all of the
discarded items strewn about from the many lockers that had been cleaned out.
The students of Hucklebee Academy believed themselves to be above cleaning,
especially after themselves. When you come from money there was always someone
there to clean up after you, so what’s the point?
“Maybe
if I go over and talk to them, they will change their minds. I mean, South
Carolina? What in the hell are you supposed to do there all summer?” asked
Amber, as she side-stepped a large pile of boxes in the middle of the hall.
As
we walked amongst our fellow students and friends I couldn’t help but think
that next year would be completely different. All of my friends would spend
the summer together, attending numerous parties and barbecues in the most
exclusive area in New York, while I spent my days suffocating in the humid heat
of the South. Would they accept me back next year if I missed all of the
social gatherings? What would happen if they didn’t?
I
shivered as the thought that my future in the social strata was about to be
threatened. “Come with me to the condo. It’s worth a shot, ya know?” I said
as we pushed through the large double doors of our private school. The New
York heat was breath taking, but I remembered stories from my mother about the
heat in her hometown of Perry Point, near Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. She
said that you could taste the moisture in the air. The humidity was a tangible
being by itself, as it smothered those that dared to spend their summer days
outdoors.
She
rarely spoke of her life before New York. Before Dad. It wasn’t a secret that
her mother, Betty, still lived there, but I had never visited. I barely even
knew my grandmother. My mom told me that I had met her when I was almost a
year old, but my memories from that age are a little fuzzy. Okay, not fuzzy.
More like flat out non-existent.
If
she couldn’t stand to even talk about her hometown, then why would she expect
me to want to spend my summer there? I never gave much thought to what her
life had been before she met Dad, but if her lack of disclosure was any indication,
it wasn’t all that wonderful. My real concern was why she expected me to just
cancel all of my plans to spend my vacation with a woman I didn’t even know, in
a place that she apparently hated? It wasn’t fair, if you asked me. But of
course they didn’t, obviously.
As
we made our way to my condo we talked about all of the festivities that had
been planned for the Hamptons. The annual White Party, of course, was the
major hot topic. We had never been invited until this year, so that was
definitely a point to make to the parental units. There were numerous
barbeques, yacht parties, and luncheons that I couldn’t miss. Apparently my
social stratus had not been factored into the equation, a point I intended to
rectify as soon as I got home. My reputation would surely plummet if I had to
spend three months away from civilization. They couldn’t be that
heartless…could they?
* * * *
I
heard yelling as we approached the mahogany door that led to the inner sanctum
of our home. I looked back at Amber, who was so engrossed in her iPhone that
she didn’t seem to notice the ruckus that poured through my front door. I
slipped my key into the lock, careful not to make too much noise, and turned
the key silently. As I opened the door I heard a loud crash. It sounded like a
thousand pieces of glass hit our expensive granite floor. I flung open the
door and rushed in, and all thought of a sneak attack flew out the window.
I
wasn’t prepared for what greeted me inside. My mother, still in her fluffy
pink bathrobe, sat on the blood red sofa, her face cradled in her hands. My
father, his face red with anger, stood over her, and his hands shook as he
appeared ready to attack.
“Dad!
What is going on?” I yelled as I threw my bag on the floor. I rushed to my
mother and sat down beside her, and I began to run my hands up and down her
back. “Mom, are you okay? Why aren’t you dressed?”
“Roxie,
this is between your mother and myself. Please take your friend and go to your
room,” Dad said as he tried to slow his breathing and calm down.
“Um...I
think I’m going to head home. Call me later Rox,” replied Amber as she quickly
shuffled out the front door. The door slammed as she rushed out, the sound
echoed through the now silent house. I looked up at Dad and noticed that the
veins in his forehead were bulging again. I hadn’t seen him this angry since
the Visa bill came in the mail last month.
“What’s
going on? Did Mom do some more retail therapy today? ‘Cause she told me that
she was going out to buy me some new clothes for my forced vacation to the
armpit of the south,” I asked, as I hoped my lie would help to diffuse the
situation between them.
“Roxie,
this has nothing to do with you, or shopping. Go ahead Cal, tell her. I’m
sure you are just dying to smear my name some more,” Mom stood and pulled her
bathrobe closed around her small frame. She looked more fragile than normal.
The bones in her hands appeared as if covered in a film instead of thousands of
layers of muscle and skin.
“Leave
her out of this Angela. This isn’t the time or the place to tell her,” replied
Dad. The air crackled between the two people in this world who meant the most
to me. Evidently this was much bigger than a simple shopping spree.
“What’s
going on? Please tell me! Does this have to do with why I’m being shipped off
to Grandma Betty’s for the summer?” I asked, as tears threatened to explode
from beneath my lashes. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew that
I had hit the nail on the proverbial head. I glanced from one to the other,
twin looks of guilt on their faces in full view. I crossed my arms
dramatically and tapped my foot, just in case they didn’t already know that I
was seriously fed up with their crap.