Cursed (Enchanted Gods #1) - K.K. Allen Page 0,7
my mom, Grace, had was of when she woke up on the shore in Apollo Beach at sixteen years old. Right here, right in front of George and Rose Summer's home. Rose’s son, Paul, carried her inside.
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