Derrolyn Anderson - [Marinas Tales #1] - Between The Land And The Sea

  Between The Land And The Sea

  Derrolyn Anderson

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2011 by Derrolyn Anderson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions of it.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE

  The surfer sat upright on his board, blue eyes intensely focused as he scanned the action at the breakers. Rising and falling with the ocean swells, he was poised to spring into action when the moment came, completely oblivious to the drama being played out below him.

  Driven by mounting hunger, the shark needed to feed, and it prowled the coastline on a lethal mission. Fathomless black eyes scanned the water for prey as its muscular tail lashed back and forth rhythmically. Once it had made its choice the outcome was a foregone conclusion. It was an efficient eating machine, emotionless and methodical. Certain death swimming.

  She followed along behind it, gliding with effortless grace. The hungry predator didn’t realize that it was being stalked, shadowed by a creature far more ancient and powerful than itself. She wasn’t going to allow it to hunt in her territory. Its intended victims were her charges and she felt a kinship to them. Watching and waiting, she trailed at a distance, a protective force of nature.

  The big fish slowed and began to circle, and she knew from experience that it had selected a target. Looking up, she could see a surfboard floating on the surface flanked by the legs of a wave rider. The hungry predator began its final rush towards what it thought was a sea lion. Eyes rolled back for protection, it became a deadly missile, a terrible surge of gray slicing though the water like a knife. Massive jaws opened to reveal row upon row of serrated teeth, ready to bite down at exactly the right moment.

  With a few powerful thrusts of her tail she swiftly flew through the water with tremendous speed, intercepting the shark at the last possible moment. She drove into its gills with her shoulder, knocking it off course and stunning it temporarily. Startled, it regained its bearings and righted itself, unaccustomed to being thwarted. Suddenly terrified of the interloper, the shark quickly retreated.

  Pleased with herself, she surfaced to get a better look.

  The surfer had glanced down just in time to see the huge jaws closing in on him. He knew what was coming and had braced himself, resigned to his fate. To his amazement he was spared.

  A split second before he was awaiting death, and now he was looking into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. A girl with eyes the color of the sea, eyes that locked onto his and disappeared under the water in a flash.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DESTINY

  My father always used to say that there were times in life when your personal happiness was of little consequence, and you needed to make a sacrifice for the greater good. I’d never really given that sentiment much thought before, but I suppose that this would qualify as one of those times.

  Dad was leaving to work on an important project overseas, stubbornly refusing to take me along despite my most heartfelt pleading. I was to live at my Aunt’s for almost an entire year, and I wasn’t very happy about it. I’d always traveled alongside my father, and I was having a hard time understanding why he was suddenly being so obstinate. He refused to budge, making it clear that no amount of wheedling, whining or outright nagging would sway him.

  It wasn’t that I had anything against visiting my aunt and cousin– too much time had passed since we’d last seen them. I had vague memories of happy childhood times spent in the small beach town of Aptos, random impressions of the sun illuminating waves, faded snapshot images of building and demolishing sandcastles with my cousin. A trip down the coast was long overdue, but did it have to last a whole year? I didn’t want to live in Aptos and I really didn’t want to attend the local high school.

  To be honest, what bothered me the most was the prospect of the separation– I was to be cut adrift and live apart from my father for the first time in my entire life. His work was taking him to a remote and rugged part of the world, safe enough for him, but apparently not for me. He used to joke that we were a family of two rolling stones, moss-free and happy, but now I found myself being banished to Aptos as he rolled away without me. In my opinion, it was totally and utterly unfair.

  “Marina, I’d bring you along if I could,” he had calmly explained, “but Afghanistan is far too dangerous right now and no place for a girl your age. I won’t get any work done if I’m constantly worrying about you... Besides,” he looked at me with pleading eyes, hopeful that I’d capitulate, “You should be in high school with other kids. You need to be around people your own age.”

  “Nonsense,” I protested, arguing my case to the bitter end, “You know I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself. And I prefer to attend on-line school. Don’t you want me to have more time to work on my art?” I met his gaze levelly.

  “Aunt Abigail has enrolled you at Aptos High. I fly out this evening. Decision made.” When I saw the stubborn set to his jaw I knew the verdict was in and my fate was sealed. Court was adjourned, and I had been sentenced to a year.

  I glumly packed my bags and sulked over to Aunt Evie’s, seeking a sympathetic ear. Our apartments share the top floor of our San Francisco high-rise, and her place has always served as my refuge and retreat. She’s not technically related to us, but Evie likes it when I call her Aunt, and I adore her, for she’s the closest thing to a mom or grandmother that I’ve ever known. Aunt Evie has lived right across the hallway from us for as long as I can remember, and some of the happiest hours of my childhood were whiled away poking around in her luxurious rooms.

  When we’re not traveling for my father’s research, he lectures at the university and we live in the city, but I suspect that he only suffers it in order to support his field work. I can tell he’s at his happiest outdoors in the fresh air, up to his elbows in dirt, engrossed in his experiments.

  Consequently, I’ve been living out of suitcases all over the world, completely comfortable with our rootless nomadic existence. As long as Dad and I were together, home was anywhere we happened to be, and we even nicknamed our San Francisco apartment “base camp”.

  That would make Aunt Evie camp director, staff, and head counselor all rolled into one.

  Evie has always served as my touchstone, a constant reassuring reference point. Each time Dad and I returned from a stay abroad she’d be waiting with open arms, eager to shower me with love and attention. She shares her immense apartment with Fifi and Pierre, two tiny white poodles that she spoils almost as much as she does me. I knew I’d miss them all, and a fresh wave of self-pity engulfed me as I reached her door. Before I even knocked it swung open wide as if she could see straight through it. She regarded me astutely for a split second.

  “Marina! Darling!” she cried enthusiastically, embracing and air kissing me, “You look absolutely lovely this morning! You must be so excited! You simply have to come to the city for a visit when I return from Cannes. I’ll want to hear everything about your new school.” Aunt Evie had been a celebrated fashion model in her younger years and remained a style icon, traveling the globe in a relentless pursuit of luxury and pleasure. She possessed the devastating combination of wit and beauty that made people from all walks of life shamelessly fawn all over her. When Evie focused her attention on you, it felt as though you were the most importan
t person in the world.

  “I wish I could stay with you,” I said mournfully, watching her with one eye as I bent to pet the little dogs who danced in hysterical circles around my feet.

  “Nice try,” she laughed knowingly, “You’ll forget all about me when you’re around people your own age.” I cast her a sour look. Even Evie had thrown me to the wolves, agreeing with my father’s theory that I would benefit from exposure to a bunch of small town teenagers.

  “Not a chance,” I griped, mimicking her, “I absolutely dread being abandoned there.”

  “Now, now, let’s not be overly dramatic,” she said with an indulgent smile.

  I rolled my eyes at her, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Aunt Evie has always been larger than life, attacking each day with theatrical flair. If you looked up “drama queen” in the dictionary you’d find a full page picture of Evie.

  “Sweetheart, high school will give you precisely the sort of real world experience you’ll need for your brilliant future. Just be sure to keep me up on all of your romantic intrigues,” her ice blue eyes flashed with mischief.

  I snorted, “It’s high school, Aunt Evie, not one of your foreign films.” She shook her head in disagreement, “A beautiful sixteen year old should not be holed up in an apartment all alone! You need to meet new people– make some friends! You have no idea what destiny has in store for you!” Her face softened into a dreamy smile, “You’ve been hidden away with your nose in a book for far too long,” she closed her eyes and sighed, “You should be going to dances and parties and having some fun! Those Aptos boys won’t even realize what hit them… You’re going to have such admirers!”

  I sighed with frustration. Aunt Evie led the glamorous life of a jet setter, flitting from one social event to another, and couldn’t begin to imagine how anyone might prefer a quieter existence. Widowed years ago and never remarried, she kept busy, filling her days with philanthropy, travel and shopping, though not necessarily in that order. Her late husband Harold had indulged her every whim and bequeathed her a vast fortune upon his passing, secure in the knowledge that his Evelyn would be provided for– even as she spent money with reckless abandon.

  Evie took me under her wing when I was very small, exposing me to the rarefied world of wealth and privilege; her lifestyle was the polar opposite of the one I lived with my father. She exists for designer clothes, while dad and I are most comfortable in worn blue jeans. Like us, she travels extensively, but to resort areas with five star hotels, while we generally take spare quarters in remote impoverished villages. Between my father and Evie I felt like I already had plenty of real world experience.

  She left the room abruptly, returning with several giant shopping bags and a sly smile.

  “I’ve got a few new things!” she announced.

  I knew what that meant. Whip thin, tall and stylish, Evie’s singular obsession is fashion, and she’s made outfitting me in the most beautiful clothing one of her top priorities in life. It’s great fun playing dress-up with all the gorgeous things she buys me, but she’s deadly serious about keeping up with the latest trends, and perpetually on the hunt for the perfect ensemble.

  Relentlessly chic, Evie always dresses to kill. Her platinum blonde hair is invariably perfectly coiffed; her makeup and nails equally impeccable. High society types gossip endlessly about her wardrobe, jewels and furs. For a woman like Evie, shopping is a bloodsport, and she stalks her quarry mercilessly.

  She handed me the bags, “Voila’!”

  I managed to muster up an, “Oh Evie, you shouldn’t have...”

  “Indulge me!’” she exclaimed, and I did. Diving into them to her obvious delight, I pulled out some of the most delicate, filmy and romantic designer sundresses imaginable.

  “Ooh...” I sighed, flipping through the pile, “Chloe… Dior… these are absolutely beautiful! ”

  “Marina,” she sighed dreamily as I held up a particularly lovely turquoise frock, “With your eyes and hair, you’ll be an absolute vision in that.”

  I couldn’t argue. With her exquisite taste and expert eye, Evie never failed to choose clothes that flattered my figure and enhanced my coloring.

  There was a loud rap on the door that sent Pierre and Fifi into a barking frenzy.

  “Dad must be ready,” I pouted.

  Evie had insisted that we take a car out of her collection for our drive down to Aptos.

  Looking out the window on the beautiful summer day, she decided that it absolutely must be a convertible.

  Evie flung open the door to receive my father while I busied myself packing away her latest shopping excesses. The little dogs lunged at him, snapping and snarling in a comic attempt at viciousness. They seemed to know he was there to take me from them.

  Dad looked down with an amused face. “Call off the hounds,” he smiled at Evie, greeting her with a brusque embrace. He sighed with resignation when he saw all the shopping bags I was gathering. My father has always been mystified by the sheer quantity of expensive clothing that Evie showers on me; he simply can’t comprehend the point in all the artifice of fashion. Despite his disapproval, he never complained about it too much, for Evie served a purpose. I’m sure he was relieved to abdicate the responsibility of dressing a daughter.

  “Martin,” Evie turned to him fervently, “You must be careful out there in that Godforsaken place. You’ll be in our hearts until your safe return.” She took him by both hands and stared at him intensely with her crystal gaze, “I know you’ll do your very best for those poor people.”

  “Thank you Evie,” he said solemnly.

  She gathered herself with some effort, “I’ve had Boris bring the Phantom around and load Marina’s luggage. Now… scoot before you make me cry and ruin my face!”

  “Goodbye Evie,” said Dad.

  “Thank you for all the beautiful things,” I hugged her close, enveloped in a comforting cloud of her perfume, “I’ll call to let you know how everything fits. Maybe my cousin will drive me up for a visit...”

  Dad ushered me out the door and into the elevator down to the garage. A gleaming silver convertible pulled up, with a giant of a man emerging from behind the wheel.

  “Morning Boris,” said my father with a friendly nod.

  Boris nodded a greeting in return and winked at me. He was enormous, a hugely tall and heavily muscled colossus. His broad shoulders, thick neck and bald head gave him a frightening appearance, but I knew that looks could be deceiving. Boris was a gentle giant, the ever present guardian of our building, possessed of an eagle eye that continually scanned for unwelcome intruders.

  “Vatch your back sir,” he said in his thick Russian accent as he held the door open for my dad.

  “Thanks Boris, I will,” Dad replied with confidence, heaving a couple of shopping bags into the back seat before climbing in.

  Boris opened the passenger door for me, “Cheers up kiddo,” he said, patting my head with a huge meaty hand, “Aptos is not so far avay.”

  I slid into the seat and gestured for him to come closer, reaching out to rub his bald head for good luck like I used to when I was little. His face split into a grin and his booming laugh echoed in my ears as we pulled away.

  We cruised down a ribbon of road that wound along the California coast, sailing through the warm summer air. The wind whipped my ponytail around, lashing my cheeks with long brown strands as I looked out across the endless sea. The water sparkled with infinite shades of blue and green; it grew darker right at the horizon line and was sliced in two by the sun’s shimmering reflection. It would make a nice painting, I thought... maybe I would start one tonight.

  “I bet you’re gonna enjoy high school,” my father raised his voice over the wind, glancing over at me as he tried to gauge my mood.

  I pretended not to hear him as I gazed out at the ocean. Any other day it would have been a pleasant journey, but I was feeling nervous and unsettled, totally incapable of working up any false enthusiasm.

 
“Your Aunt Abigail is really looking forward to having you,” he continued on louder, still trying to sell me on the move, and no doubt assuage his guilty conscience. “You and Cruz will get to spend your senior year together.”

  We drove south, hugging the shoreline, soaking up the afternoon sun and expansive ocean views. I looked at the tiny flying lady ornament on the car’s hood, the land and sea whizzing past her outstretched arms and billowing gown. She looked happy and free- the exact opposite of how I felt. We came to a section of highway with a few vans and beat up old trucks lining the side of the road. Dad pulled over and parked.

  “Marina, look at the surfers,” he said, leaning across me to get a better view of the water.

  I looked down to see a smattering of tiny figures on the ocean, sitting upright on surfboards.

  Several of them suddenly materialized upright and skimmed across the waves, leaving plumes of white water behind them, flying like the lady sailing on the highway.

  He slumped back in his seat with a sigh, “Honey, you know I’ll miss you, but you should spend some time at a real school. I’m afraid I’ve been selfish... keeping you with me all these years. I just want to give you a chance to live a normal life for a while.”

  “Dad, I like my life. I don’t want it to change,” I said.

  “Change is not always a bad thing,” he smiled encouragingly, “This is your last chance to go to high school before you start college. You know, football games... prom?”

  “Not interested in the least,” I replied with a grimace.

  “You never know until you try,” he said cheerily.

  I sighed, and cast him an annoyed glance. I knew he worried about me. I’d always had a solitary nature, but my father perceived me as being isolated. I could happily go an entire day without speaking a word to anyone, and I spent all my time with adults. I truly considered Evie my best friend and didn’t see anything at all wrong with it. The situation bothered Dad, but I’d always been able to talk him out of sending me to boarding school. He’d often argued that I needed to spend time with younger people, but he could never win me over in a debate on the merits.