by
SUSAN GRISCOM
Amber Glow Books
Also by Susan Griscom
Brief Interludes (A collection of short stories with a twist)
The Whisper Cape Series, writing as Regan Walsh
Whisper Cape, Book 1
Reflections, Book 2
A Secret Fate, Book 3 (2013)
Published in the United States by Amber Glow Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
Copyright © 2012 by Susan Griscom
From the author:
Allusive Aftershock is a work of fiction.
The very first scene in this book is based on an earthquake I experienced as a teenager. Adela's emotions and actions in that scene are from what I remember. The rest of the book is entirely fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidences are products of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.
Amber Glow Books
AmberGlowBooks.com
www.susangriscom.com
Cover design: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
Editor: Michele T. Green
ISBN: 13: 978-0615737898 (Paperback)
ISBN-10: 0615737897
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
To all the men, women, and children whose lives have been lost due to one of mother nature’s natural disasters and to all the brave rescue people involved in helping those who survived. A special thought to the ones left behind struggling to rebuild their lives or cope with the loss of a loved one.
Chapter 1
~~ Adela ~~
An enormous amount of shaking jerked me awake.
My freaking bed was bouncing underneath me. A deep growl from somewhere below rose to a violent rumbling, rocking me and everything else around in my bedroom. I bolted up in my bed not really fully awake enough to comprehend exactly what was going on. My eyes darted to the swaying floor lamp threatening to tumble over in the corner. For a moment, I sat frozen, unable to move as I watched my silver jewelry box slide off my dresser and crash to the floor. Bracelets, earrings, and necklaces scattered over the hardwood surface.
Shoving the covers aside, I jumped out of bed and tripped over the blankets hanging from the side of the mattress, falling on my hands and knees in my haste to get to my parents’ room. I picked my wobbly self up and took off toward their doorway, colliding with my dad. We held on to one another to steady ourselves from the swaying movement of the rumbling house.
My little sister screeched from down the hall, “What’s happening, what’s happening?!” I glanced toward the sound of her piercing squeal, which only fueled the deafening roar with more hysteria.
“Go to your mother.” My dad shoved me in the direction of their king-sized bed as he took off toward the room my four-year-old sister and brother shared.
I jumped into my mom’s out-stretched arms and we huddled together in the center of the bed. For a split second I thought, are we at war? It may have been a stupid notion, but you’d be surprised at what flips through your mind in the middle of a disaster. I didn’t know what war felt like, but I was positive it had to be something this frightening.
My mom’s arms wrapped tighter around my shoulders, the bed bouncing and rocking beneath us as I tried to think who might be bombing us. Because, if we were being bombed, surely that big blast of light would come at any minute and it would all be over. Somehow, through my fear I wracked my brain trying to remember which countries possessed nuclear weapons. North Korea came to mind, a topic we’d discussed at length in history class only last week.
The bedroom windows shook and rattled and I thought they would explode any second. A crashing sound came from somewhere else in the house and the earsplitting shatter of glass rang in my head. As my mom and I huddled together, I stared out the large sliding glass door leading to the swimming pool. Traces of the early morning sun made things barely visible as water sloshed around, spilling over the edge. The surrounding pavement rippled in waves.
The bedside lamp toppled over and I almost jumped out of my skin when the bulb exploded as it hit the hardwood floor. This is it. I was sure my life was over.
My father shouted from down the hall, “They’re okay!”
My mom sighed, squeezing her arms around my body even tighter and whispering close to my ear, “It’s an earthquake.”
“An earthquake?” I wasn’t quite sure which was worse, being blown to smithereens or swallowed by the earth as it cracked wide open. Maybe the roof would cave in and crush us to death. Not that it mattered. Dead is dead.
In what seemed like an eternity of seconds later, the shaking stopped.
The roaring and rumbling ceased and quiet settled around us except for my sister’s whimpering and my dad’s soothing voice.
The sudden stillness seemed eerie, as if it was only temporary and the shaking and rumbling would start up again any second.
My mom cupped my face in her hands and made me look in her eyes. “Are you okay, Adela?” Her voice had the uncanny ability to soothe me even in a nerve-wracking situation like this. Maybe that’s why my dad called her Angel, aside from the fact that it was short for Angelica. Angelica Castielle … sort of had a solacing ring to it, I always thought.
I nodded and swiped away the uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Come on, let’s go see the twins.” We got up from the bed and walked down the hall to the twins’ room. Aaron, my little brother and Ambrosia, my little sister sat on the bottom bunk; our dad between them, his big hand fluffing Aaron’s hair. His broad smile lightened the situation as he glanced up at my mom and me. Aaron studied his fingers, twisting them in his red Superman blanket and Ambrosia sniffled against Dad’s broad chest.
“There, it’s all over now,” he cooed softly and squeezed them close.
My mom took a step toward them and they jumped into her arms. I hung back, leaning against the door, too devastated at the sight of the toys and decorations that had fallen off the shelves and now lay strewn about on the floor. A picture of me and the twins my mom had made us pose for last Christmas lay face up on the floor, the glass of the frame broken into a million tiny pieces. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. The last thing the twins needed was to see me cry.
“Look, Mommy, my fire truck ladder.” Aaron’s bottom lip protruded slightly, but he managed to keep his tough boyish bravado in check as he hel
d two halves of a white plastic ladder in his hands.
“Sorry, sweetie.”
“Give it here, pal. I think I can glue it.” Aaron handed the two pieces of the ladder to my dad and sat back down beside him on the bed.
Dad patted Aaron on the head and stood, approached me, and placed his fingers under my chin as I lifted my eyes to his. “Okay, Dely?”
Words stuck in my throat and a sob threatened, so I only nodded.
He smiled but his eyes stayed firm and serious as he walked out of the room. I turned and ran after him. “Dad, what about the horses?” I asked, struggling to clear the sob from my voice.
“I’m gonna get dressed and check on them now.”
“I want to come.”
“I think your mother needs you here.”
“Dad, please? Big Blue needs me. The earthquake had to scare him. He’ll be so frightened. Please.”
This time, his dark eyes smiled along with his mouth. “Okay, Adela. But once we see he’s okay, you’re back here, helping your mother.”
“Okay, I promise.” I sprinted to my room and stopped in the doorway, taking in the horrible sight. My favorite picture lay on the floor. I picked it up and turned it over before placing it back on the dresser. Luckily, there wasn’t a scratch on it. My mom had taken it two years ago at my fifteenth birthday party. Max and I had just had a cake fight, and we smiled for the camera with our heads close together, faces smudged with chocolate frosting. I loved that picture; it represented one of the happiest times in my life. I turned to grab the pants I’d left draped over the back of the glider in the corner of my room, a habit that always invoked a threat of donation to Goodwill by my mother. On my way, I tripped over the jewelry box still sitting in the middle of the floor. I sighed at the sight, all my jewelry tangled and scattered around the floor, including the delicate heart pendant my mom had given me on my seventeenth birthday four months ago. I picked it up and put it on, stared at the other stuff on the floor, and sighed. I’ll worry about the rest of the mess later.
I tugged up my jeans and shrugged on a long-sleeved shirt, buttoning it one-handed, grabbing an elastic band from the doorknob with the other. I didn’t even bother combing my hair, just ran my fingers through the tangles, and pulled it back, looping the hair band several times around it. I snatched my jacket from the hook behind the door, pulling it on as I ran to the kitchen, grabbed an apple from the bowl filled with assorted fruit on the counter, and shoved it into my jacket pocket.
Passing the living room, I saw the mess of scattered, broken china on the floor in front of the hutch. Mom stood at the edge of the room, shaking her head. I could almost feel her anguish at the sight in front of her. With her hands clasped together, fingers folded into the soft peach Angora wool of her sweater, she crushed the collar close to her chin as if it was a security blanket; maybe it was to her. My dad had given her that sweater last Christmas and she wore it all the time.
“Sorry, Mom.” I wanted to comfort her but she waved me on, not even looking at me. The china set, an heirloom from my mother’s family, passed down for five generations, would have one day belonged to Ambrosia or me. Well, that decision was no longer an issue. At that moment, I realized nothing lasts forever. Particularly porcelain china.
The smell of hay mixed with horse manure assaulted my nose when I strolled into the stable no less than two minutes later. Most people cringe at that smell, but I embraced it. It meant I was near Big Blue. I walked past my dad who’d already shoveled most of the hay into the trough, and headed straight to Big Blue’s stall.
“Adela, don’t go in there yet. He’s very skittish and might stomp on you by accident. I’m going to give Courtland Reese a call. I want him to check out Blue before you ride him. That is, if he hasn’t already been solicited by another rancher around here.”
“Dad, seriously? Courtland Reese? Come on. I know Big Blue better than anyone. I can handle him, can’t I, big boy?” I said, as I got closer to my horse.
Courtland Reese was the boy everyone at school hated and made fun of because of his freakish connection to animals. Well, Max hated him, mostly. Everyone else just went along with whatever Max said.
I reached over the gate and placed my hand on Blue’s head and he reared back, flaring his nostrils as if he didn’t know me. I recoiled in shock.
No. Big Blue can’t do this. He’s my baby. I had been there when he was born, the very first person he’d seen as he lay there covered in that white gooey-looking transparent sac. It gave his midnight black coat a bluish tint. I’ll never forget Dr. Showbert, the veterinarian, saying Blue was the largest colt he had ever seen. I knew from that very moment what I would call him.
“Shhhh. Big Blue, shhhh. That’s it. Come on, it’s okay,” I coaxed in my softest persuasive voice as Big Blue inched closer to the gate and let me stroke his beautiful black face. I gently traced the white diamond on his forehead, a gesture he always seemed to love, and a bubbling thrill tingled throughout my blood when he nuzzled my cheek.
I was pleased that Blue let me pet him, but my mind seethed with anger over the prospect of Courtland Reese, a guy my own age, handling my horse. A boy Max despised. A boy who was the talk of every rancher within ten miles of Pleasant Ridge. He always seemed different from other boys, standoffish, and he looked a bit older than the rest of the guys in school. It was rumored—if you paid attention to those sorts of things—that Courtland had some weird ability to communicate with animals, particularly horses. Back in elementary school, kids made fun of him, calling him “Dr. Doolittle” and “freak.” Not so much anymore though, now that we were all seniors and way too cool for such immature behavior—well, most of us. Max still referred to him as “Freakazoid.” Courtland was also half Miwok Native American and most people said that was where he got his strange ability. I think a lot of the kids regarded him as scary and unapproachable more than anything else. He was quiet and didn’t socialize much, which didn’t help his reputation. I’d always thought he had a certain bad-boy look—sort of a leftover hot guy from that movie, “The Outsiders.” Yeah, I’m an 80’s movie nerd.
Certain that I could do better than Courtland, I smiled and nuzzled Big Blue right back. Courtland Reese had nothing compared to this kind of love. Big Blue was mine and nobody could ever soothe him the way I could. “See, Dad? Big Blue is fine. We don’t need Courtland.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t like Courtland. All I really knew about the guy was what Max told me. Maxen Wendell, my best friend, future boyfriend and husband, only he didn’t know it yet, was an excellent judge when it came to sizing up people. Max was popular, always had been, just the opposite of Courtland. I sort of felt special that Max actually hung around with me … considering I wasn’t popular. Max and I became friends outside of school because we lived close to each other and I was probably the only other person his age within six miles other than Courtland.
Max said Courtland was too “sweet” so he must be a mama’s boy as well as a pansy. I’d thought about pointing out that Courtland’s mother died several years ago so he couldn’t possibly be a mama’s boy, but it really wasn’t something worth starting an argument over. I wasn’t even sure about the sweet part; he didn’t look very sweet to me. He frowned a lot and never spoke to me unless I said something to him, which rarely ever happened, mostly because we really had nothing in common except for our love of animals. Court wasn’t a bad guy. I guess I just never really took the time to get to know him, but today wasn’t the day to start. I didn’t want him near Big Blue, except my father seemed to think Courtland Reese had what it took to make or break a good stud like my horse.
“Well, I’m calling him anyway,” my dad said, interrupting my thoughts. “There are other animals around here besides Blue that could use a bit of calming.”
Convinced that Big Blue was steady and unflustered, I trucked back inside the house to help pick up china with my mom, another spirit in dire need of appeasement. Mom sniffled as she swept up shattered pieces
of china and my heart felt as broken as Mom’s dishes, not for the china, but for my mother. She put so much stock in preserving the past. Personally, I didn’t see the importance but respected the fact that she did.
“Sorry, Mom.” I didn’t really know what else to say to her so I grabbed another dustpan and broom.
Angelica Castielle, the ever-protective angel, shooed me away. “Careful, honey. I’m afraid you’ll cut yourself. I’ll finish sweeping this up. Why don’t you go help with the twins instead? Could you get them dressed and give them some cereal?” Did it bother me that my mother would, on occasion, treat me like a twelve-year-old? Yeah, but this particular time I was thankful to be away from her sniffling over broken antique porcelain.
“Sure.” I forced a smile and headed toward the twins’ room. I’d rather help them figure out what they were going to wear anyway. My siblings’ choices of clothing never failed to amuse me. Ambrosia always wanted to mimic Aaron. She was no doubt slated to be the next great tomboy in our small town of Pleasant Ridge, following in my very own footsteps. In fact, I still wanted to do everything Max did. I’d been following him around most of my life. Max is the one and only child of Julie and Carl Wendell, owners of Wendell Winery, the second largest vineyard in Pleasant Ridge, California. My parents provided Max with free riding lessons from the time he turned ten years old. They also allowed him to board his horse Misty, a golden mare, in our stable in exchange for some great—from what I’d heard—wine. Max joked that Misty had the hots for Big Blue. Hell, he might’ve been right.
As I rounded the corner, I smiled at the usual banter coming from the twins’ room. I paused at the doorway and shrieked when I saw Ambrosia sporting a plastic baseball bat in her hands ready to swing it at Aaron’s head.
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