The Secret Trinity Unearth (2 page)

“I don’t know. It’s just going to be so strange to not sleep in my own bed anymore.” She smiled, and her signature dimples reappeared.

“No, you will be sleeping in the same room as me, so it won’t be strange, it will be awesome! And you’re welcome, by the way, for the amazing opportunity of having me as your roommate.”

I gave her a tight smile, “Yeah, great. You, me and Kayla sharing a tri-room dorm; we’ll be lucky if we get out alive.”

She laughed, “Better us, than some strange weirdo who conducts ritualistic animal sacrifices on your bunk bed.” A broad smile swept over my face. Morgan was always the winner in the cynic department.

Even though she had a girl-next-door look with her sweet dimples, light brown hair and eyes to match, she had a feisty personality that did not go with her face. I scanned her up and down. She was so different from me. She never wore a touch of make-up or had any interest in fashion. Best of all, she did not bother wasting her time or heart on high school boys, unlike me. I envied her in that way.

The truth is I had secrets. Unfortunately mine were the kind of secrets you never tell anyone because they would never believe you. I had hidden a part of me from everyone, even from my two best friends, since before I can remember. They were right to worry about my sanity. With college just around the corner, I hoped I could reinvent myself and forget about being a misfit in a way that no one would understand.

I looked at Morgan and wished we were leaving right this second. She wrinkled up her nose and narrowed her light brown eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that? If you’re trying to figure out how to trick me into volunteering for your next ritual, we are going to have to rethink this whole roommate plan.”

I laughed, “Sorry, you are not really my taste. I have my eye on someone who doesn’t sport a green one-piece swimsuit which bears a striking resemblance to my Grandma’s.”

That remark earned me an unladylike gesture before Morgan kicked me out of her car on account of my jealously over her sexy swimwear. I walked up to my house and turned the knob of our red front door. I had barely taken one step into the foyer when my Mom peered down the hall from the kitchen and walked toward me with a look of relief on her face. She owned a small clothing boutique in our town’s little shopping square and she was always dressed to the nines. We had been playing dress-up since I was little. Between her store and my own fascination with vintage jewelry, my poor Dad was often left out in the cold when it came to dinnertime conversation.

When she reached me at the front door she tucked her short blonde hair which was starting to show wisps of gray behind her ears and fiddled with her silver dangly earrings. She crossed her arms and looked down at me with narrowed eyes, holding a stare that usually meant I was in trouble. Uh oh, when I left this morning, what time did I say I would be home? I tried to act casual.

“Hi Mom, miss me?” She tilted her head as she examined me, “My precious gem, what time is it?”

I shifted my weight nervously, “Um, five thirty or so?” She pursed her lips, “No…you are off by about an hour and a half. It’s seven.”

Oops. “Sorry Mom, you know how easy it is to lose track of time on the river, no cell phone reception and all.” Her 5’10” stance loomed over me, and her look disapproved of my excuse.

“Precisely, you were out on the river. You know how anxious I get when you and the girls go out on the river alone. I’ve been a wreck all day.” Suppressing an eye roll I opted for a sigh.

“I am fine Mom. I’m sorry if you were worried.” She pinched her manicured fingers at the bridge of her nose and scrunched her forehead.

“Alright, alright, let’s discuss this later. I’m just glad you’re home and safe. Are you hungry for supper? Your Dad is grilling out back.”

She put her arm around my shoulder and gently guided me down the hallway to our great room. On the left side of the great room was our kitchen where antique white cabinets hung which complemented the oak wood flooring. In the center of the kitchen was a large, butcher-block island where I often ate breakfast. There were vegetables spread out on top of the counter. I jumped up onto one of the bar stools that lined the island and snagged a carrot off the counter to munch on as my Mom finished cutting up a salad.

Behind me I heard the glass French doors open that led out to our backyard. My Dad stepped inside the house with a platter of grilled barbeque chicken and corn on the cob in hand. He walked over to me, planted a kiss on the crown of my head, and set the food down on the island.

“There’s my beautiful ballerina. I’m so glad you’re home. Your mother was driving me nuts!”

She gave him a teasing glare and pointed the knife she was chopping with right at him. Even though the kitchen island was between them, my Dad smiled, rocked back on his heels, and put his hands up defensively as if she could reach him.

“Hey now, take it easy. Put the knife down; no one has to get hurt,” he said in a deep serious tone that masked his inner smile.

“You see this, precious gem? Do you see what I have to put up with when you’re gone? How am I ever going to endure when you leave for school?” My Mom made an irritated sound in her throat as she lowered her knife back down and sliced through a cucumber.

I groaned, “I thought we talked about you two at least attempting to call me Aria instead of these cutesy nicknames. Precious gem, beautiful ballerina…you are going to embarrass me at school. People will think a six year old has moved into the dorm.”

They just smiled at each other until my Mom triumphantly announced, “You, Aria, have been my precious gem since I held you in my arms eighteen years ago. Now let’s eat.”

Chapter 3: Overprotected

After dinner, while boring my Dad into a partial coma with our discussion about the new Fall clothing that had arrived in my Mom’s boutique, I helped clean up in the kitchen before heading to my room. I pulled off my yellow terry cloth dress and changed out of my black halter bikini. I threw on some footless tights, shorts, and a tank top, grabbing my jazz shoes before heading for the basement.

Our basement was unfinished, but my parents had let me turn it into a make shift dance studio to practice. There was a stereo in the corner on a small table filled with a mess of CD’s. My Dad had helped me hang up a bunch of full length mirrors on the long wall.

Dancing was the only time I felt free and completely comfortable in my skin. I think the lightness I felt when I danced had something to do with my unique gift. I had been trying to recreate a moment again and again, with very little success. I had gone over it a million times in my head. When I was five, my Mom took me to
The Nutcracker Ballet
for the very first time. After the show I was dancing around in my room completely smitten by the show and the beautiful dancers. That was the first time it happened.

I was twirling in a circle and I felt a tingling energy course through me from head to toe. A strange feeling of weightlessness waved over me, and then through no control of my own, I started to float off the ground. I flew high enough to touch my bedroom ceiling covered with glowing stars. I would have screamed my head off but I was too stunned, and a moment later I landed softly back on the ground. The strangest part of that night, which nagged at me every day, was how easy and natural it felt.

I still did not understand why or how that happened and I was scared I would never know what it meant. I begged my Mom to put me in dance lessons after that night, and I have been trying to fly again ever since, in private of course. You cannot just announce to your family and friends that you think you can fly. They would have put me in a mental institution.

I put in an upbeat pop mix CD and danced around the shiny putty-sealed floor for a couple of hours before exhaustion took over. I was feeling distracted about my conversation with the girls and my boyfriend curse. I decided I had enough for the night. It wasn’t going to happen. Smelling of stale river water, barbecued chicken, and sweating through my tank top from dance practice, I headed upstairs to the bathroom to take a nice long hot shower.

When I got to my room I slipped on some polka dot boxers and a tank top for bed. I sat down at my small white desk which doubled as a vanity and grabbed a comb from the drawer, facing the mirror as I began to tackle my wet knots. I gently tugged my way through my hair, which carries a subtle wave at its end midway down my shoulder blades. Lots of people had asked me if I dyed my hair because of its light blonde, bleached tone, which is a sharp contrast to my darker eyebrows and lashes. Despite whether they believed me, my hair had always been this color. I was about to put the comb away when I heard light knocking at the door.

As I said, “Come in,” the door creaked open and my Mom appeared leaning against the frame. She was dressed for bed, wearing a bathrobe and half circles of shiny cream under her eyes.

“Hey Hun, I am going to bed soon. Do you need anything?” She had not asked me that since I was in middle school, so I instinctively eyed her with suspicion.

“No, I’m fine Mom.” She walked over to the vanity and looked at me thoughtfully in the mirror. She picked up the comb I had just set down and started to brush through my already thoroughly combed hair.

“Listen, I know you’re technically an adult now, and I understand that. So…I’m sorry for getting nutty about the river today, but it’s just that the river…well you know.”

Yes. I knew exactly what she was referring to. Joann Darwin was a worrier, and to say that she was overprotective of me, her only child, was the understatement of the century. But her habits have gotten worse since the incident six years ago. We used to live in a house that backed up to the river, and I would often swim in its shallow waters in the summer. One particularly hot day when I was twelve, while my parents were both at work, I guess I decided to go for a dip.

I only remember blurry glimpses after that. A police team found me twenty four hours later, on a sand bar in the middle of the river, miles away from our house. The only part of that day I retained was the fuzzy outline of a boy hovering over me, watching, as I struggled for my life.

Now, years later, I wondered if he was real or just some delusion my mind created as I slipped into unconsciousness. Because now I had other secrets, even scarier than flying, involving weird psychic visions I couldn’t explain. It was possible that I was, in fact, a crazy person, and the image of the boy who almost killed me was purely a hallucination.

I was still lying unconscious when the police found me on the sand bar. I was in a two day coma and spent over a week in the hospital. I had almost drowned. When I woke up in the hospital, my parents informed me that they had promptly put the house up for sale. We moved inland and had lived in our current home for the past six years.

That is why I ended up in a different school district than Kayla and Morgan. There was really no room for me to push the issue. As much as I tried Joann had dug in her heels, and she would never budge when it came to her daughter’s safety again.

I peered around my pale pink room which had not been redecorated since we moved in when I was twelve. It did not feel like a grown-up space. I still felt like a kid here. I looked at my Mom in the mirror as she ran the comb through my smoothed hair.

“Yeah, I know Mom, the river. I wish you wouldn’t worry. You have to trust me. I am over it and you should be too.” I lied. I was not afraid of the water anymore. I had always been a strong swimmer, plus my parents had put me in about a hundred swimming lessons after the accident.

But the memory of that day had always haunted me, and for the past six years, I had tried to piece it back together. She put the comb down on the desk and placed her hands on top of my shoulders, standing behind me looking in the mirror.

“Look at those beautiful emerald eyes. The moment I held you, and peered into those bright green eyes, I knew. I was meant to be your mother.” She smiled, and tears started to well up.

“You are my daughter, and almost losing you is something I will never quite get over.” I followed her gaze to my large eyes. They were undeniably the prominent feature on my face, as they were the color of an emerald gemstone, my birthstone.

Against my close-to- translucent complexion and light blonde hair, my eyes practically leapt off my face. I had heard this story too, many times. My Mom almost named me Emerald because of my eyes. They were always the first thing people notice about me, and even though they had given me many nice compliments, I developed a little bit of a complex over the years. It’s not as if you can hide your eyes from people.

I groaned, “Mom, I know, I know, the green eyes, but you named me Aria. Let’s try that on for size.” I said it with a borderline whiny tone.

She gave me a thin smile, “Actually, I didn’t name you,
he
did,” her voice was tight with anxiety.

My eyes shot up to meet her gaze in the mirror, “He did? You never told me that!” The
he
my mother was referring to was the man who left me with my parents.

Tom and Joann Darwin were not my birth parents. They had adopted me when I was only a month old, and because of the unusual circumstances surrounding the adoption, I was left with zero information about my past, where I came from, or who I had belonged to. I had always wondered if
he
would understand my freaky abilities.

“Yes. Dad and I decided it best to honor the man who brought our little miracle by keeping the name he had bestowed upon you.” She finally explained.

“Oh.” That was all I could sputter out. I was stunned, at a complete loss for words. My Mom fumbled around as she quickly tried to change the subject.

“Okay Darling, sweet dreams. We have got to get going on packing your things tomorrow. Tackling your closet will be quite a project.” She smiled, moved her hands off of my shoulders and gave me a hug around my neck.

“I think I am rubbing off on you. That closet is bursting at the seams,” she concluded and made her way out of my room, clicking the door shut as she said goodnight. I just sat there staring numbly in the mirror trying to remember how to blink.