SUMMER VAN DOREN
15 years ago
Back then, Alexandria was more than just an island; it was a sanctuary where time seemed to stand still, sheltering its people from the chaos of the outside world. Nestled off the coast, its shores kissed by the gentle waves of the sea, Alexandria was a haven of serenity.
The island's history was as rich as its fertile soil, rooted in the legacy of the Lukacs family, who had called it home for generations. Named after Alexandra and Ian Lukacs, esteemed ancestors who had carved out a life on its shores, Alexandria was a testament to their enduring legacy.
For the children of Alexandria, life unfolded at a different pace. With no schools to speak of, we were homeschooled, our education guided by the learning of our parents and the education of private tutors. From the three R's to the finer points of etiquette, our days were filled with a diverse array of lessons, each made to suit our individual abilities. But it wasn't just academics that shaped our upbringing; it was the rhythms of island life, the ebb and flow of the seasons, and the timeless traditions that bound us together as a community. From tending to the family orchards to helping with the harvest, we learned the value of hard work and dedication from an early age - despite our privilege.
Back then, the Van Doren estate stood in a color of jade, its grandeur accentuated by the lush foliage that surrounded it. The Lukacs family estate, while still imposing, bore traces of ivy creeping along its stone walls, giving it a weathered yet dignified appearance.
The cemetery, shaded by ancient oak trees, seemed to hold its breath in reverence for the past. Moss clung to the weather-worn gravestones, their inscriptions softened by time's gentle touch.
The village streets retained a rustic charm, with buildings adorned in hues of ochre and terracotta, their facades weathered by the salty sea air. The market square hummed with activity, its cobblestones polished by the footsteps of generations past.
As twilight descended upon Alexandria, I found myself seated before the ornate vanity in my bedroom, the soft glow of candles casting a warm halo around me. My mother, her expression a mix of tenderness and sorrow, stood behind me, her nimble fingers working through my platinum blonde hair with gentle precision.
The scent of jasmine wafted through the room, a soothing balm against the ache in my heart. With each brushstroke, memories of happier times flooded my mind, the laughter and joy that once filled these halls now replaced by the solemnity of grief.
"Sweetheart, you look beautiful," Daria, my mother, said softly, her hands working through my platinum blonde hair with care. "It's crazy how yours is even closer to white than mine ever was. You've always had such unique hair, just like your grandmother. She'd be so proud of you today, as am I."
I chuckled, breaking the somber atmosphere with a hint of levity. "Are you proud of me for my hair, Mom?" I teased, a playful glint in my eyes as I met her gaze in the mirror.
"It is pretty fabulous, I have to admit." She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on my scalp, her gesture filled with motherly love and pride. "I meant more how good you're handling today."
"Well, I didn't know the man," I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to lighten the mood.
Mom gasped dramatically, her hand freezing mid-stroke in my hair. "Summer!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in mock horror.
I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What?"
With a theatrical sigh, Mom shook her head, a playful glint in her eyes. "We really shouldn't have homeschooled you," she quipped, her lips twitching with amusement as she shook her head. "Come on, what will you say once I die?"
I couldn't help but smirk at Mom's playful remark. "But you're just a baby, Mom," I teased, raising an eyebrow. "You were literally 17 when you got me. Who was homeschooling who back then?"
Mom chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, you got me this time," she conceded with a shake of her head. "What can I say, we were girls together love-child." She kissed my forehead.
"Mwah," I kissed her back.
"
As Mom resumed fixing my hair, her touch gentle and comforting, she began to speak softly, her words carrying the weight of wisdom and understanding.
"You know, Summer," she said, her tone thoughtful, "in a place like Alexandria, we're all woven together like threads in a tapestry. Despite our differences and the trials we face, when one of us suffers, we all feel the pain."
I nodded, understanding her sentiment. "Yeah, it's like we're all part of one big family, isn't it?" I remarked, feeling a sense of belonging wash over me.
Mom smiled, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and nostalgia. "Exactly," she agreed. "That's why, no matter who it is that we've lost, we all come together to mourn and honor their memory. It's our way of showing solidarity and support for one another, even in our darkest moments."
I let out a repressed whine. "Is this when you give me rules for the funeral?"
"You remember what happened the last time?"
Mom's smile softened, her gaze holding a hint of amusement. "You remember what happened the last time?" she asked, her tone laced with gentle admonishment.
I blinked
She quirked a brow in the mirror. "Summer."
I winced, recalling the incident all too vividly. "Okay, okay," I conceded with a sheepish grin. "No sneaking out to explore the cemetery this time, I promise."
Mom chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with fondness. "That's my girl," she said, her tone warm with affection. "And remember, we're there to pay our respects and support each other. So no funny business during the service, understood?"
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the solemn occasion ahead, as I slipped into a simple black dress, its fabric cool against my skin. With careful movements, I fastened a delicate headband in my hair, a subtle touch of elegance amidst the somber attire.
As I slipped on a pair of ballerina shoes, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for happier times, when dressing up meant twirling around in front of the mirror, lost in a world of imagination.
With one last glance in the mirror, I straightened my shoulders, determined to face the day with grace and dignity. Meeting Mom at the door, we exchanged a wordless understanding, our shared resolve a silent reassurance of our unity in grief.
Together, we made our way to the waiting car, where Dad sat in quiet contemplation. As he turned to greet us, his expression softened with love and concern. Without a word, he reached out, enfolding us both in a comforting embrace, his silent presence a reminder that even in our darkest moments, we were never alone.
As we stepped out into the cool evening air, the scent of salt mingled with the fragrant blooms that adorned the pathway leading to the waiting car. The somber atmosphere hung heavy around us, the weight of our loss palpable with every step we took.
Dad's reassuring presence offered a sense of stability as we settled into the car, the engine humming softly as we made our way through the winding streets of Alexandria. The familiar sights passed by in a blur, each one a silent reminder of the memories we shared with the departed.
As we approached the cemetery gates, a sense of solemnity descended upon us, the air thick with reverence for the lives that had gone before us. The mourners gathered around, their faces etched with sorrow, yet united in their desire to pay their final respects.
With a heavy heart, I stepped out of the car, the soft crunch of gravel beneath my shoes echoing in the stillness of the evening. The cemetery stretched out before us, a sea of weathered gravestones standing as silent sentinels to the passage of time.
After the car ride, we stepped out into the cool evening air, the scent of salt mingled with the fragrant blooms that adorned the pathway leading to the cemetery gates. The somber atmosphere hung heavy around us, the weight of our loss palpable with every step we took.
Dad checked his watch and murmured, "We have about 10 minutes until it starts."
Walking alongside my parents, we approached the gathering of mourners, their faces etched with sorrow yet united in their desire to pay final respects. As we entered the cemetery, the ancient oak trees seemed to bow in reverence, their branches casting long shadows over the weather-worn gravestones.
As we bumped into the Lukacs family at the entrance of the cemetery, a palpable tension filled the air. Their presence seemed to cast a shadow over the already somber atmosphere, and I couldn't shake the memory of the subtle warnings my parents had given me about keeping my distance from their son, Yves.
Despite my mother's words about everyone in Alexandria being family, there was an unspoken divide between our families, one that I couldn't quite understand. It was as if there were invisible lines drawn between us, separating our lives despite our shared history on the island.
The Lukacs family was dressed in somber yet elegant attire, reflecting the solemn occasion. Yves' father wore a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt, his demeanor composed but with a hint of sadness in his eyes. Mrs. Lukacs wore a simple black dress adorned with a delicate pearl necklace, her expression serene yet tinged with grief.
Yves stood beside his parents, his tall frame clad in a dark suit that accentuated his striking features. Despite the solemnity of the occasion, there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked at me, a silent acknowledgment of our shared history amidst the somber backdrop of the cemetery.
As we exchanged brief nods of acknowledgment with the Lukacs family, I felt a sudden urge to break the heavy silence. "Summer," I introduced myself, stretching out a hand.
Yves' father, Mr. Lukacs, eyed my hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. "Nice to meet you," he replied tersely, his gaze sharp with underlying hostility.
His mother barely shot me as much as a glance. Instead, she eyed my mother with the most disdain she could muster.
Before the tension could escalate further, my father stepped in, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "Keep your son away from mine," he demanded, his words laced with a warning that brooked no argument. "We don't want any trouble, but we won't hesitate to defend ourselves if necessary."
Yves' parents bristled at the command, their expressions hardening with defiance. "You don't get to dictate to us," Mr. Lukacs retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "We'll do as we please."
With a defiant tilt of my chin, I met Yves' challenging gaze head-on, refusing to let his silent dare go unanswered. "We'll see about that," I shot back, my voice steady with determination. "But mark my words, we won't stand idly by if you try anything."
My words seemed to ignite a spark of fury in Yves' eyes, his jaw clenched in frustration as he fought to maintain his composure. "Don't push your luck, Summer," he warned through gritted teeth, his tone a barely-contained growl of warning.
Before the confrontation could escalate further, a voice cut through the tension like a knife, sharp and authoritative. "That's enough," my father interjected, his voice commanding attention as he stepped forward, his posture radiating power and authority.
As the funeral began, a solemn hush fell over the gathered mourners, the air heavy with grief and reverence for the departed. With a sense of purpose, my family and I strolled away to take our seats, weaving through the somber crowd until we reached the Armani family.
Taking a seat beside them, I greeted Blaise, my best friend, with a warm hug. "Hey, Blaise," I whispered softly, my voice tinged with sorrow.
Blaise returned the hug with equal warmth, his embrace a comforting anchor amidst the sea of sadness. "Hey, Summer," he replied quietly, his voice filled with understanding.