by J. L. Berg
“Well, what mama wouldn’t want her in the family?” she asked. “And, besides, I’ve been waiting my whole life for grandbabies. At this point, who am I to argue as long as I get some?”
“Well, maybe Jake and Molly will let you snuggle theirs when they get around to it.”
“They’d better. Those two have been just as much family as anyone else to us. And, after everything Jake did for you…” Her voice trailed off as the emotions took hold.
“I know, Mama. You tell him thank you every time you see him.” I laughed, an attempt to break the tension.
“He saved my son!”
“He saved several other people on that ferry, too, but I doubt they’ve sent him a gift basket every week for the last three years.”
She shook her head, adding some sliced apples to the pan. “Well, they should have, and it’s not every week. At least, not anymore,” she said with a sly grin.
I knew not to argue. My mama was as Southern as you could get, right down to the famous cheese grits and buttered biscuits she made for breakfast. The Sutherland family could be traced all the way back to one of the founding families of Ocracoke Island. It was why, when Mama spoke, you could still hear that distinctive brogue that was so unique to this place; tourists would travel from all over the world just to hear it.
Watching my sixty-five-year-old mother bob around the kitchen, dancing to a song she’d most likely heard that morning in church, I couldn’t help but feel a sadness sweep over me.
Everyone had their place here. Jake and Molly had each other. My mom had her group of friends from church. Taylor had the family business.
I used to know what that felt like. A sense of belonging.
But, now, I felt like driftwood lost to the sea. Just coasting from one day to the next until I faded into oblivion.
After saying my good-byes to my mom, I drove the short distance home, thankful for the few minutes of quiet it offered. The island was busy this time of year, the population soaring as high as the temperatures. But, when the sun set, it remained fairly peaceful. The restaurants along the harbor were still alive with activity, but thankfully, it didn’t spread too far.
Pulling into my small driveway, I killed the engine and headed for the front door.
Stepping into my two-bedroom cottage, I wanted nothing else but to walk into my bedroom, collapse on my bed, and fall asleep. It had been a long day, and my prosthesis was aching something fierce. Even after nearly three years, I hadn’t fully grown accustomed to it yet. It made me sweat, that stupid, thick neoprene sleeve gripping what was left of my arm like a damn vise.
And the weight…
God, it was heavy.
But it eased people’s minds and brought the staring down to a minimum. So, when I was out in public, I wore it, and I tried to blend in. I tried to disappear.
The people of the town had gone out of their way to make sure I got one in the first place, throwing several fundraisers for the victims of the ferryboat tragedy. I’d tried to turn down their generosity, but when the town put their minds to something, there was no backing down.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure our family would have survived otherwise.
At least, not at first.
The Sutherlands were known as one of the wealthiest families on the island, owning a fishing company that could date back several generations. But the wealth was no match for the hospital bills my accident had generated. So, I had taken what I could from the town while my brother rebuilt the company in my absence, making it what it was today. And saving us from financial ruin in the process.
We’d grown from a small commercial fishing company, catering to local restaurants and markets, to a full-service tourist experience. In a few short years, my brother did what no one before him had been able to do.
He’d made our business a true success. And he had done it completely on his own.
Without me.
Not even bothering to leave the living room, I disconnected the first layer of my prosthesis, and it felt like heaven. With the weight gone, I took a moment to roll my shoulder and stretch my neck. The movement in the small mirror across the room caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but stare briefly at my reflection.
Not much of me had changed in the past few years, physically-speaking. My eyes still carried the same dark green hue my mother adored, and the sandy-brown hair most of the Sutherlands were known for still hung from my head, albeit a bit longer than usual. I’d maintained most of my muscle mass, turning to long-distance jogs around the island to clear my head, something I’d learned from the shrink back at the hospital.
The one who’d forced me to write.
Tossing the pieces of my prosthesis on the couch, I took a seat at the small desk in the corner of the living room and booted up my laptop. I briefly thought about playing a game of solitaire or watching something on Netflix, but I knew none of that would do. Ever since I’d stood next to that memorial, staring out onto the water, I had known I’d end up here.
I needed to write.
When the psychiatrist had first encouraged me to do this exercise in the hospital, explaining it would be a good way to express my feelings and thoughts in a way that felt safe, I’d thought he was a nutcase.
I still did honestly.
All I knew was, it helped, and if it kept me out of a psychiatrist’s office, it was a win-win for me.
Opening the drawer of my desk, I leafed through several black-and-white composition notebooks I’d already filled, looking for the one I was currently scribbling in, but before I got to it, another caught my eye. Pulling it out, my fingers traced over the date on the front, noticing how shaky the handwriting was. I remembered how much every letter had hurt back then. Thumbing through the tattered notebook, I found an entry that caught my attention.
I met a woman today.
A nurse actually.
A gorgeous angel of a nurse. God, I wish she weren’t my nurse.
She greeted me on her first shift, a wide, happy smile spread across her face.
I smiled back and…nothing.
I said absolutely nothing. I opened my mouth to spout out something witty and charming, a skill I’d honed back in my early twenties when one-night stands with tourists was the singular most important task of my life.
But, instead, I was left speechless.
Like I’d lost my voice instead of my arm on that ferryboat.
She smiled again, a smaller one, as she ran through my chart, asking questions to which I could only nod.
God, I was a fucking loser.
A loser with one arm.
That’s what they’ll call me.
The loser with one arm.
I thought I could go back.
Back to my life.
Back to normal.
But what is normal now?
I shook my head, remembering that moment like it was yesterday. Cora, the gorgeous nurse who’d lit up my small little world for a short while. I’d thought she might be the answer to everything.
I’d thought a lot of things back then.
And none of it had led to anything.
Three years later, I was still searching for that new normal I’d written about in my journal.
It didn’t exist.
Blog Entry #1
I guess I should come up with a better title than Blog Entry #1, but forgive me…I’m new to this whole online journaling thing.
And drastically behind.
I was informed by a tech-savvy eight-year-old niece of mine the other day that blogging is “so last year” and that, if I really wanted to be noticed, I needed to be on YouTube.
In front of a camera. Or do they do it with a phone?
However it’s officially done, it sounds highly intimidating, so although I am grateful for my niece’s recommendation, I think I’ll stick to the old method.
Or the old, new method?
Whatever. At least I can do this in my pajamas.
Anyway, hi. My name is
Cora Carpenter, and I’m creating this blog because I thought it sounded like a great way to stay in touch with my family and friends back in Texas and document this part of my life.
You see, I just moved halfway across the country to take a job.
I guess that’s what you do when you’re a young professional, but it’s still scary.
I’m a Texas girl, but don’t let that fool you. I grew up in Austin where we like things weird. No, literally, the city’s motto is Keep Austin Weird, and my family is no exception to that rule. And I love them for it, but sometimes, a girl just needs to step out and explore.
So, that’s what I did. Rather than taking the safe path, I stepped onto the old beaten one and took a chance.
So, yeah, this is my blog and the life I’m about to embark on as a nurse in Virginia Beach.
Here goes nothing.
Be safe. Tell Lizzie I love her. Let me know when you’re settled.
With one last look at the text on my phone and everything it represented, I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath as the ferry left the dock.
Does the air here in North Carolina smell sweeter than Virginia?
I smiled, peeking over at the sleeping child in my backseat, looking adorable in the pink summer dress I’d picked out for her at one of those tourist-trap places along the coast.
No, it wasn’t the state line we’d crossed hours ago that caused the air to shift and my body to calm. It was the feeling of freedom.
Today was the start of something new and real.
Just the two of us from now on.
Here’s to starting over.
Again.
“First time going to Ocracoke?” an old man asked, leaning against the car next to mine.
His question made me jump, but I immediately calmed when I saw the pleasant-looking old man standing before me.
“Sorry, dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he added, his hands out in front of his body like he was attempting to tame a wild animal. “It’s just that you seemed so in awe of it—the water and the boat. I think I even caught a deep breath of happiness.”
I smiled—a faint one but a smile just the same. “Yes,” I finally answered. “First time. You?”
He shook his head, a real smile spreading across his face. How I longed to remember what that felt like. A real, honest-to-God smile. One that stretched your face and made your muscles ache from the weight of it.
“No,” he replied. “We come every year.”
“We?” I asked, looking around and in between the other cars until my eyes spotted an older woman at the rail, taking in the scenery with several other passengers.
“The Mrs. and me,” he explained, pointing to the same woman I’d suspected he would.
Both white-haired and in casual khaki shorts, they somehow just fit together, like puzzle pieces. Even down to the nearly matching Hawaiian tops.
“We’ve been visiting here since our honeymoon eons ago. Growing up, our kids took trips down to the island, and now, it’s just us again.”
“It must be a special place,” I said, noticing the way his eyes lingered on his wife.
“Oh, it is. You’ll see.” He stuck out his hand, assuming I’d travel the distance to offer mine. “Thomas Lovell,” he greeted.
I looked at the outstretched hand, knowing there was nothing but the warmth of a gentle-natured old man, but I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t.
So, instead, I awkwardly waved from the spot I’d planted myself to. “Cora,” I replied before realizing I wasn’t sure how to finish. “Cora Carpenter,” I said finally, realizing it was the first time I’d used my maiden name since my wedding day.
But not the last, I told myself.
“Nice to meet you, Cora Carpenter. I hope your stay in Ocracoke is as lovely as I promised. Maybe you’ll come back every year, like we do.”
I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “This isn’t a vacation, Mr. Lovell. I’m moving here. Permanently.”
Jake Jameson, my new boss, had offered to meet me at the dock to welcome me to my new home. Unsure of what mental state I’d be in after leaving Virginia that morning, I politely declined, agreeing to instead meet up with him and his fiancée at the inn. It had already been an emotional week after saying good-bye to my coworkers and packing up the small apartment I rented for Lizzie and me. I didn’t need to start this new adventure by sobbing all over my boss’s shoulder.
I’d met Dr. Jameson a handful of times over the past few years, as some of his patients went in and out of the hospital I worked at in Virginia Beach. Since Ocracoke Island was so isolated, being only accessible by ferry, and their medical resources were limited, many inhabitants needed care off the island.
Although we weren’t the closest hospital, we were the most advanced. So, for major events such as emergencies or catastrophic events, we were often the first responders.
We…
I had to remind myself that I was no longer part of that we. No longer a nurse managing a staff of twenty at a highly respectable medical establishment.
I was just a nurse.
The only nurse.
The two-person medical clinic Jake ran pretty much summed up the availability of help on the island. Besides a handful of volunteer EMT responders, I would be the only nurse on the island.
Me and about eight hundred or so residents and their guests.
The thought made me a little dizzy as I drove down the long, empty highway toward the sleepy town. Sure, I was used to stressful situations and handling multiple things at once, but an entire island?
It seemed like an insurmountable task.
“Mommy?” a sleepy Lizzie called out from the backseat. “Are we there yet?” she asked, her brown eyes briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror. She had a red nose from her finger being wrapped around it while she sucked her thumb. At least a dozen mothers had told me how bad it was for an almost six-year-old to still suck her thumb.
But I didn’t care.
Most of those other mothers didn’t have a walking, talking encyclopedia for a child either.
Let the kid suck her thumb. That was my motto.
“Not yet, baby, but almost. You see the water there?” I pointed to the left side of the car. “Just over those dunes?”
“Did you know, some dunes can be over four thousand feet high?”
“Wow!” I said. “I had no idea.”
I truly didn’t. Who did?
My kid—that was who. I looked in the rearview mirror and caught her looking out the window with that raw curiosity that always seemed to go with her wherever she went.
“Are you excited?”
“Kinda,” she answered before adding, “Will we be able to go to the beach every day?”
“I hope so,” I answered. “Although you’ll be starting school soon, so it might be a little difficult.”
She let out an audible breath. “I don’t want to go to school.”
“Why?” That was a new one. Especially for my kid. The one who loved to learn.
“What if they don’t teach me interesting things? What if it’s boring? What if the kids think I’m weird?”
That was a lot of questions all at once, and I heard her let out a frustrated sigh behind me. Living with a five-year-old genius was sometimes exhausting.
Scratch that.
It was always exhausting. But one thing I’d learned early on was that, deep down, she was still a kid. With deep-down kid-like needs and wants.
“I heard they sometimes go to the beach for field trips,” I casually mentioned.
I saw her eyes light up in the rearview mirror.
“Really?”
I shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”
“Okay. Well then, it doesn’t sound too bad. I guess I’ll think about it.”
“You do that,” I said, smiling to myself as we made our way down Highway 12.
“Mommy?” she asked again, her voice sounding serious.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Do they have ice cream here?”
I nearly snorted out a laugh, but I kept it under control as a smile tugged at my cheeks. “Yes. Most definitely. Do you think I’d move to an island with no ice cream?”
“Is it good ice cream?”
Just up ahead, the dunes gave way to a scattering of buildings as we approached the town. I knew our hosts were expecting us, but a slight detour wouldn’t hurt.
“I don’t know. Wanna find out?” I asked as we drove into town for the first time.
“Yeah!” she answered eagerly.
There was nothing that made Lizzie happier than ice cream. Well, that and the beach. If I could give her both today, this whole moving thing would be a heck of a lot easier.
For one of us at least.
If only ice cream could solve all the world’s problems.
Lizzie was a sticky mess by the time we made it to the inn. Our venture around the island in search of ice cream had taken a little more time than I’d planned, but it was well worth it. I’d not only satisfied Lizzie’s ice cream fears, but we’d also given ourselves a decent tour as well.
This place was small.
I’d been told over and over that it would be.
But being told something and actually experiencing it firsthand were two different things entirely. You could travel the actual town from one end to the other in a matter of minutes by car, and during low season, I would imagine that time could be cut in half without the presence of tourists.
But, as small as it was, it was vast in beauty. From its charming small-town feel to the picturesque wildlife and never-ending water views, I could see why the Lovells kept coming back.
Pulling up to By the Bay Inn, I was immediately struck by how homey it felt. From its charming cedar roof and the large gardens surrounding it, I knew this was a place that was well cared for and loved. My parents had always put that kind of devotion into our home, painting the trim when it became dull from the summer heat and replanting flowers along the entryway each spring. I’d forgotten what it felt like—taking such personal pride in where you laid your head.
