by Mary Monroe
“No? Then why am I getting the cold shoulder?”
He put the helmet on the seat and stared at it for a moment. “You’re right,” he said, looking up. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this. I’m just feeling a little edgy tonight.”
“Because of Richard?”
He didn’t reply.
“Brett, I didn’t know he was coming. I certainly didn’t invite him. There’s nothing between us anymore, for heaven’s sake. At least on my side. That became perfectly clear tonight.”
He looked at her but she couldn’t decipher his thoughts in the feverishness of his pale-blue eyes. He surprised her by turning and going back into the garage again, this time emerging with another helmet. This one was smaller and white. When he approached, he handed it to her.
“Put this on.”
She exhaled with confusion, but obliged him while he put on his own helmet. Then he swung his leg around the bike and grabbed firm hold of the handlebars. He’d changed into long jeans and the heavy, sun-bleached boots she remembered seeing him wear on the shrimp boat at the beginning of summer.
“Come on, then.”
Cara was filled with curiosity about where they were headed. She swung her leg around and slid forward on the slanted seat so that her thighs and knees hugged his hips. She wrapped her arms around his waist, locked her fingers together and tucked her tennis shoes onto the pegs.
“Hold on.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“Okay.”
She felt his arm move and the powerful engine roared to life. Her heart skipped a beat and she tightened her grip around his waist. She didn’t have time to tell him that this was her first ride on a motorcycle, not counting the moped. Fear mingled with the thrill of excitement as she leaned against his back. They took off in a spray of gravel and a guttural roar out of the driveway and down Palm Boulevard. They crossed the connector as the red sun lowered into the purpling marsh and she rested her chin against Brett’s shoulder, slumped in awe. She’d traveled around the world, but nowhere on earth did the sun descend into the horizon with such panache as in the Lowcountry.
It was a great night for a ride. The moon was near full and illuminated the roads. She felt as if she were riding a bullet pushing through silken wind, and clung to Brett for dear life in an embrace more passionate than any they’d shared before. The engine vibrated beneath them, its roar filled their ears. The night smelled of leather, damp earth, green grasses and the sea. Out in the open, so close to the road, she felt the same visceral connection with the landscape that she did on the small johnboat speeding down the Intracoastal.
They crossed the bridge to James Island where the road opened up and curved along the water and under huge oaks dripping with moss. Moonlight poured through the leaves like magic through lace. They leaned to the left as they took a curve, straightened, then leaned to the right for the second, moving as one body. When the bike surged forward, they felt the force pushing against them as an invisible hand. When the engine slowed, their muscles slackened again. They had traveled for nearly an hour when they came to a winding stretch with several sharp curves. Brett slowed the motorcycle and came to a stop.
“This is it,” he said, turning off the engine.
She loosened her arms from his waist and took off her helmet, shaking her hair loose. The engine still roared in her head and the vibrations stiffened her tender inner thighs. But after she’d climbed from the bike and stood still for a few minutes, her blood seemed to slow back down and she heard the night music of insects and frogs. Brett removed his helmet and hung it from the bike, then he walked a few yards along the side of the road to where a small white cross was erected in the dirt. He came to a stop before the cross, reached inside his leather jacket, pulled out a flattened yellow rose and laid it in front of the cross. She didn’t approach him, giving him the space she sensed he needed.
He stood there for a long time, his head bent. The night grew chilly. Several cars sped past them, the beams of light flashing over Brett’s features like the bright searchlights of a prison. At length, he turned and waved her over.
The gravel crunched beneath her feet along the road, then the ground turned soft as she crossed the earth to his side at the foot of the cross. She drew near and was comforted when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.
“Her name was Ashley Carter,” he said. “We met freshman year in an intro to fisheries and wildlife class, and dated on and off through college. She was real smart and not a party girl. Kinda like you were. She wanted to be a forester. Her idea of a date was going out to take samples from the marshes.” He laughed without humor then paused, lost in his own thoughts again. Cara waited without speaking.
“You didn’t know me back then,” he continued. “I wasn’t so much a bad kid as I was dangerous. I took risks, pushed things to the limit. I didn’t think twice about jumping off a bridge. I didn’t give a damn if I flooded my truck or wrapped it around some tree while mudding, as long as it was fun. It’s what gave me the edge in sports. I drove my boat too fast and too close to those monster ships than was smart—even for a bullheaded teenage boy. I could’ve gotten sucked into the wake in the front or caught in a whirlpool in the back any number of times. My dad got word of my antics from one of the harbor pilots who spotted me. That was the only time he ever laid a hand to me. And I deserved it. I wasn’t alone in that boat.
“But I wasn’t always lucky. Broke a leg once. An arm twice. A couple of toes and fingers. But did that stop me? No. It only made me feel more invincible. I thought I was immortal. I don’t know how I survived high school, but by the time I got to college, I was drunk most nights. I honestly believed I was good at driving drunk. Thought I had a skill for it. That kind of crazy ego scares the shit out of me now that I’m older.
“But Ashley never saw that part of me. When I was with her, I was different. The irony of it all is that I wasn’t drinking the day of the accident. We were coming home from a field session at the DNR labs. It was broad daylight and I wasn’t in any kind of hurry. I took the turn at an easy pace, but a truck coming the other way took the curve too wide and came right for us. I swerved to avoid it and spilled. The wheels slid out from under me and I got dragged along with the bike into the grass. But Ashley got thrown off.
“If she’d just landed on the ground, she would have been hurt, but alive. Except fate turned the deck on us that day. She was thrown against that big old oak over there. I’m told she died on the spot.”
“I’m so sorry, Brett.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, then looked off at the oak. His jaw moved as if he were grinding his teeth.
“You can’t blame yourself. It was an accident. You said yourself you weren’t drinking.”
“Easy to say. I blamed myself for a long time, figured I’d just used up my quota of luck. I’d pressed the limit so many times and escaped that, this time, no matter what, I had to pay. Only I didn’t pay. Ashley did. I know I’m damn lucky to have a life at all, but I know my day is marked just as surely as Ashley’s was marked for September 2, 1984.”
“That’s today.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t so bothered by that Richard guy showing up. But he showed up today. I felt threatened. Not by him, but by fate. I thought I was going to lose again someone—” he stopped, exhaling long and hard “—someone I cared about.”
Cara reached up to unzip his leather jacket, then she slipped her arms around his neck and held him, pressing herself as close as she could against him so he could feel her living, breathing warmth. His big arms reached up to encircle her and squeezed so tight that she felt they were merged again into one body, one heart. He buried his face in her hair. She tasted salt on his cheeks.
A car zoomed by, whisking her hair and crunching gravel. Against the noise, she thought she heard the words, “I love you.”
He took her back to the Isle of Palms. They chan
ged into their swimsuits and went for a swim in the ocean, then spread out on towels in the sand. She lay in the crook of his arm with one leg lying across his and her fingers toying with the hairs on his chest. They heard the scritch-scritch of ghost crabs scurrying along the sands and the rattling of sea grasses in the wind.
“Cara, when we were together at the cross,” Brett said, stroking the damp hair from her neck, “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”
“Oh?”
He took her hand from his chest and played with her fingers, his brows furrowed.
“The reason I wanted to go there wasn’t just because it was the anniversary of the accident. I went to put my past to rest. I’ve made an important decision, but I was scared. I am scared. And seeing that Richard guy didn’t help. I tried to tell you this once, but you didn’t want to listen then. I hope you’re ready to listen now.”
She sensed what was hovering at his lips. Her heart rate accelerated and she was grateful the darkness masked her face. “Brett…”
He took a breath. “I love you, Cara.” He blurted it out like an admission. “It’s crazy, I know, to fall in love after all these years of swearing I never would. The only explanation I can come up with is that I was meant to fall in love with you when we were sixteen but neither you nor I were ready for it and we had to go on our separate ways before meeting up again. Now. At forty.”
It came out in a long rush, a recitation of love not memorized and practiced, but ripped from the heart. Once the words were spoken, however, he looked at her, unsure, like a little boy. “It’s Tolstoy’s bicycle again,” he added, grinning, delighted with the comparison. Then, quite quickly, his expression turned very serious. “I love you, Cara. And I want to marry you.”
Her heart stopped and she could only look back at him, speechless.
He cocked his head. “Are you shocked?”
“Totally.”
“Didn’t you see this coming?”
“I might have caught a glimpse, but I never thought…Brett, you’ve said so many times you were a loner.”
“I was wrong.”
“Were you?”
“You said the same thing about you.”
She took a breath and slipped her hand back from his. “Brett, I was right about me.”
It took a moment for him to accept what he’d just heard. The light in his eyes clouded. “What are you saying? You don’t want to get married?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet. I’m sorry.”
“I thought…”
“It’s not that I don’t love you. I do.” She rose to a sitting position, crossing her legs Indian style. Her skin was bare and she shivered in the cool night air. He reached over to grab his shirt and slip it over her shoulders. It was little gestures like this that made her love him—and made what she was about to say so hard.
“You don’t want to marry me,” she said. “I’m not easy to live with. I’m crabby before my coffee. I like to work late at night. And I’m not much fun, really. All I know how to do is work. And I’m a terrible housekeeper. My mother can tell you what an absolute pig I can be. I’m forever shrinking something in the dryer. And cook? Forget it. I burn water. Run while you can, Brett.”
“I’ve been cleaning my own house and cooking my own meals for a long time. That’s not what I’m looking for.” He reached out to put his hand around her neck and draw her face closer to his. “Why do you always have to do everything the hard way? Just say yes.”
When his lips covered hers, they were filled with hunger and need and were incredibly persuasive. She moaned and pulled back, half laughing, half crying.
“You aren’t making this any easier.”
“Good.”
It wasn’t good. It was breaking her damn heart. She raked her hands through her hair, clenching it in fists at her neck. How could she avoid breaking his?
“Do you remember when I said that Richard had offered me a job? I was a little surprised when you didn’t ask me what that job was.”
Her tone had changed and he answered in kind, drawing back. “I didn’t want to know.”
“Well, your instincts have always been good,” she said cautiously. “I was a little hurt that you didn’t ask.”
He moved his body to join her in a sitting position. The ribs and muscles of his chest were illuminated by the moonlight making him appear as inflexible as stone.
“Okay, I’m asking now. What did he offer you?”
“He offered me a big promotion. And the biggest lure was that it was for the account I’d worked so hard to get. My account. I got it—and they want me!”
“I want you.”
Her face fell. “I told him I’d take it.”
His face closed and he looked away. “Congratulations.”
He was the only one to offer her the accolade, but it fell flat.
“Why does this have to be so damn sad?” she argued. “We’re not breaking up. We can go on as we are. I’ll be back here a lot. And you can come to Chicago. Just because we’re not married doesn’t mean that we can’t see each other anymore.”
Brett shook his head and the finality of it frightened her. “No. That’s not good enough for me. I’ve gone too far to settle for that.”
“How can you say it’s settling? What’s wrong with what we have right now? It’s working. We both love our independence. We enjoy having our own space. Tell me, honestly, what’s the advantage of getting married? Certainly not taxes. Marriage is highly overrated if you ask me. People like you and me, we do better alone.”
“Then let me ask you this. Why are you always comparing us to famous movie couples? Mr. Allnut and Rosie. Tarzan and Jane. Those two kids on the island. They’re together because they’re stronger and happier together than apart.”
“Those are movies. That’s not real life.”
“How do you know it’s not like that in real life if you won’t give it a chance? Let me tell you something about real life. Animals come together all the time and mate for the survival of the species. Most of the time it’s just rutting. But did you ever see what happens when the male sticks around and he and the female help each other watch over the young? It does something to you because it’s so damn beautiful.”
“And rare.”
“That’s what makes it all the more precious.”
“But you forget my name is Caretta. I’m named after the loggerhead. She’s a solitary creature.”
His brow furrowed and he looked totally defeated by that argument. He reached for his clothes and climbed to his feet. She saw him step into his shorts, heard the hum of the zipper.
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep under the stars.” He slipped into his sandals and took a few steps.
“Don’t go.” When he wouldn’t stop she called out, “Why do you have to be this way?”
He stopped and turned his head angrily. “Be what way?”
“Stubborn.”
“Cara, I’m sorry if I’m not doing this right. But you’re the first and only woman I’ve ever asked to marry me and you just turned me down. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” He narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that what you say we’re so good at?”
“Wait. If I said yes—I said if—would you come to Chicago with me?”
“Chicago? Why would we have to go there?”
“Because I have a job there.”
“I have a business here.”
“I see. Right. So, the answer is no.”
“Cara…”
“Why is it okay for you to say no and not me?” She saw him struggling for an answer and pushed on. “Brett, why can’t we just keep going with what we have?”
“Because I can’t.”
She was so frustrated she wanted to scream. “So, you’re saying it’s got to be your way or no way?”
He looked so sad, so defeated, she wanted to weep.
“I’ve said all a man can say. And you’ve answered my question. Good night, Caretta.”
“Brett…”
She watched him walk away into the darkness. He was right. There wasn’t anything more to say. She reached out to pull the towel up over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body. The ground felt hard and lumpy. The night air was cooling quickly. All around her, the night was alive and the noises no longer seemed soft and gentle. From somewhere in the dunes she heard the scurrying and rustling of the hunted and the sharp cracking of twigs. All around her was the incessant high-pitched hum of insects. Beyond, in a booming crescendo, was the rhythmic pounding of the surf.
She slowly rose to her feet, shook out the towel, gathered her things into her bag and slipped her feet into sandals. She was beyond exhausted. The day had been too long, too much had happened. Suddenly her limbs felt as if they couldn’t make the short walk home. Nonetheless, she doubted she would sleep. It would be, she knew, the longest night of her life.
The hatchlings are carried by the North Atlantic system of gyres to the islands off West Africa where the dinner plate sized loggerheads may remain for a decade or more. When seen again along the eastern seaboard, the juveniles have grown considerably in weight and size.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
They named the hurricane Brendan.
Unpredictable as these storms often were, Brendan was changing course and weakening one day, gaining strength the next, causing havoc for weathermen and rattling the nerves of everyone living on the eastern coast. On the Isle of Palms, the weather was still clear but there was a new heaviness in the air, thick and expectant. Cara had spent hours waiting in long lines to buy sheets of plywood, nails, batteries, bottled water and other emergency supplies and provisions. Just in case, she told herself. Long lines of cars bearing license plates from North Carolina, Ohio, New Jersey, Illinois and other states were crawling across the connector back to the mainland.
“At least he’s still a category one,” Emmi said between pants as she helped carry a sheet of plywood to the front porch of Lovie’s house.
“But a category one is still seventy-four-miles-per-hour winds,” answered Cara, struggling with the other side of the wood. The rough edges were digging into her palms. “If it hits at high tide, we’ll get flooding.” She grunted as they reached the top step. “There’s a reason they call these the barrier islands, don’t forget.”
