by Mary Monroe
“Oh, my God. It’s really happening! The baby’s coming. Darryl—” She reached out to touch his arm.
He shook it off. “It’s about fucking time,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and dragging one out with his teeth. His hand shook so badly he could hardly light it.
Toy shrank back in her seat, dragging her hand back to cover her belly. The streets rolled by in a blur of tears and, above, the storm clouds whirled thick and ominous. But inside the smoky car, Toy saw her world with crystal clarity. She was alone in this. She couldn’t count on Cara and Miss Lovie. She couldn’t count on Darryl. The only one she could count on was herself.
Lovie crouched down in the wind and gingerly laid the last egg in the bucket. She’d been especially careful not to jostle them so late in the incubation period. She also added extra moist sand along the bottom and sides of the red bucket to form a nestlike setting. When the last egg was in place, she covered all eighty-two of them with more moist sand, up to the rim, and gently patted it down, then covered it with a towel. The bucket was heavy and her arm shook as she lifted it, but she walked with a slow, steady tread, determined not to shake her hatchlings any more than was absolutely necessary. She sang to them as she walked, songs from the nursery any mother would sing to put her babies to sleep.
The wind teased her like a naughty child, lifting her skirt and pushing her forward with a gust. She stopped to steady herself so as not to rock the bucket. At least the rain had stopped, she thought, then said, “Thank you, Lord.” She didn’t want to ask God for any more favors, though she was tempted to drop to her knees right here in the sand and howl off a litany of requests. An inner voice told her to be calm and to accept whatever came.
“Mama!”
Lovie took heart at hearing Cara’s voice and looked up to see her trotting along the path. She set the bucket down, shaking now with fatigue.
“Where have you been? You scared me to death!” Cara had to shout to be heard over the pounding surf and the wind. “Look at you. You’re soaking wet.”
“It took a long time with the waves rushing. And with all my coughing.”
“Let me take that bucket. Here, lean on me.”
“No! Don’t touch the bucket. If you do, you’ll be implicated.”
“Oh, hell, you’re in no condition to carry it. And I’ll be damned if I let you. Where are you taking them, anyway?”
“To the house.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Caretta, I don’t have time to argue. The tide has already crumbled the dunes. There’s no safe place here on the beach to put these babies and we don’t have time to go searching for another spot farther up. I have no choice.”
“Oh, hell,” Cara muttered again, bending to lift the bucket with one hand and grabbing hold of her mother’s arm with the other. As she straightened, the wind slapped her face with cold drops of rain. “Come on, Mama. It’s starting to rain again. Let’s hurry.”
They walked facedown, cutting into the gusts of wind and the sleets of rain. As they rounded the house, Cara squinted through the mist and saw a figure step away from her Saab.
Brett. He was dressed in jeans and an olive poncho. Strips of hair lay flattened across a face grave with worry. Her heart leaped to her throat. She was so relieved to see him she wanted to drop the bucket and go running into his arms.
But his face was scowling and his heels cut into the sand as he barreled toward them. “What the hell are you still doing here?” he roared. Then his eyes spotted the bucket and his face stilled.
“We had to move it,” she shouted, her eyes glittering with challenge. “The dune was crumbling.” She shouldered past him toward the house.
“I don’t want to know about it!” he shouted back, but he bent to take Lovie’s arm as gallantly as though he were escorting her up the stairs to a ball. “You should be long gone, Miss Lovie.”
“It’s my fault,” Lovie said, leaning against him. “I was so slow and I’m the one who decided to bring the nest up to the house. Cara’s been packed and ready to go for hours.”
“You don’t have to defend her to me.”
“Don’t I?”
She looked up into his face but it was as shuttered as the house.
Back inside, the noise was thankfully muffled. “I gather Florence and Miranda are gone? I got no answer when I knocked.”
“They’ve gone,” replied Cara. She saw Brett walk from window to window, checking out the plywood and shutters. “Don’t worry. I put plenty of nails in.” Then turning to Lovie, “Mama, I’ll put these eggs in a safe place. You hurry and change. You’re soaked through.”
Brett followed Cara into the kitchen where she was moving pots and pans from a lower cabinet. Then, very carefully, she placed the bucket into a spot where it was dry, dark and warm.
“Sleep tight,” she said, closing the cabinet softly. Rising, she wiped the hair from her face and sighed. “I feel like some criminal.”
“You are some criminal.”
“So we broke a few rules,” she said defensively. “I don’t have time to worry about that now.”
“I’ve done nothing but worry about you since the moment I saw your car still in the driveway. No, since the moment I last saw you days ago.”
They stood a few inches apart in the small galley and she felt a greater pressure between them than from the hurricane outdoors. She looked up, uncertain. His hair was spiked where he’d pushed it off his face. Drops of rain trailed down his forehead and one hung on the tip of his long lashes.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She slumped against the counter. “Toy’s gone. With Darryl. We found a note this morning.”
Brett’s eyes shone with restraint, then a scowl formed as the situation sank in. He began to pace the narrow kitchen. “Are you certain she’s left with him? Have you called the police? How long have they been gone? Isn’t she due any day?”
Of course his instinct would be to protect.
“She wrote in her letter that she went with Darryl. They could have left any time last night or this morning. We don’t know. And there’s no point in calling the police because we don’t know anything about him, not even his last name. I’ve never even laid eyes on him for a description. All I do know is he’s twenty-four years old, in some band and he hits pregnant women.” She brought her hands to her face. “God, it’s all my fault. I’ve been so caught up with my own problems that I didn’t take the time to reassure her. Of course she went with him. She figured she had nowhere else to go.”
Brett stopped his pacing in front of her, but he didn’t touch her. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“If not me, who? I knew she was afraid. Knew she needed guidance. She tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen. I wanted her to make some decisions for her own life. Then I just got so caught up with mother, my job, the hurricane. She must have been frantic, getting closer and closer to the baby being born. I—I thought I’d have time. We’d figure something out. Wing it. But I wouldn’t have abandoned her!”
Brett’s eyes were feverish and he clenched his fists at his sides, helpless to console her.
“I’ll find her.”
Cara grabbed a paper towel, swiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffed loudly. “How can you? We don’t know where she went.”
“The traffic is backed up, and in her condition, I doubt she could have gotten far. I’ll check the shelters. I’ve got connections. I’ll make some calls. Tell me where you’ll be staying.”
She fumbled with gratitude. “Is this another of those rules of yours? A Lowcountry man never leaves a lady in distress?”
He didn’t reply for a moment, then said reluctantly, “Something like that.”
She grabbed a piece of memo paper and wrote the name of the motel they’d be staying in and the route they’d be taking. “Here, Brett,” she said, handing him the paper. “Even if you don’t find her, thank you. It means a lot that you tried.”
&nbs
p; He took the paper. “I’m off then. Turn off the electricity and gas before you go. And go! Now. No more delays. I’ll call to check on you and Miss Lovie tonight.”
Then, with a final parting look, he went out into the storm.
She stared at the closed door and wondered for a fleeting moment if she was crazy or if, when she’d handed the piece of paper to him, she’d really felt the connection as his fingers took hold.
A short time later Cara finished loading the car. She’d squeezed all she could into every inch of space then, glancing at her watch, groaned. Two o’clock already, though it seemed more like night. The storm was building as quickly as her fear. They’d delayed too long, Brendan was already at their heels. The surf was pounding so loudly she could feel the percussion in her head, and fear snaked along her spine as she fought her way up the stairs.
“Mama!” she called on entering the house. “Mama, hurry!” She ran into her mother’s room to find Lovie stretched out on the bed, a blanket wrapped around her legs.
“Come on, we’ve got to go!”
Her mother shook her head and brought her knees up to her chest. “You go ahead.”
Cara stopped abruptly. “What?”
“I’m staying.”
“You’re what? Oh, no you don’t. This is ridiculous. We don’t have time for this. You’re going.”
“I’m not! I’m not leaving the beach house. Not ever again.” Her voice began to rise with emotion but she checked it, struggling to maintain her dignity. “But you have to go. So hurry. Please.” She smiled stiffly.
Cara could only stare at her mother while panic whirled in her chest. She knew that look. She’d seen it enough times over the years. It was the narrow-eyed, teeth-bared look of a cornered, beaten dog. If she was going to move her, she’d get bit.
It was the last straw. Cara threw her purse down on the floor, wiped a damp lock of hair from her face with an angry swipe and glared at her mother with mounting fury.
“Well, screw this!” she shouted. “I’ve had it. If you’re not going, then I’m not going!”
Lovie looked stunned and her composure collapsed. “But—but…you have to go!”
“I’m not.”
“Cara, don’t do this!” Lovie cried, her voice rising. “I’ll be fine here. This house has withstood lots of storms, even Hugo. It will stand up to this one, too.”
But Cara didn’t move; she steeled herself against her mother’s growing hysteria.
“I have to stay,” Lovie cried, wringing her hands. “Someone has to stay with the turtles!”
Cara crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not going.”
Suddenly there was a thunderous cracking of a tree branch outside the house, followed by the horrid creaking of the bathroom shutters as they were torn off their hinges. After a crashing thud, the broken branches battered the window glass like pounding hands.
“Go, Cara!” Lovie screamed. “For God’s sake, go! I don’t want to leave. I want to die here. I’m not afraid for myself. Please go!”
Cara felt the lid of her emotions rip off like the shutters. She was eighteen again and a great, howling pain clawed out from her chest. Words suppressed for too many years shrieked from her in a maelstrom, as uncontrolled as the wind.
“Once!” she cried. “Just once I wish you’d think about me for a change!” She took a deep breath that hiccupped in her throat as she stood, arms rigid at her sides, her hands in fists. “Do you want to know why I ran away at eighteen, Mama? Do you?”
Lovie clutched her shirt close to her chest with her small hands. “Oh, Cara—”
“It wasn’t just because of Daddy. I knew he didn’t love me. It was because of you! I couldn’t forgive you for not protecting me. Or Palmer. Not even yourself. That night I ran away, he beat me hard. You let him hit me, Mama! You could’ve stood up to him. You could’ve defended me. You could’ve defended both of us. But you just stood by and let him hurt me. Why?”
Cara angrily swiped her face and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know why. To protect yourself. And now, again, you’re thinking only of yourself! Or the turtles!” She felt the hurt taking shape in her chest, swirling painfully. “Why not me? Mama, why don’t I matter enough?” Then the hurt erupted, gushing out with tears. “Why have I never mattered enough?”
“No, Caretta, no! That’s not the way it was at all!” Even as she said the words, Lovie realized that they weren’t true. She hadn’t protected her daughter. But Cara didn’t understand why.
Another loud, shuddering crash exploded in the room as the branches succeeded in catapulting through the window. Lovie screamed and Cara crouched low to the ground, her head ducked, her arms crossed over her head as shards of glass splayed like bullets. Cara felt a terror as starkly horrifying as it was familiar. Only once before had she been so afraid for her own safety. That moment flashed in her mind.
She was just eighteen, crouched in the corner of the entrance foyer to their house in Charleston. She held her arms protectively over her head, heard the whispered whoosh and snap of a leather belt as it cracked like a bullwhip against her skin. It stung like hell but it was the shock of being hit by her father that she felt the most. Even while she screamed for him to stop, she felt a deep shame that he could do this to her. His face was ugly and contorted with rage that she’d defied him and she saw in his eyes that he was glad to see her put in her place. He was shouting words at her that she could only understand in phrases like, “last time” and “I’ll teach you” and “do as you’re told.” She begged him to stop, growing hysterical.
Until she saw her mother. From a small space under her arm she saw Lovie clutching the doorframe of the foyer. Her mother didn’t rush forward to stop him or stand in front of her child. She only watched, her face pale and her eyes wide with horror. Cara stopped crying then and rose to stare boldly at her father while he hit her. She stood straight until she shamed him into stopping. The hurt inside had made her numb to the blows.
Cara huddled in the corner, crouched in fear, while the hurricane’s wind shrieked like a ghost. Then she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder.
“Cara?” she said. Then, more firmly, “Cara, look at me.”
Cara turned to look up at her mother. Despite the wind swirling in the room, Lovie stood straight, her shoulders back in resolve.
“Yes, I saw him strike you that night,” Lovie said. “And I knew at that moment you had to get out of that house. For your own safety. It broke my heart when you left, but I didn’t stop you because I loved you more than myself. I knew the path I’d traveled and I didn’t want you to follow. Maybe I should have left with you, but I can’t change what’s done. I can leave with you now though. I love you, Cara. You do matter.”
“Mama—” Cara cried, leaning against her mother’s legs.
“My little Tern,” Lovie said, stroking her daughter’s damp hair. “Now come, take my hand,” she said firmly, guiding Cara to her feet. “I have much to explain but we don’t have time now. We must go.”
Holding hands, they went out into the storm. Brendan’s breath was on them but his real strength was still a ways off. Cara held on to her mother’s waist and they cut through the wind to the car. No sooner had they reached the road than the rain began to dump bucketfuls. Even with the windshield wipers going full blast Cara could hardly see the road ahead. She leaned forward, gripping the wheel tight and squinting, heading straight for Palm Boulevard at a snail’s pace. It was a ghost town; the streets were deserted. Most of the houses were boarded up. She was careful, taking it slow, on the lookout for fallen wires or flooded streets. She worried about the wind conditions on the connector.
“Goddamn, will you look at that?” Cara peered through the sheets of rain. Not far from the connector an old oak had split and fallen across Palm Boulevard. Her mouth went dry as she came to a stop. The enormous branches stretched from one side of the road to the other. She stared at it with disbelieving eyes as the wind rocked the car and rain pel
ted the windows.
“Can we get around it?” her mother asked in a thin voice.
“I don’t think we should try. The power lines are down and the small roads are already flooded.”
“Then don’t try. If the water’s rising we could be washed away.” Her fingers shook at her lips. “What about the Ben Sawyer Bridge? Can we back up and take that?”
“I heard on the radio that it’s already closed. It fell into the water during Hugo, remember?” Staring at the blocked road through the clicking windshield wipers, Cara felt a crack in her thin shell of composure. “We’re trapped here. What should we do?”
“Cara,” her mother said in a strong, firm voice that drew her attention from the street. “Drive home. We’ll be all right in the beach house.”
“If there’s flooding—”
“It’s a high lot and the house is on pilings. We can’t stay here—and we have nowhere else to go. But we must get out of this car. If flooding starts, it will be a coffin.”
Cara was spurred on by that frightening image. Her hands shook as she shifted gears and turned the wheel away from the evacuation route. They were on their way back to the beach house. Only one local radio station was audible over the crackling static and the whistling wind. Turning it up, she heard that the hurricane had not gained power.
“Thank you, God! Maybe we can ride this one out.”
“I’m praying, Cara. I’m praying hard.”
“You do that, Mama. You’ve got better connections than I do.”
“Now’s not the time to be proud. Now’s the time to fall on your knees.”
“I intend to, just as soon as I get out of this car.”
As Cara navigated through the rain-slicked streets, she squinted through the sheet of rain and clicking wipers to make certain she didn’t drive into water. If the car stalled, she knew they’d have to get out quick and climb to higher ground. Her knuckles were white on the wheel and her jaw hurt, she was clenching her teeth so hard. She was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. But she recognized the feeling of that steely wall dropping again, the one that separated her from the outside arrows, the one that kept her emotions in check. It had served her well over the years in times of emergency and stress and she counted on it now. They needed to get out of the storm and prepare for the worst.
