September 21, 2008
McClellanville
Pee Dee leaned his head against the warehouse and felt the sting of salt in his eyes. That sting was one of the most vivid memories of Bobby’s death. The saltwater had burned his eyes, his throat, his chest. The memory still stung like salt on a fresh wound. Time had never dulled the pain. If anything, the pain had intensified. On that day, he’d lost not only Bobby but Bobby’s father. And a good part of Bud, too.
This was what people couldn’t understand. How could two grown men who’d spent their lives on the ocean get caught in such a rookie situation? If it was Pee Dee who’d died and Bobby who came home to tell the story, nobody would have been talking about it fifteen years later. But it was Bobby who’d died, and Pee Dee would never be forgiven.
Pee Dee couldn’t blame Oz for hating him. He hated himself. Pee Dee still couldn’t look back on the accident without trying to figure what he might’ve done to save Bobby. How he could’ve handed Bobby the gas tank. Not once didn’t he wish it was him who’d died that day, not Bobby.
Pee Dee dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his boot. Then he cleared his throat and spat. It was time to face the music. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, feeling the grime, then shuffled with slumped shoulders out onto the dock. He smiled weakly at the old captains, lifting his hand in a meek wave and a show of respect, wincing when all talk came to an abrupt stop. Pee Dee’s gaze went straight to Oz.
The old man sat slumped in his chair. His once-massive shoulders were soft and rounded and his barrel belly protruded from his black slicker, revealing one of the plaid shirts he always wore. Under his long-billed cap, dark eyes narrowed with hostility at the sight of Pee Dee. He swung his head toward where the Miss Carolina usually docked, beside a trawler with a FOR SALE sign tacked on the hull. Oz turned back, puzzlement etched on his face.
Yanking the pipe from his mouth, he growled, “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on board the Carolina?”
Pee Dee reached up to scratch nervously under his cap. “Yeah, well, I…”
Woody leaned forward in his chair to offer Pee Dee a cigarette. At close range, his pale gray eyes were sad. Pee Dee was taken aback at the kindness and stepped forward to take the cigarette, nodding his thanks. His hands shook as he patted his pockets for a match. Woody tossed him a pack. Pee Dee caught it clumsily and lit up, aware that the eyes of all the captains were on him.
“It’s kinda late for you to be coming by, ain’t it?” Woody said.
Pee Dee took a long drag, feeling the burn before he exhaled, looking down. “Yeah. I guess.” He shot a glance at Oz. The old man’s meaty knuckles had whitened into hard fists.
The Hagg’s face hung as wrinkled and soft as a basset hound’s. “Someone else go out with Bud today?”
Pee Dee hung his head and shrugged.
“You don’t think he went out alone, do you?” asked Woody.
“Not in this weather,” answered the Hagg. “He knows better.”
“Wasn’t bad earlier,” said Woody.
“Who’s out there with my boy?” asked Oz with heat.
Pee Dee shrugged again, shaking his head, unwilling to look Oz in the eye.
“I’m asking you a question,” Oz growled, gripping the arms of his chair and leaning far forward. “And you’d damn well better give me an answer or I’ll flick your head off like a goddamn shrimp.”
Pee Dee’s gaze drifted down to Oz’s scuffed boots under frayed khaki hems.
“I dunno. Honest, Cap. Bud, he don’t like to go out with anybody but me. We always go out together. I came here direct to check on him, to see if he come back. I ain’t never missed the boat before, I swear to God. Leastwise, not for a long time.”
“You really missed the boat this time,” Woody said with exaggeration, sending the men into tense laughter.
Pee Dee looked down the dock at the empty space where the Miss Carolina should have been, to confirm that what Woody had said was true. He turned back, feeling hunted. “M-maybe he did go out on his own.”
The fury in Oz’s eyes cooled to worry. Pee Dee saw that same look in the eyes of all the old captains. They knew Bud was a worthy seaman. They understood that once in a while, a captain would take his boat out alone.
They also knew what it meant to be out on the ocean alone when the sky turned black and the water muddied.
13
September 21, 2008, 1:10 p.m.
On board the Miss Carolina
Bud looked up to see the darkening clouds moving in. The sun was a dim globe hovering in the leaden sky. Even though the day had been overcast, the skin on his face, neck, and arms was burning. Thirst tightened his throat so he could hardly swallow. His shoulder ached from holding the awkward position over the drum for hours. His head was swimming in a fog. He knew these were signs of blood loss. He had to face the possibility that he might not make it.
He lowered his head, feeling anger well up like a new pain in his chest. It wasn’t fair. He was only fifty-seven. This wasn’t how he wanted to go—helpless and broke. The goddamn regulations, he thought. The quotas. The licenses. The costs. The fuel. The companies dumping foreign shrimp into the market. His body shook with dehydration and his gut churned as he directed his anger to the heavens.
“Why me?” he cried out, balling his fist and pounding the deck. “What did I ever do to piss you off? I may not have been a saint, but I wasn’t that bad a sinner, was I? I worked hard all my life. Never asked for help from no man, but gave it when it was asked of me. I was true to my wife. Good to my daughter. I didn’t smuggle drugs—and we both know the money woulda been nice to have. I stayed clean. I stood tall. What more can a man do? What do you want from me?”
The skies answered in a low, grumbling thunder. He squinted and saw a fleet of clouds the color of gunmetal moving closer. The wind was picking up, too, whistling through the rigging. White tips crested the choppy waves. It was a fast-moving front and would be here soon.
Bud rested his head against the steel winch. He had no choice but to weather the oncoming wind and rain. Not that he was afraid. He’d seen his share of storms. He gazed up at the gloomy sky as the Miss Carolina began pitching in the swells. It was the squalls of his relationships, the bruises of words, the deceptions and consequences, that had proved hardest to endure.
March 2, 2001
Off the coast of Florida
Back in the day, Port Canaveral had been a thriving shrimp port in Florida with hundreds of working vessels docked. From up in the pilothouse, Bud counted fewer than fifty. He maneuvered the Miss Carolina into a space between two seventy-five-foot trawlers. He turned off the engine and could feel the sudden silence. Pee Dee and Josh tied off the lines. They knew their jobs and didn’t need Bud to holler instructions. He sighed with relief and scratched his head, feeling the salt in his hair.
The sun was setting and his men were tired after twenty-four hours on the water. They had by his estimate some six hundred pounds of shrimp to unload from the hold. All in all, it was a good day in a good two weeks. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower and a cold beer at a motel.
The air-conditioning in the lobby of the dumpy motel was broken, but the clerk, an old man so pale and fat Bud guessed he rarely moved far from his chair, assured Bud that all the room units worked just fine. A fan was whirling noisily in the lobby and the front doors were wide open to the balmy night. Pee Dee and Josh smoked cigarettes at the entrance and waited, watching the female tourists walk by. Bud knew Pee Dee didn’t have the guts to talk to any of them, and Josh didn’t have to try. The girls always smiled at him.
Sometimes his crew acted like high-school boys, Bud thought, pocketing his credit card. But they worked as hard as men, and this had been a long season. They needed a night off. Bud lifted his worn duffel bag and walked out of the lobby. He tossed a key to Josh, who snared it.
“Rooms are around the corner. You’re in one-seventy-one. I’m in one-seventy-th
ree. It’s on my card, so you best not be breaking anything or walking off with towels.”
They shuffled toward their rooms like zombies. Josh clicked open the lock and pushed the door open with his foot. Pee Dee tossed his bag inside their room, then immediately turned to head back out.
“Going on a beer run,” Pee Dee said.
“Get some tequila, too,” called Josh.
“Don’t get hammered tonight,” Bud told him. “I need you tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Five a.m. sharp.”
Bud closed the door to his room and dropped his bag. He took a slow look around. The room was no different than the hundreds of motel rooms he’d stayed in near various docks over the years. It was dingy, but convenient and cheap.
He couldn’t wait to get clean. He peeled his grimy clothes from his body and climbed into the shower. Turning on the hot water, he placed his hands on the tile, closed his eyes, and let his head drop as the hot water pounded his back in a poor-man’s massage. It’d been a long two weeks on the boat. He was so tired he felt he could fall asleep standing up.
The mirrors were steamed when he stepped out of the shower. He treated himself to a slow shave, taking care to trim the moustache that trailed in a thin line to his chin. He could thank his father for his full head of hair—most of his pals were thinning at the top or bald. Turning his head from side to side, he stared at the bits of gray feathering at his temples and mingling in the dark brown of his sideburns.
“It is what it is,” Bud said to his reflection, but he knew that for a fifty-year-old guy, he still looked good. Hard muscle filled out his broad shoulders.
Lowering the brush, he caught sight of a long red hair dangling from the bristles. Bud carefully plucked the one hair and held it between his rough, calloused fingers. A surge of longing brought a wistful smile to his face as he let the hair float down to his palm. He missed his wife.
The thought surprised him. And pleased him. He hadn’t missed her, or even thought much about her, for days. Sure, they’d been busy on the boat, but Bud knew his apathy went deeper than that. The closeness had gone out of their relationship. So had the fun. They didn’t talk much, except when they had to about a job or the routine. A hot topic around their house was what she’d make for dinner.
And the physical…Bud snorted. There wasn’t much of that, either. He’d gone from feeling lonely for her touch, to frustrated, to just plain angry. Carolina didn’t seem upset about it at all. He thought she liked things the way they were. Except she was angry, too. All the time, it seemed.
But there were moments…a smile when he needed one, her bringing him a beer when he was working, waiting up for him with a warm dinner on nights he returned late. Despite everything, he always knew she was on his side.
Bud looked at his watch. It was almost eight o’clock. He hadn’t called to check in for almost a week. On impulse, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went to the phone by the bed. He picked up the receiver and dialed home. Carolina answered after three rings.
“Hello.”
“It’s me.”
There was a pause on her end of the line so cold he felt the chill in Florida. “So, you finally called.”
“I’ve been on the boat.”
“You could have called from the dock.”
“I know. I’m usually so beat…you know how it is.”
“Uh-huh.”
Bud felt his longing for Carolina shrivel in his heart. There was another pause, longer this time. Neither wanted to be the first to speak again.
“Well, if you wanted me to know you’re alive,” Carolina said briskly, “I know. You can go drinking with the boys now.”
“Okay, Carolina, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Bud sighed wearily. When Carolina was in this mood, nothing good was coming. “Okay, then.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I dunno. I’m figuring to stay on maybe another week.”
“Another week?” Her voice rose. “You’ve already extended a week. It’ll be over…two months you’ve been gone!”
“Don’t nag. You know how bad the season was. The hopper is running good here. I’m trying to catch up.”
“You’re always catching up.”
Here we go, he thought.
“It’s bad enough during the season.” He could hear her anger bubbling under her forced calm. “But you’re pushing the limits, Bud. You’re never here! Not for me. Not for Lizzy.” She took a shallow breath. “What about your daughter? She’s got a new baby. Where’s Josh? She needs her husband now more than ever.”
“All the more reason we need to keep working. He gets little enough money as it is, and now he has a child to raise. Hey, you both married into the life.”
“You always say the same thing, over and over like a broken record. The fact is, we don’t have any kind of life. You’re gone all the time.”
“I thought you liked it that way.”
She tsked in frustration. “I’m telling you I’m lonely, Bud. And…”
“And what?” His tone was asking her, Is this a threat? He was starting to get angry now.
“You’re not listening!”
“I’ve heard it all before. I call home to check in, and you give me hell for working my ass off here. Then you wonder why I don’t call.”
“Bud, I don’t want to fight.” Her voice trembled, and he felt bad knowing he was making her cry. “I’m so tired of fighting. All I’m saying is, your being gone so much isn’t good for us. It’s no way to have a marriage.”
He looked at the slender strand of hair in his palm. “Caro, I’ve got to stay while the shrimp are running. I’m down to the fish house for two thousand already for fuel and ice, and now the motor is giving me trouble.”
“We’ve always had money troubles and we’ve always managed.”
“It’s just a week. Two at the most. We’re going to go a ways offshore.”
“Come home, please.”
He hated to hear her voice break. “I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
His sigh rattled his chest. “See it the way you want to, Carolina.”
“Well, when are you coming home?”
Bud was sorry now that he’d called. His head ached and he was dying for a beer. “I’ll get home when I get home,” he ground out.
“Fine,” she spat out. “I may not be here when you get back.” She hung up.
Bud clenched the hair in his fist as he stared at the phone in his other hand. He hung up slowly, then opened his palm, watching as the red hair slid from his hand to float to the floor.
He needed a drink. He dressed quickly in the cleanest jeans he could find and a fresh shirt, then walked down the cement walkway and pounded the boys’ door. “I’m not getting any younger. If we’re going, let’s get going.”
Pee Dee emerged from the room looking like he had going in. But Josh had showered and shaved and was wearing a clean T-shirt with a skull and crossbones. His dark eyes had that eager shine that Bud recalled from his own youth.
The Conch House was part grill and part tiki bar and boasted some of the best hush puppies in the South. It was a local place that welcomed families and tourists, but after nine the joint was getting wild. Pee Dee found a booth near the pool tables and, with a sweep of his tattooed arm, raked the half-dozen empty beer bottles to the edge of the table. The young waitress hurried by to pocket the tip before scooping up the bottles and placing them on her tray.
“Evenin’, gentlemen,” she said, red-painted lips smiling at Bud and Josh as they slid onto the seat. Her skintight black T-shirt and large breasts gave maximum exposure to the red lettering Get Freaky at the Tiki.
“Why, hello, darlin’.” Josh beamed, sitting far back in the booth. “How are you on this fine evening?”
“Looks like my evening just got better,” she replied with a toothy grin.
“What’s your name?” Josh asked.
&
nbsp; “Marlene.”
“Marlene, huh?” Josh replied. “You mean like Darlene, only with a mmmm.”
“Oh, the shit’s flying early tonight,” Pee Dee said. “Round of beers here.”
“And a basket of those hush puppies,” Bud added.
“Shrimp looks good tonight,” the waitress said, eyes on Josh as she handed out menus.
“I don’t wanna see another goddamn shrimp today,” Josh said.
Bud chuckled. “Just bring three burgers around, well done. Slaw on the side. And don’t forget those hush puppies.” He handed her the plastic-covered menus.
“Don’t worry, they come with the plate. But I’ll bring extra,” she said, heading off to the bar for the beers.
“We should have ordered some shots,” Josh said. “I’ll ask that little honey for some when she gets back.”
“Quit acting like you’re eighteen,” Bud said.
“You jealous? You had your chance.”
“You had your chance, too,” he reminded Josh. “When you’re single with no responsibilities, you can act like those monkeys out there.” He jerked his head to indicate the drunken guys dancing with giggling women. “But when you’re married, you owe it to your family to sit on the sidelines. And you’re a married man now.”
Josh swung his head to look over at the bar, his fingers tapping the table.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with the beers. “Hope you fellahs don’t mind, but I took the liberty of buying you handsome men a shot of whiskey. Bought it with my own money.” She smiled and set the shots down beside the beers.
“You and me,” Josh said, “we’re on the same wavelength, honey.” He picked up his shot and tossed it back.
“I thought so,” she replied flirtatiously.
Bud frowned and took a long swallow from his bottle. Josh acted like any other handsome young buck out for a night, except that he was married to Lizzy. That put Bud in a tough position. Why couldn’t Josh be more like Pee Dee? he thought, looking at his cousin across the table. Pee Dee was happy as long as there were good tunes on the juke and cigarettes in the pack.
Last Light over Carolina Page 18
