Last Light over Carolina

by Mary Alice Monroe

  She heard the click of the lock and the creak of the door as it swung open. Lee once again took her arm, but she yanked it away.

  “I can do the rest.”

  “But…”

  She raised her head, feeling each degree of movement, and looked him in the eye. She hated him at that moment for not being as wretchedly sick as she was. “No.”

  Lee’s face went still; then she saw a spark of worry in his eyes. “You won’t tell Bud.”

  Carolina almost wept right then and there. What a fool she’d been. Instead, she released a short, pitiful laugh. “Good night, Lee.”

  He stepped aside to let her pass, handing her the keys.

  “Oh, Lee?” she said, stopping abruptly.

  Lee paused, looking at her expectantly.

  “I quit.”

  She saw surprise, then anger, and lastly regret flicker across his face. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s my fault. I don’t want you to think there’s anything between us, but I can’t go back to working with you. You understand, right?”

  Lee released a sigh then nodded. “See you around, Carolina.” He turned and walked swiftly down the gravel path and climbed into his blood-red Cadillac. The engine roared to life.

  As he pulled away from the house, Carolina leaned back against the doorframe and looked up. The stars shone cold in a black sky, and she remembered reading how stars collapsed into black holes, losing their brilliant light to the vast darkness.

  The moon was a pale shadow in a periwinkle sky when Carolina finally left her bathroom and could walk again without feeling the floor rise up beneath her. She’d clung to the porcelain bowl and retched till there was nothing left inside of her, then showered in water so hot it stung her tender skin. But no matter how hard she scrubbed with scented soap, she couldn’t remove the feel of Lee’s hands from her body or the stench of her infidelity.

  She combed her hair back from her face, relishing the feel of the teeth gliding down her scalp. Then she wrapped herself in a thick terry robe, pulled socks over her feet, and, grabbing a heavy shawl, made her way downstairs. The floors creaked as she walked to the kitchen. Her stomach was still queasy and her head fuzzy. Carolina poured herself a glass of water and downed two aspirin. Then she took a box of saltines from the pantry and headed out to the back porch to sit in the wicker rocker.

  Carolina rocked back and forth for hours, holding her folded legs close and staring into the darkness. She was sober now and had to face what she had done. Through all the ups and downs of her marriage, Carolina had always believed in her vows. But tonight she’d come very close to breaking them.

  Carolina rocked, going over in her mind how she could have committed this betrayal. The excuses came too easily. Yes, she’d had too much to drink. Yes, it had been so very long since she’d felt attractive or since someone desired her. She hadn’t picked up some stranger in a bar, she thought, trying to validate her actions. She’d been with Lee. In the past few years, she’d spent more time with Lee than she had with Bud. She’d shared a camaraderie with Lee that she’d lost with Bud.

  Even still, she hadn’t meant for it to happen—neither of them had. It had just happened.

  Bud was partly to blame, her mind argued. He’d been her husband in name only. And certainly not her lover, at least not with any regularity. He thought she was ambivalent about sex? How could she come to his bed feeling womanly and sensual when she saw her reflection as inadequate in his eyes? For six years, they’d been inseparable on the Miss Ann. But it was undeniable that their relationship had irreparably changed in the twenty years since Carolina was docked with Lizzy. The Miss Carolina had become his boat. In the process, Carolina had lost not only her job. She’d lost her best friend.

  And now, perhaps, her husband.

  Indifference cut a woman deep. Call it work, call it duty, but in reality, Bud had abandoned her. Year after year. For longer and longer periods. No matter how much he told her they needed the money, no matter what reasons he listed, all she heard him say was that her needs were not as important as his business. Their marriage didn’t matter as much as his ability to captain his boat. The Miss Carolina mattered more to him than Carolina.

  Her toes pushed against the floor, rocking her back and forth as tears flowed. She heard again Bud’s words on the phone, so cold, so flat: I’ll get home when I get home. Did he have any idea how deeply he’d hurt her? His tongue was like a knife dipped in poison that carved out her self-esteem.

  Could she forgive Bud if he fooled around? She thought of the burst of passion she’d felt with Lee tonight—the thrill of the new touch, the fresh sensations, the innovative moves. God help her, she’d missed feeling that! Bud must also. Could she forgive him if he did cheat?

  She exhaled heavily, knowing that, yes, she could forgive him. She might have answered differently a week earlier, but now in the aftermath of passion she’d discovered that one never fully knew what one might do until it happened.

  Carolina stopped rocking and swiped the tears away angrily. She had to be honest with herself. Whatever the excuse, for whatever reason, she had allowed this transgression to occur. In truth, her biggest betrayal tonight was of herself and all she believed in. She knew she didn’t love Lee. She wasn’t sure she loved Bud anymore. She was fairly certain she didn’t love herself. Otherwise, how could she have let this happen?

  Who was she? She didn’t know anymore. There was a time she’d never have let Bud—or any man—take her for granted. She’d felt a self-confidence so radiant it gave her a beauty that had nothing to do with her physical appearance. Men were drawn to her. Women admired her. Her femininity had made her feel potent.

  And she’d given that power to Bud lovingly, willingly, and joyfully. She’d worked by his side with a drive and purpose that had sustained her. She’d loved being the crew on Bud’s boat. She took pride in doing the books for his business. She’d tended their home, raised their daughter, supported their community, helped in their church, volunteered in the Shrimpers Association. If she fell, she picked herself up, knowing too many people depended on her.

  Selflessness, sacrifice, and service—these were the time-honored virtues of womanhood. Husband and children first, then yourself. Carolina had lived by this code. She gave of herself from the moment she woke to make her husband’s breakfast until whenever she finished the dinner dishes, the day’s laundry, the take-home work from her job, and whatever other chore needed doing before she collapsed into bed. She hadn’t thought it was possible to give too much.

  Carolina stayed on the porch until the faint rays of light pierced the velvety blackness. The saltines were gone, and she shivered, chilled to the bone. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. In the light of a new day, Carolina accepted full blame for her actions and dismissed all her weak excuses. She’d reached the bottom. She mourned the loss of that feminine power and beauty that had sustained her for so many years.

  As dawn broke, flooding the sky with its maidenly color, Carolina lifted her face to the light. She vowed to begin that day to dig deep within herself to find her inner glow again. She couldn’t blame Bud alone for her unhappiness. It was up to her to rediscover her worth and to claim her own happiness. In the next few days, she’d have to decide what she would do when Bud returned home. She only knew that she couldn’t remain in their marriage the way things were.

  September 21, 2008

  On board the Miss Ann

  Carolina shivered, feeling the drop in temperature in the galley of the Miss Ann. She pushed back her sleeve and looked at her wristwatch, surprised that it was already half past one and her coffee was cold. A milky film floated on the top.

  She made her way up on deck. The storm clouds were closer, coloring the sky a leaden gray, whipping up the wind and bringing white tips to the choppy water. She grabbed the edges of her slicker and closed it tightly as she squinted across the length of dock. The space for the Miss Carolina was empty.

  Carolina sh
uddered with worry and looked beyond the creek toward the ocean. Bud, where are you?

  Judith came to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “He’ll be all right.”

  “I know he will,” she replied, knowing in her heart they were both lying.

  15

  September 21, 2008, 1:30 p.m.

  On board the Miss Carolina

  Cold, fat drops of rain fell like pellets on his skin. Bud watched the tumultuous mass race toward him like a banshee, screaming wind, and she wasn’t shy to unleash her full fury. Rain whipped the boat in torrents atop cresting waves that tossed the boat. He clung to the winch with his good hand as the sea turned frothy white. With each jerk to the left or right, he felt a burst of blinding pain. Bud used his legs to steady himself against anything secure. Thunder cracked above him, boom after boom, and lightning raised the hair on his arms. He knew this would be his one chance for water, so despite the bucking boat, he leaned his head back to drink the rain, letting the cold spill sloppily into his mouth, down his throat.

  Bud felt weak from loss of blood, but he held on for all his worth and trusted the Miss Carolina to ride the waves that crashed against her sides, spewing seawater across the deck, drenching him. He coughed and spat out saltwater, feeling the sting of it in his eyes and open wound. The sky was so black and the waves so violent he couldn’t see.

  The storm moved quickly. The lightning dissipated and the thunder became a muffled grumbling fading out to sea. The rain slackened to a drizzle before it eventually stopped. In the wake of the storm, the clouds thinned and the sea surface appeared glassy. The sun manifested her power, piercing the gray to burnish the sky in burned orange, and when a rainbow glistened beneath the clouds, Bud was reminded of God’s covenant and felt hope that he would be spared.

  He’d survived the winch. He’d survived the storm. But for how long?

  The tourniquet had loosened and the blood flowed more steadily again. The pain had freshened as well. He hurt bad.

  He wouldn’t go out like this, he thought. Pinned and helpless, more like a child than a man. If he was going to die out here, he wanted to die on his feet.

  His pulse raced as he recollected stories of men who’d cut themselves free of a trap using duller knives than his. Bud had read about a climber in the mountains pinned by a rock. And a fisherman who’d cut off his hand to be free of a winch. Same as him. They’d done whatever was necessary to survive. He swallowed hard, tasting the salt. He’d never thought he’d be in the same spot. All his life, he’d taken pride in his physical power and his ability to make tough decisions. But this…He didn’t know whether he’d actually be able to cut off his own hand. Or even if he’d survive trying. But he couldn’t just lie here waiting to die. He had to try to save himself.

  Was he man enough to do it?

  Trapped as he was, he couldn’t get to anything he’d need for the amputation. All he had was his trusty pocketknife. Hardly a scalpel, but at least it was sharp. Sweat gathered on his forehead as he went through the steps in his mind.

  First, he’d have to tighten the tourniquet to pinch off the main arteries so he wouldn’t bleed out after he made the cut. He’d have to cut fast, pinching the arteries. Once he was free, he could get to the pilothouse. He could radio for help. That’d be the first thing to do. Even if he passed out later, they’d have his coordinates. It would give him a fighting chance.

  If he didn’t pass out right away, he’d grab fishing line from the box a few feet away and tie off the arteries. Then he’d shove the boat into high gear and head straight back to the dock and medical help. Then he’d clean the wound, to avoid infection. It was too late to save the hand. Probably even the whole arm. He blanched at the thought of losing his arm. But what the hell, he thought. Better that than to die here.

  Yes, he could do it, he thought. He went over it again in his mind: Cut off the hand, radio for help, get back home. He shuddered and took two deep breaths, gathering his strength. Then he reached for the knife in his rear pocket.

  He didn’t feel it. His pocket was empty.

  Was it panic or relief that made his hand shake? he wondered. He shifted, wildly searching the deck beneath his weight. His hand smeared blood across the deck.

  The knife was gone.

  He blinked, trying to reason as pain hammered his temples. The knife must’ve fallen out in all the rocking and flailing during the storm. Desperate, he scanned the deck. There, several feet away, wedged behind a coil of rope, he spotted a flash of red metal. His hopes crashed.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Is this the way we’re going to end up?” he cried in a broken voice to the Miss Carolina. “Huh?” He began muttering, his mind wandering, not knowing if he was saying the words aloud. “Carolina…after all the years we spent together? I gave you everything I had. I kept you looking fine and sleek, painted you every spring. You’re a beautiful boat. A fine, noble vessel. We had our fights, but we did okay.”

  He pounded the deck, scraping his knuckles. “Why like this? Goddamn it, Carolina. It ain’t right.”

  Bud lowered his head against his damp sleeve, feeling breathless and light-headed. Disoriented.

  “I loved you, Carolina. And you betrayed me.”

  March 12, 2001

  White Gables

  “I’m home!”

  Bud dropped his duffel bag beside the front door. It was mostly filled with dirty laundry for Carolina to wash. He rolled his shoulders, glad to be home. Glad to be out of Florida and eager to sleep in his own bed. He’d been on the water so long he still felt the sea swells beneath him. His blue flannel shirt smelled like fish, his skin felt like scales, and he desperately needed a bath.

  A commotion in the front room drew his attention. He walked in to see Lizzy, in jeans and a sweater, lifting Will from the playpen.

  “Hey, Lizard,” he called out, using her old nickname.

  Lizzy scooped Will into her arms and glowered at him, her lips in a tight line.

  Red flag warning, Bud thought as his heart sank like an anchor. Josh must have beat him home and told her what he’d done. Either that, or the gossip had shot up the coast like a cannonball.

  “Da-da-da-da,” Will called out in a high voice.

  “Least one person’s glad to see me. How’s my little man?”

  Clutching Will close, Lizzy walked past him so fast her ponytail bounced. She angled her body to avoid bumping into him in the narrow hall.

  “What’d you want me to do?” he bellowed after her.

  Lizzy turned at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes rimmed red, and shouted back, “You ruined my life!”

  “How did I ruin your life?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. Tears sprang to her eyes. Will looked at him, his big blue eyes worried.

  “I hate you!” Lizzy shouted, and pounded up the stairs.

  “Unbelievable.” Bud cursed as he heard a door slam upstairs. That’s great, he thought. Josh cheats on her, and I’m the bad guy. He ran his hands through his hair and walked down the hall to the kitchen. It was awfully quiet in the house—and Carolina hadn’t even come to greet him.

  Instinct spawned from years of marriage told him that he was heading for stormy weather. He wiped his hands on his jeans, wishing he’d brought her some small token—flowers, candy, or something pretty. After their last phone call, Bud knew he was in the doghouse.

  Bud paused at the threshold of the kitchen, seeing his wife standing at the sink. His heart expanded in his chest. He loved the sight of Carolina in the kitchen. There was something so womanly, even sexy, about a woman standing at the sink that gave him a sense of being home and that all was right with the world. Sunlight poured in the southern windows, making her hair look like fire flowing down her shoulders. She was in stocking feet, faded jeans that hugged her rounded bottom, and a pale green sweater with the sleeves pulled back as she worked at the sink, exposing tanned forearms. Hers was
no longer the figure of a girl. She had soft, mature curves that he could wrap his arms around.

  He was about to walk up to her and do just that when he noticed that she was holding her back rigid and peeling potatoes with agitated movements.

  “I’m home.” His voice was tentative.

  She didn’t turn around.

  “Caro—”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “So, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  She didn’t reply, but her hands stilled to grip the rim of the sink.

  “Carolina, do we have to go through this again?” he said wearily. “I just walked in the door. I’m beat.” He walked to the fridge, opened it, and stared blankly at the milk and soda. “Is it too much to ask for some cold beer?”

  “You haven’t been home in almost three months and I had no idea when you’d be back. Get it yourself.”

  Bud slammed the door, and they heard jars and bottles rattle inside.

  “Nice,” Carolina muttered.

  Bud crossed his arms and tried hard to hold his temper. “Well, this is a helluva homecoming. Makes me wonder why I bothered.”

  She turned quickly, her eyes flashing. “I wonder, too.”

  Bud rubbed his eyes. “I’m too tired for this.”

  “Wait.”

  Bud swung his head and looked at her questioningly.

  “There’ve been some changes.”

  “Changes?”

  She clasped her hands, and he was surprised to see her suddenly nervous.

  “Lizzy’s moved back home. With Will. She’s left Josh. They’re getting a divorce.” Carolina cast him a venomous look that spoke plainly of her thoughts about his role in all this.

  Bud looked at his boots. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He felt a surge of guilt for Lizzy’s tears. “I told him to be a man and tell Lizzy himself. She shouldn’t have to hear something like that from gossips—damn bottom-feeders. He had to do right by her. He owed her that much.”