I was already in Charlotte for a church conference with Mark, one of the elders from the church, when I received the call from Phyllis on Friday morning.
Mark rushed me to the hospital where I insisted on being dropped off. I didn’t see the need for him to wait with me as I had no idea how long I would be here. From what Phyllis said, I knew Leslie was in bad shape.
I was greeted in the ICU waiting area by Leslie’s mom, Phyllis, and her dad, Stanley. Judging by their appearance, they have been here for a while. I didn’t ask, but I had assumed this had just happened.
When Leslie and I divorced, they blamed me for her depression and drug addiction. It’s always easier to blame others. Sadly, I also blamed myself and I guess I still do. Maybe blaming myself isn’t the right thing to do. I have always wondered if I did the right things and if I did enough to help her. Did I abandon her and our marriage too quickly?
Not after what happened to Myra, I didn’t. I made a promise to God and to myself I would always protect Myra first. Plus, Leslie made her own decision when she left the hospital right after Myra’s birth.
Phyllis walks over to me while her husband, Stanley, stands near the coffee machine.
“I’m glad you came, Beau.”
“Thank you for calling me.”
“It doesn’t look good.”
I look at Phyllis. She’s aged since I last saw her. Her eyes are sunken, and the dark circles let me know she hasn’t slept.
“Do you want to sit down?” I motion then follow her to the green leather sofa and wait patiently for her to talk.
She wipes her eyes and nose with a white tissue. “She’s on life support but she’s only breathing ten percent on her own.”
That’s not good. “When did this happen?”
“Last night. The police officer came to the house about eleven o’clock or so.” I look at my watch and it’s just past four in the afternoon. “They said she doesn’t have any brain activity.”
A nurse stands in the doorway to the entrance of the IUC.
“Family of Miller?” she calls.
“It’s time for our visit. I’ll be back out in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll wait here.”
I stand with her and watch as she and her husband, Stanley, walk through the double doors. The sign over the door reads Immediate Family Only. I decide there’s only one place I should be. I leave and take the elevator to the hospital chapel.
I kneel at the altar and pray. I pray for forgiveness for me because I didn’t do more. I pray for strength for Phyllis and Stanley to be able to get over this. I pray for my daughter, who’s losing her mother permanently. Although deep in my heart I pray for Leslie to get better and see her daughter, I know this will never happen. Myra will never know her mother. She’ll never know the woman I fell in love with. And thankfully, she’ll never know the woman she turned into. The woman who walked away from her newborn daughter while she lay in the NICU, detoxing from the drugs her mother fed her while pregnant with her. I pray for an easy transition for Leslie into her eternal resting place. I pray that she can finally find peace and happiness.
When I get downstairs Phyllis and Stanley are both crying. My heart thuds as I watch their pain. I sit quietly as they comfort each other. I’m not sure what to say to either of them as I’m feeling pained for Myra’s loss.
Stanley looks sad and broken. “Her organs are failing and they’ve decided to take her off life support.”
Now. Is she already gone? “When?”
“We didn’t know if you wanted to bring Myra up to see her mother first.”
“Yes, of course. I’d also like to see her.”
Phyllis says, “The visiting hours no longer apply to us. We can go back and sit with her.”
They both stand and I follow them back to the last room on the left. They each take a seat as I stand at the head of the bed. Leslie’s hooked up to a ventilator. She doesn’t look like she did the last time I saw her. I’m not sure I would have even recognized her. I lean in and brush her hair away from her face. Her once flawless skin is covered in red, raised acne and open sores. She’s emaciated and sickly. Her once long thick dark hair is now thinning and dull.
Stanley says through sobs, “The prolonged use of drugs has caused extensive damage to her vital organs. If the overdose didn’t kill her, sooner or later, organ failure would have.”
“I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen.” Looking down at Leslie, I can see the track marks on her arms. If there was a vein in her arm, it’s been used as a pin-cushion. I don’t think I want Myra to see this. I know Leslie’s her mother, but this isn’t a memory I want imbedded in my daughter’s head. This would be the first and only memory Myra would have of her mother, and I won’t allow it. I can’t allow it. I need to ask about funeral arrangements.
Slowly, I walk away from Leslie. I can’t bear to see her like this. All of this she did to herself. Why would someone want to do this? The pain she’s caused to herself and to her loved ones couldn’t have been worth it.
“Do you know what you’ll do for her funeral?” There’s no nice way to ask.
“Stan and I talked about this. We’ve decided to just have her cremated. Maybe we’ll have something at the house for her later. Since her addiction, she’s lost contact with all of her old friends.”
I sit gingerly beside them. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Myra to see her mother like this.”
“I agree,” Stanley says. “This is something I don’t want my granddaughter to remember. Hell, I’d like to forget it myself.”
“Thank you for understanding. If you’d like I could bring Myra over to your house. Maybe we could have a small memorial service, talk about Leslie before her addiction, share some pictures of her so Myra can see what her mother used to be like.”
“Beau,” Stanley says, “I blamed you unfairly for Leslie’s drug abuse. It was easier to blame you than for us to blame her for her own addiction. And for that, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
We all pray together before the doctor takes Leslie off life support. Phyllis and Stanley each hold her hand and cry. It doesn’t take long for her to take her last breath. I don’t love Leslie, but I never wanted to see her life end like this. I guess deep down I always hoped she’d get clean and want to at least see her daughter. Sadly, that never happened.
We walk outside of her room and into the waiting area while the nurses clean up Leslie and remove the ventilator.
“Beau, we’re going to the chapel while we wait for the funeral home to come and get her. Do you want to come with us?” Phyllis asks.
“No, thank you. I’ll wait here. I’d like to have a moment alone with her, if that’s all right?”
“We’ll be back soon.”
I watch as Stanley holds the door open for his wife. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’ve aged ten years in the last hour. To lose your only daughter, I can’t imagine. I don’t want to imagine. The pain in my heart is unbearable just thinking of losing Myra. Even with my beliefs about heaven and eternal life, this is still too much. Just living my life, here on this earth without her, is too painful to think about.
I go in and hold Leslie’s hand and pray. I try to remember her before the drug abuse but those memories are foggy. They seem so far away. There’s nothing about her that reminds me of the way she was before her addiction. I wish I could have done something more for her. I wish I could have helped her. Why wasn’t my love for her enough for her to want to be clean? Why wasn’t Myra enough? It really is a sickness. Leslie’s finally at peace. Whatever demons she had are now gone.
Once the funeral home came to claim the body, Leslie’s parents decide to have a small memorial service at their home for Myra. They want to have a few photos of her mother scattered about for Myra to see. This will also be a good time for Myra to get to know her grandparents.
They ask if I’d be willing to stay with them and help them plan something for Sund
ay. I’m not sure how they’ll function day to day much less look through family photo albums. Before I leave with them, I call Dad and ask if he’d keep Myra while I help Stanley and Phyllis over the next couple days. I also let him know that on Sunday we’ll have a memorial service at Leslie’s parents’ house.
Chapter Seven
Carly
We all attend church on Sunday as a family. The congregation welcomes Pap warmly. Not just him, but all of us. Pap gives a powerful sermon about helping others and offering kindness to not just those in need, but to everyone, all of the time.
Gram and Mom made a feast of their own for the after-church potluck. Ham, homemade noodles, homemade dinner rolls, and blackberry pie. I’m not surprised as this is normal for my family.
Church didn’t feel the same with Beau, Tony, and Myra absent. I didn’t want to stay for the potluck, but I had to. What would it have looked like if the preacher’s family didn’t stay for the clean-up?
On Sunday night everyone returns home. Sarah and Chloe leave first. Pap, Gram, and Mom invite Chloe to come back anytime.
Then Mom, Gram, and Pap leave next. “If Gram didn’t have an appointment, we would stay,” Pap says. “But we’ll be back on Friday.”
I’m assuming that means Beau won’t be back for the sermon next week either. “Okay. I think I’m going to start apartment hunting this week. I shouldn’t be here much longer.”
“Carly, there’s no hurry. You can stay as long as you need.”
“I know, Pap, and I appreciate it, but I think it’s time.”
“Just promise me you won’t move out until we get back. At least give us one more weekend together.”
“I promise.”
“And don’t rush into a place because you think you have to settle,” he adds. “You can stay here as long as you want.”
“Thank you,” I say, hugging him.
After I bid my farewells, I watch as they pull out of the driveway. I’m glad everyone came this weekend, but I feel as though I need time to think about what I need to do with my life. I need to be alone to figure it out, and I also want to get this book written.
I dress in sweats and turn off my cell phone to eliminate any distractions. I laugh out loud. Like my cell phone is a distraction. I haven’t received one call since I’ve been here. Maybe I shut it off so I won’t be tempted to call Beau or check it needlessly for a text message.
I work consistently on my book through the day and apartment hunt from my laptop in the evening. I don’t remember the weather on Seashell Island being so erratic. It’s beautiful and sunny one day, then windy and rainy the next.
On Wednesday evening, I think briefly about not going to the church for craft time with the kids. Then I quickly change my mind. I committed to doing this, not because of Beau, but for the children.
I drive to the church because the wind gusts are so strong. The doors are closed and there are no cars in the parking lot.
This is odd. Are they closed because Beau’s out of town? Pap would have come back for the Wednesday night church service if that was the case.
I’m a little relieved that I won’t be facing Beau today. I don’t know if he’s even back on the island or not. But I’m sad I won’t get to spend some time with the children and listen to the wonderful singing from the choir.
I drive through town looking for something to eat so I won’t have to cook tonight. No place is open. I see a few shops boarded up, and I wonder if they do this when they leave the island. I guess it makes sense to protect your personal property.
I head home and make a sandwich while I get back to writing. I was hoping to write a romance book with love and humor, but this book is turning into a darker, sorrowful read. A lot like how I feel.
***
On Friday morning, the winds pick up and it’s raining heavily. I make sure all the windows and doors are closed and locked. I can see the ocean from the window and the waves look angry. I swear it looks like the palm trees and the live oaks are going to blow over. The wind howls as it passes through the house and the trees. I close the blinds so I don’t have to look outside.
I attempt to work when the lights flicker off and on and then off again. Remaining seated, I wait for them to flicker back on. They don’t. Great, no electric. I fold up Mean Mac and stow him beneath the coffee table before I light a few candles as I make my way into the bedroom to get my cell phone. Now, I’m worried this may be a little more than just a storm. I turn on my phone and it’s nearly dead. I see a few unanswered texts from Mom, Sarah, and Beau, and some missed calls from Gram, Pap, and Beau.
Mom: Carly, get off the island; there’s a storm headed your way.
Mom: Why do you have a phone if you leave it off? Call me, I’m worried.
Sarah: Are you trying to scare the piss out of me? Aren’t you watching The Weather Channel? There’s a storm coming right for Seashell Island.
Sarah: I’m not kidding. Get your ass to a shelter. NOW!
Beau: The church is opening up Thursday night for the storm. It’s expected to hit sometime on Friday. If you’re still on the island, you need to leave or take shelter.
Beau: Your Pap called. he’s worried about you. He said you’re not answering your phone. Call me so I know you’re safe.
Beau: Carly, this isn’t funny. I know I’ve upset you and I’m sorry. But this storm is serious. Call me and let me know something.
Just as I attempt to listen to my messages, my phone dies. Great. Now what? How bad can it be? I’ll just wait it out. I remember storms coming when I stayed with Gram and Pap during the summers. But were they hurricanes or tropical storms? Not that time of year. Those were just thunderstorms and I don’t recall us ever losing power.
Slowly, I peek outside the window. I can’t see anything from the rain. It looks foggy with zero visibility. When I realize I’m stranded, I search the kitchen for batteries, flashlights, and battery-operated candles. Then I hunker down in the safest room of the house; the master bedroom’s closet. No exterior walls and no windows. Assuming the wind doesn’t blow the roof off, I should be safe.
I chastise myself for thinking the boarded-up businesses were people leaving on vacation. I’m an idiot. What do I know about hurricanes? Hell, I grew up in Ohio.
Beau
After the second call from Pap pleading that I find Carly, I decide I don’t have any other choice. I’ll never be able to rest not knowing if she’s safe or not, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself if something’s happened to her.
As soon as I know everyone left on the island is safe in the church, I put on my rain gear to head out in the storm to get Carly. She won’t be happy seeing me, but she’ll have to get over it.
I couldn’t explain to her over the phone about Myra’s mom. That conversation would be better said in person so we could deal with it together. That is, if she still wants to see me.
I prepare myself for the worst. I know Carly will be upset with me, and she may even refuse to come back to the church with me. If she does, I’ll toss her over my shoulder and carry her to safety if I have to. Either way, she’s coming back with me. This is the safest place for her, for all of us.
I don’t let Myra or the rest of the congregation know I’m leaving. I don’t want to cause unnecessary panic or worry. Dad knows I’m leaving and he’ll be in charge until I get back. The windows are hurricane proof so whatever’s happening outside can barely be heard inside.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Dad, I have to. I have to know she’s all right, plus her Gram and Pap are worried about her.”
“All right. If for some reason she doesn’t answer the door, there’s a spare key under the concrete planter on the porch. It’s dangerous out there. Are you doing this for her Gram and Pap?”
“No, Dad. I’m not. I think I love her.”
He nods. “Then go get your girl and bring her back safely.”
“I plan to.”
“If you get into trouble,
call me.”
“I will. Take care of Myra for me.”
“Don’t worry about her. My granddaughter’s in good hands. You just come back safely.”
We hug briefly before leaving. The winds are just as the weatherman predicted. Brisk doesn’t even describe it. With the wind and the rain, there’s almost no visibility. Forcing myself to walk against the wind, I head in the direction of Carly’s house.
I prayed before I left and I’ll pray on my way there. Flying debris could pose a serious threat. Since I can’t see, I can’t avoid it if it comes at me.
I thank God there’re no down power lines. The short distance there takes me nearly an hour to walk. There’s a tree down in the middle of the road and there’s no way around it. While climbing over it, I cut a deep gash into my arm from a branch. With nothing to wrap it with, I just apply pressure with my free hand until I get to Carly’s house. The amount of blood and the length of the cut is definitely a concern. I decide to try to hold it close to my body while applying pressure above the wound trying to act as a tourniquet.
Her car’s still in the driveway so I know she’s home. I knock and yell several times but there’s no answer. Using the key under the large planter, I let myself in.
“Carly?” I yell as I make my way into the house and through each room. “Carly?” I yell louder with each passing second.
“I’m in here.”
Relief washes over me. I follow the sound of her voice. “Where?”
“I’m in Gram and Pap’s closet.”
I walk into the room and see her standing in the doorway to the walk-in closet. At least she’s smart enough to take cover. That makes her smarter than I’ve been.
“What are you doing here? There’s a terrible storm as you’re well aware.”
“There’s a hurricane and your family’s deeply concerned for you.” I remove my wet raincoat and hang it on the door to dry.
“Beau, you’re bleeding.”
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
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