Home on Seashell Island

by Brenda Kennedy

  “Of course, come in here with me.” She carries a flashlight out of the dark bedroom closet into the master bathroom. I follow closely behind as I keep pressure on the open cut. She sets the flashlight on the sink for light. “It looks deep. Let’s get it washed off first.”

  I run water over my arm as she searches for the first-aid kit in the linen closet.

  “Found it.” She walks over and squeezes some Betadine on my arm and cleans it with gauze. “How did you do this?”

  “There’s a tree down in the road, I had to climb over it to get to you.”

  “You said there’s a hurricane?” she asks not taking her eyes off of my injury.

  “Category three. I’ve been calling you, but your phone’s off.” Should I tell her that includes 111 to 129 M.P.H. winds? What about the devastating damage that also comes with a category three hurricane? She doesn’t need to know these details.

  “I’ve been writing. I didn’t want any distractions.”

  “You didn’t know about the hurricane?”

  She rinses off my arm and wraps in a clean towel. I follow her and sit on the edge of a bathtub.

  “No. I wondered why no one was at the church Wednesday.”

  I expected Carly to be upset over me standing her up the other night. I didn’t expect her to be so nice to me. I know I owe her an explanation, but this doesn’t seem like the right place or time.

  “Everyone was preparing for the hurricane.”

  “I can see that now. This is going to need stitches. I can close it up using Steri-Strips until you can get to a hospital.”

  I look down at the wound. Carly’s wearing latex gloves and pinching my cut together to show me how it’ll look with the Steri-Strips.

  “Thank you.”

  “I have some Tylenol if you need something for pain.”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks anyway.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “When we’re done, you need to call your Pap and let him know you’re all right.”

  “My phone’s dead and there’s no power in the house. I have no means of charging my cell phone.”

  “You can use my phone.”

  “Why aren’t you with your dad and daughter?”

  “I was at the church when your Pap called. I had assumed you knew about the hurricane and left the island to go inland.”

  “I would have if had I known about it.” She applies the Steri-Strips and then wraps my arm with protective gauze. “Almost good as new.”

  Nodding my head I have to agree. “Thank you. It looks great.”

  “I didn’t notice the storm was serious until just before the lights went out.”

  “When did you lose power?”

  She removes her gloves and places the first-aid kit back into the closet. “I lost electricity a few hours ago. The wind was blowing so hard that I was afraid it was going to blow the patio furniture through the sliding glass door.”

  “Is that why you were in the closet when I got here?”

  “That, and in case a tree fell on the house or the wind broke the glass windows.”

  I listen to the howling winds. “We best get back in there.”

  “Is it safe to be here?”

  “It’s safer to be in here than it is out there. My plan was to come here and take you back to the church with me, but with the downed trees, we’d have to nearly walk on the other side of the island to get to the church.”

  “That doesn’t sound that bad.”

  I look in her brown eyes. “It took me nearly an hour to get here and you’re just down the street.”

  “Oh.”

  When we get back to the closet, I see she has a few bottles of water and a pillow and blanket she was using. I’m glad to see she’s somewhat prepared.

  “Here,” I say, handing her my phone. “Call your Gram and Pap, and then I’ll call my dad and let him know we’ll be riding out the storm here.”

  After the calls and text messages are sent to our families, I put the phone away to conserve the battery. Some time passes before any words are spoken between us.

  “I owe you an apology.” Her eyes travel up to meet mine, although she says nothing. “I got a call on Friday afternoon saying that Myra’s mother, Leslie, had overdosed on heroin.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I can see the sincerity in her eyes. “I didn’t call you because I wasn’t thinking clearly. I rushed to the hospital to see if there was something I could do. I felt it was what God wanted.”

  “I understand.” She doesn’t look away from me. “I saw your dad the other day and Myra said she was going to see her mom. “How’s Leslie doing now?”

  “Dad brought Myra to Charlotte for her mother’s memorial. Instead of driving back here to get Myra and Dad, I stayed in Charlotte to comfort Leslie’s mother and father.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “Thank you. You wouldn’t have known. No one knew about the overdose but Dad. I didn’t even tell your Pap or the congregation what had happened. But I did a lot of thinking during that time.”

  “I thought you stood me up intentionally. I would have understood if you had called me.”

  “I did think about calling you afterwards, then I thought you’d be better off without me in your life.”

  Her face looks pained. Maybe from news about Leslie’s passing or because I said she’d be better off without me.

  “You’re a good man, Beau. Whatever happened to Leslie to put her on that destructive path had nothing to do with you.” I look down at the flameless battery-operated candle. “I mean it, Beau. Don’t you think for a minute you’re at fault.”

  “Thank you. I know that, but there’ll always be doubt: Did I do enough to help her?”

  “Your first obligation was to your daughter, then to Leslie. I don’t have to have been there to know you did everything you could to help her. I know the person whom you are. I’ve seen you at church and around people.”

  I ignore her statement. I hear what she’s saying, but I’ll never be convinced that I couldn’t have done more to help Leslie with her addiction.

  “I’m sorry about Myra’s mom. How’s Myra doing?”

  “She didn’t know her so she’s fine.”

  “I thought you didn’t call because you realized I wasn’t the right person for you.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because of my fifty shades of blue language. Because of my wine consumption. Because I lie for a living and get paid to do so.”

  I laugh. “You do have colorful language, but with work I think we could tame that if you wanted to.”

  “And my drinking doesn’t bother you?”

  “I’ve never seen you inebriated, so it’s my assumption that you don’t abuse it, but just have a glass with dinner.”

  “Good assumption.”

  “You’re an author. You have an art and you’re very successful. I don’t see anything wrong in that.”

  “So you didn’t have second thoughts about me?”

  “I thought about you plenty. But I never once questioned my feelings for you.”

  “Then there’s only one thing for you to do,” she says. I can see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  I can see she’s right. “Carly Jo Stewart, would you like to go out with me?”

  “I’d love to. When?”

  “Let’s get past the hurricane and the clean-up, then we can plan on a date.”

  She listens to the howling of the winds. “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

  I can see the fear in her eyes that I never noticed before. “Come here,” I say, offering her my arms for comfort. She comes willingly. “We have to. We have a date to plan when this is all over.”

  I just hope it’s over soon.

  Carly

  I have no words for the way I feel over the loss of Myra’s mother and Beau’s ex-wife. The pain and guilt Beau feels is heartbreaking. As if this could be his fau
lt. I never knew Beau to have low self-esteem. I thought he stood me up because he realized I wasn’t good enough for him. How did we get to this place where we feel responsible for everything wrong going on around us? Or feel we aren’t good enough for others? I know we both weren’t raised like that. I’m blaming it on our exes. It must be their fault.

  I sleep comfortably in Beau’s arms. We’re not lying down, but he’s sitting up with his back against the wall and I’m snuggled into his lap.

  Just as soon as the winds slow down, we get ready to brave the weather conditions when Pap, Gram, and Mom walk into the house. Beau and I are standing at the door getting ready to leave.

  “How did you get here? I didn’t hear a car pull in.”

  Pap looks at me as Gram and Mom are removing their jackets. “We walked. There’s some trees down and we had to park the car down the road.” Pap looks up at Beau. “I’m glad you were here with her.”

  Mom and Gram hug me tightly. Mom says, “We were so worried.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Beau says, looking at Pap, “You shouldn’t have risked driving here.”

  “Thankfully the road leading to the island’s clear. I needed to make sure my granddaughter was safe.”

  “I’m fine, Pap, but I have no idea about the condition of the outside of the beach house.”

  “You’re the only thing we were concerned about.” Pap hugs me tightly and kisses the top of my head. “The other stuff can be replaced. But you, Carly, you’re irreplaceable.”

  Will I ever find anyone to love me as much as my family does? I hope so.

  “Where are you guys headed?” Gram asks with concern in her eyes. “There’s a hurricane out there in case you didn’t know.” I can tell she’s fearful. Gram always tries to make jokes when she’s scared and they’re usually a flop.

  “The winds finally died down, so we were headed to the church to check on my daughter and the others,” Beau says.

  “Oh, Beau,” Mom says, walking closer to him. She lifts his arm and touches his gauze-covered arm gently. “What happened?”

  Beau will play it off as nothing, so I say, “While walking over here in the heart of the hurricane, he cut his arm badly while trying to climb over a downed tree in the middle of the road.”

  “I’m sorry, Beau,” Pap says, solemnly. “I didn’t mean for you to walk over here to check on Carly. I never should have called you when I was unable to reach her by phone.”

  “If I had known she was still on the island, I would have been over here long before the hurricane hit. Besides, it looks worse than it is. Your granddaughter got carried away with the gauze.”

  “The part about me overusing the gauze might be correct, but it still needs to be stitched up and you’ll need an antibiotic for infection. I was using the gauze for padding to protect it from being bumped.”

  Mom smiles. “Good, I’m glad to see my daughter took care of you.”

  “She did. Thank you, Grace. And Carly.”

  “I need to get going. I left without saying anything to my daughter. I don’t want to worry her longer than necessary. Carly, you should stay here with your family.”

  “It sure is warm in here,” Gram says.

  “We lost power several hours ago.”

  “Carly’s right, the power’s been off for some time. We have a generator at the church; we could all go there, but I’m not sure if it’s safe to walk there. I know the road here was blocked by a fallen tree.”

  Pap says, “I’m not sure Sylvia and I can make that trip.”

  “You’re probably right. I need to get back to the church and check on my Dad, Myra, and the rest of the congregation.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Carly, I think it’s best you stay here with your family.”

  “Beau, I’ll be of better use there. I can keep the kids entertained. There’s no telling how long they’ll be there. I can also help and watch them during the clean-up.”

  “You make a valid point. The church could use your help.”

  “Be careful,” Mom, Gram, and Pap say in unison.

  “Let me get my bag of crafts and snacks.”

  Just as Beau said, there are several downed trees. The island no longer looks like paradise but more like a battlefield. It’s sad to see such devastation.

  “In a few weeks the island will look just as it did before the hurricane.”

  “Are you sure? How can you know that?”

  “The island just suffered wind damage, and as bad as that is, we didn’t get the storm surge.”

  “You’re right. The flooding is the worst part of it all.”

  “As long as the trees only fell on the streets and yards, we can clean it up pretty easily. I just hope they missed people’s homes.”

  We walk to the other side of the island and the damage is mostly branches, debris, with a few fallen trees. When we get to Beau’s street, I ask, “Do you want to check on your house since we’re here?”

  “I’d like to at least assess the damage. You can wait for me here if you want,” he says, releasing my hand from his grasp.

  “No, I’m coming with you,” I say, intertwining our fingers again.

  We’re both pleasantly surprised when his home and the others on his street are still intact with minimal damage to the houses or the landscape.

  “This doesn’t surprise me since the storm hit your end of the island first.”

  I notice lights on in someone’s house. “It also looks like this end of the island still has electricity.”

  “This is good news. This could mean there are no transformers down. Maybe the power can be restored quickly.”

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, I spend a lot of time with Myra while Beau volunteers his time with the cleanup on the island. I offered to stay at the church with Myra during the day in hopes that others would know that childcare was available to those needing it while working on the damage from the hurricane. Mom and Gram thought it was a great idea and joined with me to keep the kids entertained and fed.

  I needed the help especially when Jimmy started eating the crayons during craft time. Feeding him first didn’t seem to matter. He still ate the art supplies, hungry or not. When his mother picked him up and his teeth were covered in a rainbow of colors, she didn’t even ask what happened.

  “Jimmy, you ate crayons again,” she says as she walks him over to the sink.

  I watch as she takes a white paper towel and starts wiping off his teeth. “I thought maybe he was hungry so we had snack time first.”

  “We’ve had him tested for vitamin deficiencies and he’s fine.”

  “That was also a concern of mine.”

  “He takes after his father.” She tosses the paper towel in the sink and holds Jimmy’s hand. “His dad ate non-edible foods until only God knows how long.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  I have a feeling little Jimmy may always be an only child.

  Suddenly, I get a great idea for craft time tomorrow that may eliminate the problem and might solve the art supply shortage we could be facing in the near future.

  I ask Myra, “Do you want to go to the grocery store with me?”

  “Can we buy cookies?”

  “That’s a great idea. I was thinking maybe for craft time at the church, the kids can actually make their snacks instead of making crafts. Do you think the kids might like that?” Who better to ask than a child?

  “Well,” she thinks long and hard. “I think Jimmy might like eating the snacks better than the paint and crayons.”

  “Good, so do I.”

  I spend a lot of time with Beau and Myra at their house in the evenings. We haven’t dated much, but we’re nearly inseparable. I feel I’ve matured during my short time with Beau, and I’m thankful for that. I used to think it was the quality of the date that mattered. Restaurants over picnics. Box seats over bench seats at sporting events. But it isn’t about that at all. It
’s about the quality time spent together that matters. Beau and I have a great time just taking a stroll down Shell Island admiring all the vendors and handmade crafts. Watching the sunrise in his backyard is also high on the list of things we love to do.

  Later that night while spending time with my family, Pap says, “I saw where The Little Bookstore was for sale.”

  “Does Mrs. Thomas still own that?” Mom asks as she pours the gravy over her mashed potatoes.

  Gram takes a sip of her water. “She does. I was in there talking to her earlier today.”

  “Why is she selling it?” I ask.

  “She’s getting older. She said the children are starting to make her nervous. She mentioned that she caught one little boy eating one of the pages he tore right from a book.” It must be Jimmy. Poor kid. If publishers made edible books, I doubt the bookstore could keep enough in stock for him. “She also said the building was in great condition and it even has a lovely two-bedroom apartment on the second floor, right over the bookstore.”

  I look up from my plate of food and Mom, Gram, and Pap are all looking at me. Suddenly, I realize that this conversation is deeper than just a mention of a business for sale.

  “With your sister now writing haiku, we thought it would be perfect for the two of you to buy and to also sell your work,” Gram says.

  “What in the…” Realizing I’m still trying to clean up my language for Beau, his daughter, the church, and for myself, I try it again. What’s haiku?”

  Sarah chimes in, “It’s a type of a Japanese poem. A haiku is a poem with a five-syllable line, a seven-syllable line, and another five-syllable line. Here’s a haiku I just wrote, or perhaps grabbed from the air:

  “Poems are in the air

  “All the time and everywhere

  “Reach out and grab one.”

  “That’s actually really good, but what are you going to do with those types of haiku poems?”

  “I’m going to put them on bookmarks and greeting cards and coffee mugs and t-shirts and sell them so I can be rich and famous like my sister.”

  “I’m far from famous as you can clearly tell. You don’t see people lining up and stopping me on the street for my autograph.”

  “That’s true, but Tony said he couldn’t keep your books in stock at the market.”