Dear Carolina

by Kristy W Harvey

  That evening, I was shaking like a worm on a hook from being dern near attacked by the boss that everybody talked about being such a good man. I learned years later that he had a secret pain pill addiction, which, Lord knows, I knew all about. At the making amends part a’ his recovery, he sent me a real nice note with a hundred-dollar bill in it. And I needed that hundred real bad right then too.

  I thought that coming home to get you would be salve on the poison ivy. I could feed you and rock you and cuddle you, and that would make things all right. Only, ’fore I even got outta the car good, I could hear you screaming at the top of them little lungs. I ran to the front door, feeling all panicky that you were hurt or sick or somethin’.

  “She has been doing this for three solid hours,” Khaki said. “I fed her, changed her, tried to get her down for a nap, put her in a new outfit, walked, rode, sang, and even called the doctor.” She paused to catch her breath. “I don’t want to tell you this, but he says he thinks it’s just colic.”

  Colic. My heart was racing. Them horses down at the stable where I used to help out after school was always dying of that. “Oh my Lord!” I could feel my knees getting all weak and wobbly, them tears springing up hard. “She gonna be okay? Is there something we can give her?”

  Khaki put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed to calm me down. “She’s going to be fine. Colic in babies means that they cry for hours on end with no real reason. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  She didn’t say it, but you could tell right clear from her face that she was worried I was gonna start drinking again. I thought about that forty still rolled in its paper bag underneath my seat and my hands got to shakin’ right good.

  “Why don’t you stay here with us tonight?” Khaki smiled. “We’ll let Graham take a shift too.”

  I shoulda said, Okay. But you were mine and it weren’t nobody else’s job to take care of you.

  So I said, “Gosh, Khaki, I’m real sorry you had to deal with this all day. We’re gonna get home and outta your hair.”

  “But it would be great if you would stay—”

  I interrupted her. “There ain’t nothing to worry about,” I lied.

  I knew that my nerves, bloodshot eyes, and shaking hands from Mr. Phillips that morning weren’t gonna do real good with a night of a screaming baby.

  I took you from Khaki and whispered in your ear, “It’s okay, baby girl. Momma’s here.”

  But it didn’t do nothing. I strapped you in your car seat and got to riding down that dusty road to the trailer, feeling like I was marching to the executioner’s block.

  I give you a bath, walked you around outside, and tried singing and bouncing and rocking. After what seemed like damn near forever, I finally got you to eat. I was just holding my breath the whole time, praying you wouldn’t start squalling again.

  Them little eyelids got to flutterin’ and closed, your breathing getting slow and steady and that tiny mouth falling open, milk dribblin’ out the side like a stream of rain down the window pane. The forty in my car, it was calling me so loud I couldn’t near think. That one little drink wouldn’t be no big deal. I could still take care of Carolina no problem. It would just make me feel better.

  It was like having that angel and devil perched right there on my shoulder. The devil was saying, “Go on, take a drink. You deserve it!”

  The angel was saying, “No, no, no!” Once I stepped off that high dive I’d keep going down ’til I hit bottom. But you play tricks on yourself.

  I held you to me a long time, breathing real slow and deep and rememberin’ what it was like when I was all drunk and miserable. I convinced myself I could make it through without a drink, looked at you real hard, reminding myself that I’s all you got in this whole wide, green earth. I put you in the crib, sighing with relief when you stayed sleeping hard and breathy like a puppy. I walked by the door real slow, not letting myself even look near the car, and heated up my beans and rice. When you’re short another hundred bucks, beans and rice is as good as it’s gonna get.

  The microwave was humming and groaning, and it right near sounded like somebody coming in the door—but I knew I’d locked it. I pulled my bowl outta the microwave, turned around, and screamed so loud you got to cryin’ all over again. Your no-good, soap-scum-ring-around-the-tub daddy was standing there. He didn’t have to say nothing for me to know he was good and drunk. You could tell he hadn’t slept in near forever and that broken bottle in his hand—well, it meant I was in real deep trouble.

  “So, I hear you been going around town making up shit about me, you slut,” he slurred, leaning in right close, so I could see the bits of tobacco stuck between his teeth. As he came closer to me, spitting, he said, “You been telling everybody I abandoned you and my youngen? That the shit you been making up?”

  It took more strength not to yell in his face, That’s the truth, you bastard! than it had for me to keep away from that forty. But I heard them tiny cries and I got to remembering that I had to keep him away from you. Weren’t nobody close enough to hear me screaming if I got to it. And me shaking and scared would just give him what he wanted.

  So I got all sweet and soothin’ just like at the dry cleaners. “I would never say any such thing about you. You know, sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Raisin’ babies is a woman’s place anyhow.”

  You and me, we both know real good that raisin’ youngens is about a village, it’s about a family and having somebody there to support you no matter what. What a man does when his girlfriend gets pregnant is loves her and provides for his family. But I woulda told him he were king of the world to keep that bottle away from my baby.

  He was looking at me all cockeyed, and I could tell I was a little blurry to him. He stumbled toward me again and yelled, “You ruined my life, you bitch!”

  I couldn’t imagine how I had ruined his life.

  Ricky lunged at me with that jagged bottle in his hand and, without even thinking, I smashed my bowl over his head, beans and rice flying everywhere, looking like the insides of his brain. He fell, moanin’ and carryin’ on in pain, and I knew it wouldn’t take him long to be up again and even madder. I ran on in that bedroom, where you was still wailing, grabbed Grandma’s old pistol off the floor a’ my closet and locked the door from the inside. It weren’t much, but he was so drunk maybe it would take him longer to get to you. Ricky was stumblin’ to his feet again. I pressed that revolver flat on his temple and cocked the hammer so he could hear that I was serious. I said, real low and mean like, “Get the hell outta here. If you ever come back I’ll shoot you dead so many times nobody in this county’ll be able to identify the body.”

  He sorta slithered along the floor and out the door darn near like the snake he was, and I could feel the panicked tears coming down my face. My head was all full and throbbing and scared from my crying and your crying and life feeling like being caught in a trap with no way out. I got myself out to the car, feeling a little woozy, pulled the bottle from under my car seat, and went back inside. And, wouldn’t you know it, thunder crashed through the sky and lightning struck. A big old explosion like a whole mess a’ fireworks lit through the stars and the darn lights went out.

  My hands was trembling so bad around that paper bag I near couldn’t pop that bedroom lock with a pen. I got in there, and you was still screaming bloody murder, but you were okay. I couldn’t stand it all one damn more second. I sat down at that there kitchen table, twisted the cap off of that hot alcohol, and cried. ’Cause I knew right well where I was going.

  In the middle a’ that pitch-black night, my mouth on that bottle, ’bout to burst like a full storm cloud to take my first sip of alcohol in more than a year, my door flung wide open. That full moon, it shone right on them walls that seemed to be closing in. And I realized that what they say is true: Sometimes you got to be blinded by the darkness ’fore you can see the light.
/>   Khaki

  FAITH RESTORED

  When I’m in the midst of a project, I get completely lost in the design board. I dive into the colors, swim in the fabrics, immerse myself in every texture and detail to not only be able to see the room but also to feel how it will be to experience it. That doesn’t make me unique. Musicians lose themselves in the notes, and hours fly by in minutes when a writer is lost in a verse of poetry.

  That night, after your birth mother pulled out of the house, I hate to tell you that I didn’t give the two of you more than a fleeting thought. I was drowning in the renovation of an oddly shaped living room whose perfect floor plan had finally come to me.

  I had no idea Jodi was thinking about drinking again, so I had planned to come check on y’all after I packed for New York. After nearly three years of redecorating, writing, photographing, and editing, my new coffee table book on Mother and Daddy’s house was ready to be released. I had already had one book published, but it’s still nerve-racking to prepare for such a pivotal moment. I had just put Alex in bed thinking how I would run down to give your birth mother a reprieve if you were still squalling like a gale-force wind when an actual gale-force wind swept through—and the power went out.

  “Great,” I said to your daddy. “How on earth am I going to get ready now?”

  I ran upstairs to get Alex from his room, where he was calling, “Mommy, I can’t see Thomas the Train,” while Graham ran downstairs to find flashlights. My eyes were adjusting to the dark as I put Alex on my hip and heard Buddy’s voice meandering up the stairs. I assumed something was wrong on the farm. When I heard your daddy say, “Don’t you worry, Jodi, Buddy and me’ll make sure you and Carolina are safe,” I froze. Then I started running.

  I could only make out Jodi’s figure in the darkness, but even still you could tell that she was trembling like a Chihuahua in the cold. I gave her a hug and said, “What’s happened?” quietly, handing Alex to Graham and taking you from Buddy, holding you close to me. You were quiet finally, but I held you extra tight so you would know you were safe.

  “I wish I had killed that bastard,” was all Jodi could say over and over again.

  I put my arm around her. “Sweetie, I don’t know what’s going on, but you did the right thing coming here. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her hot tears on my bare shoulder. It amazed me how noiselessly she could cry. “I can’t do it, Khaki,” she said, her voice finally breaking. “I love her so much, but I cain’t take it without a drink.”

  I looked down at you, swaddled and sleeping, and an intense panic shot through me. But I didn’t let on. The last thing Jodi needed was anyone doubting her. “How about we get out of town?” I whispered to Jodi. “We’ll just get you and Carolina on our flight tomorrow and—”

  Buddy interjected, as softly and evenly as I’d ever heard him, “Jodi, if you just need a few days to yourself, I’ll stay here with you.”

  I started to step in, feeling that panic again, knowing that, as a mother, if anyone had tried to take my baby away from me I would have turned on him like a rabid dog. But this was Jodi’s battle, not mine. So I kept my mouth shut.

  “No way,” Graham said. “Jodi needs to get out of town until we can get a restraining order in place.”

  I felt those tears again on my shoulder and Jodi whispered, “Khaki, I’m real sorry, but you were wrong. I cain’t do it. I just cain’t take care of her and keep from drinking.”

  I rubbed her arm, and Graham’s eyes met mine. It was as if he’d said out loud, What in the hell do we do now?

  “Sweetie,” I said to Jodi. “It’s going to be okay. Do you want Graham and me to take Carolina for a couple of days so that you can get some sleep?”

  I remembered the irrationality of sleep deprivation, the way your emotions ran so wild and thick and right off the tracks. I could feel Jodi’s head nodding and she said again, “I’m so sorry, Khaki. I’m just real sorry.”

  I pulled back from her and held her shoulder with the free hand that wasn’t holding you. And I looked her straight in the eye. “Jodi, you don’t need to be sorry. We’re family, right? And we stick together. So, whatever you need—” I cleared my throat. “Whatever you and Carolina need. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  She nodded, swallowing and breathing deeply and standing up straighter. “I’m so sorry, but I think I just need a few days alone to rest and get myself back together.”

  “Well, you sure aren’t staying here,” Graham chimed in.

  “I know,” I said. “Why don’t you and Buddy go down to Atlantic Beach to Momma and Daddy’s house. Then you can relax and rest, but you don’t have to be scared that Ricky will find you, and Buddy will be there just in case.”

  Those sad little doe eyes looked back up at me from the floor again. “You think your momma and daddy’d go for that? I mean, I don’t wanna be no trouble.”

  I put my finger under her chin and smiled my most confident smile even though I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Family, Jodi. Remember?”

  She nodded.

  “Graham and I can just keep the kids here, and then if you change your mind you can turn right back around. Carolina will only be a little over an hour away.”

  Jodi shook her head. “You go on to New York, Khaki. You don’t have no choice. It’ll just be a few days.”

  That’s when I knew that the situation was more dire than I had expected. I cried for an hour when Alex was a baby and I had to leave him to go across town. I looked up at Graham again, and he raised his eyebrow.

  “So what happened?” I whispered.

  “Well, he just come in all drunk and staggerin’ with this broken bottle in his hand and got to lunging at me—”

  She didn’t get any further in her story because I was so mad I couldn’t stand there any longer. Without even thinking I handed you back to Buddy, stomped down the steps, fat drops of rain falling from the sky, and got in my car with Graham yelling, “Frances Mason Jacobs, you get your tail back in this house!”

  When I get on a mission, though, there’s no stopping me. I ran to Mother and Daddy’s front porch, getting soaking wet, and Pauline met me at the door. “Good Lord, chile. What you thinkin’ coming out in weather like this?”

  I didn’t even answer her. “Daddy!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. If I had only stomped my foot I could have been two years old again. He appeared from the corner. He kissed me and said, “What’s the matter, baby girl?”

  “I need you to find that bastard Ricky and make sure he doesn’t ever come around Jodi and Carolina again.”

  I could see Daddy’s chest puffing up, like it did when he was hell-bent on making me proud. To me, Daddy was as gentle as an Easter lamb, but cross him, and that six-foot-five, 270 pounds of temperamental beast would come out. He never told me the story himself, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that Daddy gathered the sheriff, his deputy, three members of the police force, his three biggest, meanest farmhands, and four of the scariest German shepherds you’ve ever seen to go on a manhunt for Ricky. Legend has it that Daddy put his pistol up to Ricky’s head and said, real low, with the dogs growling and foaming at the mouth and pulling on their leashes, “If I ever hear of you getting around Jodi or Carolina again I’m not going to do you the courtesy of shooting you. I’m going to let these here dogs loose to have you for supper.”

  I don’t know if it’s true, but I’ve heard that Ricky was whimpering and actually wet his pants on the way to the truck that they were still trying to find so your birth mother could be cleared of her responsibility for the debt. He tried to get in with that gun still aimed at him, and Daddy said, “Not so fast, bud. I believe that truck belongs to a young lady down the road.”

  So Ricky took off on foot and kept on running. And Ricky was right to be scared too. Daddy is a man of his word. If he sa
ys he’ll let his dog eat you for supper, he’ll let his dog eat you for supper. I know what you’re thinking, and, yes, those are the same dogs that follow you and Alex around the yard and let you pull their tails and lie on them. What can I say? Dogs know what’s what.

  When I pulled back into my driveway, Graham was sitting on the front porch, and I could tell he was relieved. He shook his head. “You can’t do that to me, Khak. You scare the living daylights out of me running off like that.” He put his head in his hands. “What if something happened to you? What would I do?”

  I sat in his lap and kissed his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. I just got Daddy to work on taking care of that sorry excuse for a man.” I kissed him on the lips and smiled, but I could tell he was upset.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m just worried because when Buddy found Jodi she was about to take a drink.” He sighed heavily. “She swears she didn’t and she hasn’t, but I’m worried that the stress of Ricky and Carolina and making ends meet is getting to her. What if she starts drinking again and something happens to that baby girl?”

  The thought of it made my blood run cold. I was so in love with you. Those days that you stayed with me when your birth mother was at work I sat and rocked you Alex’s entire nap, breathing that perfect, warm baby smell and rubbing my finger on your soft cheek.

  “I know for sure that addiction is an illness because Jodi would never, ever do anything to put that sweet girl in harm’s way.”

  In that moment, that tiny part of me that still blamed my husband Alex for leaving a pregnant widow finally conceded the fight. I had been so close to him that, despite my rational knowledge, my heart had perceived his drug addiction as a choice. But sometimes, no matter how hard you run from them, those inner demons catch up.

  Graham nodded. “It’s such a shame, and I don’t know how to help her. She’s going to go to some AA meetings and try to get her head back together.” Graham looked up at me. “Do you think it’s inappropriate for Buddy to go down there to the beach with her?”