Last Light over Carolina

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Odelle paused to collect herself. Then she took a deep breath and shrugged. “God heard our prayers that night. We all survived.”

  Carolina offered a smile of understanding. “They say you find Jesus in the face of death.”

  “They say you can learn a lot about yourself in a situation like we were in, too, and I can tell you that’s true,” Odelle said, her eyes blazing as her dander rose. “Not only about yourself, but about others.” Her lips thinned and her voice lowered in a tremble. “After that night, I never saw Lee in the same light. The thought of staying with him truly made me sick. I knew our marriage was over.”

  Carolina paled at that admission. As nosy as Odelle could be about everyone else’s business, she was never one to reveal unpleasant truths about her own life. “But, Odelle, really, there were other reasons you got divorced….”

  Odelle straightened and settled a wry smile back on her face. “Why, sure, honey. We lost our house and everything I owned. I guess you could say that brought on a lot of stress. And, of course, there was that other woman he wanted to marry.” She laughed, a harsh and brittle sound, and said irreverently, “What the heck, I was tired of picking up his underwear.” She laughed again, but it sounded forced. Immediately she deflected the attention back to Carolina. “Here I am carrying on about me. You lost your home, too.”

  “You can always replace a house,” Carolina said, not so willing to relinquish this rare moment of honesty between them. “But from your account, you lost a husband. That’s far worse.”

  Odelle’s brows furrowed, and she said with sincerity, “But you stayed married. I’d bet my last dollar Bud would never have left you alone in that black water to fend for yourself. He’d have carried you and Lizzy both on his shoulders if he had to.”

  Carolina swallowed, hearing the truth in that statement. That horrible night, when the wind and water had threatened their lives, she’d never doubted that Bud would have gladly died to save her and Lizzy.

  “I don’t remember where you went. Did you stay at White Gables?”

  Carolina nodded. “Bud and I heard the same reports as you. We were living in our bungalow by the creek.” She smiled to herself. She hadn’t thought of that ramshackle place in years, but this morning it had come to mind twice. Carolina cupped her chin in her palm, seeing it all again like it was yesterday, not nineteen years ago.

  “I remember Bud and I were standing by that little TV in the front room listening to the weatherman tell us we had to get out, now! That put the fear of God in me, I’ll tell you.”

  Odelle nodded, her eyes glittering with memory. “It’s funny how you remember specific moments.”

  “Bud figured this old house had already survived a few wars and hurricanes, it could survive one more. We huddled upstairs in the middle bedroom. Why, I think it was your old bedroom.” They both smiled, remembering that time when they were housemates. “That wind kept screaming till I thought I was going to lose my mind. Then around eleven we heard this horrible ripping noise, like a tree was falling and its roots were being torn out, only it wasn’t a tree. It was part of the roof. We felt like our fortress had been breached. The wind started ripping through the house, knocking down bureaus, hurtling paintings off the wall, shattering chandeliers—everything.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  Carolina nodded. “But it got worse after the eye passed and we got hit by the tidal surge. We felt the whole house shudder, then the sound of terrible crashing downstairs. Bud and I crept down the hall to check it out. We’d started down the stairs when Bud stopped me. The first floor was under three feet of water. It was dark, but we could see Aunt Lucille’s antique chairs, tables, lamps, books—everything was bobbing around. Creepy. Bud jumped into that icy water and I screamed for him. He came sloshing back a few minutes later from the kitchen carrying a stepladder and his toolbox. I grabbed the toolbox and we ran back up the stairs. The water was rising at our heels.

  “Like you, we were trapped. Bud climbed up on that ladder and began pounding the ceiling like a man possessed. It couldn’t have been more than minutes before the water reached the second floor. By the time Bud broke through the plaster, we were already knee-deep in water. It just kept rising. But one by one, Bud got all of us into the attic before it reached our heads. Aunt Lucille was feeling poorly and Bud had to carry her all the way up to the attic. Poor thing, she was frantic about her cat. Bud doesn’t even like cats, but he grabbed hold of Aunt Lucille’s tabby and carried it up while it spat and clawed his arm bloody.”

  Odelle’s mouth slipped open in a short laugh.

  Carolina paused, caught by an image she’d held close throughout the years. The following morning when she’d opened her eyes, gritty with sand, all was still. After hours of the incessant howling of the wind, she was struck by the purity of silence. She felt the damp heaviness of sodden blankets and Lizzy’s arm across her chest as she nestled close in their nest up in the attic. The sun was already bright. Looking up through the hole in the roof, she saw a blue sky. It seemed otherworldly after the long storm. Her body ached from being curled up for so many hours. She stretched her legs, and Bud stirred beside her. He reached up to mop his face, then turned toward her. His blue eyes, red-rimmed and tired, seemed to drink in the sight of her before he smiled.

  “We made it,” he’d said.

  “I knew we would,” she replied.

  He snorted and said, “I’m glad one of us did.”

  She smiled and wanted to tell him that she’d known because she had faith in him, that he would see them through the tempest, but he was already rising and taking stock of the damage. Now Carolina wondered if she ever had gotten around to telling him.

  “That was the longest night of our lives,” she told Odelle. “But you’re right. I knew he’d take care of us.”

  Odelle’s mouth closed in an introspective smile. Carolina could see in the way her eyes glazed in bitterness that she was comparing the two men. And something more. Carolina swallowed and wondered in that one instant if Odelle knew about what had happened between herself and Lee. Then Odelle’s expression changed and Carolina wondered if she’d only imagined it.

  “Odelle, you can’t judge a person by one incident. Everything isn’t always as it seems. We’re not all heroes all the time.”

  Odelle didn’t reply, but her cherry-tipped nails strummed the table.

  Carolina sensed Odelle’s sadness, maybe even jealousy, and strove to equal things out between them. “In the end, like a lot of other people we know, we lost everything.”

  “Everyone suffered in that storm.” Odelle’s lips twisted in irony. “Everyone except that son-of-a-bitch ex-husband of mine.”

  Carolina laughed loudly. “Oh, my God, Odelle, I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

  “Well, it feels good. That storm made Lee Edwards a rich man. When else would he have been able to buy that fish house for next to nothing?”

  “Be fair. He was simply at the right place at the right time. A lot of good deals were made back then by folks who seized the opportunity. You can’t make him out to be a villain. Frankly, I wish we’d have invested in the fish house when we had the chance.”

  Odelle, however, could only see Lee’s faults. “The point remains, while he was making backroom deals, the rest of us were pulling up our sleeves and digging ourselves out of the mud. That terrible tragedy brought out the best—and the worst—in us. And we can’t ever forget how people came from all over to bring us food and water and to help. It was a testament to the kindness of strangers. You know, we should have some kind of commemoration to mark the twenty-year anniversary.”

  “Oh, Lord, Odelle. No one wants to go back and remember all that. We’ve got enough problems in the present to deal with.”

  “I just thought it’d be nice for us all to come together.”

  “We do that during the shrimp festival. But if you want to try to pull something together, you know I won’t rain on your parade.” />
  “Well, maybe you’re right. I’ve got enough to do organizing the Blessing of the Fleet festival. That’s why I’m here, by the way. Can I sign you up to help?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” She added Carolina’s name to her list. Then she pulled a sheet of paper from her pile and set it on the kitchen table. “This here’s a list of names and phone numbers of people you can call. We want to get a real good turnout. And this,” she added, handing her another sheet, “is a list of possible sponsors. We need to see who wants to contact who.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Listen, I’ve got to scoot. I’ll call you later to talk more about it when we aren’t so busy.” Her face softened as she leaned forward to give Carolina a hug. “Thanks, Caro. I knew I could count on you.”

  The hug lasted an extra second, enough for Carolina to know that Odelle appreciated the moment of confidence they’d shared.

  “You bet,” Carolina said as they separated. “And it was good to go over all those memories of Hugo. It’s cleansing.”

  Odelle pursed her lips. “It is, sort of.” She rose and gathered her purse and papers.

  “Oh, wait,” Carolina exclaimed, and she took one of the finished cupcakes from the counter and gave it to Odelle. In some small way, she wanted to thank her for the confidences shared.

  “Won’t you be short one for the school? I don’t want to be accused of stealing sweets from a child.”

  “I’ve got extra. Go ahead, enjoy. I’m not making homemade cupcakes again anytime soon.”

  “Thanks. It looks delicious. I’ll need the boost as I make my rounds.” Odelle wrapped the cupcake in a paper napkin and started out of the kitchen. She paused at the door, her ruby-tipped hand on the molding. “You know,” she began, looking back. She hesitated, as though trying to decide if she should go on.

  Carolina looked up as her stomach tensed. “What?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time. I was a bridesmaid at your wedding. Hell, girl, I met Bud practically the same moment you did! So…I feel that gives me the right to say this.” Her dark eyes had lost their sharpness and were filled with earnest concern. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Bud, but things seem a little, well, strained.”

  Carolina was stunned. She hadn’t seen this one coming and felt sure her face showed it. She didn’t reply.

  “Take it from me,” Odelle said kindly. “Don’t lose what you have.” She leaned forward and said in an urgent whisper, “Fix it.”

  Carolina couldn’t begin to explain to Odelle the complexities of her problems with Bud. Even though, like Hugo, one whirlwind series of events had brought devastating damage to their marriage, the storm between them had started years before.

  “We aren’t getting divorced,” she said in a flat tone.

  “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying being divorced isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m not sorry I got divorced,” she hastened to add. “It was the right thing for me. But you and Bud, I don’t know, you have something rare. I saw it—we all did—right from the start. See, that’s the difference between you and me. You married a true man in Bud.” She shrugged. “And I got stuck with Lee.” She blew a kiss. “Gotta go.”

  Carolina watched her leave, unable to speak more than a perfunctory good-bye. She shut the door, then turned and leaned against it. The waves of emotion that had been swamping her all day, ever since she woke from that dream, swept over her again. She closed her eyes tight and stood still for several minutes. When she opened them again, she let her gaze travel around the familiar front room of White Gables.

  The house wasn’t large. She often thought it was a grand house in miniature. Across the room sat the Victorian blue velvet sofa stuffed with horsehair that was so uncomfortable no one ever sat on it, but that Carolina could never bring herself to get rid of. Beside the small fireplace bordered with the original delft blue tiles was a modern and comfortable upholstered chair in a navy check. In her mind’s eye, she saw Bud sitting in his favorite spot, one leg crossed over the other, a television remote in one hand, a beer in the other. An oriental rug, generations old, warmed the room with its muted colors. Across the hall, a Sheraton dining table scarred with scratches, its pedestal legs chewed by countless puppies over the years, sat under a crystal chandelier.

  Today, on this anniversary of the hurricane, she remembered how she and Bud had carried each of these pieces of furniture out of the sodden rooms into the sunlight. The front porch was in shambles, the roof was gone, and uprooted trees left gaping holes in the waterlogged soil. She’d spent weeks washing acres of pluff mud off any piece of furniture that could be salvaged. The rug hung on the clothesline next to curtains and blankets, the reds, blues, and greens dotting the muddy vista. The original chandelier had been smashed beyond repair.

  She sighed as she saw in today’s light the neat and tidy rooms of this once broken and muddied house. Odelle was right. They’d worked it out. They’d saved what they had. She and Bud had worked hard side by side, day after day, month after month, year after year, restoring their home. They’d never lost sight of its original beauty.

  Her eyes filled as she brought her hands to her face. How could she have forgotten? Not merely the date on a calendar, but the important, fundamental truth of that storm. In the course of all the fear, uncertainty, and doubt of that storm, she’d maintained her faith in her husband. Amidst all the destruction of a hurricane, that one truth was left shining.

  How could she have forgotten that vital truth? Where was her faith in him, in their marriage, in herself?

  Her thoughts turned once again to Bud, as they had so often this strange morning. For years, he’d grumbled that this old house was nothing but an albatross. Nonetheless, he’d worked in the mud, long before they took ownership of the house. Bud had restored the broken foundation with his own hands, brick by brick. He’d sweated over the chainsaw, cutting away the tree limbs that had fallen across the porch and lawn. Year after year since they’d inherited the house in 1990, Bud found some chore that needed doing—maybe a loose plank on the stair, a leaking pipe, a moldy piece of siding—and repaired it without anyone ever asking.

  Carolina released a ragged sigh of hope. Surely their marriage was worth, at the very least, an equal effort at restoration?

  10

  September 21, 2008, 12:00 p.m.

  On board the Miss Carolina

  Bud avoided glancing at his injured arm. He wasn’t the queasy type. He could treat the open wounds of his crew at sea and not flinch. Funny how it was different with his own body. But he had to take charge of his own survival.

  “If you don’t look, who will?” he demanded of himself.

  He turned his head, and small black spots swam again in his eyes. He closed them and took a long breath, steadying himself. Then, gritting his teeth, he lifted his gaze to his injured hand. The ragged tourniquet was soaked in blood, but only a slow ooze dripped to the deck.

  He slumped in relief. Good, good, Bud told himself. He might just make it. He tried to clear his head and focus. He knew the body contained eight to twelve pints of blood. And he was a big guy. With a slow rate of blood loss, he calculated he could last several hours yet. He squinted and peered at the sky. Sailors were supposed to be able to tell time by looking at the sun, to search out when the shadows were shortest. Right now, the sun seemed to be at its highest. That meant it was about noon, give or take a half hour. Pretty soon, someone at Coastal Seafood would notice that his order hadn’t been filled. They’d start asking questions. Maybe Pee Dee would show up at the docks. It wouldn’t be long before somebody figured out he was out here alone and overdue. That’d start them worrying.

  It could happen, he thought, gaining heart.

  Maybe Doc Beckham will even be able to fix my hand when I get back, he thought. Or he’ll send me to the hospital. There’s got to be some specialist at that big medical center in Charleston. The pain in his arm had dulled to a throbbing. It was probably going numb
from loss of blood. He remembered again the warnings he’d read about not keeping the tourniquet on too long, lest the limb die. What the hell?—there wasn’t a chance of saving his hand, really. He would have laughed if it weren’t so tragic. Whatever, as long as he made it back alive.

  Of course, he didn’t have medical insurance—any kind of insurance, for that matter. They couldn’t afford it. Bud sighed heavily, thinking of Carolina’s bad tooth. If he survived, this would put them under for sure.

  He’d just have to pay them whatever, whenever he could, the way he always did. If Carolina couldn’t get her old job back teaching, she could clean houses for the tourists at Pawleys Island. It was good, honest work. One thing for damn sure—she’d never go back to work for Lee Edwards.

  They’d had tough times before. They’d make it if Doc could sew up the loose ends of his hand. He thought of Woody. He’d lost a foot and was able to run his trawler. He could, too. He had to work or he’d lose this boat, and Carolina would lose her house.

  He closed his eyes tight in a grimace. Who was he fooling? Things looked bleak.

  “Aw, geez, Carolina,” he said wearily. “What are we going to do now?”

  He’d promised her better. If not in words, then in the shared dreams they’d forged when they were young. Back when she’d believed in him. Back when he’d believed in her.

  April 12, 1990

  White Gables

  Moving day was usually tough on his back, but this time, Bud only had a few suitcases to carry into White Gables. Carolina walked from room to room like one in a trance, her eyes glittering. She took in the fresh paint, the pretty new curtains, the family’s beloved antiques cleaned of mud and reupholstered.

  When Bud looked around the same rooms, he was more practical. The hundred-plus-year-old house had suffered a lot of damage in the hurricane. Bud inspected window frames, wiring, and foundations, watching for any sign of the dread mildew. He knew that taking care of this house would be a never-ending series of chores and money spent. He also knew how much this classic house in the heart of the old village of McClellanville meant not only to Carolina but also to the Brailsford family.