Last Light over Carolina

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Carolina didn’t reply. She knew something was desperately wrong. She couldn’t put it into words, but she sensed time was of the essence. The possibilities were too numerous to think about. Bud could be injured and in need of immediate medical help. The Miss Carolina could have sunk and Bud was hanging on to some life jacket in the cold water, sharks circling. If he was overboard, he’d be hard to locate. Or they could already be too late. Josh knew all this. Pee Dee, too. They all knew Bud would never fail to respond to an urgent call if he could help it. No fisherman would.

  “Did you work it by miles, markers, what?” Josh asked.

  “Both. We only come out about a dozen times, but I know where.” Pee Dee drew a cigarette from the pack, then his lighter from his pocket. “Don’t you worry yourself none. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”

  Josh grew irritated. He bent over the radar, scanning for any sign of other vessels. “There’s nobody out here. There’s no goddamn way he’d be this far out. This isn’t some seventy-foot trawler. I don’t have a big fuel tank.” He rolled his shoulders, anxious. “Nobody comes this far out.”

  “We do. Fishing was great.”

  “Bullshit.” He bent back over the radar, and for a long while no one spoke. There was only the reassuring drone of the engines and the omnipresent smell of diesel in the cramped cabin. Suddenly, Josh’s body tensed.

  “Hold on…. What’s this?”

  Carolina and Pee Dee leaned to look over his shoulder. An electronic blip flashed on the glowing green radar screen, a small pebble in an acre of ocean.

  “Told ya!” Pee Dee cried, slapping Josh on the back. “That’s the spot. That’s got to be him.”

  “Thank God,” Carolina cried.

  The engine didn’t have anything left, but that didn’t prevent Josh from pressing on the throttle. The engine screamed and the propeller roared as the Hope lurched.

  “Come on, baby,” Josh pleaded. “You can do it.”

  The Miss Carolina was still miles away. Josh immediately picked up the radio handset and switched over to the Coast Guard channel.

  “This is Josh Truesdale aboard the Hope. We think we’ve spotted the Miss Carolina.”

  As Josh responded to the regimented questions as to coordinates, Pee Dee dashed out to check the engine. He didn’t like the sounds it was making. Carolina paced. Her hands were clenched at her breast, and she prayed like she’d never prayed before.

  Josh switched the radio to the local frequencies to report his coordinates to the other captains. If it was the Miss Carolina, they were likely to be the first to board. There were shouts of excitement and good-natured jokes as friends cheered the news, and in the background they heard the joyful din of blaring horns. Josh talked excitedly for a while, answering questions, as he kept his hands clenched to the wheel. When he finished, his face grew somber.

  “You okay?” Carolina asked.

  “We’ll get there in time.”

  Carolina lowered her head. “I may forget to say this later,” she said to Josh. “But thank you for bringing me. And Pee Dee. I needed to be here.”

  Josh’s eyes swam with emotion. “You know, there are some days I question why I am a shrimper. I’ve got to be crazy, right? Every day we face these dangers and the long hours and the tough conditions—and for what? The money is lousy; I worry if I can keep my boat afloat in these hard times. Then I get calls from guys like that.” He indicated with a lift of his chin the radio and the conversations he’d just had. “Every man out there hides his secret fishing spot jealously, but every man out there would risk his life for me. I know it. And Bud is the best of them. He taught me what I know about shrimping. But he also taught me how to be a man. Not some jerk who can drink and screw, but a real man—a husband and a father.

  “Hell, Carolina, you know how it is. I’m young, and I know I should be thinking of doing something else to provide for my family. Something Lizzy would feel secure with. I love her something awful. I’m afraid to lose her again. But shrimping is my heritage. It’s in my blood.” He shook his head. “When I get back, I’m going to ask Lizzy to marry me again. After today, I don’t want to wait. I want a life with her and Will. I only hope she’ll say yes.”

  He looked at her, hoping for an answer, or at least some encouraging words. Carolina leaned back against the wall and sighed. She recalled the expression on her daughter’s face as they’d left the dock. Something had changed for Lizzy today. She saw it in the way Lizzy held on to Josh, in her eyes as she watched him board the Hope. Still, their path wouldn’t be an easy one. What couple could say theirs was?

  “I can’t speak for Lizzy,” she replied slowly. “No decision doesn’t hold some promise, and some regret. What you two have doesn’t come along every day. You have to fight for it. Work hard at it. Marriage isn’t easy, whether you’re rich or poor. You know Bud and I have had a long ride. We’ve had good times and bad. There’s no secret there. But I made my choice years ago. And given the choice again, I’d choose him and this life all over again. But I’ll tell you this. We used to do everything together. And if I get the chance, I swear to God we’ll do everything together again.”

  The door to the pilothouse pushed open and Pee Dee came in with a gust of wind.

  “Heads up! I think I see something out there. We’re getting close!”

  19

  September 21, 2008, 5:15 p.m.

  On board the Miss Carolina

  It’s funny how things clear up after a storm, Bud thought as he looked out at a sky of stunning beauty. Vivid orange-pink clouds splayed like a painter’s brushstrokes against a vivid sapphire sky. Great shafts of gold light pierced through to shimmer over the water.

  Ah, Bobby, where are you now? he wondered. Are you up there somewhere in the clouds? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sitting up there with the angels, laughing at us poor devils down here. Especially me. Remember how we used to swim in the creek like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, trying to touch manatees? Or racing dolphins in the jon boat, and riding the backs of sea turtles? Life seemed simpler then. Freer with fewer rules. Or did I just grow old? We sure had good times together, back in the day. He felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. My God, Bobby. I miss you.

  “Ah, Carolina,” he said to his boat in a raspy voice. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak. “We’ve been through a lot together. You’ve heard all my stories, haven’t you? And I know all of yours.”

  He stroked the wood, now steeped with his own blood. “You and me, we’re one now, right? You carry my blood in the grain of your wood. You’ve been a good boat. The best. It wasn’t your fault what happened. I don’t blame you. We’ll ride this last trip out together.”

  20

  September 21, 2008, 6:05 p.m.

  On board the Hope

  Pee Dee raised his arm and pointed south. “Look there!”

  Josh swung his head in that direction.

  Carolina sucked in her breath. She saw what appeared to be a boat a few miles down. Even from this distance, she could make out the tall rigging that could only be a shrimp boat. She lunged for the binoculars and lifted them to her eyes. She saw the outriggers lowered, the nets hanging empty in the wind. There was the berry-red trim of the Morrison boats. And there, at the bow, were the bright red letters.

  “It’s the Carolina,” she said, her voice trembling.

  Pee Dee took the binoculars. His hands shook as he brought them to his eyes. “Don’t look like there’s any damage done to her.”

  “You don’t know that,” Josh replied, caution in his tone. “Could be taking on water, for all we know. Damage below the waterline, blown engine, anything.”

  “If it were something like that, he coulda used the radio,” countered Pee Dee.

  Josh opened his mouth as if he might argue, then cast a quick glance at Carolina. There was still no sign of Bud. The less movement they saw on the boat, the more worried they became. There was always movement on a shrimping boat. He shot Pee Dee a warning
glare to be careful of what he said in front of Carolina.

  “Yeah, reckon that’s right,” Pee Dee muttered.

  Carolina wrapped her arms around her chest. “You boys don’t have to pussyfoot around me. You’re not saying anything I haven’t thought already. But I think he’s alive. I feel it.”

  She saw them once again cast worried glances at each other, like maybe she was losing it. Maybe she was. Carolina thrust her arms into her slicker, eager to be alone.

  “At least, I’m praying that’s true,” she said, then left the pilothouse.

  Carolina hurried to the bow and clutched the railing, willing the boat to move faster. The Hope was rattling and shaking, stressed to the max as it ripped through choppy seas. Saltwater sprayed from the bow, stinging her face. She turned her head to look at the T-shaped radar beacon steadily revolving above the pilothouse. Keep on target, she thought. Excitement, fear, trepidation, hope—every conceivable emotion ran through her veins.

  She turned her gaze back to the sea. Her hair whipped in the wind. Squinting, she kept her gaze riveted to the blue horizon that was slowly deepening to rose, orange, purple, and blue. Somewhere ahead in that vast sea, she had to believe that Bud was holding on. That he had faith. That he was waiting for them. Waiting for her.

  “Dear God,” she prayed, “Bud has to be alive. Please.”

  In the seven years since their reconciliation, they’d struggled to rebuild their marriage. It was hard at first. Whenever they were together, it was like walking on eggs. But they hung in there, got counseling, and slowly found solid ground again. Bud had stopped going to Florida during the off-season and instead fell back on oystering, clamming, piloting tugboats, and other odd jobs to make ends meet. Carolina had gone back to teaching at the local elementary school. Each morning they’d awakened, done their work, eaten their meals, shared the joy of their grandchild, and gradually found pleasure in each other as well.

  After the first two years, Carolina had just been grateful that they were still together and hoped that, in time, they would regain that comfortable, open, say-anything closeness. Two more years passed, one much like the other, and Carolina began to fear that their marriage would never again be whole. Bud was holding back. It was so subtle that at times she thought herself mistaken. He was a good husband on the surface. But small significant gestures had ceased, things like a guiding hand at her back as she walked down the street, or her suddenly looking up in a crowded room and meeting his knowing gaze, or even just his sudden grasping of her hand with a reassuring squeeze. These seemingly inconsequential gestures had stopped—and she missed them. Terribly. With their loss came a slow decline in how often they made love, or kissed, or hugged. And when they did, the molten passion they’d once shared had dissipated to a lukewarm response.

  She kept thinking, Tomorrow he will kiss me like he used to. Or the next day he’ll hold my hand. Or the next.

  But he didn’t. Those days never came.

  Carolina had tried to rationalize the cooling of their ardor to age. After all, it was happening to other couples she knew. But in her heart, she knew it was more. Bud might not even be aware of what he was doing. He wasn’t a vindictive man. Still, she sensed that his holding back was a kind of punishment for her indiscretion.

  Bud loved her. She knew that much was true.

  But in her heart, Carolina knew that he had not forgiven her.

  She gripped the railing and stared out at the vast blue for some sign—any marker at all—of Bud. She needed to find him alive. One more time, she needed to tell Bud that she loved him. She needed to ask his forgiveness once again.

  21

  September 21, 2008, 6:30 p.m.

  On board the Miss Carolina

  Bud’s head was too heavy to hold upright. His eyes felt swollen and gritty. He rested his head against his arm while the boat rocked from side to side. The Miss Carolina was like a cradle, he thought. Rocking, rocking, back and forth…He felt himself drift in and out of consciousness. His vision was blurry. It was too much of a struggle to keep his lids open. He was sorely tempted to simply close his eyes and fall asleep. But he was afraid if he did, he wouldn’t wake up.

  So he fought to keep his focus with memories.

  Not sad ones. Those sad times didn’t matter anymore. The times in life he’d cried had only left him feeling regret and remorse. He had lots of good memories, too. Good times with his family and loved ones.

  And Carolina.

  Nothing in his life compared to his love for her. Images of their life together shone in his mind like a kaleidoscope, one brighter than the next. Bud saw again Carolina’s face that first day he’d met her on the docks. Her red hair held the sun like a flame, and when he locked gazes with her, he knew she was the girl he would marry.

  Carolina climbing high up on the rigging, clinging tight to the ladder, her hair flapping in the wind, a wide smile on her face as she surveyed her domain. She didn’t know that he’d watched her from the deck, his chest expanding with love and pride that this exceptional woman was his bride.

  Lizzy had taken to the sea like her mother, but he’d never let her run the boat or man the deck like his father had done with him from the moment he could walk. Like he would have done had Lizzy been born a male. Bud had thought keeping his daughter from shrimping was the right thing to do, that he was protecting her from harm. Now he wondered whether, had he given Lizzy a chance at sea, she might have captained her own boat, like Judith.

  Another regret.

  His regrets now were not for what he had done, but for what he had not done in his life. There had been so many opportunities to say what he felt, but he’d remained silent. So many chances to act on an impulse of kindness, but he’d stayed still. He saw now how everything he did or said—or neglected to—had cast ripples that affected so many lives.

  Now it was too late. Now he lay pinned by his regrets.

  You fool, he told himself, feeling his breath shorten. You’re dying. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. You’ve been blind the last seven years. Only feeling your own pain. Pawing at the ground, no better than a speared bull. You hurt Carolina. Admit it.

  He sighed and closed his eyes. You didn’t even kiss her good-bye this morning. You had the chance, but you held back.

  Bud lowered his head, tasting the ash of his marriage in his mouth. They’d seen the counselor and made compromises. They’d jumped through hoops. But in his heart, Bud knew he’d never really forgiven Carolina. Why? he asked himself. Was it his male pride? A grudge against Lee Edwards? Did he enjoy having the upper hand with Carolina?

  Yes, he thought, that was it. By punishing her, he’d maintained control over her. Carolina’s spirit was wounded, and his distance had kept her in line. Wasn’t this a kind of betrayal?

  Forgiveness had seemed so heroic. In the end, he’d been a coward. He said that he loved her, but now he knew he hadn’t begun to understand the meaning of the word. Love had the power to forgive.

  What a waste of precious time! Now he might never have the chance to tell her again that he loved her. That he forgave her. And to beg her forgiveness. If he could just get back, he swore, he’d set things right with Carolina. With Lizzy. With Josh. Even with Lee. Anger was such a waste of time, especially knowing how precious time was.

  “Hey, God,” he said aloud, pushing his voice out, hoping to be heard. “I don’t deserve to ask you anything, so I’m not asking for much. Take my hand. My arm. I don’t care if I lose my boat. If it’s my time, well, okay. I’m only asking—no, I’m begging. Let me live long enough to make things right with Carolina. That’s all.”

  Bud felt his heart pounding and his vision blurred. Closing his eyes, he felt his strength ebb. Immediately, Carolina’s face was illuminated in his mind. Carolina. It was always Carolina. She stood at the bow of the boat named for her, leaning back in his arms, her warmth melding into his, smelling sweet, her hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with stars. Whenever he thou
ght of Carolina, he thought of her here, on this boat. When Carolina was in his arms, they were ageless. There was no time.

  His life had come full circle. Carolina was his past, his present, his hope for the future. He reached up to clutch the gold band that hung from a chain around his neck. He held it tight against his heart as he felt himself slip into oblivion.

  22

  September 21, 2008, 6:40 p.m.

  On board the Hope

  Josh slowed the engine to idle as they neared the Miss Carolina. Carolina stood on deck, peering across the water. There was no sign of Bud. No shout of hello. A line of gulls sat on the rigging, silent as the grave. She shuddered. It looked like a ghost ship.

  “You’re going to have to jump for it,” Josh called to Pee Dee from the pilothouse. “I’ll get you as close as I can.”

  Josh worked the wheel to maneuver his trawler closer to the Miss Carolina, careful not to scrape the boats in the rocking of the waves. Carolina licked her lips and stood at the ready, clenching the rope.

  Pee Dee eyed the Miss Carolina; then, when the boats were close enough, he flung himself over several feet of open water, landing in a graceless heap on the deck. He scrambled to his feet, and Carolina tossed him a line, which he quickly tied to the boat. Josh cut the engine and ran from the pilothouse to pull the two boats close and tie them off.

  Carolina was already at the railing, preparing to jump.

  “You better wait here,” he told Carolina, grabbing her arm.

  “He’s my husband.”

  Josh’s brows furrowed. As captain, he was responsible for every man and woman on his vessel, and Carolina knew he was afraid for more than her safety. He was worried about what she might find aboard the Miss Carolina.

  “Let me know what to do,” he said, letting go of her arm.