Last Light over Carolina (20 page)

“I know he will,” she replied, knowing in her heart they were both lying.

September 21, 2008, 1:30 p.m.

On board the
Miss Carolina

C
old, fat drops
of rain fell like pellets on his skin. Bud watched the tumultuous mass race toward him like a banshee, screaming wind, and she wasn’t shy to unleash her full fury. Rain whipped the boat in torrents atop cresting waves that tossed the boat. He clung to the winch with his good hand as the sea turned frothy white. With each jerk to the left or right, he felt a burst of blinding pain. Bud used his legs to steady himself against anything secure. Thunder cracked above him, boom after boom, and lightning raised the hair on his arms. He knew this would be his one
chance for water, so despite the bucking boat, he leaned his head back to drink the rain, letting the cold spill sloppily into his mouth, down his throat.

Bud felt weak from loss of blood, but he held on for all his worth and trusted the
Miss Carolina
to ride the waves that crashed against her sides, spewing seawater across the deck, drenching him. He coughed and spat out saltwater, feeling the sting of it in his eyes and open wound. The sky was so black and the waves so violent he couldn’t see.

The storm moved quickly. The lightning dissipated and the thunder became a muffled grumbling fading out to sea. The rain slackened to a drizzle before it eventually stopped. In the wake of the storm, the clouds thinned and the sea surface appeared glassy. The sun manifested her power, piercing the gray to burnish the sky in burned orange, and when a rainbow glistened beneath the clouds, Bud was reminded of God’s covenant and felt hope that he would be spared.

He’d survived the winch. He’d survived the storm. But for how long?

The tourniquet had loosened and the blood flowed more steadily again. The pain had freshened as well. He hurt bad.

He wouldn’t go out like this, he thought. Pinned and helpless, more like a child than a man. If he was going to die out here, he wanted to die on his feet.

His pulse raced as he recollected stories of men who’d cut themselves free of a trap using duller knives than his. Bud had read about a climber in the mountains pinned by a
rock. And a fisherman who’d cut off his hand to be free of a winch. Same as him. They’d done whatever was necessary to survive. He swallowed hard, tasting the salt. He’d never thought he’d be in the same spot. All his life, he’d taken pride in his physical power and his ability to make tough decisions. But this…He didn’t know whether he’d actually be able to cut off his own hand. Or even if he’d survive trying. But he couldn’t just lie here waiting to die. He had to try to save himself.

Was he man enough to do it?

Trapped as he was, he couldn’t get to anything he’d need for the amputation. All he had was his trusty pocketknife. Hardly a scalpel, but at least it was sharp. Sweat gathered on his forehead as he went through the steps in his mind.

First, he’d have to tighten the tourniquet to pinch off the main arteries so he wouldn’t bleed out after he made the cut. He’d have to cut fast, pinching the arteries. Once he was free, he could get to the pilothouse. He could radio for help. That’d be the first thing to do. Even if he passed out later, they’d have his coordinates. It would give him a fighting chance.

If he didn’t pass out right away, he’d grab fishing line from the box a few feet away and tie off the arteries. Then he’d shove the boat into high gear and head straight back to the dock and medical help. Then he’d clean the wound, to avoid infection. It was too late to save the hand. Probably even the whole arm. He blanched at the thought of losing his arm. But what the hell, he thought. Better that than to die here.

Yes, he could do it, he thought. He went over it again in his mind: Cut off the hand, radio for help, get back home. He shuddered and took two deep breaths, gathering his strength. Then he reached for the knife in his rear pocket.

He didn’t feel it. His pocket was empty.

Was it panic or relief that made his hand shake? he wondered. He shifted, wildly searching the deck beneath his weight. His hand smeared blood across the deck.

The knife was gone.

He blinked, trying to reason as pain hammered his temples. The knife must’ve fallen out in all the rocking and flailing during the storm. Desperate, he scanned the deck. There, several feet away, wedged behind a coil of rope, he spotted a flash of red metal. His hopes crashed.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Is this the way we’re going to end up?” he cried in a broken voice to the
Miss Carolina
. “Huh?” He began muttering, his mind wandering, not knowing if he was saying the words aloud. “Carolina…after all the years we spent together? I gave you everything I had. I kept you looking fine and sleek, painted you every spring. You’re a beautiful boat. A fine, noble vessel. We had our fights, but we did okay.”

He pounded the deck, scraping his knuckles. “Why like this? Goddamn it, Carolina. It ain’t right.”

Bud lowered his head against his damp sleeve, feeling breathless and light-headed. Disoriented.

“I loved you, Carolina. And you betrayed me.”

March 12, 2001

White Gables

“I’m home!”

Bud dropped his duffel bag beside the front door. It was mostly filled with dirty laundry for Carolina to wash. He rolled his shoulders, glad to be home. Glad to be out of Florida and eager to sleep in his own bed. He’d been on the water so long he still felt the sea swells beneath him. His blue flannel shirt smelled like fish, his skin felt like scales, and he desperately needed a bath.

A commotion in the front room drew his attention. He walked in to see Lizzy, in jeans and a sweater, lifting Will from the playpen.

“Hey, Lizard,” he called out, using her old nickname.

Lizzy scooped Will into her arms and glowered at him, her lips in a tight line.

Red flag warning, Bud thought as his heart sank like an anchor. Josh must have beat him home and told her what he’d done. Either that, or the gossip had shot up the coast like a cannonball.

“Da-da-da-da,” Will called out in a high voice.

“Least one person’s glad to see me. How’s my little man?”

Clutching Will close, Lizzy walked past him so fast her ponytail bounced. She angled her body to avoid bumping into him in the narrow hall.

“What’d you want me to do?” he bellowed after her.

Lizzy turned at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes rimmed red, and shouted back, “You ruined my life!”

“How did
I
ruin your life?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. Tears sprang to her eyes. Will looked at him, his big blue eyes worried.

“I hate you!” Lizzy shouted, and pounded up the stairs.

“Unbelievable.” Bud cursed as he heard a door slam upstairs. That’s great, he thought. Josh cheats on her, and I’m the bad guy. He ran his hands through his hair and walked down the hall to the kitchen. It was awfully quiet in the house—and Carolina hadn’t even come to greet him.

Instinct spawned from years of marriage told him that he was heading for stormy weather. He wiped his hands on his jeans, wishing he’d brought her some small token—flowers, candy, or something pretty. After their last phone call, Bud knew he was in the doghouse.

Bud paused at the threshold of the kitchen, seeing his wife standing at the sink. His heart expanded in his chest. He loved the sight of Carolina in the kitchen. There was something so womanly, even sexy, about a woman standing at the sink that gave him a sense of being home and that all was right with the world. Sunlight poured in the southern windows, making her hair look like fire flowing down her shoulders. She was in stocking feet, faded jeans that hugged her rounded bottom, and a pale green sweater with the sleeves pulled back as she worked at the sink, exposing tanned forearms. Hers was no
longer the figure of a girl. She had soft, mature curves that he could wrap his arms around.

He was about to walk up to her and do just that when he noticed that she was holding her back rigid and peeling potatoes with agitated movements.

“I’m home.” His voice was tentative.

She didn’t turn around.

“Caro—”

“I heard you the first time.”

“So, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

She didn’t reply, but her hands stilled to grip the rim of the sink.

“Carolina, do we have to go through this again?” he said wearily. “I just walked in the door. I’m beat.” He walked to the fridge, opened it, and stared blankly at the milk and soda. “Is it too much to ask for some cold beer?”

“You haven’t been home in almost three months and I had no idea when you’d be back. Get it yourself.”

Bud slammed the door, and they heard jars and bottles rattle inside.

“Nice,” Carolina muttered.

Bud crossed his arms and tried hard to hold his temper. “Well, this is a helluva homecoming. Makes me wonder why I bothered.”

She turned quickly, her eyes flashing. “I wonder, too.”

Bud rubbed his eyes. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Wait.”

Bud swung his head and looked at her questioningly.

“There’ve been some changes.”

“Changes?”

She clasped her hands, and he was surprised to see her suddenly nervous.

“Lizzy’s moved back home. With Will. She’s left Josh. They’re getting a divorce.” Carolina cast him a venomous look that spoke plainly of her thoughts about his role in all this.

Bud looked at his boots. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He felt a surge of guilt for Lizzy’s tears. “I told him to be a man and tell Lizzy himself. She shouldn’t have to hear something like that from gossips—damn bottom-feeders. He had to do right by her. He owed her that much.”

“He also said you kicked him off the boat.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Wasn’t that harsh? He’s not just some deckhand. He’s your son-in-law. The father of your grandson. Wouldn’t you…I mean, I’d think you’d give him a second chance.”

“I gave him plenty of chances and even more warnings.”

“What are they going to live on?”

“If he’s man enough to be a father, he’s man enough to provide for his family.”

There was a prolonged silence before Carolina spoke again.

“Don’t you take any responsibility for the trouble they’re having? You’re the one who kept him away from home for so long. I told you what could happen, but you never listen!”

“Hey, I didn’t put a gun to his head and tell him to sleep with those women. He did that all on his own. I don’t respect that, and without respect, I don’t want him on my boat. I’m
done with him,” he shouted back at her, fed up now. “Don’t you be asking me to take him back. I won’t.”

Bud saw her pale face and pained expression, almost haunted, and thought for a second that maybe he had screwed up to fire Josh. Maybe he should’ve kept his business separate from his personal life. Now Carolina was upset and Lizzy was crying upstairs.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for them to get divorced,” he said. “I just thought Lizzy should know. I’m her father. I couldn’t watch it happen and do nothing.” He met her gaze and held it, pleading for some understanding of the position he’d been put in.

Carolina’s brows gathered and she averted her eyes.

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“Not in our room,” she blurted out.

He looked at her, puzzled.

“I moved your things out of our room.” Carolina drew her back straight. “Lizzy isn’t the only one considering a divorce.”

Bud’s mouth slipped open.

Carolina lifted her chin, and he saw bright spots of pink bloom on her cheeks.

“What the hell?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while you’ve been gone,” she said in a low voice that trembled with emotion. “What I have to say needs to be said now, not wait for the morning, not even for dinner. I can’t go on like this,” she said simply. “With our marriage. I can’t go on living the way we live.”

“What are you talking about? Where’s this coming from?
Are you so mad about Josh you’ll throw our marriage out with theirs? Aren’t you overreacting?”

“This has nothing to do with Josh and Lizzy. At least, not directly. Oh, let’s be honest, Bud. Our marriage hasn’t been that great for a long time now. We’re more like roommates than husband and wife. We go through the motions just to keep up the routine. I think we stayed with it because we were comfortable. But are we happy?” Carolina swallowed and rubbed her arms. “I haven’t been happy for a long time. And I don’t think you have, either.”

Bud gaped at her, not believing what he was hearing. “It’s called
marriage
. It’s not a honeymoon all the time. It’s damn hard work.”

“What marriage? We barely live together. The season is one thing. Going to Florida for a few weeks is another. When you started extending your trip, I didn’t like it, but I was the good wife and accepted it. Then you started staying away longer every year, but I still put up with it. When you first were gone more than a month, we fought something fierce. Don’t you remember? But this year…” She threw up her hands. “It’s March, Bud!” Her voice broke and tears flowed down her face.

It was the same old argument. Bud took a long breath and said impassively, “I was working.”

“You abandoned me.”

Carolina wiped the tears from her face with a towel, gathering her composure. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry or get all emotional. Like you’ve said, it’s a broken record. Enough. I’m done talking about it.”

There was something in her voice, a strength and conviction, that put him on edge. He’d rather deal with her crying.

“So we’ve got problems,” he said. “We’ll work them out.”

Her face appeared almost sad. “I wish it were so easy. We’ve moved beyond that point, I think. Our marriage has serious problems, and I don’t know how to fix them. Bud, I think we need a break.”

“A break? I thought you just said we were apart too much.”

“I mean a separation.”

His face hardened. “No. That’s not going to happen.”

“I can’t go on living like this,” she declared. “This isn’t what I signed on for. I’m unhappy all the time. I don’t like who I’m becoming. I don’t like what this is doing not just to us, but to me.”