Last Light over Carolina (21 page)

Bud took a step back. Something wasn’t adding up. There was something she wasn’t telling him. He smelled the lie, felt it, like a foul beast hiding in the shadows. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there.

As if Carolina sensed the shift in tension, she sniffed and wiped her nose with her towel, then leaned against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her.

Bud suddenly came to a stark realization. “Something happened,” he said. “While I was away. What happened to get you so riled?”

“Your phone call,” she replied, averting her eyes.

Bud didn’t know guilt had a look of its own, but he saw it on Carolina’s face. The blood drained from his face as an ugly suspicion took root.

“What did you do?”

Carolina paled. She turned away, but he grabbed her arm and jerked her closer. His fingers were digging into her flesh, drawing her so near that her face was inches from his own. He looked into her eyes and saw the truth. He felt himself dying. He knew what she was about to say. The bottom was about to fall out of his life. But he had to hear the words.

“Tell me.”

“It’s not what you think,” she choked out.

“What do I think?”

“I didn’t have an affair.”

“What
did
you have?”

She tried to jerk her arm away, but he would not let go.

“Nothing happened.”

“Don’t make me break your arm. Tell me,” he said, and his voice was like a low growl at her ear.

“All right!” she exploded, and met his gaze. “But first, you
let go of my arm
!” she shouted, refusing to be intimidated.

Bud glared at her, his jealousy churning, but he dropped her arm and took a step back. Instantly, the anger was defused and they both took deep breaths.

Carolina wrapped her arms around herself again in a defensive posture, but she held her shoulders straight. Despite his fury, he had to admire her courage.

She took a deep breath. “After you called, I was devastated. You basically told me I didn’t matter. Our marriage didn’t matter. I had to get out of the house. So I got dressed and went to the Shack for a drink.”

She was leading up to something. Bud felt his back muscles tighten.

“While I was there, I had a few drinks.”

“Go on.”

“I ran into…” She licked her lips. “Lee.” She glanced at him nervously.

Bud felt sucker-punched. The second he heard the name, he knew where it was leading. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

“We talked. About business, real estate…I don’t know, just stuff. And I was drinking. I had three margaritas.”

Bud knew better than anyone that Carolina wasn’t much of a drinker and couldn’t hold her liquor.

“Lee didn’t think it was a good idea for me to drive, so he offered to take me home. I’d had too much to drink,” she said again, and looked at him so he could tell she was telling the truth. “But I was also feeling so lonely and upset after our fight. He made me feel desirable again. I don’t say that as an excuse, it’s just a fact. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

He felt sick. A crowbar could have hit him full-force in the stomach and it couldn’t have felt worse.

He lowered his head so close to hers that he could see the navy rim around her pale blue irises. “What happened!” he shouted.

Her eyes widened, and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. He hated himself for putting that there, but a feral fierceness drove him on.

“We kissed, okay?” she cried out, and tears sprang to her eyes. “We just kissed.” She shook her head, causing her hair to fall over her face and mingle with the tears. “That’s all.”

“That’s all! That’s all?” Bud lifted his hand to strike his wife. He stopped short.

“Go on. Hit me. I couldn’t feel worse about this if you did. Go ahead. I’m asking you to do it.”

The room suddenly became small. Crowded. Bud and Carolina retreated to separate corners of the kitchen. He stared at Carolina and knew a terrible regret for ever having loved her. In that awful moment, Bud realized it didn’t matter if she’d kissed the guy or had sex with him. It was still a betrayal. And with Lee Edwards, of all people! It hurt more, he thought, than if it were anyone else. Anyone else in the entire world. He felt a new rage billow up as his fists clenched at his thighs. He wanted to kill the guy.

“I’m sorry,” Carolina said in a heartbroken voice. “I know what I did was so wrong. I should never have let it happen. But you let it happen, too. I begged you to come home. You refused.”

“So now it’s my fault?” he roared.

“Yes, it’s partly your fault.”

“You know what? I don’t give a damn. Be with him, I don’t care.”

“This isn’t about Lee Edwards. I don’t give a damn about him. This is about us. Our marriage is broken.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve gotten right since I got home.”

Her face went very still.

“You don’t have to ask me to leave twice.” He pushed open the screen door, slamming wood against wood, and stormed out into the night.

Bud climbed in his truck and fired the engine. He knew where he was headed, even as he knew it was a bad idea. His tires squealed as he fishtailed from the driveway, then the truck roared down the block.

It was a short drive through town and along the winding dirt road to Lee’s stately home on Jeremy Creek. The sun was setting and the water reflected the blood orange color of the sky. Enormous live oaks surrounded the house, softening the harsh architectural lines with their graceful limbs. The white clapboard house was built in the southern style to blend with the historic village, but everything was new and shiny. No patched roofs, peeling paint, or shutters covered with rust. The decay was inside, he thought as he parked in the tall grass under an oak and turned off the ignition.

He didn’t know the house well. This wasn’t the old Gordon home that he’d spent so many idle hours at as a kid. There was no personal history here. He was glad for that. He didn’t want to remember the boy he’d loved as a brother. This was a stranger’s house and it suited his mood.

His heels pounded the wooden steps as he made his way up to the front door. Bud wasn’t trying to surprise anyone. His sense of fair play preferred to alert Lee to his presence. He didn’t want an ambush. But there would be no talk.

Bud was sweating when he reached the front door. He leaned over to look through one of the windows. In the living room, Lee was watching a sports program. The flicker of the television cast shadows on his face. Hatred pumped
through Bud’s heart as he reached for the door handle. It was locked. In one swift move he raised his right leg and crashed it squarely against the door. It ripped clean from the hinges in an explosion of shards of wood and glass.

Lee leaped from his leather chair, sending the beer and sandwich crashing to the floor. A cat darted from the sofa and bolted from the room. Lee’s eyes were wide with shock and his arms were spread out in a fight-or-flight position. Then he saw Bud’s face.

Bud watched Lee’s color drain and his mouth slip open. His expression was a confession of his guilt. Lee knew why Bud was here. He’d seen the retribution in Bud’s eyes.

Bud balled his fists and stepped into the room.

Lee held out his hands. “Bud, wait!”

“Damn you.”

Lee ran. He made it to the dining room before Bud tackled him shoulder first, an old football move. The momentum brought Lee slamming into a large cupboard, sending his family’s heirloom collection of china crashing to the floor. Bud pulled him up against the wall.

Lee ducked his head and pleaded, “Please. For God’s sake, Bud…”

Bud’s eyes narrowed and he stared coldly down at the man he’d never again call friend. Bud didn’t give a damn about Lee’s fancy cars or his glorified mansion. But this time he’d stolen the one thing in his world that mattered to Bud. He pulled back his fist, tightening his knuckles, taking aim.

Lee whimpered and lifted his arms to guard his face. Bud
saw fear in his eyes. With a low, throaty growl Bud slammed his fist beside Lee’s head into the wall. Crushed drywall flaked from his hand and forearm and a painting crashed to the floor.

Both men were breathing hard, their faces inches apart. Bud felt like he was coming out of a red fog and he could see the pathetic man slumped before him. He drew his fist from the wall and examined his bloodied knuckles. Bud was a fighter. But he was not a killer.

“I’m sorry, Bud. I…”

“Shut up.” He leaned forward and stared into Lee’s eyes. “You’re dead to me. And if you so much as speak to my wife again, so help me, you’ll be dead to everyone.”

Rubbing his knuckles, Bud headed toward the door. A dining room chair had the misfortune of being in his way. He kicked it hard into the wall, shattering it on impact. He left the house feeling like a beaten man. As he walked through the tall grass to his truck, mosquitoes circled his head and tears streamed down his face.

October 1, 2001

The docks, McClellanville

The sun cast a vivid, flame-kissed palette into the sea below. Carolina caught the familiar, pungent scents of the dock as she walked toward the boats. Hambone was welding in the warehouse; bright sparks burst in the air.

When Bud had left six months earlier, Carolina couldn’t imagine coming for a sit-down chat with him. He’d felt betrayed. She’d felt rejected. Neither was able to come to terms with the other person’s reasoning. In the subsequent months, however, both had had time to reflect. As painful as those months had been, she’d come to value her separateness again. She couldn’t return to the life she’d led up to the point of her indiscretion. That one act did not define her. It was more of an awakening.

When she’d received his invitation to talk, she’d immediately agreed. To wait any longer would have made it easier for them both to envision a life without the other. It was time for them to see if they could rebuild a life together.

Carolina had dressed carefully for this visit. She’d soaked in the tub to calm her nerves, washed and brushed her hair till it shone, and donned her best jeans and a green sweater, knowing Bud liked her in that color. She’d taken special care with her makeup, applying shadow and liner, then mascara and blush. Finally, she’d splashed on the perfume he’d given her for Christmas. Before leaving the house, she’d checked the mirror, touching up her lipstick. She wanted to look her best. She hoped to please him; she was vain enough to admit that. Yet if the meeting went poorly, she’d need to feel good about herself and maintain her self-respect.

The
Miss Carolina
rested in her usual slot near the end of the dock. The late-afternoon colors reflected in the water looked like flames licking the hull. Carolina felt again the pride at seeing her name in bold red letters:
Miss Carolina
. Bud was standing with his back to her at the bow, a broad silhouette against the sunset. It was a pensive pose, and she felt again the fluttering in her stomach.

“Bud?” she called out.

He turned, caught unawares. He hurried to assist her aboard. That first touch of their hands felt electric, and she almost pulled back her hand. But he grabbed hold and hoisted her up as she swung her leg over the railing. They dropped their hands and stepped back in an awkward first moment. She let her eyes sweep over his face, catching details after their long separation. His face was deeply tanned, making his blue eyes brighter, and his dark hair, longer now, was pushed back off his face. He was still a handsome man, she thought, though a little thinner, and she was surprised—even pleased—by the flutter of attraction she felt when she looked at Bud Morrison. He wore his best tartan plaid shirt and jeans, and she smiled inwardly, knowing that he, too, was trying.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks. You, too.” After a painfully long moment, she looked around the boat. “It’s been a while since I’ve been aboard.”

“It’s pretty much the same.” He looked around the boat as if to confirm the last comment.

She nodded, then clasped her hands before her, took a breath, and looked at him. He was watching her intently. “It’s been a good season?”

“Pretty good. We were due.”

“I’m glad.”

“And you? You like teaching? Being back?”

“Yes. I’m lucky to have the job.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

His compliment was unexpected.

“Do you want some wine?”

“Yes,” she replied, relieved. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

Everything felt unbearably strained. She hoped the wine would relax them both.

“Come, sit down.”

He’d prepared a small table at the front of the boat, the way he used to when he’d take her out for a sunset dinner cruise. She was touched that he’d made the effort. He retrieved a bottle of chardonnay from the bucket of ice on the deck. She watched as he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into two wineglasses. He’d also served a small wheel of Brie with crackers on a plate, knowing it was her favorite. He spilled a little of the wine on the table, and when he handed her a glass, to her surprise, his hand was shaking slightly.

“Thank you,” she said.

He wiped his hands on his jeans, seeming self-conscious. Then he picked up his glass and raised it. His lips parted as though he was going to offer a toast, but then he simply lifted his glass to her and took a sip.

Carolina brought the wine to her lips, tasting its sweetness.

“Sit,” he offered again, pulling out a chair.

Carolina slid into the folding chair. She recognized it as one they’d stored in their shed. He must’ve taken the chairs and table out and scrubbed the mold from the vinyl for tonight.

Bud pulled out the chair opposite her and stretched out his long legs as he eased into it. He took another sip of his wine. Carolina felt the man was stalling, looking for the right thing to say. When he lowered his glass, his eyes were troubled and his jaw worked in a silent struggle.

“I’ve missed you,” he said simply.

“I missed you, too.”

He exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t know how to do this.”