The Beach House (48 page)

Cara could only stare at her mother while panic whirled in her chest. She knew that look. She’d seen it enough times over the years. It was the narrow-eyed, teeth-bared look of a cornered, beaten dog. If she was going to move her, she’d get bit.

It was the last straw. Cara threw her purse down on the floor, wiped a damp lock of hair from her face with an angry swipe and glared at her mother with mounting fury.

“Well, screw this!” she shouted. “I’ve had it. If you’re not going, then I’m not going!”

Lovie looked stunned and her composure collapsed. “But—but…you have to go!”

“I’m not.”

“Cara, don’t do this!” Lovie cried, her voice rising. “I’ll be fine here. This house has withstood lots of storms, even Hugo. It will stand up to this one, too.”

But Cara didn’t move; she steeled herself against her mother’s growing hysteria.

“I have to stay,” Lovie cried, wringing her hands. “Someone has to stay with the turtles!”

Cara crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not going.”

Suddenly there was a thunderous cracking of a tree branch outside the house, followed by the horrid creaking of the bathroom shutters as they were torn off their hinges. After a crashing thud, the broken branches battered the window glass like pounding hands.

“Go, Cara!” Lovie screamed. “For God’s sake, go! I don’t want to leave. I want to die here. I’m not afraid for myself. Please go!”

Cara felt the lid of her emotions rip off like the shutters. She was eighteen again and a great, howling pain clawed out from her chest. Words suppressed for too many years shrieked from her in a maelstrom, as uncontrolled as the wind.

“Once!” she cried. “Just once I wish you’d think about
me
for a change!” She took a deep breath that hiccupped in her throat as she stood, arms rigid at her sides, her hands in fists. “Do you want to know why I ran away at eighteen, Mama? Do you?”

Lovie clutched her shirt close to her chest with her small hands. “Oh, Cara—”

“It wasn’t just because of Daddy. I knew he didn’t love me. It was because of
you!
I couldn’t forgive you for not protecting me. Or Palmer. Not even yourself. That night I ran away, he beat me hard. You let him hit me, Mama! You could’ve stood up to him. You could’ve defended me. You could’ve defended both of us. But you just stood by and let him hurt me. Why?”

Cara angrily swiped her face and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know why. To protect yourself. And now, again, you’re thinking only of yourself! Or the turtles!” She felt the hurt taking shape in her chest, swirling painfully. “Why not me? Mama, why don’t I matter enough?” Then the hurt erupted, gushing out with tears. “Why have I never mattered enough?”

“No, Caretta, no! That’s not the way it was at all!” Even as she said the words, Lovie realized that they weren’t true. She hadn’t protected her daughter. But Cara didn’t understand
why.

Another loud, shuddering crash exploded in the room as the branches succeeded in catapulting through the window. Lovie screamed and Cara crouched low to the ground, her head ducked, her arms crossed over her head as shards of glass splayed like bullets. Cara felt a terror as starkly horrifying as it was familiar. Only once before had she been so afraid for her own safety. That moment flashed in her mind.

She was just eighteen, crouched in the corner of the entrance foyer to their house in Charleston. She held her arms protectively over her head, heard the whispered whoosh and snap of a leather belt as it cracked like a bullwhip against her skin. It stung like hell but it was the shock of being hit by her father that she felt the most. Even while she screamed for him to stop, she felt a deep shame that he could do this to her. His face was ugly and contorted with rage that she’d defied him and she saw in his eyes that he was glad to see her put in her place. He was shouting words at her that she could only understand in phrases like, “last time” and “I’ll teach you” and “do as you’re told.” She begged him to stop, growing hysterical.

Until she saw her mother. From a small space under her arm she saw Lovie clutching the doorframe of the foyer. Her mother didn’t rush forward to stop him or stand in front of her child. She only watched, her face pale and her eyes wide with horror. Cara stopped crying then and rose to stare boldly at her father while he hit her. She stood straight until she shamed him into stopping. The hurt inside had made her numb to the blows.

Cara huddled in the corner, crouched in fear, while the hurricane’s wind shrieked like a ghost. Then she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

“Cara?” she said. Then, more firmly, “Cara, look at me.”

Cara turned to look up at her mother. Despite the wind swirling in the room, Lovie stood straight, her shoulders back in resolve.

“Yes, I saw him strike you that night,” Lovie said. “And I knew at that moment you had to get out of that house. For your own safety. It broke my heart when you left, but I didn’t stop you because I loved you more than myself. I knew the path I’d traveled and I didn’t want you to follow. Maybe I should have left with you, but I can’t change what’s done. I can leave with you now though. I love you, Cara. You
do
matter.”

“Mama—” Cara cried, leaning against her mother’s legs.

“My little Tern,” Lovie said, stroking her daughter’s damp hair. “Now come, take my hand,” she said firmly, guiding Cara to her feet. “I have much to explain but we don’t have time now. We must go.”

Holding hands, they went out into the storm. Brendan’s breath was on them but his real strength was still a ways off. Cara held on to her mother’s waist and they cut through the wind to the car. No sooner had they reached the road than the rain began to dump bucketfuls. Even with the windshield wipers going full blast Cara could hardly see the road ahead. She leaned forward, gripping the wheel tight and squinting, heading straight for Palm Boulevard at a snail’s pace. It was a ghost town; the streets were deserted. Most of the houses were boarded up. She was careful, taking it slow, on the lookout for fallen wires or flooded streets. She worried about the wind conditions on the connector.

“Goddamn, will you look at that?” Cara peered through the sheets of rain. Not far from the connector an old oak had split and fallen across Palm Boulevard. Her mouth went dry as she came to a stop. The enormous branches stretched from one side of the road to the other. She stared at it with disbelieving eyes as the wind rocked the car and rain pelted the windows.

“Can we get around it?” her mother asked in a thin voice.

“I don’t think we should try. The power lines are down and the small roads are already flooded.”

“Then don’t try. If the water’s rising we could be washed away.” Her fingers shook at her lips. “What about the Ben Sawyer Bridge? Can we back up and take that?”

“I heard on the radio that it’s already closed. It fell into the water during Hugo, remember?” Staring at the blocked road through the clicking windshield wipers, Cara felt a crack in her thin shell of composure. “We’re trapped here. What should we do?”

“Cara,” her mother said in a strong, firm voice that drew her attention from the street. “Drive home. We’ll be all right in the beach house.”

“If there’s flooding—”

“It’s a high lot and the house is on pilings. We can’t stay here—and we have nowhere else to go. But we
must
get out of this car. If flooding starts, it will be a coffin.”

Cara was spurred on by that frightening image. Her hands shook as she shifted gears and turned the wheel away from the evacuation route. They were on their way back to the beach house. Only one local radio station was audible over the crackling static and the whistling wind. Turning it up, she heard that the hurricane had not gained power.

“Thank you, God! Maybe we can ride this one out.”

“I’m praying, Cara. I’m praying hard.”

“You do that, Mama. You’ve got better connections than I do.”

“Now’s not the time to be proud. Now’s the time to fall on your knees.”

“I intend to, just as soon as I get out of this car.”

As Cara navigated through the rain-slicked streets, she squinted through the sheet of rain and clicking wipers to make certain she didn’t drive into water. If the car stalled, she knew they’d have to get out quick and climb to higher ground. Her knuckles were white on the wheel and her jaw hurt, she was clenching her teeth so hard. She was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. But she recognized the feeling of that steely wall dropping again, the one that separated her from the outside arrows, the one that kept her emotions in check. It had served her well over the years in times of emergency and stress and she counted on it now. They needed to get out of the storm and prepare for the worst.

By the time they reached the beach house they could see the waves already hammering far past the dunes and lapping the pilings of the front row houses. Sea spray shot high into the air. Flooding from tidal surge was her worst fear. They’d be trapped in the house with nowhere to go but up on the roof. Still, she breathed easier knowing that, if the hurricane hit, it would be at low tide. She parked the Saab under the rear porch behind The Gold Bug. If flooding occurred, the engine would be shot. Then she pulled out the plastic bin full of important papers.

Facing the wind and rain Cara said, “I swear, the next house project, if there is a next project, will be to build a covered staircase into the house.”

“Just one more appendage to blow away,” Lovie replied, climbing from the car with Cara’s help.

Her mother gripped her arm for support and they braved the wind a final time, catching sight of palms already leaning against the storm, their fronds rattling in frenzy. Cara raised her eyes, squinting against the wind. The little cottage stood strong on its perch high on the dune. “Keep us safe,” she whispered as she struggled with her mother and the heavy bin up the porch stairs.

Once inside, the house was humid, dark and still. The phrase
silent as a tomb
ran though her mind but she quickly shook it away.

“I’ll light the lanterns and you can change into something warm. Again,” Cara said to Lovie, striving for levity.

Her mother coughed and smiled at the same time, keeping up the front. “At this rate, I should put on layers that I can peel off.”

“I’m going back out for the oxygen tank before it gets too late,” Cara said, opening the door. A gale rose up, and with a sudden ferocity, it tugged the screen from her hand, slamming it back against the house and tearing the top hinge out from the wood.

“Leave it!” Lovie cried out in a panic. “I won’t need the tank. I forbid you to go out in that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can get it,” she cried back and dashed out into the wind. Thankfully, the tank was in an easy access spot on the back seat. She yanked it out and groped her way back up the stairs.

“Foolish girl!” her mother cried out in relief when she returned.

Cara felt triumphant. She pulled the screen shut then ran to grab her hammer and pouch of nails. With a few sound whacks the door was secured. “I guess that’s it,” she said, slumping against the door. Rainwater dripped from her hair and down her face. “We’re in for the duration now.”

“May God protect us,” Lovie whispered.

While Lovie changed, Cara lit the lanterns and placed one on the kitchen counter and brought the other to Toy’s room. With the windows boarded and outdoor furniture and supplies crowding, the house looked like a storage facility. She lugged an extra piece of plywood into her mother’s bathroom, then boarded up the broken window. Next she began moving the plastic bins full of bottled water, medical supplies and dry food into Toy’s room. Lastly, she moved the oxygen tank. She was moving Toy’s clothes out from the closet when Lovie walked in carrying her Bible.

“Why are you moving everything in here?” she asked.

“If the wind gets too strong, this will be the safest spot. The pressure will push the windward windows in, but the leeward windows will pop out. And, if we have to, we can jump into this closet.”

“Lord have mercy.”

“We’ll be fine,” she said, mustering up reassurance that she didn’t feel.

“Yes, I’m sure we will,” she replied bravely but looking lost.

“You might as well make yourself comfy on the bed, Mama. We’ll be here for a while. I’ll get the radio and some books. Anything in particular you’d like to read?”

“I’ve brought my Bible. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to read from this.”

Cara released a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Hours passed, and though the hurricane veered north, the beach house swayed back and forth on its pilings as the storm drew nearer. Inside the small bedroom, however, the lantern cast a warm yellow light over the Bible as Cara read aloud. Her voice was a low, soothing counterpoint to the constant whistling of the wind. Lovie had chosen Ecclesiastes and they both found comfort in wise King Solomon’s insights at the culmination of his life. When a gale force wind rattled the house, Lovie squeezed Cara’s hand.

“Rest your voice for a spell and turn off the radio, dear. That incessant chatter about the hurricane is only making us more nervous. And I think it’s time—” She paused and took a deep breath. “Cara, I’d like to talk to you about something that’s been preying on my mind for some time.”

Hatchlings dine on small snails, macroplankton and invertebrates. After they reach adulthood, their powerful jaws can crush heavy-shelled crustaceans and creatures that reside in reefs and rocks. Jellyfish are like candy treats.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“D
o you remember when I wrote to you about clearing out the years of accumulation?” Lovie asked.