Last Light over Carolina (2 page)

A weathered warehouse with a green-and-red-painted sign
that read
COASTAL SEAFOOD
dominated the waterfront. The warehouse was the heart of the dock where fishermen could get fuel, ice, and gear, then unload shrimp at the end of the day. Under its rusted awning a few men in stained pants and white boots stood smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups, and bantering while waiting to load ice. They grunted greetings as Bud moved past them. Inside, the big room was sparsely filled with a few metal chairs and tables and a rough plywood counter.

A young, broad-shouldered man with unruly dark hair leaned against the counter. He wore a denim jacket against the morning chill and white rubber boots high over his worn and stained jeans. He looked both boyish and edgy, with the congenial air of a man who is well liked. He turned when Bud approached and broke into a lazy grin.

“Hey, Bud,” he called out.

“Hey, Josh,” he replied, hearing the resignation in his own voice. He hadn’t expected to see Josh Truesdale this morning.

“I was hoping I’d run into you,” Josh said, straightening.

“Yeah?” Bud replied, stepping up beside him at the counter. Josh met Bud eye to eye. Bud narrowed his. “And why’s that?”

Josh shook his head with a wry grin. “Don’t look so worried, Cap’n. I ain’t gonna launch into Lizzy now.”

Bud barely suppressed his grin—the kid had hit the nail on the head. His daughter was exactly the subject he was hoping to avoid. “You know I don’t have nothin’ more to say to you on that subject. You and Lizzy—that’s your problem. Not mine.”

“I hear you,” he replied. “But I got this other problem I was
hoping you’d take a look at. My winch. Not my wench.” He chuckled at his joke.

Bud’s eyes flashed in warning. He didn’t care for jokes about his daughter.

Josh’s smile fell hard. “Sorry,” he blurted. “You know I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

Bud liked Joshua Truesdale, always had. There weren’t many young men going into shrimping these days. He could count the ones he knew on one hand. Most of the captains in these parts were too old and too stubborn to change their ways. Josh was one of a new breed of shrimpers. Though he came from an old line of fishermen in the Shem Creek area, Josh had ideas on how he could make the business pay. While Bud liked his enthusiasm, sometimes those new ideas made the kid a bit cocky. Still, Josh Truesdale was the best deckhand he’d ever had.

Even if he was the worst son-in-law.

“Well,” Bud drawled, lifting his hand to signal to Tom Wiggins behind the counter, “I sure don’t got the time to help you now.”

Tom was a small, wiry man who looked to Bud like a gray squirrel, with his gray stained clothes, a wreath of gray, frizzy curls, and a beard that was as bushy as a squirrel’s tail. Ol’ Tom had worked this counter for as long as Bud could remember, and the thing of it was, he’d looked the same when Bud was a kid as he did now.

“Tommy, you got a couple hundred feet of three-quarter-inch rope back there?”

“Yeah, hold on and I’ll get you some.”

“What’s the matter with your winch?” Bud asked, turning again to Josh.

“Keeps slipping. Has no tension.”

“And what can I do?”

“I remembered how you jerry-rigged your winch.”

Bud rubbed his jaw. Adjustments on equipment were common enough among captains. Especially among those who’d built their own boats to their own specifications, as he had. Bud didn’t always have the money to buy a new part, or maybe he didn’t even know what part could do the job he had in mind, so it called on him to be inventive. Most every boat had been rigged by its captain one way or another. It was a point of pride and gave a boat its personality.

“I’m always tinkering with that old winch,” he replied. “But I don’t rightly know that I can recall what I did to it.”

“Come on, Bud. Everyone knows you’re the best damn mechanic in these parts.”

“That’s for true,” added Tom.

Bud scratched behind his ear with a self-conscious smile, not immune to flattery.

“Will this do?” asked Tom, handing over the rope.

Bud made a cursory inspection. “Yeah, it’ll do. Put it on my tab.”

Tom blanched and rubbed his neck. “Sorry, Bud. Can’t do that. Everything’s on a cash basis now.”

Bud’s head jerked up. “Since when?”

“Since nobody can pay their bills and they’re falling behind.
I don’t mean you,” he stammered. “But, hell, Bud, you know how the times are. I got no choice and I can’t be making exceptions. That’s the word I got direct from Lee, and I got to do it. Or I’d make one for you. You know that.”

Bud’s ears colored and he tightened his lips as a surge of anger shot through him. Lee Edwards had once been like a brother to him, but he’d proved to be more Cain than Abel, and there’d been bad blood ever since. It still burned that Lee had done so well over the years. He owned Coastal Seafood and just about all the preferred real estate along the docks. Bud hated to admit it, but Lee was a good businessman. If the shrimp boats failed, Lee would still be sitting pretty.

Bud silently cursed. His haul was hardly worth a day’s wage, and that was before taxes. Hell, Lee and his pals probably spent more on lunch than Bud earned in a day. Running a tab at the fish house was how most fishermen made it through a rough patch. Most every shrimper in town was in hock to Lee, and it gnawed at Bud that he was one of them.

“Well, shit, Tom,” he said, struggling to keep his anger in check. “I didn’t plan on buying rope this morning and I don’t have enough cash on me.”

“Here, let me,” Josh said, pulling a worn black leather wallet from his back pocket.

“No way,” Bud said gruffly. “I don’t need your money. I can pay my own bills.”

“I ain’t saying you can’t. I’m just lending it to you. No big deal. Besides, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me nothing, son.”

“I think you know I do.” Josh’s emotion was too strong and he cleared his throat. “You can take it as a down payment for working on my winch.”

Bud struggled with a reply. He’d never take a handout, but this seemed fair—and he needed that rope now.

“I reckon I could come by and take a look at that winch later today or tomorrow, weather depending.”

“Yes, sir. Anytime.”

Bud nodded, grateful for Josh’s respectful tone. And the kid had a winning smile. It must’ve been the dark tan that made his teeth shine so white. He wasn’t blind to the fact that his daughter still thought so, too.

Josh laid out bills on the plywood counter.

Tom gingerly handed the rope into Bud’s hands, relieved to have the transaction settled amicably. “Sorry about that. Nothin’ personal.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bud murmured. “You tell Lee Edwards he can stick his policy where the sun don’t shine. Nothin’ personal.” Bud hoisted the rope and turned to leave.

“Where’s your boy?” Josh asked, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “Don’t you usually send Pee Dee on these errands?”

“Ain’t seen him,” Bud replied, walking out.

“He’s probably on some bender again,” Josh remarked. “What a loser.”

Bud turned fast and walked back toward Josh. No matter what Bud might think or say about his own, he wouldn’t allow anyone else to slander them, not even Josh.

Josh took a step back as Bud leaned close. In a low voice, he
said, “Pee Dee and the
Miss Carolina
aren’t your concern anymore. Nor, for that matter, is my daughter. Got that?”

Josh straightened his spine and locked eyes with Bud. “Lizzy
is
my concern. But I’m sorry for what I said about Pee Dee.”

Bud considered Josh’s words, impressed by his unflinching gaze. He remembered the boy, but this depth of feeling reflected a man. Maybe the kid grew up some in the five years since Lizzy dumped him. Bud acknowledged Josh’s apology with a curt nod and stepped back.

“I’ll come by your boat later.”

He adjusted the rope, then walked out, but not before he heard Tom mutter to Josh, “Boy, ain’t you learned your lesson yet?”

By force of will, Bud shoved the roiling thoughts about Pee Dee, Lizzy, and Josh into a far corner of his mind to deal with later when the nets were dragging and he had time on his hands. Thinking about all that was like dredging the mud. Right now he had to clear his head and focus. Without Pee Dee here, it’d take twice as long. He still had to load the ice and more work to get done than time to do it.

Bud put his back to it. As each minute passed, with each chore he ticked off his list, Bud’s anger was stoked till it fired a burn in his belly. He knew in his heart that Josh was right and that Pee Dee was likely on some bender. He ground his teeth, feeling the betrayal of the no-show.

A short while later, the roar of engines sounded and he jerked up to look out over the bow. The final two boats slowly cruised along the narrow creek toward the Atlantic. Josh’s
small but sturdy forty-five-footer, the
Hope
, followed in the bigger boat’s wake. Clever boy, he thought with grudging respect. With his smaller boat and his ideas for niche markets, he might do all right.

Bud cleared his throat and spat into the ocean. But there was a lot of life left in this salty old dog, he thought, rolling his shoulders. He’d match his experience against some young Turk any day. Bud pressed the small of his back while his brows gathered. At times the pain was so severe it felt like a hot iron was being jammed into his lower lumbar.

Time was wasting. It was already late. Bud crossed his arms while he mulled over the pros and cons of the decision that faced him. The dawn was fast approaching. He couldn’t wait for Pee Dee any longer. Could he go it alone?

It’d be tough to take a boat this size out alone. But he’d done it before, hadn’t he? Bud cast a wary glance at the drifting clouds. He wasn’t fooled by the seeming serenity. His experienced eye knew they were the tips of a rain front likely to hit sometime later that afternoon. At least, he hoped the rain would hold off till then. God knew, he desperately needed a good haul today, and it would be easier to get in and unload before the first drops fell.

No doubt about it. It would be a risk out there alone if the wind picked up. But he’d only be out for one haul. He’d be back in dock before things got rough.

Bud brought his arms tight around his chest and narrowed his eyes. To his mind, a man worked hard to take care of his family. He did whatever he could, whatever toll it took. With
or without a crew, he was the captain of this vessel, and it was his duty to bring home the shrimp. He leaned forward, gripping the railing tight, and stared out at the dock. He only needed to bring in one good haul to pay the diesel fuel bill. One good haul, he repeated to himself, and he could keep his boat on the water.

What choice did he have? Failure would mean the loss of everything he’d worked so hard for.

Bud tugged down the rim of his cap, his decision made.

“Well, all right then.”

September 21, 2008, 6:50 a.m.

White Gables, McClellanville

C
arolina awoke with
a start. Her arm shot across the bed, instinctively reaching for Bud. She patted the mattress to find his side of the bed empty and the sheets cold. Turning to her side, she lifted herself slightly on one elbow. The dull gray light of early morning filtered through the curtains. Knowing it was late, she looked at the clock. Bud was gone.

She fell back against her pillow and let her forearm rest over her eyes. He’s always gone, she thought.

She had a vague memory of waking earlier, in the dark
predawn hours. A shadowy image of Bud standing at the window came back to her. His words sounded like an echo in her brain.
You sleep. Back by noon, latest.
That was hours ago. He’d be on the water by now. The thought that she hadn’t made him breakfast brought a twinge of guilt.

The house was quiet. She sighed and let her mind drift to that velvety, drowsy state where, if she lay very still with her eyes closed, she could slide back into her dream. She didn’t often have the luxury of time to lie in bed in the early morning. And her dream had been so vivid it lingered in her subconscious, calling her back. It was one of those dreams that felt so real. She could recognize the voices, smell familiar scents, even feel the satiny coolness of skin.

In the dream, she and Bud were together aboard the
Miss Carolina
. She was standing aft, her chin slanted into a cool, crisp wind that tossed her hair. She was young—in her twenties—and Bud’s arms encircled her, strong and secure. Ardent. They watched the sun rise—or set, she couldn’t tell. She remembered it was a blinding, breathtaking panorama of lavender, rose, and yellow that spread out over the ocean into infinity. They were engulfed in color. Most of all, she remembered being happy—filled with a heady, tingling, deeply abiding joy at just being on the boat in her man’s arms.

Then, with a sudden cruelty, a dark storm had risen up, swift and violent. In an instant Bud was wrenched from her arms, and though she reached out for him, cried out for him, she felt only a savage emptiness. In the darkness, she could
hear his voice calling her name in the wind, over and over. She clawed out into the mist, crying. But he was gone.

That’s when she’d awoken, reaching for him.

Carolina shuddered and moved her arm to stare up at the ceiling. Her heart was beating hard. Waking hadn’t taken the edge off the fear and panic or the sense that something was wrong. She brought her hand up to her tender jaw. Could it have been her bad tooth that caused the nightmare?

Or maybe it was the cross words that she and Bud had exchanged the night before.

Carolina felt an old sadness well up at that thought. When they’d first married and were in the throes of love, they’d sworn never to go to bed angry. That promise, like so many others, had been broken over the years. Now they both could fall asleep before an argument was settled. She sometimes came into their darkened bedroom to find him already in bed, lights out, the blanket high around his shoulders, his back to her, rigid with resentment. In fairness, there were nights she was as cold. Too often the argument never was settled. It hung like a dark cloud over them for days, making them snip at one another, before it dissipated into indifference.

Carolina grimaced. It hadn’t always been this way. She remembered again the intensity of emotion she’d felt in Bud’s arms in her dream. Where had that youthful exuberance gone? That passion? Was the slow slide from passion to companionship the inevitable fate of a long marriage? she wondered. She wanted to feel that way about him again. She wanted to be loved like that again. How much longer could she pretend she was happy?

She curled on her side and stared at the pale linen curtain flapping at the open window, remembering the shadowed strength of Bud’s body standing there, the curve of his muscled shoulders. Carolina closed her eyes and lay in bed until she could no longer ignore the dull pain that pulsed from her rear molar. That tooth had taken her to hell and back and it wasn’t going to get better by itself. She’d hoped that somehow the problem would magically go away if she could settle the pain down with over-the-counter pain relievers. That only worked so many times. She would have to call the dentist.

The resonant chimes of the grandfather clock sounded from the front room downstairs. What kind of seaman’s wife was she to be such a lazybones? She rose, stretched, and slipped into her robe, thinking it was kind of Bud to give her a few more hours of sleep. He could be thoughtful that way.

Carolina caught the scent of coffee and followed the delicious aroma down the narrow stairwell. The walls were adorned with black-framed photographs of the Morrison family. She passed a photograph of the Morrison brothers in happier times: Bud, the elder, and Bobby. In the center was Lee Edwards, Bud’s best friend growing up. The photograph had been taken about the time Carolina had met them, back when they were in their twenties. The boys were aboard Bud’s boat, the
Miss Ann
—muscled arms around each other, cocky grins spread across tanned faces, salt-spiked hair. They were so handsome in their youthful confidence.

Beside this was a picture of Bud’s father, William Osgood Morrison II—the Great and Mighty Oz. Captain Oz was the
stuff of which legends were made. He had a frame like an ocean freighter and biceps like ham hocks from his early years of hauling nets without benefit of a winch. In this photograph, his teeth were clamped down on a pipe in a crooked smile under his ever-present cap. The boys used to call him Popeye behind his back.

Moving down the stairs, she paused at a photograph of herself and Bud aboard the
Miss Carolina
on the day he brought their shiny new trawler to Jeremy Creek. Oh, what a gloriously happy day that was! The mayor had made a short speech. She reached out to touch the glass, remembering again her dream.

Beside this was a photograph of their only child. Lizzy was smiling brightly in her third-grade school photo. Lizzy hated the picture because she thought she looked dorky in her uniform, her pale freckles, and her crooked ponytail. Carolina loved it because she saw shining in Lizzy’s eyes an innocence and an unshakable belief that she was special and could be anything she wanted when she grew up.

“Mama, are you all right?”

Carolina started and her eyes darted over to see Lizzy standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Girl, you scared me!”

The child had grown into an attractive woman. Once again in a makeshift uniform, Lizzy wore a black T-shirt and jeans for her job as a waitress at a local restaurant. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Searching her face, Carolina wondered what had happened to that light in her little girl’s eyes.

“Mama?”

“I’m fine,” Carolina replied with a wave of her hand.

“You don’t look fine,” Lizzy said, her brows knit in concern. “You look kind of pale and you’re still in your pajamas. It’s not like you to dawdle in the morning.”

“Daddy didn’t wake me because this tooth’s been bothering me. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“You haven’t slept well in weeks. Mama, go to the dentist!”

“I know, and I will,” Carolina replied, walking down the stairs. “hough how we’ll pay for it, I don’t know.”

“We’ll manage. We always do.” Lizzy wrapped her arm around her mother. “Come on,” she said gently. “I made coffee.”

“Mmm…I can smell it.” Carolina searched her daughter’s face, interpreting her mood. At twenty-seven, Lizzy was still young, but she had an aura of worn-out resignation that was beyond her years. That came, Carolina knew, from having her girlish dreams stripped away by a failed marriage and the responsibilities of having to work and raise a child on her own. She placed a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Lizzy asked with a surprised smile.

“Can’t a mother kiss her daughter for no reason?”

Lizzy cast her a puzzled look, then, shaking her head, hurried back into the kitchen to the oven. The heavy iron door creaked as it fell open, releasing a steamy waft of cinnamon into the air. Carolina thought of how Bud liked to call the kitchen the pilothouse of the home.

Lizzy had moved in with them soon after her divorce from Josh Truesdale. Will had been a toddler and Lizzy needed
support. That was a sad, roller-coaster time of tears, recrimination, and blame for all of them. Carolina still felt that the words flung and sins committed then remained unforgiven. But they’d survived.

The one joy from all that pain was William Morrison Truesdale. Her eight-year-old grandson was sitting at the table, dressed in his school uniform and shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“Morning, Will,” she said, planting a kiss on her grandson’s cheek. In the nook of his neck he smelled of soap and something that she could only call ambrosia.

“Morning, Nana,” he said, then squirmed when she kissed his neck.

“Cupcakes are done,” Lizzy called out.

“I want one!” Will waved his hand.

“Just one. They’re for school. Mama, would you frost them for me after they cool?”

“Sure.” Carolina stepped back to go straight for the coffee, opening the wood cabinet and pulling out a thick pottery mug.

“Want one?” Lizzy asked her mother.

“They smell great. Maybe later,” she replied, pouring coffee.

“Be sure to eat something before you take one of those pain pills.”

“I know.” Carolina rolled her eyes.

‘I’m just saying—’

“Okay, okay….” Carolina nodded, then took a sip of coffee. Almost instantly she could feel her woozy mind sharpen as caffeine flowed through her veins. Fishing families liked their
coffee strong. Carolina’s devotion to her morning brew was a family joke. Once Lizzy had tried to fool her and served her decaffeinated coffee in the morning. An hour later, when Carolina complained of feeling sluggish and headachy, Lizzy had confessed to the ruse. Carolina wasn’t sure if her addiction to coffee could be called a vice or not, but if it was, it was one she could live with.

Will lifted his empty glass. “I want some milk.”

“Be polite if you expect anyone to help you,” Carolina admonished.

“Please!” he shouted in an exaggerated tone.

Pulling out the gallon jug, she noticed that the sandwich lunch she’d packed for Bud was still on the shelf. And the beer was gone.

“Your father left without breakfast, and now he’ll miss lunch,” she said to no one in particular.

“Pee Dee will cook him up something,” Lizzy replied from the oven.

“He did say he was coming back early today,” Carolina acknowledged.

Lizzy looked out the window. “Good. They say a storm’s coming.”

Carolina felt a shudder run down her spine. She shook it off as a remnant of her dream and muttered, “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine.” She turned to her grandson. “Will, sit your bottom down in your chair and stop jumping around or you’ll spill your milk.”

“I wish I could go out on the boat with Papa Bud instead
of going to school,” Will groaned, slipping down into the wooden chair.

“You can get that idea right out of your head. You’re going to school, and that’s that,” Lizzy said, bringing a cupcake and setting it down on the plate in front of Will beside the remnants of scrambled eggs. “For a long time, too, so get used to it.”

“Aw, Mama, I don’t want to.”

“That’s too bad, because you’re going all the way through college.”

Will slumped in his chair and set his chin into his palm like he’d been handed a death sentence. “I don’t want to go to no college. I’m going to be a shrimper when I grow up, just like Papa Bud and my daddy.”

“Over my dead body,” Lizzy shot back, flipping the rest of the cupcakes out. She tossed the cupcake tin into the big farmer’s sink.

“Lizzy, let the boy have his dreams.”

“I do let him dream,” she said defensively. “He can dream about being a doctor or a lawyer or an Indian chief. But not about
that.
I want more for my son than working on a boat.”

Will frowned. “Aren’t you happy, Mama?”

Lizzy exchanged a loaded glance with Carolina.

“Sure, I’m happy.” She bent down closer to Will. “I’m happy I have you! And Nana and Papa.”

“And Daddy?”

Lizzy’s brows furrowed, and she rose and went to the sink. With a twist of her wrist, she turned on the faucet.

“Daddy said he’d take me out on the boat.”

“No. It’s too dangerous out there for a boy your age. You could be knocked overboard and I’d lose you forever.”

“Papa Bud takes Skipper out all the time.”

“Skipper is two years older than you. But if you ask me, he still shouldn’t go out.”

“But, Mama—”

Lizzy stiffened. “I said no!”

“Will, honey,” said Carolina. “Why don’t you go on upstairs with your cupcake and find your shoes. You’re going to be late for school.”

Will cast his grandmother a look that told her he knew when he was being shuffled out of the room. “Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing his cupcake, he dragged himself from his chair. Carolina waited till she heard his footsteps climb the stairs.

“He’s a smart little boy,” she told Lizzy.

“Too smart. Please tell Daddy to stop offering to take him out on the boat. He knows I don’t like it.”

“I will. But, honey, he’s a Morrison. You can’t keep him off the water. Or from his daddy.”

Lizzy lowered her shoulders.

“Smart as he is,” Carolina continued, “he’s got to be confused. You’ve been seeing a lot of Josh since he came back to town. Going out to dinner, taking walks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were courting.”

“I’m only trying to be nice. After all, he is the father of my child.”

“Uh-huh,” Carolina said, carrying Will’s dirty dishes to the sink and dumping them into the hot water. “And that’s all?”

Lizzy began scrubbing the tin.

“If I’m wondering,” Carolina said, “you’ve got to know your son is, too. And what’s more, he’s hopeful.”

Lizzy stopped scrubbing and turned to face her mother, her face forlorn. “I know. I can see it in his eyes and it near kills me. His face lights up when Josh walks into the room. And he’s always asking if we’re going to be a family again. Pleading is more like it.” She tossed the sponge into the sink. It landed with a noisy splash. “I don’t see why he cares. I mean, he doesn’t hardly know Josh.”