Last Light over Carolina (8 page)

“Crystal clear. Now, let me give you a little history. No one knows that Oz Morrison is one mean, swearing, backbreaking, son of a bitch better than me. Who do you think covered for him when he fell asleep at the wheel of the boat? Who do you think stood in front of my mother to take the blows when he came home drunk? After she died, I was glad when he brought a lady home. At least we knew we’d get a home-cooked meal.”

Bud leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “But what you don’t know is that beneath that growling, gruff exterior lives a gentleness that’d surprise you. He was a strong provider, always ready to lend a helping hand. But good and bad, that was him. Not me.”

Bud clenched the brass railing of the bar, aware that their raised voices were attracting attention. He lowered his voice and said in measured tones, “And with all due respect, sir, this is my father you’re speaking about, so I urge you to use caution. I can say what I want about my own father, but nobody else can.”

Brailsford’s lips thinned. “You won’t cheat on my daughter?”

“I give you my solemn word. I won’t cheat on your daughter.”

“I don’t want my daughter heading shrimp or cracking oysters at fifty cents a quart.”

“She won’t be.”

Edgar finished his drink and slammed the glass on the bar. “Frankly, I don’t believe you.”

“Frankly, sir, I don’t care what you believe.” Bud set his bottle on the counter and turned to face Brailsford squarely.

“You like to grandstand about how you used to go out on the boats and do some shrimping when you were a kid. You can name a few names, maybe show a scar or two. I’ll bet it makes a nice story while sitting around the bar with your fancy cigars and good scotches, going on and on to men who never so much as picked up a cast net in their lives. Men who probably never even thought about where the shrimp they’re eating came from.

“You don’t know what it feels like to man the winch in foul weather when the rain is pounding your back and the boat is rocking so hard you can barely stand, knowing that if you slip, you could lose your hand, or your leg, or just get sucked in and become mincemeat. You don’t know what it’s like to dangle on the end of an outrigger, dipping into the icy water, hanging on for dear life. Or what it means to go out, day after day, night after night, fighting the sea inch by inch to get her to give up enough of her bounty so you can come back to port and feed your wife and your kids.

“Sure, you had some fun as a kid. Earned some good money.
Got a nice tan. That’s nice. I’m glad for you.” Bud jerked his chin, indicating the club. “All this might not be my world, but don’t pretend that my world is yours. Because it’s not. We have an exclusive club of our own. We have our own code.” Bud stubbed out his cigar and rose to his feet. “And you’re not one of us.”

Bud reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet.

“This is a private club. Your money’s no good here,” Brailsford told him.

“Then consider this a tip. Thank you for the dinner and the conversation. It was…enlightening. Good night.”

Bud left a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and headed out, his heels digging half-moons into the deep carpet. He went directly to the pale aqua lounge and found Carolina sitting at a white French bistro table drinking tea with her mother. She looked up; seeing his stormy expression, her face froze. Bud jerked his head, indicating it was time for them to go.

“I’ve got to go, Mama,” she said, rising.

“I—I’ll see you at the house,” Allison replied, flustered at the abruptness.

“I don’t know.”

“Carolina!” Allison’s voice was sharp.

Carolina paused.

Allison put her teacup in the saucer and straightened her shoulders, clenching her hands in her lap. When she spoke, her tone was measured. She didn’t seem to see Bud standing in the doorway. “Carolina, honey. Bud’s a nice fellah. Enjoy his kisses and his protective love. But don’t marry him.”

Carolina looked stunned. “But I thought…”

Allison shook her head with a pained expression, then pinned Carolina with her pale blue gaze. “You can’t bring him home for Easter dinner.”

“I’ve got to go.” Carolina grabbed her purse and hurried after Bud as he strode away.

She caught up with him in the foyer. He took her hand and they walked at a quick pace out of the club. With his left hand Bud ripped the tie from around his neck.

“What happened?” Carolina asked, looking worried.

“Not now.”

Three couples waited in line for their cars. All Bud wanted to do was get in his truck and get the hell out before Carolina’s parents came after them and talked them into staying the night. Bud dug into his wallet and pulled out another twenty. He put the bill in the valet’s hand with his ticket.

“Just give me my keys and tell me where it is.”

The young man pocketed the bill and handed over Bud’s keys, pointing to a nearby lot.

They walked in silence across the parking lot. Her shoes made slapping noises against her heels as she trotted beside him. When they reached the truck, he tore off his jacket, opened the door, and angrily threw it inside. Then he leaned against the frame, feeling the night air cool the sweat on his back.

“Bud, what did my daddy say?”

“What do you think he said?”

“I think he said something about how you’re not worthy of me.”

Bud swung his head around. “Yeah. Something to that effect.”

“Bud, he’s my father. I’m his only daughter. He says that to everyone.”

“I respect him for that.”

“Then what’s got you so riled? Besides having to wear a tie?”

“Carolina…” Bud shook his head, not knowing where to begin. He thrust his arm out, indicating the country club. “I…I can’t give you all that.” He bent his head to collect himself.

A knowing expression passed over her face and she leaned back against the truck. “Ah…so that’s what this is about.”

Bud turned to place his hands on the truck’s roof and lean over Carolina. The overhead parking light performed magic on her skin, making it glow pale and unearthly. In sharp contrast, her hair gleamed like fired brick. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, her full lips turned up in a slightly mocking smile, daring him to go on. Carolina had no guile, no false pretenses. She was completely aware of how staggering her beauty could be, but she didn’t use it as a weapon. At most, her beauty fed her confidence. He loved her. He wanted her. He was afraid to lose her.

“Do you really know me?” he asked in a low voice. “Know what kind of life I can offer you? Do you know your life isn’t going to be country clubs or maids cleaning your house? In fact, if times get real tough, you might be cleaning someone else’s house. My mother did. She did what she had to do when she had to do it. That’s the way it is in our community. We never know from year to year if the shrimp will be good or bad.”

“And you think I’m afraid of that? That I’m too pampered to take it?”

He straightened, dropping his hands to his sides. “I don’t know.” He said the words slowly, afraid they were the truth.

“I don’t know either,” she said honestly. “So tell me, then. What don’t I know about you?”

“Baby, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like what?”

His lips tightened. In the background, he heard car engines revving, tires spinning on gravel as they drove off.

“Bud, tell me anything that comes to mind.”

He looked up, as though trying to find his answer in the sky. “Do you know I love to read?”

She shook her head.

“I read anything and everything—fiction, nonfiction, magazines, cereal boxes, ads that come in the mail—anything to fill time on the boat while I’m dragging.”

Carolina’s face eased into a soft smile.

“I’m good at welding,” he continued, warming to the subject. “I learned in high school, helping Hambone down at the dock. I did all the dirty work of cleaning up the metals to be welded, grinding, beveling the joints. After a year or two, he let me use a cutting torch. I’d finish my lunch quick and sneak some practice in before Hambone returned.” He snorted. “Now I can fix a broken winch and about anything else I need to.

“I’m a decent mechanic. I know how to use a sewing needle,
a hammer, and a paintbrush. I might not have finished college,” he said, hearing the defensiveness in his voice, “but I spent years apprenticing under accomplished men in their crafts. I learned welding and mechanics because they’re good skills for a captain to have. But I love doing the work because of the satisfaction I feel figuring out how to make an engine run and a boat float.” He shrugged lightly. “And if I’m helping some other guy out, well, that makes me feel good about myself.”

Hearing the words, Bud felt more himself. He stepped closer to Carolina and placed his hands around her waist, tugging her closer. He brought his nose to her neck, feeling the softness of her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. Lifting his head, he spoke in a low voice, inches from her face.

“I don’t like getting up every morning in the dark. I don’t like not being able to stay up till all hours of the night making love to my woman, then lingering the next morning with slow, deep kisses.”

She exhaled a soft moan. He paused and took a step back.

“But I get up and get to the boat, because my absolute favorite things in the world are standing on the deck at first light when the sun fills you with hope, then again at last light when the sun lowers in all her glory. Those are introspective times. Peaceful times that give a man pause to reflect.

“I love my job, Carolina. I love the feel of the boat beneath me like a hundred wild horses plowing through the open water. I love not being stuck in some office without a window, wearing some goddamn coat and tie every day. I love feeling
the wind at my face and the whole world laid out before me. I love being my own man. I love that freedom more than I love anything a big paycheck could buy me.

“And I love you, Carolina. I want you to be my wife. I want you to share my bed, have my children, go out on my boat, and grow old with me.
Me
, Carolina. Because everything I’m good at, everything I love, makes me great at my job. I’m a shrimper. That’s not just what I do, it’s who I
am
.”

He ran his hands through his hair.

“And that’s who you’re marrying. That’s what you’re getting yourself into. What you see is what you get. So get out now if you can’t handle it or it’s not what you had in mind. You’ll break my heart, but I’d understand it.”

Carolina stood silent before him for a few moments, looking at the small diamond on her left hand. Bud could hardly breathe, his chest was so tight. He felt sure she would remove the ring and hand it back to him.

“Bud, I don’t know what kind of spineless, mindless girl you think I am. If I’d wanted to marry a banker like my father, or a lawyer, or a businessman, or anyone else who could buy me a nice house and give me the country-club lifestyle, honey, trust me—I could have. I came to McClellanville because I chose to settle there. And I not only want to marry a shrimper, I want to be a shrimper myself. I want to go out on the boat with you to see that first light and last light from the deck instead of being left behind on shore.

“I knew I was going to marry you from the first moment I
saw you. And if you think I’m going to let you go now, you’ve got another thing coming. Bud Morrison, I’m going to be your wife, your crew, and your best friend. I’m going to be your everything. Because you might be good at a lot of things, but I’m good at only one. That’s loving you.”

She reached up to cup his jaw in her hand. “The rest”—she shrugged—“we’ll take as it comes along.”

Bud’s sigh was like the steam coming off a fire after it has been doused.

“Come on,” she said, and held out her hand. “Let’s go home. To McClellanville.”

Bud drew her to him and kissed her. Not the impetuous kiss that sealed a conversation, but the unhurried, possessive, enduring embrace of commitment.

September 21, 2008

On board the
Miss Carolina

Bud opened his eyes and blinked in the harsh sunlight. He remembered his last vision of Carolina in the wee hours of this morning, sleeping on her pillow, her red hair splayed around her.

He wished now he’d kissed her good-bye.

Bud clenched his hand into a fist. I’m not giving up. Just
leave me an opening, he admonished death. I’ll beat you. I’ve beaten you before. He wiped his face with his sleeve and lifted his head. I’m the captain of this boat, he thought. I know these waters better than any man alive. I’ll figure a way out of this mess. I’ll find my way home to Carolina.

September 21, 2008, 10:12 a.m.

Mount Pleasant

C
arolina clenched the
loops in her jeans, twisting them until the tips of her fingers turned white. The dentist was inserting a needle into her partly numbed gums. There was a pinpoint of pressure, then another. Then it was over.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked her dentist.

Carolina’s mouth was held open with a metal apparatus and stuffed full of cotton. She wanted to nod vigorously—yes! But she shook her head.

Dr. Assey sat back on the stool and lifted his goggles. Beside
him, his assistant put away the tools with swift efficiency. “Now, you just wait here for a few minutes, Mrs. Morrison,” he said. “We’ve got to give the Novocain a chance to take effect. Are you comfortable? Do you want a magazine?”

She wanted laughing gas, but again, Carolina shook her head.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He patted her shoulder, then left the room.

Carolina wiggled her foot as her mouth numbed. The lower rear tooth was not going to get better. Dr. Assey had told her that she’d ignored the problem for too long and they’d have to do an extraction. The dentist was a good man and had offered to work out a more modest payment plan, knowing she didn’t have insurance. So she’d reluctantly agreed and now was left to wonder how they’d manage to make the payments, no matter how reduced.

Her gaze traveled around the small cubicle filled with dental equipment and posters of various dental procedures that could give her a brilliant smile. Must be nice to be able to afford whiteners, veneers, caps, just about anything to brighten your smile, she thought. From the cubicle beside her came the high-pitched hum of a drill. Carolina shuddered and closed her eyes.

Slowly she began to relax and her breathing came easier. Images from the dream she’d had the night before flitted through her mind. She felt again the tug of nostalgia for those early days of her marriage when she was Bud’s deckhand on the
Miss Ann.
Whenever she thought of that time, she remembered being happy.

October 1975

On board the
Miss Ann

Carolina wasn’t accustomed to sleeping on a boat. She was roused from a restless sleep by a strange whooshing sound and clicking noises. The room was indigo and close, like the inside of a tent. She blinked, slightly disoriented in the gentle, rhythmic rocking. She heard again outside her cabin the raspy sound of air being forced from a blowhole and water sloshing and slapping against the hull. There must be a pod of dolphins near the boat, she thought. Beside her she heard a fulsome snoring, low and sonorous, and she smiled.

Turning to her side, she drank in the shadowy sight of her husband’s beautiful bare back, long-spined and tan. He never wore pajamas and she’d given them up. A good decision, she thought as she carefully tugged the sheet lower, exposing the curve of his waist and the sharp bone of his hip. Next she delicately slid her fingertips over his shoulder and around his chest, relishing the feel of smooth, warm skin beneath, laying down her palm.

Instantly the snoring ceased; Bud was a light sleeper. He took hold of her arm and tugged her closer so her face lay against his skin. She smelled the maleness of him mingled with the scent of sex and other earthy smells in their tight quarters.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the mysterious odors of a boat—wood, mold, fish, oil, salt.

She squeezed her arm tight. “Good morning, husband.”

He bent his head to kiss her hand and said in a gravelly voice, “Good morning, wife.”

They’d been married four months, and the newness of being Mrs. William Morrison III still delighted her each morning. They were married in June at the quaint Chapel of Ease in McClellanville. Judith Baker and Odelle Williams had been her bridesmaids and Bobby and Lee Edwards were groomsmen. Aunt Lucille was dutiful to every detail, doting on Carolina as if she were her own child. Carolina would never forget the glorious show of pink azaleas, purple wisteria, and waxy white blossoms of Cherokee roses against the chapel’s wood shingles, hand-hewn cypress siding, and gingerbread filigree.

Bud rolled over and blanketed her with his weight. He buried his face in her neck. “You’re awake early.”

“Oh?” she half murmured, half groaned at the feel of his whiskers tickling her neck. “It’s nearly four. By your clock, that’s not early.”

He trailed kisses up her neck to her cheek, obliterating all thought of time from her brain. “You’re feeling spry this morning. Usually you complain when I try to wake you up.”

“Who wouldn’t complain? The sun isn’t up yet, so why should I be?”

He kissed her nose. “Because, wife, you’re a deckhand on a shrimp boat.”

“I am that,” she said with a sigh.

He shifted his weight and propped himself on his elbow to peer down into her face. “Are you getting tired of the job?” he asked, concerned. “You don’t have to do it. You can quit anytime.”

“No, I love working with you,” she hurried to reply. “You know that.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about the house and all that we have to get done. My mother found us a washer and a dryer. They’re bringing them down next week.”

She could feel his muscles stiffen. “It’s not a handout, is it?”

“It’s called a gift.”

He pulled away and fell on his back with a disgruntled sigh.

“Why is that a problem for you?” she asked.

“Because for your father, it’s the same thing. And you know it.”

She puffed out a plume of air, sounding much like the dolphin outside her window. Their wedding had done little to smooth over the relationship between Bud and her father. It was a strange rivalry. Whenever they were together, it was like watching two pugilists throw punches. Every statement was a challenge. Every gift a handout. This competition had caused tension between her and Bud, too.

She thought of the ramshackle house by the creek she’d moved into after they married. To say the two-bedroom bungalow needed work was generous. Her father had taken one look at it and declared it was no better than “camping indoors.” Carolina took Bud’s side and tried to be brave and
make the best of it, scrubbing every inch of the place and making curtains. But when a mouse ran over her head while she slept, she’d bawled like a baby. Bud felt horrible and they’d promptly decided to live on the boat while they made fundamental improvements. But not before her father took him aside and let him know how he felt about his daughter living in such a “dump.”

It had turned out to be a mixed blessing. Bud and Carolina were having fun fixing up the house together. When they weren’t working together on the trawler, they were working together on the house. They had lots of help. Judith was a regular. She was as handy at home construction as she was on a boat. It turned out that teaching elementary school was not for her, so she’d quit and hired on as a striker for one of the local trawlers. Bobby and Pee Dee helped, too, when they could spare the time.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have knocked down the living room wall,” Carolina mused. It was an ambitious move.

“I thought you liked it open and airy.”

“I do. It’s just taking forever to build those bookshelves. It seemed easy when we talked about it.”

“Judith has her mind set on the design.”

“I was wondering, have you noticed how good Bobby and Judith get along?”

“Why shouldn’t they? They work together, and both are pretty good with a hammer.”

“I mean in a romantic sense.”

Bud chuckled. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Why not? Bobby’s good-looking. Agreeable. You can’t help but like him.”

“Until he drives you crazy borrowing money. The guy earns plenty, but he blows it on drinking, pot, and some new girl he picked up in Myrtle Beach.”

Carolina couldn’t argue. There were so many girls she couldn’t get their names straight. Her brother-in-law was like a big, adorable puppy that sometimes did naughty things like chasing cars or going through the trash. Then he looked up with his big brown eyes and smiled his goofy smile, and everyone melted and forgave him for not showing up at the boat in the morning or forgetting that he’d promised to deliver a load of lumber to the house.

“That’s why I think Judith would be good for him. She’s responsible, frugal, and punctual. Plus she can drink any man under the table, is a natural at sports, and has an affinity for boats. I think Judith and Bobby would be a perfect match.”

Bud rolled back on his side and traced his finger along Carolina’s face. “Bobby’s not like me. He’s not the marrying kind.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t met the right girl.”

“And you think it’s Judith?”

“She could be.”

“They’re friends, Carolina.”

“Sure, but there are days I can’t help but think something more is sparking between them.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, about that. You’ve got to stop winking at me when they’re working. They’re going to see you and get embarrassed. Or think you’ve got a tic.”

She laughed and jabbed his ribs. “Did you know Bobby invited Judith to join us aboard the
Miss Ann?
Again.”

“You’re reading too much into it. She’s a good deckhand.”

“Good? She’s the best damn deckhand you’ve ever had.”

He raised his brows.

“Okay. I admit it. She’s better than me.”

He chuckled low and tightened his arms around her. “I don’t think Judith is interested in being a captain’s wife. She wants to be captain.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Swear to God. She asked me if I knew of a shrimp boat that might come up for sale.”

Carolina pulled back, eyes wide with surprise. “For her?”

“I don’t know who else she’d be asking for.”

“Maybe Bobby.”

He shook his head. “Bobby’s set. He’s going to take over the
Cap’n and Bobby.
”

“B-but…” she stammered, trying to digest Bud’s words, “
women
aren’t captains.”

He smirked and said with sarcasm, “So much for your women’s lib.”

“There’s no women’s lib on the dock.”

“There are some guys who don’t even want a woman on their boats. They think it’s bad luck.”

“That’s exactly the kind of comment that really ticks me off. Why can’t a woman be a captain if she wants to?”

“No reason. She’s just gonna face some stiff competition.”
His eyes darkened and he ran his hand down her belly. “So you want to be captain, do you?”

Carolina arched slightly into the sensations caused by his hand. “No,” she breathed, warming to him. “I never did. But I don’t want to be stuck in the galley, either. If a man can do it, then you’d better believe I can.”

“Just so you know, there
are
a few female captains out there. Not many. And God knows those saltwater cowboys will make it hard for her. But it’s been known to happen.”

“Not in McClellanville,” she said flatly.

“No, not here,” he conceded. “We tend to like the status quo.”

“What is she thinking?” Carolina said, worried about her friend. “She’ll be ostracized. By men and women alike.”

He brought his body closer and lowered his head to her neck again. “Not by us,” he said softly, igniting her cells.

“No,” she sighed, and nestled closer, shifting her hips under his. His body was warm and hard and her words were beginning to float in her head. “Not by us.”

Bud moved on top of her and slid inside, obliterating all thoughts of Judith and Bobby and the house from her mind.

“Woman, we’ll have a late start again this morning,” he said, arching above her. “You’ll be driving me broke by the season’s end.”

As he moved inside her, Carolina knew it was enough for her to be Bud’s first mate, spending her days and nights on the water with her husband, working side by side, making a living,
building a future together. She closed her eyes and heard again the clicking noises of the dolphins and felt the rocking of the boat. She wrapped her legs tight around him and matched his rhythm, exulting in the knowledge that this was her man and her life and she’d never felt as safe or as fulfilled.

They dressed quickly, donning wool sweaters against the early-morning chill, and soon the
Miss Ann
was making her way through the dark creeks toward the ocean. At that early hour, the dark sky and black water seemed too vast. Carolina liked to stay with Bud in the warm and snug pilothouse, where the constant drone of the engines competed with the music of Waylon and Willie. They sipped hot coffee while Bud talked on the shortwave radio to other captains, complaining about the price of shrimp, fuel, and life insurance and figuring where the shrimp were going to show that day. Bud looked handsome in the faint glare of his equipment. He held the wheel and stared at the horizon, unaware she was looking at him.

They reached the ocean as the pale pink of first light stained the purple water. The gulls sat silent in a line high on the rigging, resting as they enjoyed the free ride before breakfast. Carolina and Bud slipped outdoors to watch and listen to the world as it slowly awakened. Bud wrapped his arm around her as they stood on the deck and sipped their coffee. The Milky Way was still a faint haze in the sky beside a ghostly moon.

These were the moments Carolina loved most, being in
Bud’s arms when the ocean was quiet and full of promise and the outriggers were folded toward the sky like hands held in prayer to the new day. She felt that such moments strengthened their union in a sacred bond more powerful than a spoken vow.

A mile or so out, she saw the dark outlines of several other shrimp boats. Their serene appearance was misleading, for she knew the crews were scrambling, poised to drop nets and begin trawling. Bud gently squeezed her shoulders, signaling it was time for them to get to work. He went to the pilothouse to slow the boat while she readied the nets. It was a time to hustle with lines, ropes, and pulleys. He hurried back to the winch and shouted directions, which she promptly followed. They worked in synchronization, neither needing to fill the silence with empty chatter. Out here their relationship was strictly that of captain and striker. When the red sun burst above the horizon, she heard the growl of the winch as the drum rolled out cable and lowered the nets into the sea.