Last Light over Carolina (5 page)

She stood against the side wall of the dance hall, shoulder to shoulder with Odelle and Judith. The three were a united front, aware that everyone in the room was eyeing the pretty new teachers in town. Carolina nervously fingered her strand of pearls. She wore her favorite green paisley print dress and had spent hours getting her hair to flip back like Farrah Fawcett’s. Even though the big, barnlike doors were open wide to the night air, she could feel her curls drooping in the intense humidity of the packed room.

Odelle leaned close to whisper, “I don’t see them.”

Odelle’s brown hair fell like a waterfall down her shoulders. Carolina bit her lip as she glanced at the cherry-red halter top that accentuated Odelle’s slim shoulders and waist. Carolina knew they were both looking for the same guy, and her own dress with the puffed sleeves, while pretty, seemed tame in comparison. Flirting was a competitive sport.

Carolina’s gaze swept the dance floor, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

“Which one are you looking for?” Odelle asked.

“No one in particular.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied in a tease.

Carolina released a reluctant smile. “Okay, I know this sounds weird. But when they walked past us on the dock, the guy in the middle looked up all of a sudden and we locked gazes. It was only for a second, but it was like time stood still. I had this mule-kick feeling and thought,
Oh, Lord, he’s the one.
”

Odelle’s slim brows gathered in doubt. “So, you’re trying to tell me it was love at first sight?”

“Something like that.”

Odelle sniffed. “I don’t believe in it. And I never pegged you for a romantic.”

Carolina crossed her arms and gazed out over the dance floor. She prided herself on being sensible and modern. She had been president of her sorority and had “Most Likely to Succeed” written under her yearbook photograph. The two marriage proposals she’d received during college had been delivered by men so young and foolish that she’d never considered either one seriously. Until today, she would have laughed and agreed with Odelle.

Judith smoothed her navy skirt. “I don’t believe in it either. My mother’s friends like to talk about how they met their husbands. Every once in a while you get the one who tells about the day she just looked across a crowded room, saw this guy standing there, and
bam
—she knew he was the one.” She chuckled. “What a load of crap. It was the wine talking.”

Odelle giggled and leaned over to face Judith. “Those poor, socially inhibited women weren’t in love, just
in lust,
” she said in a tone of authority. “They didn’t have the freedom that girls today have to experiment a little before settling down.”

“So now I’m socially inhibited?” Carolina asked. Odelle’s teasing was beginning to annoy her.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Odelle said sweetly. She winked and leaned back against the wall. “Let’s just see what happens tonight.”

“I’m thirsty,” Judith said. “Want to get some punch?”

“Is it spiked?” asked Odelle.

Carolina was about to reply when she saw a young man approaching. She recognized him as one of the three men she’d seen on the dock earlier. He smiled at all three girls, but his gaze landed on Carolina.

“Hi, Red.”

Carolina narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t I see you on the dock today?”

“Yep. And I sure saw you. I’m Lee Edwards.”

Carolina was struck by his cool confidence. She found him attractive, with his pale blue eyes and shaggy blond hair. “I’m Carolina Brailsford, and this is Odelle Williams and Judith Baker.”

Her friends muttered polite hellos, aware that Carolina had his attention.

“Carolina’s a pretty name,” Lee said, returning his gaze to her. “Would you like to dance?”

He wasn’t the one she’d come for, but to refuse would be rude, so she smiled and extended her hand. “Sure.”

He took her hand and guided her to the middle of the floor. The song had a slow, steady beat, and their feet shuffled in a smooth shag. He was an exceptionally good dancer, twirling her lightly back and forth. On any other night, she might have been attracted to him, but she couldn’t forget the pull of the gaze she’d felt earlier on the dock.

“Who were those other boys you were with today?” she asked, trying not to sound overly interested.

“The Morrison brothers. They’re water rats, like me.”

Carolina smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah. We’re more brothers than friends. Oz says I’m more a Morrison than an Edwards.” He chuckled, and Carolina heard the pride in it. “We all work on Oz’s boats. Did you see the
Miss Ann?
And the
Cap’n and Bobby?
” When she nodded, he said smugly, “Those are Morrison boats.”

“So, are your friends here?”

“Bobby is.” He craned his neck, searching the room. His face broke into a grin. “That’s him over there, dancing with your friend.”

She turned her head, squinting in the colored lights to see a broad-shouldered boy with wavy brown hair dancing with Judith. Bobby wasn’t the brother she was looking for.

Her gaze swept the room. “What about the other brother?”

“Bud? He might come later. You never know with him.”

Bud. She mentally repeated the name, liking it. “He doesn’t like dances?”

“He likes them fine. But he just broke up with his girlfriend. He might not be in the mood.”

Carolina cataloged every bit of information she learned about Bud and tucked it away. She knew he was handsome enough to have just about any girl he wanted, but was he the kind of guy who dumped girls on a whim?

They danced another two dances before Bobby cut in and Lee traded places to dance with Odelle. Bobby was a charmer, with a deep dimpled smile and eyes that sparkled with the devil. The Morrison boys were obviously the big catches in
town, and aware of that fact. Carolina caught the slanted glances she was getting from the local girls, and when she stood in line for punch, she heard a girl behind her say in a loud whisper, “What do you expect? The teachers who stay at White Gables only come to town to find husbands.”

She danced past the time the older couples left for home and a new band stepped up to play rock and roll. The beer was flowing, and Lee seemed glued to her side as the hours passed. She grew weary of his hot fingers around her waist, so when Odelle came up and playfully asked him to dance, Carolina almost pushed Lee toward her. Heading outdoors, she walked around the side of the warehouse to lean against the mighty trunk of an ancient oak. The scent of night jasmine filled the air. Her cheeks were flushed and she lifted her collapsed curls high on her head, relishing the evening breeze on her neck.

“Hot night.”

She dropped her hair and spun around. He stood in the shadows a few feet away from her, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the dark.

“I didn’t see you here.”

“I came out for a smoke.” He dipped into the pocket of his white button-down shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Stepping forward, he asked, “Want one?”

She took a cigarette, even though she didn’t smoke.

He reached into the rear pocket of his jeans and withdrew a pack of matches. The match hissed and sparked; then he stepped closer, cupping it with hands that were tan and crisscrossed with scratches. As she leaned toward the flame, she
felt the air grow thick in the few inches that separated them. She looked up and their eyes met. She felt again the attraction, undeniable this time.

She took a drag on the cigarette. The tobacco tasted hot and foreign in her mouth, and she puffed it out without inhaling.

He shook the match and flicked it into the air. “I’m Bud.”

She smiled, liking the smooth cadence of his voice. “I’m Carolina.”

His eyes kindled, and she knew he’d already learned her name.

“You’re one of the new teachers,” he said.

“And you’re one of the Morrison brothers.”

He half-smiled. “Guilty. I guess you met Bobby?”

She nodded. “And Lee. It’s a small town. I’ve met most everyone.”

“Where are you from?”

“Greenville. South Carolina,” she added.

“Nice town.”

“You’ve been there?” she asked, a little surprised.

He shook his head and chuckled softly. “No.”

She took another puff of her cigarette and coughed lightly.

“You don’t smoke much, do you?”

She shook her head, embarrassed.

Bud reached out and she handed him her cigarette. She watched him bring it to his mouth. It felt unbearably sensual for his lips to be where hers had been. She inhaled as he did.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and she heard Lee’s voice call out, “There you are!”

She groaned inwardly and turned to see Lee walking toward them, two beer bottles dangling from his hands. When he reached her side, he handed her one.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m fine,” she said, hoping her tone would discourage him and let Bud know at the same time that there was nothing between her and his friend. “It was hot inside and I came out here to cool down. I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Lee slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I see you met Bud.”

Bud took a step back and put his hands in his back pockets. “We met.”

“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Lee said to Bud. “Did you see Nancy? She’s inside looking for you,” he added pointedly.

“I saw her.”

A heavy awkwardness gripped them. Bud tossed his cigarette on the gravel and crushed it with his heel. “I’ll be shoving off. Nice meeting you, Carolina.”

Carolina felt her heart fall from her chest as she watched Bud turn and walk off down Pinckney Street. Lee’s arm slipped down to her waist.

There were times in her life when Carolina, like most people, could be persuaded to take the polite course and go along, even against her wishes. And there were times when something snapped and she reared up, bucking. This was one of those moments. Carolina knew what she wanted and saw him walking away from her. She slipped out of Lee’s grip.

“Bud!” she called out.

He stopped and turned, a questioning look on his face.

“Wait up!” She began trotting down the road, turning to wave back at Lee. “Thanks for the dance!”

Lee’s face reddened. “Carolina, wait!”

But she kept running, cursing her ridiculous platform shoes, till she reached Bud. “You’re going my way,” she said breathlessly. “Do you mind walking me home?”

Bud’s brows furrowed, and he looked over at Lee still standing under the light by the warehouse, hands on his hips, watching them, and then back at Carolina. “I thought you were with Lee.”

Carolina shook her head, not breaking eye contact. This was, she knew, a defining moment. “No. I’m with you.”

He looked at her a moment longer, putting things right in his mind. Then he released a slow smile. “Well, then, I’d be pleased to walk you home.”

He put out his arm and she slipped hers through it, holding tight, never looking back.

September 21, 2008

White Gables

That night seemed a lifetime ago, Carolina thought as she leaned her elbows against her knees and plucked off her garden
gloves. She slapped the gloves against her leg, bits of dirt flung from them. A wry smile curved her lips. It
was
a lifetime ago. By the end of that year, she and Bud were engaged to be married, and at their wedding the following June, Odelle and Lee had announced their engagement.

The school bell from down the road began tolling. Eight o’clock already! Carolina thought, jolting upright. The morning was flying by, and here she was, daydreaming. She rose and brushed the soil from her jeans, then went indoors to the phone. She had to call the dentist. She didn’t think she could bear any more pain today.

September 21, 2008, 10:00 a.m.

McClellanville

T
he breakfast shift
was over at T. W. Graham’s Restaurant. An elderly couple made their way out the front door. Toomer pulled off his chef’s hat and went out back for a smoke. Only Mr. Hill remained at his usual table, drinking coffee from a heavy white mug and reading the newspaper. Lizzy was wiping the tables. Behind the counter, Nancy was putting fresh pastries on the glass-covered tiered stand, muttering under her breath. It had been another slow morning.

T. W. Graham’s was an institution in McClellanville—the
real deal. Converted from a grocery store to a restaurant back in the 1950s, it had wood tables painted with a local map, vinyl-covered chairs and booths, and wood shelving filled with old books—all original, lending an old-fashioned air that reproductions could not imitate. The colorful history of the town literally hung from the walls in the form of shrimp nets, photographs, and paintings by local artists. One had created an enormous wooden mechanical shrimp that hung from the ceiling. Outside on Pinckney Street, a chalkboard advertised daily specials beneath a big arrow pointing inside, emblazoned with the word
EAT
.

Unfortunately, these days, few people were following the arrow.

“Hardly needs nothing,” Nancy said as she stared at the tower of pastries. A cake doughnut was clutched in her metal tongs. Nancy was about the same age as Lizzy’s mother and, like Carolina, lean and fit. Her hair, though white, was cut in a youthful, spiky style.

“Such a waste…. Want one? You might as well. They’ll go stale.”

Lizzy shook her head. “No, thanks.” She saw the worry etched on Nancy’s face. “Maybe we’ll get a good lunch crowd.”

Nancy sighed as she replaced the glass bell over the stand. “I sure hope so.”

Her sentence was punctuated by the ringing of the small bell over the front door. A man in an olive green uniform entered the restaurant.

“Here comes the pickle guy,” Nancy said, using her derogatory name for a conservation officer.

“Shhh,” Lizzy hissed, then looked up with a smile on her face. “Hey, Ben!” she greeted him as he came to the counter. He was about her height but so slender she always felt bigger standing next to him. “What brings you in so early today?”

Ben Mitchell’s face eased into a grin. “You, pretty lady.”

Lizzy blushed, aware of how carelessly she’d tied back her hair and how her pale Scottish-English skin could look washed-out with lack of sleep. Her hand darted up to smooth her hair.

“No, really,” she replied demurely, walking to one of the small tables and setting down a menu.

Ben slid onto a chair, then brought his hands up to rub his eyes. His heavy-framed glasses bobbed as they bumped against his knuckles. He opened his eyes and smiled, folding his hands on the table. “I was nearby, working on a case.”

Closer now, Lizzy could see on his face the kind of deep fatigue that could turn a tan chalky. His eyes, usually the color of a morning sky, were rimmed with red.

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sounds great.”

“Want a pastry with that? They’re right fresh,” Nancy said, lifting the glass off the tiered stand with a flourish. “Made them myself.”

“Uh, thank you, ma’am. Sure, why not?”

Lizzy could tell he really didn’t want one but was being polite. What southern gentleman could refuse to taste a woman’s
home-baked goods? Nancy smiled smugly and picked out an iced doughnut, set it on a plate, and carried it to Ben, offering a napkin beside it. She stepped back, crossing her arms. Lizzy knew she would roost there and watch him eat the whole thing.

“I’ll get us some coffee,” she said, tugging at Nancy’s arm as she retreated behind the counter. Lizzy pulled two mugs from the shelf and filled them with hot coffee. “I’m going to take my break now, okay?”

“Sure, honey. It’s deader than a church on a Friday night. I’ll be in back making my crab cakes.” Before she left she gave Lizzy a hooded glance warning her that, for all his buying her doughnut, Ben Mitchell was still from the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources and wasn’t one of “them.”

Lizzy carried the coffee to the table by the windows. She slid into a chair opposite Ben. With two fingers, she pushed the heavy white mug toward him.

She watched his long fingers encircle the mug. Ben had delicate hands for a man. His job as a conservation officer kept him outdoors, but his hands, though deeply tanned and chapped, were unscarred and his fingernails clean. Lizzy always noted a man’s hands. Her eyes followed the mug as he lifted it past the insignia of the DNR with its images of a shrimp boat, a deer head, and a fish.

She’d met Ben years earlier when he’d come to McClellanville to make sure the local trawlers were using the newly mandated turtle excluder devices on their nets. Back then she was newly divorced and cast her fiery anger over all shrimpers
and the industry collectively. The captains were steaming mad back then, at war with wildlife officials and claiming that TEDs, with their escape openings to prevent sea turtles from drowning in the nets, cost them their catch and would drive them out of business. At that point in her life, any attribute a man had that bore no relation to shrimping was appealing.

Right from the start, she knew Ben was different. Soft-spoken and well-mannered, he seemed more at home alone on his boat or in a library than confronting a dock full of angry, fist-clenching men. When he climbed aboard the
Miss Carolina
that first time, he’d looked like a kid in his brand-new uniform next to her towering, broad-shouldered father. Bud knew he was an intimidating figure and never hesitated to use that clout. Derogatory remarks from local shrimpers were spat out with chewing tobacco, slurs like “turtle kisser” and “tree hugger.”

She’d learned a lot about the power of a calm head and a respectful tone that morning. Ben had stood his ground with her father, something not many men could do. Years later, her daddy would say Ben Mitchell was as thin and strong as tensile steel. Once her father started using the TEDs in his nets, the other shrimpers along Jeremy Creek followed suit.

Of course, the name Ben Mitchell was mud at their dinner table for years afterward. Whenever it was spoken, it was in heat and accompanied by words that had her mother sputtering, “Your language, Bud! I’ll not have such words at my table.”

In the ensuing years, however, both the TEDs and Ben Mitchell were found to provide a useful service, and though
her father would never admit it, Ben had earned a grudging respect in McClellanville. Ben covered the coast from Sullivan’s Island to Winyah Bay, and he spent a lot of time on the surrounding creeks, shallow flats, and docks. It was natural that he and Lizzy would cross paths. Last year when Ben had asked Lizzy out on a date, her first thought was how it would make her daddy mad. After all, no matter how well Ben got along with the locals, he was still DNR. To her surprise and disappointment, all her father mustered when he found out was raised brows and a weary shake of his head. Over the past six months, however, she’d found she liked Ben Mitchell—liked his gentleness, his intelligence, his honesty. A lot more than she’d ever imagined.

“You look tired,” Lizzy said to Ben. He sat leaning heavily on his elbows. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned arms covered with bug bites. “Like you’ve slept in your clothes.”

Ben released a weary chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I did. What a night.”

“What happened?”

“I had to stake out some guys trying to sell shrimp they caught over bait.”

“Hope you got them,” she replied, indignant. “My daddy always told me that he didn’t begrudge a fellah going out and catching his limit to fill his freezer. But he says some folks get greedy and go out every night, fixing to sell it. That kind of bait shrimper is no better than a thief, as far as I’m concerned.”

No professional shrimper liked shrimp baiting, open to anyone who had a boat, a cast net, and a twenty-five-dollar license. But it was supposed to be strictly recreational. A person could catch forty-eight quarts of shrimp—with heads on—per trip for personal use, no more. To sell shrimp caught over bait was a crime, and one that shrimpers took personally.

“Yep, they’re in the wrong, and that makes it my job to catch them. I had a tip about these two guys. I dogged them for forty-eight of the longest hours of my life.” He took a loud sip of his coffee, then chuckled as he put the mug down. “They were something else. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but with the light at the front of their boat, I could see them clear as day casting along their line of poles. So I followed them from the boat landing all the way over to their garage. I could see the coolers sitting there. I had the shrimp in my view the whole time.” He lazily reached over to scratch the bites on his arm.

“So what did you do?”

“I hid in the bushes a ways off and waited all night. Mosquitoes the size of bats near drained the blood from me. It was boring as hell. Finally, around dawn, a truck pulls up with two more guys, all rested and clean-shaven. What I wouldn’t have given for a cup of coffee and a shower at that point! I was dirty, thirsty, hungry, and blood-drained and I wanted to bust them all right then and there, but I waited till money passed hands. Then I stepped out and wrote up tickets.”

Lizzy smiled wickedly. “I’ll bet you surprised them.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, I did.”

There was a quiet moment between them, long enough for her to wonder what it would be like to have the kind of passion that kept you sitting like a human pincushion, prey to hordes of mosquitoes in bushes all night. It was his dedication that she found attractive in Ben.

Ben’s job was steady, but he’d never get rich at it. When she’d asked him about that, he said being able to work outdoors at a job he loved made him the richest man in the world. She guessed it was her lot in life to be attracted to poor men who loved their jobs.

“Let me freshen your coffee.”

He put his hand on her arm to restrain her. “I’m fine. I’ve got a thermos in the truck.”

“You hungry, then? I could make you up some eggs and grits. Or do you want lunch? Nancy is making crab cakes.”

“I’m too tired to eat. Thanks just the same.”

She looked at him, so thin his bones protruded, and thought how he needed to sit down and eat three square meals a day for the next six months. “What’s the matter? You seem kind of down.”

He looked across the room, the angles of his face sharp in the shadow. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said wearily, scratching his neck. “Sometimes I just feel…”

“Feel what?”

“It’s all so…futile,” he said, his hand falling to the table. “I mean, I spend forty-eight hours—all frigging night—chasing down four guys. Not necessarily bad men, just guys doing something bad, trying to make some cash, trying to get by.”

“You did the right thing. They’re poachers.”

“Sure. But it’s not why I went into this. To confiscate some nets and a few measly shrimp? Write a few tickets? You ought to come with me sometime when I’m flying over the trawlers. I see mud wakes following the boats that crisscross nearly the whole coast.”

“Ben, you know the shrimp live in the muddy bottoms.” Lizzy held back from adding,
What do you expect them to do, just quit shrimping?
She didn’t ask, because she didn’t want to hear his answer.

“To be honest, in these waters the bottom is mostly mud anyway. But in other places, like the North Atlantic, those huge deep-sea trawlers are ripping up coral and destroying entire ecosystems. Some of those reefs are over four thousand years old. Think about it. It’s in that coral that the fish we eat spawn. It’s in those ancient beds that the fry and juveniles are protected from predators. What happens when it’s destroyed? It’s not going to bounce back. When it’s gone, it’s gone. And so are the fish.” He picked up his coffee mug. “Someday, we’re all going to be mighty hungry.”

Ben sipped, then leaned back against the chair. “That’s what I’d like to stop. Or at least try.” He released a defeated chuckle. “Maybe it won’t make a rat’s ass bit of difference.”

His weariness affected her deeply, because he’d put in the hours that earned him an opinion. She’d lived in this town all of her life. She’d rarely left the county. Generations of Morrisons and Brailsfords had made their living from these waters. She’d spent the first several years of her life aboard a boat and
knew the names of many local fish, birds, and plants. But it was Ben who’d helped her appreciate that the landscape that had nurtured and sustained her and her family was fragile and needed tending. He’d challenged her to see that she couldn’t just take, take, take. That she had to give back, too.

“Then why don’t you?” she asked. “You’re young. Unmarried. Free. You can pick up and go anywhere. What’s keeping you here?”

He raised his head. “I’m asking myself the same question.”

His eyes searched hers and she knew that Ben—the man, not the officer—was trawling for her answer. Her mother’s words from that morning sprang to mind—
it was Cupid’s arrow, straight to the heart
—and Lizzy realized with bone-deep certainty that she did not feel that pang of love for Ben. The realization saddened her.

She reached up to sweep a lock of hair from her face, breaking his gaze. “You have a calling, Ben. A passion. Not everyone has that.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Sell yourself short.”

“I—I wasn’t.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. But what I heard was you telling me you don’t have a passion. Am I wrong?”

This arrow struck true. She sat back. “We were talking about
your
goals.”

“And I’m talking about yours. What is your passion, Lizzy?”

She clamped her lips tightly and glared.

Ben spread open his hands, as though to concede the point. After a pause, he said softly, “You’re smart, you know.”

She looked at her hands, seeing in her mind’s eye the many books he’d given her to read: Matthiessen, Bartram, Carson, Pilkey. She’d held them in these hands, devouring each word. He’d been her tutor, her friend. So when he complimented her, his words fell sweet on her ears.