Lowcountry Summer (29 page)

I opened the door and stood outside with my mug, watching him cross the lawn. Starched shirt, creased trousers, sunglasses, holster with gun . . . My stomach was rolling in distress and I struggled to stay steady and stave off the panic already rising in my blood.

“I came to you first,” he said. “Ride over to Trip’s with me.”

“What is it, Matthew? What’s happened?”

“There’s been a terrible accident on Highway 17 . . .”

“Rusty?”

“Yes.”

“Is she dead?” I inhaled in a gasp and my chest got so tight I could scarcely breathe.

“On impact. That’s the only blessing. She never saw the eighteen-wheeler coming and I’m sure she never felt a thing. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no!” I screamed.

Within seconds my face was soaking wet and I didn’t even know I was crying.

Once the wheels are set in motion . . .
Had not Millie used these exact words?

I left a note for Eric, took my cell phone, and left.

16
Rusty

T
RIP WASN’T HOME. HE WAS
out fishing, which is what he did almost every Sunday morning. It was Trip’s way of practicing religion—drop a hook in the water, thank God for all the treasures of the beautiful Edisto River, and be at peace for a little while with his dogs, Mo and Abe. The girls were still sleeping, as was my Eric, all of them like fallen redwoods. There would be plenty of time for them to hear the news. It would be just as horrible and incomprehensible an hour from now.

Matthew and I were in the kitchen, worried and shaken. There was nothing to do but wait.

“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee,” I said, pouring the muddy contents of that morning’s pot down the drain in the sink. It smelled of cinnamon.

Rusty had a cup of this, I thought, her last cup of coffee on this earth was laced with cinnamon. I started to cry again as I poured clean water into the well of the coffeemaker and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand.

“Rusty was the kind of girl who went that extra distance and tried to make everything just, well, special.”

Matthew had no idea what I meant but he said, “Yes, she was.”

I changed the filter, refilled it with ground beans, and pushed the start button.

“Can you call his cell?” Matthew asked gently.

“It usually doesn’t work. Out on the river, I mean. No tower. But that depends on where he is on the river.” I took my phone out and pressed four on speed dial and send. Almost immediately there was a recorded apology from his carrier. “There’s no reception.” I dropped my phone on the table and covered my face with my hands. “Oh God! Matthew! Why did this have to happen? She was so happy! They were so happy! This is going to tear Trip apart! I just know it! Oh God. They really loved each other, you know . . . ?” My voice trailed off and I was going to really lose it.

“Come here,” he said.

He pulled me close to him, put his arms around me, and I just wept and sighed and wept and sighed. Finally I spoke again.

“Oh God! Don’t you understand? This is going to kill him,” I said.

“Ain’t nothing killing nobody.” It was Millie, standing there in the doorway. “It’s Rusty, am I right?”

I nodded and Matthew gave her the details. For the first time in my life, Millie seemed old and a little shrunken. She had dark circles under her eyes. She probably had not slept a wink all night. She sank into a chair and listened, crying a little and wringing a tissue in her hands until it was just shreds of wet paper.

“Oh Lord,” she said quietly. “This is so wrong. Just so wrong. She was so young. So beautiful. I saw it coming and I couldn’t stop it. Oh Lord! What has become of this world? I gots to call Mr. Jenkins. Call him right now.”

Millie pulled herself up with considerable effort, went to the wall phone, and dialed Mr. Jenkins’s cottage. Yes, I thought, Millie is bone weary from disappointment and sorrow.

All she said was, “Come to Trip’s. Right now. We got terrible trouble.” She hung up and said, “He’ll be here directly.”

“What time do you think Trip went out?” Matthew asked me.

“I don’t know. Usually he goes out on high tide. Not that it matters. Trip could navigate his boat through pluff mud. He knows every sandbar in the river by name. When was high tide this morning?”

Matthew said, “Where’s the tide clock?”

Trip had one in almost every room. I checked the one on the wall by the back door.

“Tide’s going out. He’ll probably be home soon. And then what? Then his life falls apart. Oh my God! What a terrible day this is! What are we going to do? Oh my God. Oh my God.” I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate, something I had not done in ages.

Millie, who was still seated at the table, looked at me. “Caroline Wimbley? Get her a glass of water, Matthew, please? Caroline? You listen to me, ’eah? Time for you to put on some Lavinia. Right this minute! Your brother’s going to need a lot of love this day.”

“I know, Millie! I know. But this just breaks my heart, too! You know?”

“Yes, but I’m sorry, it don’t matter. You gotta rise. Worry about your heart tomorrow.”

I shuddered, considering the weight of her words.

The back door opened. “What’s happened here?” Mr. Jenkins said, standing just inside the doorway. “Where’s the chillrun?”

Millie was so upset she was struggling to calm herself, but at the sight of Mr. Jenkins, she burst into tears again. “Sleeping in they beds, Jenkins. It’s Miss Rusty. Jenkins, it’s Rusty who’s gone. Gone home to God. Oh, merciful Lord!”

“What? Sweet Jesus my King! Say it ain’t so!”

“It’s so, Jenkins. It’s so.”

“She was killed in a terrible car accident,” I said.

“Oh, no!” he said.

“Oh Lord above! My boy, Trip.” Millie almost wailed. “His Rusty is gone, and oh, this house is gone be a house of sorrow now. A house of sorrow now!”

“I found this in the roses,” Mr. Jenkins said quietly.

It was the crumpled picture of Mother.

“The roses at my house?” I asked. I felt a rush of goose bumps all over my arms.

“No, Miss Caroline,” he said, as somber as could be. “It was in the roses from Miss Lavinia’s garden that we transplanted here.”

“Oh Lord! Miss Lavinia was coming to aide her child!” Millie said. “Oh Lord!”

Mr. Jenkins seemed to age in front of my eyes, as though with this discovery he had now seen it all. He kept staring at Millie from the doorway. Seeing the tenderness and the deep concern in his face, Millie began to really weep, letting it all go.

Old Mr. Jenkins hurried over to her, put his hand on her shoulder, took her other hand in his, and leaned down. “Come on now, my sweet Millie. Please don’t cry. You’ll break this old man’s heart. Come on now.” He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and produced a perfectly laundered handkerchief and handed it to her. “Come on, my girl. Let’s pull ourselves together.”

His sweet words confirmed the depth of their devotion to each other to me. In the midst of all our sorrow and pain, I had happened on an affirmation of their love. And I had learned that Mother was all around us, knew what was happening, and had tried to be a source of comfort. It only made me cry more. None of us were ready to stop crying and figure out how to deal with the truth. Even Matthew choked back tears.

Matthew put a mug of fresh coffee in front of each of us and the mugs sat growing cold. After a little while, I got up and went out to the porch to watch for any sign of Trip.

“Do you want to go down to the dock to wait?” Matthew said. “I can go with you.”

“No, it’s probably best if he ties up the boat. Matthew? Where did they take Rusty?”

“County morgue. Gonna have to identify her, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, dear Lord. Is she, I mean, was she . . .”

“Not too gruesome. Her chest was crushed by the steering wheel and that caused her instant death.”

“Oh, I just hate this.”

“Of course. I do, too. She was a great lady.”

“Yes. She really was. Do you know she was on her way to Beaufort to get a puppy for Chloe?”

“No. I didn’t know that.” He shook his head. “What a sin this is. What a terrible loss. I always say that road is a death trap.”

“It’s the worst. Makes me a nervous wreck to drive it.”

“It’s lethal. I think this is the sixth or seventh fatality on that road this year.”

We waited and waited for what seemed like eternity. The girls were not stirring and there was no sign of Trip until at last I heard the motor of his boat in the distance. I waited until he was on the dock and tying the rope to the last cleat before I called to Millie and Mr. Jenkins.

“He’s back,” I said. “I’m gonna go meet him.”

“Do you want us to come?” Matthew said.

“No, it’s probably best if I go by myself. I won’t be long.”

I began walking down to the dock and Trip turned to see me. His dogs, Mo and Abe, began to run to me.

“Hey!” he said. “What’s Strickland here for? Running you in for illegal bear hunts again?”

And then he saw my face. I’m sure it was puffy and red because whenever I cried that was what happened to me.

“What’s wrong, Caroline? Tell me.”

“Oh, Trip. I’m so sorry . . .”

“What? The girls? Are they all right? Tell me!”

“They’re fine, Trip. It’s Rusty. Oh, Trip, she was heading down to Beaufort to get that puppy for Chloe and there was an accident. A terrible accident.”

“What are you saying? Is she hurt? Where is she?”

“Oh, Trip. I’m so sorry. Rusty is gone, Trip. She’s dead. She got in a terrible accident with an eighteen-wheeler and she died right away. She didn’t suffer, Trip. She never even knew what hit her.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it! How can this be? No! It can’t be!”

Trip was shouting then and his eyes were darting all around as though Rusty might hop out from a hiding place and this would just be some kind of a really bad joke. Some kind of cruel stunt. He began to shake, and no surprise, he broke down in tears.

“You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you? This is really so?”

“Yes, that’s why Matthew is here.” I sighed so hard and put my arm around his shoulder. “He heard it on the police radio and went immediately to the scene. It was too late, Trip. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my God,” Trip said. “Oh my God.”

The next hour was spent as it is usually spent when these kinds of horrific shocks and devastating losses occur, trying to make sense of something that makes no sense. “Why?” Trip said at least one hundred times, and all we could say was, “I don’t know. This never should have happened. Why her? I don’t know, Trip. This never should have happened.”

Millie and Mr. Jenkins were in some kind of shock, particularly Millie, who was so disappointed that her angel Oya had not been able to intervene—because, perhaps through her own negligence, her prayers had been offered too late. We told her to stop blaming herself.

“Millie? Listen to me. It might have been more horrible if you hadn’t asked for mercy. Right? I was supposed to go with her. I could’ve died, too.”

She looked up at me.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Millie said, and hugged me with all her might. “Praise God you’re safe! Praise God.”

Mr. Jenkins was filled with grief, too. It was a terrible shock. “She was a fine woman,” he said over and over.

“Yes, she was,” we would reply.

Finally, after a period of time that seemed acceptable, I took the reins and began to figure out the details.

“Do you know if she had a will? I mean, what were her wishes?” I said to Trip.

“I have no clue about a will,” Trip said. “But I know she meant to be cremated. And she has a brother, Owen. His number is probably in her red leather address book. On her desk.”

“I’ll find it,” I said, and went upstairs to look. My legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. “I’ll call him.”

I found it easily and then bumped into Amelia, who was just waking up and on her way to the bathroom.

“Mornin’, Aunt Caroline. How’re you?” She rubbed her eyes and looked at me. “Whoa! What’s wrong?”

When I told her, she became terribly upset, talking fast and repeating herself.

“Wait! She can’t . . . how did this . . . ? When did this happen? Where is she? Did they take her to the hospital? Where’s Dad? What can I do? How did this happen again? Couldn’t they
do
anything?”

We went into Belle and Linnie’s room and Amelia brought Chloe in to tell them all. They were stunned and horrified. Chloe cried the hardest, with her head in my lap. Millie must’ve heard the commotion because she was there at the door and then in the middle of our grieving group with a box of tissues for all of us.

“I just can’t believe it!” Amelia said.

“But who’s gonna take care of
me now
?” Chloe said.