Swim, Butterfly Chapter 31 and Epilogue
Last Link
Pete and I don't talk about Labor Day weekend. He upheld his end of the bargain, to just let me do what I had to do, and I have yet to uphold mine; to decide by October first, stay or go.
In late September, we take a family trip to Delaware's Fort Miles State Park to visit the beach and the WWII bunkers. We board the Cape May ferry and after securing the car, take the kids by the hands up the narrow metal stairwells to the upper deck. June and Rudy want a snack immediately, for they are always hungry when we travel, but Pete says, no, not yet.
The ferry glides through the long, straight stone breakers separating the Cape May canal from the beaches, and from the port side, Pete points out lonely Higbee Beach, then in the distance, popular Sunset Beach with the remains of the concrete ship, the USS Atlantus, barely visible above the surf. Next, far away, we see the slim outline of the Cape May lighthouse. The landmarks recede as we leave New Jersey behind.
The kids yank our hands and beg to explore the ferry. I grip the railing with the hand that June isn't tugging and continue gazing out over the water towards Sunset Beach. I wonder about that butterfly I saw fluttering towards the bay over a year ago. Did it make it across or do the sensible thing and turn around and go home?
I feel Pete watching me, then he says, "All right, June, Rudy, let's go look for porpoises off the bow. Mom needs a couple minutes to herself."
The wind whips my hair about my face, hiding my eyes. June's chatter fades as she and Pete and Rudy head to the bow, their hands firmly enfolded in his. An empty space opens between them and me, and I think of Karl in that tomb.
My heart aches for Jimmy.
Pete and the kids walk further away.
The vibration of the ferry travels through my feet, and watching the water frothing and churning below, I know what I have to do. I put a foot on the railing, lean into it, and take a deep breath. The sad sickness feels overwhelming, but I have to do it.
I pull the butterfly necklace over my head, pool it in the palm of my hand, and after caressing the silky wings on the pendant one last time, let it slide down my hand, the length of silver chain following, until the last link leaves my fingertip. The necklace disappears in the brown, rough water.
Goodbye, butterfly.
Epilogue
Late October. Mid-fall borrows a bit of summer and lends it for the weekend. June and I decide to let the boys bond at home over WWII Lego bunkers, while she and I enjoy Cape May one last time until next year.
June roams the beach, poking the sand with a crooked stick, hunting for shells and dead, dried crabs. I chose Higbee Beach this time, because we've never been here, and I read that ghost dogs jumping out of the surf haunt the beach.
Since Halloween's around the corner, I thought it was fitting. That's what I told June, anyway. Truth is, I don't want to visit our old haunts, for lack of a better word. June mentions the candy store on Washington Street, but she's getting older, and I persuade her to try out Little Danny's ice cream shop on the way home, possibly still open this late in the season, and if not, hey, there's always Wawa somewhere.
But on a bright, sunny day, it's hard to see ghost dogs in the waves, so I lie on the warm, soft sand, watching the clouds.
Despite everything, some nice things
did
