Swim Butterfly Ch 31 Epilogue

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 31 and Epilogue

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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

happen this year. June and Pete's butterfly garden flourished, attracting monarchs, skippers and black swallowtails, New Jersey's state butterfly, June informed me. Turns out, the same kind I saw trying to fly over the bay. Pete's gotten into Lego structures with Rudy, which will carry nicely into winter, as well.

And on October first, I moved all my pajamas back into the bedroom. Everyone's happier, which makes me happier, but...

I close my eyes and think about Jimmy although I beg myself not to. Pete and I have too much work to do. I haven't contacted Jimmy since last month. Can't and won't. My silence should serve as answer enough. He'll know and won't come asking, so put him out of my mind.

But the soft sand and warm sun soaking through my clothes--the heat of his body; the gentle shushing surf--his whispers; the singular, salty, earthy scent of the bay....

But I made my choice. My family is first in my heart and I can't leave them, and supposedly Jimmy still has the option of getting married this fall. I make do with bittersweet memories.

Oh, Caroline, enjoy the damn beach!

Enjoy my choice. Yes. I feel drowsy, spinning, drifting.

"Mom! Mommy!" June screams.

I whip open my eyes and sit bolt upright, heart pounding, "What? Jesus, June, did you step on something?"

Apparently not, as she runs full throttle up the beach to me and slows down as she draws near; she knows better than to spray me with sand.

"Look! Look what I found!" she huffs and puffs, presenting me an old piece of driftwood, about a foot long, tangled in brittle, black dried seaweed.

I tilt my head and sigh, "June, it's a stick."

"No, Mom, look," she points her slender finger at a small object obscured by the tangle of seaweed.

I touch it.

After I rub off the grime, an abalone butterfly pendant reveals itself, the chain tarnished but intact, camouflaged and entwined within the seaweed.

"Can I keep it?" June asks, hopping up and down.

I smile. "Yes, we can keep it."

So, you

can

swim, butterfly.