Fisher's Light(71)

It’s Seth’s turn to pace and I watch him, listening to him speak. “My Mary Beth, she was a mousy little thing when I left for ‘Nam. Never raised her voice, never argued… She was one of those wives who was seen and not heard, just like her mother taught her. She was the calm to my storm and it worked, until I came home a little different than how I left and I was angry all the time. She fed off of my anger and we had some knock-down, drag-out fights in the middle of the kitchen, complete with her tossing plates and glasses at my head while I ranted and raved and raged. The next day, I’d get down on my knees and practically sob about how sorry I was and she’d just laugh and wrap her arms around me. She’d say, ‘Seth, fighting with you is the most fun I’ve had in years. If you need to let out some of your anger, I have no problem with you letting it out with me. But if you ever lay a hand on me in something other than passion, I will grab the shotgun from the hall closet and shoot your sorry ass.’ ”

Seth chuckles and I can’t help but laugh right along with him. He stops pacing and looks at me again. “I hadn’t even realized that while I was going through all my shit and I was changing into a different person, Mary Beth was changing right along with me. She realized she quite liked a little drama and excitement, as long as neither one of us was being downright cruel or purposefully hurtful. It also spiced things up in the bedroom and that’s how we got three more kids.”

Seth winks at me and I roll my eyes at him, pretending disgust at the talk of his spicy bedroom.

“You’ve told me a lot about Lucy during your time here, and the one thing you have always stressed to me is that she’s strong. Stronger than anyone you know, including yourself, and that’s why you felt the need to send her those divorce papers,” Seth reminds me. “You didn’t want to bring her down to the level of weakness that you were feeling at the time. If she’s as strong as you say she is, don’t you think she would’ve said something if she didn’t want what you were doing to her? Don’t you think she would’ve kicked your ass if it pissed her off?”

Closing my eyes, I think about every moment in that alley, even though part of me wants to forget. I think about how her sweet ass pushed back against me and how she begged for more. I think about how fast she came and my name on her lips when she did. I remember the look on her face when I pushed her away and apologized and a light bulb goes off. She was definitely pissed then, and about two seconds away from kicking my ass, but it wasn’t because of what I’d done. It was because I regretted it. While I was wallowing in guilt because I thought I’d hurt her, she was angry because. . . shit.

Did my Lucy like it a little rough?

I shove down the thrill that thought brings me when my mind flashes back to the marks I left on her body the day I returned home from my last deployment and the way she wrapped her arms around her waist, almost like she was holding herself together, the night I forced her from our home. Every time I loosen up the grip on my emotions, Lucy is the one who suffers. I cannot lose control where she’s concerned.

“I don’t want to hurt her like I did the day I ended things. I’m so afraid of turning into that man again and lashing out at her. It’s better if I stay calm and not get overwhelmed with emotions and anger,” I tell him, walking over to the window to stare out at the street below.

Beaufort reminds me a lot of Fisher’s Island. There are no cars racing up and down the street or people rushing around to get where they’re going. Seth told me they’d deliberately chosen a small community, having had their fill of the hustle and bustle of the big city during his forty-year career at a Detroit steel mill. Up until I met Lucy, I thought that was what I wanted. To live in a big city where things actually happened, to get away from the island that was my personal hell, once upon a time. Ironically, it wasn’t nearly seven years in a sandbox in the Middle East that made me appreciate the beauty of my island. It was spending a year in a treatment facility less than fifty miles away, where I could still hear the sound of the ocean and smell the salt in the air, that gave me the strength to get better. There was nothing like being so close to everything I’ve ever wanted to provide the kick in the ass I needed to get my shit together and get my ass back to the island where I belonged, where things made sense. Not only did I hate being away from Lucy, I hated being away from my beach, the lighthouse, our small cottage on the water and our close-knit community where everyone knows each other. Even now, it feels like my skin is filled with bugs that I want to scratch and brush away. I itch with the need to go back home to my Lucy.