Worth the Trip Read online

  I scoot closer to Bevy, lift my arm and hang it loosely around her shoulders, pulling her to my side. She leans her head down and rests it on my shoulder as we stare out at the setting sun and the seagulls swooping down to catch fish out of the ocean.

  “You’re not selfish at all, Bevy,” I tell her quietly. “If you don’t have Christmas at your house, you can come to our house. My mom will make us hot chocolate and I’ll even let you open all of my presents.”

  Bevy sighs happily and we sit in silence for a long time, just watching the waves crash up onto the shore.

  “Hey, Trip, can you promise me something?” she asks softly after a few minutes. “Promise me you’ll never be a sailor and leave me.”

  My chest feels tight and my eyes start to burn. I immediately clear my throat and blink my eyes quickly because boys don’t cry. I hate that this is happening to Bevy. I hate that she’s so sad and her parents don’t even care when she gets hurt. I would promise her anything she asked as long as it kept her from being sad.

  Resting my chin on top of Bevy’s head as the sun disappears over the horizon, I make her the promise I would keep for the rest of my life.

  “I promise, Bevy,” I whisper. “I’ll never leave you.”

  Chapter 6

  Bevy’s parents never recovered from the loss of Benjamin and they didn’t speak about him from that point on. Bevy wasn’t allowed to utter his name when she was at home, so I made sure she knew she could talk about Benjamin as often as she wanted with me.

  It feels good to write all of this down for my family, to tell Jefferson about his mother as a young girl and to introduce Fisher to the great-uncle who was a hero just like him.

  The very next photo in the album is of Benjamin in his uniform the day he shipped out to Hawaii on what would be his first and last assignment. At twenty-two years old, he had such a baby face and it’s hard to fathom he and so many others aboard those ships in 1941 never came home to their families. Pearl Harbor really was a day that would live in infamy, and one that tore apart the O’Byrne family in such a way that nothing was ever able to put it back together.

  From that day on, Bevy never again needed my help getting dirty and finding trouble. She did everything she could to get her parents’ attention, from ruining brand new dresses to throwing a rock through their living room window. She thought the more heinous her crimes, the more likely it was that her mother would eventually come out of her bedroom and scold her. She stopped hanging around with other girls at school and stuck with my friends and me instead. She thought if she excelled at climbing trees and other boy things, her dad would love her as much as he did Benjamin, but all it did was make him angry when she came home dirty and torn up and he’d send her to her room without supper and make her stay there all alone. He never understood that Bevy acted out because she was tired of being alone. She just wanted someone to love her.

  As the years dragged on, regardless of what Bevy did, her parents continued to pay very little attention her. Her mother never came out of her room again and Mr. O’Byrne spent all of his time working, ignoring the daughter who needed him so much.

  For the next ten years, Bevy ate dinner at our house every night and went to church with us every Sunday. I was probably the most surprised out of everyone when Bevy joined the church choir with my mom. She had the best singing voice in the world and it wasn’t long before she was given solos every Sunday.

  It’s almost like my parents adopted Bevy. My mom bought her play clothes and kept them at our house so Bevy wouldn’t get in trouble when she got dirty after we horsed around outside. She even bought Bevy Christmas presents every single year and got Bevy her very own tiny Christmas tree for her bedroom so that she could enjoy the sparkling lights, since her father refused to celebrate anything anymore.

  Bevy never wanted to spend time at her own house and really, I didn’t blame her. The handful of times I’d run over there with her to get something or to pick her up so we could play, I didn’t want to stay very long, either. The house was dark and damp inside since the curtains were always drawn. It wasn’t a happy, noisy house like mine. My mom kept the curtains and windows wide open because she liked to hear the sounds of the ocean and the big radio in the living room was always playing music. Sometimes I’d walk into the living room and find my parents laughing and dancing to whatever song was playing.

  Bevy said we had to whisper when we went inside her house because loud noises would make her mother angry and she hated when her mother got angry.

  Bevy spent every waking moment at my house, and when she was grounded for one transgression or another, I would run over to her house, toss rocks at her bedroom window and help her sneak out. We spent a lot of time down by the lighthouse talking about Benjamin and what we wanted to be when we grew up. Until Benjamin’s death, I always thought I wanted to be a soldier. I remember sitting on the floor in our living room, crowded around the radio with my parents, listening to the news reports about Pearl Harbor for weeks while my mother cried and my father got angry. It was all anyone talked about on Fisher’s Island for a very long time. No one could believe we’d been attacked on our own soil and living on an island surrounded by the water made people nervous. I still remember my friends and I walking up and down the coast with our makeshift guns, standing guard in an effort to keep the island safe. I’m not sure what the hell a group of kids could have done if a bunch of planes flew overhead and dropped bombs on us, but it made us feel important. We were protecting our home the only way we knew how.

  Setting the photo album, notepad and pen on the couch next to me, I push my old, tired body up and shuffle to the other side of the room to a framed picture hanging on the wall. I smile to myself, even though the photo fills me with great sadness, ignoring the sweat beading on my forehead and refusing to go back to bed. This photo was one of my mother’s favorites and she had it framed for Bevy when we were in eleventh grade and another tragedy struck the O’Byrne family.

  The photo was taken many years before, back when Bevy and I were still children, Benjamin was still alive, the happy, smiling adults in the photo knew nothing about grief and the island wasn’t filled with talk of war. Staring up at me are both sets of parents, sitting around the dining room table at my parents’ house playing Bridge with happy smiles on their faces. My father has his arm around my mother’s shoulder and Mrs. O’Byrne is kissing Mr. O’Byrne on the cheek. The table in front of them is littered with playing cards and whiskey tumblers. I run my fingertips over the glass, trying to remember Bevy’s parents like this. For so many years, I never even saw Mrs. O’Byrne, let alone remember her smiling. Mr. O’Byrne, who used to like to tease me and ruffle my hair, barely looked at me after Benjamin died and certainly never said another word to me, teasing or otherwise.

  Dropping my hand from the photo, I head back over to the couch and ease my tired body slowly back down on the cushions. Picking up my pen and paper, I write about the day that made Bevy hate everything about this beautiful island we called home and the moment in time that started me on my path to falling in love with Beverly O’Byrne.

  Fear makes you see things that you never even noticed, things that were right in front of you the whole time. The fear of losing Bevy changed everything for me.

  Chapter 7

  March 1951

  A wadded up piece of paper smacks me square in the chest and I drop my pencil, shooting Bevy a dirty look across the kitchen table as she laughs. I just got home from work at the bank. As usual, I’d brought work home and I have a bunch of things to add to the ledgers before I can relax. Bevy is supposed to be studying for a test tomorrow, but she keeps interrupting me. Billy, who’s sitting next to Bevy, wads up another piece of paper and throws it at me. Neither one of them can be serious for five minutes.

  After Billy and I graduated last year, I went to work with my father at the bank straightaway and have been slowly dying inside since. Billy took a job working construction on the mainland and has been taking
the ferry back and forth every day. The project he’s working on now is a hotel in downtown Beaufort, and he comes home with his hands covered with dirt and grime and his shirt sweat-stained. Glancing down at my perfectly pressed dress shirt and my clean hands, I curse under my breath. I’ve never wanted to switch places with anyone more in my life than I do with Billy right now. He gets to be out in the sunshine all day long while I’m stuck in a cold, dark office, staring at numbers for so long that I’m pretty sure I’m going cross-eyed.

  “I’m tired of studying for this stupid Geometry test. Let’s go for a walk or something,” Bevy complains, leaning back in the kitchen chair to stare out of the small window next to her. “We should go inside the lighthouse so I can practice my solo for this weekend. I love the echo in that place.”

  Billy and I share a look as Bevy turns to face us.

  “What? What’s wrong with that? Do you guys have a better idea?” she asks.

  “Better than sitting there listening to you screech while my ears bleed?” Billy jokes.

  Bevy wads up another piece of paper and throws this one right at Billy’s face.

  “I do NOT screech, you jerk!”

  I laugh right along with Billy, even if Bevy is right. She definitely doesn’t screech. Her voice is like an angel, and even though I’d never tell another soul, I get all warm inside when I see her close her eyes and sing. It’s embarrassing and definitely not something I need anyone else knowing. Bevy is my friend. I don’t understand the feelings that come over me when I hear her sing. It makes me feel like I need to hold her hand, wrap her up in my arms and all of the other things boyfriends do. She’s only a junior in high school and from what I’ve heard, has plenty of boys chasing after her. As a grown man with a job and responsibilities, I have no business feeling like this for a high school girl, especially one who’s my best friend.

  “You know, speaking of your screeching,” Billy says, laughing and shielding his face with his hands as Bevy readies another piece of paper to lob at him, “I saw a flier in town about an open mic night at a club on the mainland next weekend. It’s at the Uptown Lounge and anyone can get up and sing. You have to be eighteen to get in, but a guy we went to school with works the door. I bet I could get him to let you in.”

  I watch as Bevy’s face lights up and her eyes sparkle. I’ve heard of the Uptown Lounge. Loud music, lots of drinking and plenty of unsavory characters and goings-on, it’s definitely not a place for the likes of my sweet, innocent Bevy. I can just picture her standing up on stage, looking all pretty and singing her heart out while drunken men in the audience yell crude things to her. There’s no way I’m going to let that happen.

  “You’re not singing at the Uptown Lounge,” I tell her, picking up my pencil and going back to my work.

  Bevy leans forward and rests her arms on the table. “What do you mean, I’m not singing at the Uptown Lounge? You can’t tell me what to do, Trip Fisher. I’m seventeen years old and if I want to sing at a lounge, I’m going to sing at a lounge. You heard Billy, he knows someone who can get us in. Right, Billy?”

  I give Billy a look that clearly says shut your mouth and don’t encourage her, but he ignores me.

  “Yep, John Gates. You remember him, don’t you, Trip? He was on our basketball team in the ninth grade.”

  I shake my head and sigh. “Oh, you mean the John Gates who dropped out of school in tenth grade to rob liquor stores and race dragsters? Yes, he sounds like the exact person I want doing Bevy a favor.”

  I glance over at Bevy and she’s still glaring at me. The sun is shining brightly through the window next to her, making her look even more like an angel than ever before. She did something different to her hair today. Instead of her usual ponytail, her hair is hanging long and curly all around her face. She looks…pretty. I’ve always thought Bevy had a nice face, but there’s just something about her today and I can’t stop staring. She purses her lips and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her, causing a fluttering feeling in my stomach that is almost instantly replaced by horror. I’ve got no business thinking about my friend this way when I’ve been dating Kathy Sanders. Kathy moved to the island a few months ago and we’ve been to the movies and to dinner every weekend since the day she came into the bank with her mother. Why am I thinking about kissing Bevy when I’ve got a perfectly nice, beautiful girlfriend? Stupid Bevy and her stupid, pretty face.

  “You don’t want to go to that club, Bevy. It’s dirty and it’s not the type of place you want to sing. Finish studying so I can get this work done and then we can do something fun.”

  She sighs and everything goes back to normal. I try to concentrate on the ledger instead of Bevy’s fresh, floral scent. I think about checks and balances and refuse to stare as Bevy tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, wondering if her hair is soft and smooth now that it’s not pulled back into a tight ponytail.

  I listen to Billy mutter under his breath about how stupid Geometry is and how Bevy will never use it when she’s older, so there’s no point in studying. Bevy crosses her legs under the table, one of them sliding gently against mine. I start to break out in a cold sweat and my pencil falls from my hand and clatters to the table. Bevy looks up at me in confusion right when the telephone rings in the living room.

  Bevy opens her mouth, most likely to ask me why I’m staring at her like a fool, when we hear my mother shout in agony from the other room. All three of us jump up from the table and race to the living room, finding her crumpled on the floor next to the end table, sobbing. I’ve never seen my mother break down like this and my feet feel like they’re glued to the floor. Bevy rushes over to her, bends down and wraps her arms around my mother’s shoulders. I watch as my mother turns and holds Bevy’s face in her hands while the tears stream down her cheeks.

  “Bevy, oh, my sweet Bevy,” my mother whispers through her tears. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. Your mother…it’s your mother.”

  Bevy shakes her head back and forth in denial while Billy and I continue to stand in the doorway, watching the scene unfold in front of us like spectators at a baseball game.

  Bevy has always clung to the hope that one day her mother would snap out of her depression, that she’d eventually pull up the shades, let the sunlight in and begin living again. Based on my mother’s announcement, I have a feeling that’s never going to happen.

  “She’s gone, Bevy. I’m so sorry,” my mother tells her softly.

  “How? I…HOW? I just saw her this morning before school and she was fine,” Bevy whispers in confusion. “I mean, she was in bed, like always, but she actually smiled at me when I went in to tell her good-bye before I left. She was fine. I just saw her and she was FINE!”

  Her voice gets louder and my mother closes her eyes for a few moments before opening them back up to stare sadly at Bevy. “She took her own life, honey.”

  At my mother’s words, I watch Bevy’s shoulders fall and it’s almost like watching the life drain right out of her. She quickly stands up and backs away. My mother quickly gets up and reaches for her, but Bevy shrugs out of her reach.

  I take a step in Bevy’s direction, but I have no idea what to do. I didn’t know how to help her when I was nine and her brother was killed, and I’m even more clueless at nineteen now that her mother is gone.

  Without a word, Bevy turns and runs past me, the front door slamming closed behind her.

  “Go on, you go after Bevy and I’ll call your dad,” Billy tells me as I look back and forth between the front door and my mother.

  “It’s okay, Trip. Go to Bevy, she needs you. I’ll be fine,” my mother says as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

  Even though Mrs. O’Byrne’s depression tore their friendship apart, my mother never stopped trying. She still went to Bevy’s house several times a week in an attempt to bring her friend back to her. Part of me wants to stay with my mother, but I know I can’t help her. I don’t know if I can help Bevy, either, but I need to try.


  Giving my mom a quick hug, I take off, instinctively heading towards the lighthouse. I immediately see Bevy’s footprints in the sand and I’m thankful that I know her so well. A few minutes later, I find her sitting at the base of the lighthouse with her legs pulled up to her chest and her head buried in her knees. I walk up to her slowly so I don’t scare her and take a seat on the sand next to her.

  Listening to her soft, muffled cries, I want to scream and throw something. I can’t stand Bevy hurting like this. I want to go back to twenty minutes ago, when she was throwing paper and irritated with me.

  “I’m sorry, Bevy. I’m so sorry,” I tell her, not sure of what else to say.

  “I HATE this place. I hate this damn island!” she suddenly shouts, pushing up from the sand and stalking towards the water’s edge.

  I scramble up and follow her, shocked at her anger and hearing her curse.

  She picks up a large rock from the sand and throws it as hard as she can into the water, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “I HATE THIS PLACE! I WANT TO LEAVE AND NEVER COME BACK!”

  My mouth drops open in shock as Bevy continues picking up rocks and throwing them angrily into the waves.

  “You don’t mean that,” I mutter as she continues to shout her hatred about the beautiful place we live.

  She whirls around angrily and glares at me. “Of course I mean it! Everywhere I look, this stupid place is filled with sadness. I’ve had to walk around this island with Benjamin’s ghost on my heels for years, and now I’ll have to do the same thing with my mother. I hate it here. I hate it here so much! Why wasn’t I enough for her? What is so wrong with me that she couldn’t love me enough and STAY?!”