Sheville Series

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Chapter 26: Over the Edge

Matty McEire

Part of a series. Read the rest of the series here.

When I called Angel that Sunday morning, the line was busy, so I poured another cup of coffee and went out to sit on the front stoop for a while. The late morning sun shone brightly overhead in a cloudless, Carolina blue sky. I took a few, deep breaths of fresh air, pungent with the mixed scents of newly mowed lawns and the blossoming shrubbery that neatly adorned each front yard along the block. The upper branches of the massive oaks and maples lining the broad avenue were performing their annual May magic, reaching across the road toward each other and forming a leafy green canopy over Edwin Place. I watched the passersby - a young mother pushing a baby in a stroller, a variety of joggers, an elderly couple dressed in their Sunday best walking arm-in-arm to church. I was taking it all in and experiencing one of those happy-to-be-alive moments.

Eventually, I went back into the apartment and tried calling Angel again. This time the phone rang, and she answered almost immediately. When she heard my voice, she said, sounding quite hysterical, “Oh God, Matty, I am so glad you called. I need your help! Can you come over?”

“Sure, Angel,” I responded with alarm. “I tried to call you earlier, but I couldn’t get through.”

“I was on the phone with Irma,” Angel explained. “She and Dusty are on their way over here now. Skye’s coming with them. Verlee’s coming, too. Can you come right away?”

“Yes, Angel, I’m coming. I’ll be right there. But tell me what’s going on! Is Z there with you?” I asked.

“No,” Angel responded. “That’s the problem! I think Z has gone off the deep end. I’ll explain when you get here. She’s been acting strange for weeks, but now things are really weird. She was here late last night when I got home from Statesville, and she was in the bed with me when I went to sleep, but she took off somewhere during the night. When I woke up this morning, the window was wide open and Z was nowhere in sight. Her car is still here, but I don’t know where she is. Just come over as soon as you can, okay? If J.T. and Shane are home, you may want to ask them to come over, too. I need as much help as possible tracking her down, and then I need to figure out what to do once we find her!”

“Okay, Angel, hang in there. I’m on my way!” I assured her and hung up the phone.

My perfect morning was rapidly deteriorating into a panic attack. J.T. and Shane arrived home from a leisurely brunch date and found me racing around the living room, keys in hand, with one unlaced sneaker on and looking under the couch for the other one. I was infamous for misjudging time and was constantly hurrying around trying not to be late for wherever I was going, so they assumed that was the case.

“Where’s the fire?” Shane asked dryly. “No fire,” I responded breathlessly, pulling the missing sneaker out from under an ottoman and sitting down to tie the laces. “I’m going over to Angel and Z’s. Z has apparently gone a little loco and disappeared during the middle of the night. Angel’s kind of frantic. I’m going over there to help Angel find her.”

“We saw Z last night,” J.T. said. “She was holding court over the pool table at the Treetops. I thought she was just a little inebriated, but now that you mention it, she was a little wild eyed and more animated than usual. And her hair was a mess, wasn’t it, Shane?”

“Ayuh,” Shane replied in her pronounced New England accent. “It looked like a bird’s nest, all ratted up like she hadn’t brushed it in days, or weeks even.”

“Did either of you talk to her?” I asked. “No,” J.T. answered, “We just kind of waved at her when we poked our heads in the game room to see who was down there. She acknowledged us with a big Cheshire cat grin and then went right back to lining up her shot.”

“Well, Angel said she came home last night, but then snuck back out again while she was sleeping,” I said, “And it looked like she went out through a window. How weird is that?” “That is definitely weird,” Shane said. “You only do that if you’re avoiding the cops or the girlfriend of someone you’re having an affair with.”

“Shane!” J.T. scolded, lightly backhanding Shane on the arm. I was sure Shane probably had lots of experience with making hasty escapes.

“Listen,” I said, saving Shane from having to proffer any explanations, “Angel said to ask you two to come help if you’re not busy.” “No prob,” Shane replied. “We don’t have anywhere else we have to be, so we’ll follow you over there.” She looked at J.T. “Yeah, sure, let’s go,” J.T. said.

The three of us piled out the door. I jumped into my Valiant, and they hopped into J.T.’s Maverick and followed me over to the Oakley section of town. When we got there, it looked like the beginning of one of Angel’s famous parties, with several other cars already parked along the side of the driveway. Milo’s Scout was among the parked cars, so I figured she and Hopi were part of the Z-hunt, too. As I walked under the carport toward the steps to the kitchen entrance, I passed Z’s VW and noticed a box of Crayolas scattered all over the passenger seat and floorboard. I poked my head in through the open window to get a closer look. Z had always kept her little orange bug in pristine shape, so I was stunned to find childlike drawings and strange, illegible hieroglyphics crayoned all over the ceiling of the car. It looked like a four year old with a hyperactivity disorder had been set loose in there! Now I was really worried. I continued on up the steps into the kitchen with Shane and J.T. entering behind me and found an assembled group of women already discussing the situation.

“What about filing a missing person’s report?” Verlee asked. “No, you can’t do that until someone has been missing for at least 24 hours, and Angel last saw her about 1 a.m. Besides, I don’t think we really want to involve the police unless we absolutely have to,” Skye responded.

Angel looked pretty ragged, and Irma was sitting next to her with her arm around her. “Why don’t we all fan out and start looking for her?” Irma suggested. I’ll stay here with Angel in case Z shows up, and the rest of you can go off in pairs in various directions.”

I hadn’t even been in the door five minutes when I was heading back out. J.T. and Shane offered to drive downtown and take a look around O.Henry’s and the Treetops. Milo and Hopi took off toward the university and the north end of town. Dusty and Verlee headed south. Skye and I decided to drive around the Oakley neighborhood. Z had taken off without her car, so it was possible she was on foot somewhere in the nearby vicinity. We all agreed to meet back at the house at a specified time and to find a phone booth and call the house if we found her.

I showed Skye the crayoned scrawlings inside Z’s car on the way out. “Interesting, but not very Z-like,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m afraid we’re all in for quite an adventure.”

Skye and I drove up and down every street in Oakley for what seemed like an eternity with no success. Just before the time of the scheduled re-grouping, we stopped at the Oakley Food Mart to ask the clerk if she had seen anyone who looked like Z. I was midway into the description – “early twenties, about five foot six, wire-framed glasses, long brown hair, probably uncombed and matted” – when the clerk’s eyes lit up and she said, “Why, yes, honey, now that you mention the hair, I think I did see someone by that description.”

“You did?” I asked, excitedly. “When? Which way did she go?” “Well, honey, I think it was about a half hour ago. She was wearin’ cut-off jean shorts and a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut offa it, too. She wandered around here for a few minutes but then went on out again without buying anything.”

“That’s probably her!” I shrieked. “Did you see which way she went when she left? Was she by herself? Did she get in a car, or was she walking?” I rapid-fired questions, begging for information and practically jumping over the check-out counter to get it.

“Honey, I couldn’t swear to it since I had other customers in here, but her hair did catch my eye. I don’t remember a car, and I think she just headed on across the street down yonder,” she said, pointing toward School Road.

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“Thank you! Thank you so much!” I said. Skye and I ran back out of the store and into my car. The store was only two blocks away from Angel and Z’s house on School Road.

“Maybe she went home!” Skye suggested. “Maybe she’s already back at the house.” “Let’s go see!” I said. “We’re due back there about now anyway.” I hurriedly backed the car out of the convenience store parking lot and screeched down School Road.

All of the other Z scouts had already returned, and, lo and behold, so had Z! Everyone was sitting around the kitchen table or leaning up against the counter except Z, who was aimlessly walking around the kitchen with an empty plate in her hands.

“Z, bring that plate back here,” Irma ordered. “You need to eat something. Angel has made you a sandwich. Come on. Take the sandwich. You need to eat, sweetie.”

Z looked at Irma but did not respond, wandering off into the living room instead, with the plate still in her hands and Angel following her with the sandwich. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The cut-offs and t-shirt were normal Z attire, but they were very soiled, and her matted hair was truly a sight to behold. Z was not one to dress up but was always neat and clean with beautifully brushed hair. My friend and former love of my life looked like one of the people I used to work with at the Chicago State Mental Hospital when I volunteered there in high school.

“So, where was she?” I asked, directing my question towards Irma. “Well, from what we were able to get out of her when she arrived, she got picked up by some young punks on Fairview Road in the wee hours of the morning, got in the car with them, and spent the rest of the night at someone’s house rolling in the hay with the lot of them,” Irma explained.

“Oh my God, Irma! She was gang-raped?” I shouted the question in a state of shock and horror. Everyone else had already heard the story before Skye and I got there, and they all looked pretty stressed out and concerned.

“No, she told us she was a willing participant,” Irma said, trying to be the calm leader that she always was. “A willing participant? No way! She’s a total dyke. No way would she climb into the sack with a bunch of guys. That’s crazy!” I shouted, completely infuriated. With that I became aware of my own word echoing back to me inside my head - “crazy, crazy, crazy . . .” I wanted to scream. This could not be happening.

J.T., who was still volunteering at the Rape Crisis Center, spoke up and offered to talk to Z again to try and get the full story. “Yeah, let’s find out where those guys live!” Shane shouted. “Damn mutants! I’d like to take ‘em all out!” She slammed her fist down on the kitchen counter where she was leaning.

“In the meantime,” Hopi asserted, “we need to get her to a mental health professional.” “No, we don’t!” Skye countered adamantly. “The last thing she needs is to be screwed over by the male-dominated, straight mental health system. I don’t want to see her getting shock treatments or confined to one of those awful mental hospitals. I think we can handle this ourselves.” “C’mon, Skye, be reasonable,” Hopi argued, “She obviously needs professional help, and none of us are qualified.”

Milo agreed with Hopi. Both of them had dealt with mental illness with family members and friends and had not had negative experiences with the mental health professionals involved in those instances. “There are no lesbian therapists in Asheville, and I don’t trust anyone else!” Skye responded, holding her ground.

For the next ten minutes a major argument broke out with the participants flinging sharp edged words at each other while debating the benefits and evils of the mental health care system and how it could either help or harm Z. “Wait a minute,” Irma interjected loudly like a ref with a whistle. “Didn’t Z see someone after she had that mini nervous breakdown in Chapel Hill? It was someone here in town. Linda Something. That seemed to work out okay, didn’t it? Maybe she could see her again.”

Z and Angel had reappeared in the kitchen during the fracas, Z still holding the empty plate and Angel still holding the sandwich. As soon as Irma finished her sentence, Z spoke: “I am not seeing a shrink.” She said it very matter of factly. She had been listening to every facet of the conversation from the next room. She might be crazy, but she was acutely aware of everything that was going on around her. Jaws dropped, eyes widened, and everyone turned her attention to Z.

“Well, Z,” Irma asked, eyes fixed firmly on Z, “What do you propose we do to help you?” “I will do whatever you say as long as I don’t have to go to a shrink,” Z replied. “Okay,” Irma said confidently, “Eat your sandwich then!” Z took the sandwich from Angel and bit into it. “Well, that’s better,” Irma commended her. “Would you like to sit down at the table and eat?” Z shook her head and continued to eat the sandwich while standing or walking around the room. Z was responding to Irma, so this was a good sign. “Alright then,” Irma said, “Just as long as you eat. The rest of us are going to continue to discuss how best to handle your present situation. Feel free to join us. You should have a say in all this.” Z nodded, chewing on another bite of the sandwich.

Angel, who looked about as frazzled as one can get, sat down in the chair that Z refused to occupy and said to the group, “There’s one thing I know for sure. If she’s not going to a psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever you call it, someone is going to have to be here with her twenty-four hours a day. Right now I am getting called in to work all over the region at all hours of the day and night, so I can’t be here all the time. And when I am here, I’ve got to get some sleep without worrying about what Z is doing or if she might be sneaking out of the house. I can’t keep watch over Z by myself.”

Irma’s girlfriend, Dusty, spoke up. “Maybe we should call her parents.” “No, don’t call my parents,” Z responded immediately. “Why don’t we all take shifts?” Skye suggested. I’m not working right now, so I could come over a lot. I could take night shifts if you want.” “And I’m finishing up a Manpower job on Wednesday,” I added, “So I could postpone signing up for another temp assignment for a while and take night shifts with Skye after that. It might be better for two of us to be here during the night in case one person falls asleep.” “J.T.’s working, but I’m not, so I’d be glad to come over during the day and J.T. could join me after she gets off work,” Shane offered. J.T. nodded in agreement.

Hopi was still not in favor of this do-it-yourself, radical lesbian feminist approach to a mental health crisis, but she and Milo also agreed to pitch in on a temporary basis if we would all come together weekly to assess how things were going and send Z to a counselor at the first indication that we were doing the wrong thing or if Z herself asked us to do so. By afternoon’s end, we had made up a schedule for the week and set a meeting time for the next Sunday afternoon. Irma and Dusty took the first shift. I signed up for night shifts with Skye beginning three evenings later.

During that week, we were all on the phone with each other constantly, talking about what we were doing, whether or not it was really the best thing to do, and speculating about how Z got into this condition in the first place. We agreed to talk only amongst ourselves and not spread a lot of information out into the general gay community. A few other women who were close to Z, including Sage and Georgia and Boe, were contacted, and they, too, signed up for shifts. Temple and Janis, who had been taking classes with Z and were the first to notice her odd behavior when she started skipping classes, also offered to assist.

Even though we tried to keep this a close-knit group of trustworthy caregivers who respected the confidentiality required, the rumors in the community began to fly anyway. The leading rumor was that Z’s advisor told her just before graduation that she was not going to graduate because she lacked a couple of required courses, and this unexpected bad news caused Z to have a nervous breakdown. This one was definitely not true. Z already knew she would have to attend UNC-A for an extra semester due to the bad semester she had experienced in Chapel Hill. There were myriad other rumors about Z’s relationship with Angel and even about her family. The truth was that none of us had any real idea what was wrong with Z or what had caused what we were calling a “psychotic episode.” We just wanted to make sure she was safe while she was going through it and that she would not be further harmed by what most of us perceived as a homophobic, misogynistic mental health system.

What surprised me in all of these conversations was that none of us saw it coming. In hindsight, everyone seemed to be able to recall some incident or behavior that should have clued us in. Angel was wringing her hands and beating herself up for not noticing sooner. It wasn’t until the next-door-neighbor came and knocked on the door one day that Angel had any inkling that something was terribly wrong. The neighbor handed Angel an envelope and explained that it contained a financial aid check for Z. Apparently, Z had gone to the neighbor’s house earlier in the day and given her the check, telling the neighbor to give it to her daughter because she wouldn’t be needing it. Irma had been getting phone calls from Z in which Z rambled on at length in non-linear ways. The calls were beginning to be worrisome to Irma. On the few occasions when I had seen Z that spring, mostly in the Treetops, she had been a lot more animated than usual, but I knew that she tended to be more gregarious in the spring, so I didn’t think that much of it. Plus, I had to admit that I was pretty wrapped up in my own personal dramas that spring.

By the time my first Wednesday night shift came, the others had kept Z safe, and she had not harmed herself or anyone else around her, but she certainly had exhibited some bizarre behavior. It seemed like she had regressed back to infancy and then gone speeding through childhood and puberty in a matter of days. That evening she was definitely acting like a stubborn teenager. After dinner, Skye and I tried to get her to take a bath, which she refused to do. Finally, after at least an hour of coaxing, she went into the bathroom and ran the water. I talked to her from the other side of the bathroom door, giving her some semblance of privacy while I listened to the water.

“I think that’s enough water,” I eventually said. I could hear her splashing around in it, but she was not turning off the faucets. When she didn’t respond, and I began envisioning a flood in the bathroom, I opened the door and found her sitting in the bathtub fully clothed. Skye came around the corner from the living room and looked in with me. Z just grinned up at us, splashing and laughing. Her laughter was infectious, and pretty soon all three of us were in hysterics. Skye turned off the water. It took us forever to get her to take the clothes off and actually take a bath. It took us even longer to get her to go to bed. It was an exhausting evening. Skye, who had slept most of the day in preparation for her night shift, told me to go ahead and go to sleep. She was busily working on the next Women’s Center newsletter and would come wake me up if she felt herself getting sleepy later in the wee hours.

The entire group of Z-keepers assembled again in Angel and Z’s kitchen the following Sunday to assess the situation. Almost everyone felt that things were going well with the 24/7 shifts. Z was still in “psychotic episode” mode, but she had not gotten worse, and nothing bad had happened during the week. Z, despite her altered state, was a part of the decision making process. She was very cognizant of everything being said, although she spoke very little and only in reply to specific suggestions, always directing her responses to Irma. Irma seemed to be best able to engage Z and keep her from wandering off into her own cyberspace of the mind.

We discussed whether to continue our Z-watch in the same way for the following week or to alter it in any way. Almost everyone was in favor of continuing the regimen with few changes except in who was taking which shift. Hopi, who had objected to this approach in the first place the previous Sunday, was again adamantly opposed to continuing it without professional intervention. “What do you think, Z?” Irma asked.

Again, just as during the previous week’s discussion, Z continued her aimless wandering around the room but responded to Irma by saying, “I will do whatever you say as long as I don’t have to go see a shrink.” “Alright, Z,” Irma said, “But you understand that you must do everything we say. If you make us worry, we will have to do something else.” “I understand,” Z said. “Good,” Irma said and added, “Is there anything else, Z, that you would like us to do?”

Z then surprised everyone in the room by stopping her wandering, looking directly at Irma and saying, “I want you to take me to the beach.” “Take you to the beach?” Irma echoed, looking a bit perplexed. “Yes,” Z replied. “You and Dusty were talking last night about going to the beach. I want you to take me with you.” “Jeezi-peezi!” Hopi exclaimed disgustedly, “There is no way in hell, Irma, that you are taking Z to the beach. That would be completely insane!”

Another fracas ensued. The final result was a compromise by all parties concerned. If Z would agree to see a psychologist, and if the psychologist said it was okay to take Z to the beach, then, and only then, could she go.

The possibility of a beach trip was enough incentive to get Z to the psychologist a few days later with no resistance. The psychologist evaluated Z, and then conferred with Irma, giving the green light to the beach trip as long as someone was with Z at all times, keeping her safe. The following Saturday I found myself helping to pack Dusty’s Subaru hatchback with all the gear needed for a camping trip at the beach. Dusty, Irma, Skye, Z, and I were off to Emerald Isle.

The beach town of Emerald Isle is located on the westernmost end of a long, narrow barrier island and is part of the Southern Outer Banks of North Carolina, which separate the Bogue Sound from the Atlantic Ocean. The campground was recommended to us by Verlee’s friend Trudy, who lived on the mainland nearby and knew the area very well. The campground was situated in a beautiful spot right on the beach and had all the amenities we would need for our week there – bathrooms, showers, grills, picnic tables, and nice, large campsites.

The drive would take us seven to eight hours, and I was not looking forward to that part of the trip. I loved going places but hated long trips in a car, and I was apprehensive about spending that much time in a small, confined space with Z, who would not be able to wander around like she had been accustomed to doing constantly during her episode. My fears were quelled an hour into the trip. When we picked her up, Z was quite animated and excited about the trip, but she had apparently stayed up all night packing, repacking, and pacing around the house, so she ended up sleeping in the back seat for most of the trip while the rest of us took turns driving.

We arrived on Emerald Isle in the late afternoon, selected two adjoining campsites, and proceeded to set up our two tents, the larger cabin tent for Z and whichever couple would be on night duty as Z-keepers, and the smaller pup tent where the off-duty couple would sleep. Z wanted to go wandering off down the beach as soon as we arrived, but Irma reminded her that the number one condition of her coming to the beach in the first place was that she had to be with one of us at all times. We would all walk the beach after we had set up camp. Z acquiesced and busied herself with unpacking all of the cookware and lining it up around the perimeter of the picnic table in a parade of utensils, pots, cups, and plates.

Once we had finished setting up camp, the five of us changed into our bathing suits and took a long, barefoot stroll along the beach, walking just at the water’s edge and letting the last lapping of each salty wavelet splash across our feet. Every so often, Z would make a sudden right angle off our course and head straight into the water, splashing and grinning as she jumped through crashing waves. Each time she did this, one of us, sometimes all four of us, would follow her in, tangentially becoming a part of Z’s cavorting love affair with the sea and vigilantly making sure she wasn’t swallowed up in it. Lifeguard duty was now a part of the 24/7 Z-care regimen.

After our first encounter with the ocean, we prepared a simple supper from the ample supply of food that Irma and Dusty had packed in the cooler and cardboard boxes. Irma and Dusty cooked while Skye and I re-arranged the cookware parade on the picnic table into usable place settings. Z actually sat still at the picnic table, smoking cigarettes, drinking a Coke, and gazing out to sea. She even helped to dry the dishes when we were finished. Thankfully, the salt air and invigorating swim had tired her out enough that later she willingly went to bed at a reasonable time with Irma and Dusty on duty as night watchwomen.

Our first full day at the beach was pleasant and uneventful. The late spring sun beat down on us, but a light breeze kept it from being too hot. We periodically slathered each other with sunscreen and spent most of the day on the beach walking, collecting shells, swimming, reading, and taking turns napping. Z appeared content and less restless. The ocean seemed to have a calming effect on her, which was a great relief to all four of her Z-keepers. Maybe we were on the downside of this mania now. Later, after supper and a peaceful evening around a campfire, Irma and Dusty retired to the pup tent, and Z bedded down in the cabin tent. Skye and I were on duty that night, so we stayed up around the campfire into the wee hours before going to lie down in the cabin tent with Z to await sunrise when Irma and Dusty would resume Z-watch duty and the two of us could get some sleep.

The next thing I knew, Irma was scratching on the rear screen window of our tent trying to roust us with a cheery, “Good morning, campers! Time to get up. It’s another beautiful day.” I pulled my weary brain into some semblance of consciousness and reached into the pocket inside the tent wall for my glasses. Skye groaned and stretched next to me. I put on my glasses and looked over in her direction. Then my brain jerked into full alertness, and the reality of consciousness came crashing in on me. Skye and I were the only two inhabitants of the tent. Skye sat up with a jolt, the same realization suddenly hitting her, too. Z was no longer in the tent.

I reached for the zipper of the tent’s screened door and found that the tent flap was hanging wide open. “Oh, shit!” was all I could say. I scrambled out of the tent with Skye close behind me. We both scanned the campsite, hoping we would see Z sitting at the picnic table with Irma and Dusty. She was nowhere in sight. I’m sure both of our faces went completely ashen.

“Is Z getting up?” Irma asked, contentedly sipping on a cup of coffee as Dusty stirred some eggs in a skillet over the camp stove. “I, uh, I uh,” I stammered. “I thought maybe she was already out here with you.” Irma’s eyes got as wide as the plates that were set on the table. She slammed her coffee cup down with a crash, stood up from the bench, whirled around, and glared at me. “Are you telling me that Z is not still sleeping in that tent and that you two have no idea where she is?” Irma screamed.

Skye ducked behind me to avoid Irma’s wrath. Dusty turned off the burner under the scrambled eggs. I wanted to disappear from the face of the earth. Before I could say anything in response, Irma shrieked, “You fell asleep, and Z is gone! Oh, this is great. This is just great. So much for leaving you two in charge!” “I’m sorry,” was all that squeaked out of my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe we fell asleep. We . . .” Irma cut me off, yelling, “Well, we better find her and find her quick. We are totally responsible for her care, and she is out there, God only knows where, doing God only knows what!”

Skye and I both stood there with our heads hung low like bad, bad dogs. I felt totally horrible. Z had gotten away, and on my watch. I wanted to die right then and there. “You two,” Irma ordered like a drill sergeant with her face just inches from ours, “Go walk the beach. Go look for her. Dusty and I will cover the strip and see if she’s been up there in any of the stores or restaurants. If you find her first, bring her back here to the campsite, and don’t let her out of your sight. Do you hear me? If you don’t find her, meet us back here in an hour anyway. Now, go!”

“Yes, Irma, we’re g-g-going,” I stuttered. Skye and I made the world’s fastest morning bathroom run, and upon not finding Z in the bathhouse, made a beeline for the beach. There wasn’t much to the west on the island, so we headed east, scanning the coastline on our right and the dunes on our left as we jogged along the hard-packed sand. Both of us felt so badly, we didn’t even converse; we just kept moving and searching. When we passed the few other people up early walking the beach, we asked if they had seen Z. No one had, and we ended up having to go back to the campsite without finding her.

Irma and Dusty were sitting at the picnic table waiting for us when we arrived, but much to my great dismay, Z was not with them. As soon as we were within earshot, “Irma said soberly, “Get in the car; we’re driving to Beaufort.” “Beaufort? Why Beaufort?” Skye asked bravely. “Because that’s where Z is,” Irma snapped. “She’s in the Carteret County jail, to be exact.” “What?” I said in disbelief. Dusty explained, saying, “When I asked about Z in one of the restaurants, the owner gave me an earful. ‘Yeah, I saw her,’ he hollered, ‘She came in and ordered a grilled cheese and a coke, and when she was finished, she walked right on out the door, just as pretty as you please without paying a dime. So, I called the cops. They came and picked her up a couple blocks down and took her up to the county jail where a scumbag thief like her belongs.’ He was really pissed.”

Skye and I were extremely quiet in the back seat of the car during the forty minute drive to Beaufort, which seemed more like hours. We were relieved that Z had been located, but we both were experiencing crushing guilt that she had gotten into this trouble while we were supposed to be protecting her. All four of us were worried sick about what condition we would find Z in once we got there and wondered how she had reacted to being arrested. Would she have pitched some kind of fit? Did she resist arrest? Was she pacing the jail cell?

When we got to the jail, Irma did all the talking and explained who we were and why we were there. The sheriff’s deputy at the front desk delineated the procedure for bailing Z out. It would cost fifty dollars, and we would also have to guarantee that she would be back in Beaufort on her appointed court date. Irma posted bond, and after all the paperwork had finally been filled out, a pot-bellied, good ol’ boy jailer with a giant wad of keys hanging off his belt took all four of us around back and into the cell area. He slipped one of the keys into a giant metal door, opened it, and said, “There she is; she’s all yours.”

We crossed the threshold into the tiny, dismal, plaster walled cell. Daylight was streaming in from a high, barred window near the ceiling. It was the first time I had ever entered a jail cell, and it felt really creepy to walk into it, even though the metal door was still ajar and the jailer was standing there waiting for us to come back out. I squinted as I walked through the beam of light, and then I saw her, sitting upright and motionless on the edge of a thin-mattressed, concrete cot.

At first, she stared foggily at us like she was seeing ghosts in the mist, and then her lip curled up a little and she gave us an almost sheepish looking smile, as if she knew how worried we had all been. Skye and I stood there with our hands in our pockets. Dusty played with her car keys. Irma walked over to Z, put her hand on Z’s shoulder, and calmly but firmly said, “Come on, Z; it’s time to go home.”

We got back in Dusty’s Subaru with Z wedged between Skye and me in the back seat. Despite the circumstances, we all seemed a little lighter, and the drive back to the campground went by much quicker than the previous drive in the other direction. Irma even teased Z a little about going and getting herself arrested. We spent what was left of the day out on the beach. Later, over supper, we made the decision to cut the beach trip short and drive back home in the morning. It went without saying that Irma and Dusty would take the night watchwomen duty. Skye and I would sleep in preparation for driving. The next morning we packed up camp and made the long drive home to Asheville and plan B.