A few weeks later, on Memorial Day weekend, we gathered on the expansive back lawn of the Inn. It was a beautiful Saturday in May and Mongin Island was glowing. The sun was shining, the sea was sparkling, and the warm, gentle breeze moved the Spanish moss on the lower branches of the oaks, framing our group. We were there to honor Carl, to celebrate him, his life, and his contributions to our island. As we greeted each other, ate together, and spent time together, we were reminded that this island and our time on it was what gave us roots.
Mongin Island isn’t for everyone, but it is for us. Our lives, even for those who came here alone by choice or by other circumstances, were entwined like the roots of trees that shade and protect us. Our neighbors, our community, our island, were part of each of us.
We heard that Carl’s small family had opted for a short private service. They did not share the event details with us. We were not surprised. What did surprise us was how little we collectively knew about that family as we tried to piece together the things about Carl we never got to ask. In all the years Carl lived on the island, no one could recall any visits from his family. No one could clearly say who his biological family was, and through these discussions it was confirmed, when it came right down to it: we were his family. Although we weren’t related by blood, we were tied together by the will to live independently, without many of the mainland conveniences. We were Carl’s immediate and extended family. So today was our opportunity to gather to remember a man who had such an impact on us.
I was filled with a renewed energy and peace that only my family could provide. Meredith and Nicholas took a late ferry yesterday afternoon, which gave us plenty of time to catch up, walk on the beach, and play with Buddy. Anticipating their arrival had given me something to look forward to these past few weeks, but I couldn’t relax until I saw them, listened to them, and felt their energy. This was the first time we would be in La Vida Pacifica without Rob. Sure, there were times in the past that we visited Mongin Island without him—but this time, there was no chance he would surprise us again, like he sometimes did, by walking through the door, humming a tune, and smiling as he said, “Do you think I would miss a chance to be with all my favorite people?”
It also concerned me that Carl’s celebration of life would be the first memorial service we had all attended since Rob’s. Would this be too painful? Is this all too much at one time? Once again, my children surprised me. Not by saying or doing anything extraordinary, but just by being their authentic selves. Rob’s presence and the joy he brought to our lives was noticeably absent. But Meredith and Nicholas were healing and they were happy to have a chance to celebrate life. Having my children under my roof, having them in their beds, their shoes by the door, their bags on the floor, their voices traveling down the hall, them playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who would get to have Buddy keep them company last night—having their presence here in our home enabled me to sleep soundly. I woke up truly content.
Tripp, Barb, and I had arranged the details of this important event with the resort and left it open to all who wanted to join.
“What a legacy!” Tripp said as he helped unfold and set up more chairs. The crowd just kept growing. We had tried to find opportunities for everyone to participate in a way that felt right to them. Many people prepared some of Carl’s favorite dishes. There were deviled crabs, pimento cheese, shrimp and grits and, of course, Miss Lucy had donated a few dozen large pies and lots of her smaller ones. She seemed to have remembered everyone’s favorite. There would be no need to rush today. There was plenty for everyone. Allen came back to the island and brought several gallons of his delicious sun tea. Someone else had prepared a photo album featuring many of the homes Coastal Carl had sold. Many pictures included the families that had become island residents because of his work. Neighbors talked to neighbors, remembering the one person who had connected so many in our community. With the details of the horrible way Carl’s life had ended remaining right on the fringe, the day remained joyful. People were grateful for Carl and the way he had embraced this community.
As the crowd grew, the Island Croakers sang a couple of Carl’s favorites, including “American Pie.” This group was irreverent, quirky, and wonderfully Mongin. It was perfect for this moment. Next on the agenda was an open forum for tributes. Tripp stood up and invited the crowd to share their thoughts. Very quickly, a line formed to the right of the microphone and it was lovely to hear the funny stories, the insights, the ways Carl had affected so many people.
“Miss Carr?” A soft voice caught my attention and I turned around to see Jacob standing a few feet behind me.
“Jacob, my friend, how wonderful to see you! I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Meredith, and my son, Nicholas.” I smiled at him and turned to my children. “Guys, this is one of my customers, Jacob. He just moved to Mongin Island.” As I finished speaking, Buddy left my side and went to lean against Jacob’s legs. I noticed Jacob scratch Buddy’s head gently, using his fingers to make small circles in the black fur.
“Hi, Jacob!” Meredith greeted him warmly. He smiled shyly at her.
“Jacob, great to see you!” Nicholas said. “Looks like you already met Buddy!” Jacob beamed at him, looking like he had just been invited to sit at the big kids’ table.
“Buddy is so awesome,” Jacob said. “I really like him.” Nicholas walked over to Jacob and crouched down next to him. They were soon absorbed into a conversation about all kinds of animals that live on Mongin, including the many deer who often were unfazed by humans and allowed you to really watch them as they meandered through the woods.
After a few minutes, Jacob approached me again. I felt he wanted to say something, but didn’t have the words. I looked down at him, gently placed my hand on his shoulder and quietly said, “It’s fine to tell me what you are thinking right now, if you want to. I am ready to listen if you want to share.”
He surprised me by saying, “Would it be okay if I spoke too? Would it be okay if I told a story?”
“Jacob, yes! Of course! You are an island resident, you live here, you are absolutely welcome to share a story. That would be wonderful for you to do,” I said, and he was gone before I could say anymore. I wanted to tell him how proud I was, how brave he was, but he was mission focused. I saw those beginning signs of a new confidence blooming in him.
When it was finally his turn, my heart melted. He looked even smaller standing in front of this crowd and I could see him biting his lip, rubbing his hands on his shorts. “I am Jacob and I live on the property, in the employee housing with my mom. My mom works here at the resort, so I didn’t know Mr. Carl and he didn’t sell us a house.” He stopped talking and took a deep breath. Was that all he wanted us to know? Meredith had her hands poised and ready to clap for Jacob. I smiled. I guess she was also a softy, like her mom.
“I moved here a few weeks ago and didn’t know anyone. I’ve moved a lot. We sometimes have to leave places so fast, I don’t have time to pack so I came here without a lot of things. It’s okay because we don’t really need much. I met Miss Carr and Buddy on almost my first day here. Miss Carr told me that I would make friends with the other kids but I didn’t really believe her. I don’t usually have a lot of friends but I really hoped it might be true.”
He continued, “Mongin Island is the first place that I have had friends. I have a home now and my mom and I are happy here. So, I just wanted to say thank you for letting us live here and for letting my mom work here. Thank you for letting us be friends. My mom is not sad every day and she told me she thinks we will be able to stay here. I am so happy about that.”
While he looked at the ground, several children from the crowd had walked up and stood with him. It was the most extraordinary thing to see. These beautiful children, the next island generation, showed us all what it meant to be part of this community. Jacob needed support and they gave it. Not because someone told them to but because they understand we are people who show up for each other.
Jacob finished with: “I just want to say that I am really, really happy to finally have a real home, just like what Mr. Carl did for some of you.” He handed the microphone to the next person and walked back to the pie table surrounded by his group of friends. There wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd. This little boy had summed up living on Mongin Island so beautifully and simply.
As the afternoon went on, it was nice to see Theresa mingling with the Mongin Island residents. Barb turned to me and softly said, “Do you think she is looking for some leads?”
I laughed and responded, “At this point, anything is possible.”
Theresa walked over to say, “Carl would have been very humbled by this if it was possible for him to be any more modest. I know you probably don’t want to keep rehashing the same story, but I feel funny asking the others. I don’t want to gossip, but would it bother you if I asked you just a few more questions about Paul?”
I said, “Of course, Theresa, what is it?”
She smiled and said, “I just can’t figure out how Paul knew about the bodies buried at Governor's Point and well, I guess this is two questions really: what happens to those poor souls now?”
“Remember how Paul wanted these very hard-to-find nonfiction books?” I said. “Well, in a couple of these there are references to the actual burial site and apparently, there is enough of a description for Paul to have figured it out. One book has a pretty detailed map and I think that helped narrow it down. The bodies are buried in the acreage of Governor’s Point, but I still don’t think he—or anyone—knows the exact location. The book is so rare that it isn’t digitized, so he needed the physical text to confirm it. The officials in London who handle such claims would never have accepted his claim without the proof.”
“Very interesting,” Theresa said.
I said, “As far as the British soldiers’ remains, I think the two governments are working it out—at least that’s what we’ve heard on the island. Ultimately, we don’t know what will happen, but I do know Scott Campino is in a holding pattern again until it’s resolved. This guy can’t catch a break with this land. He will have to wait for an archaeological survey to find the remains before any kinds of transactions occur. Hopefully, the British government will come to excavate, but time will tell.”
“I see,” Theresa said slowly. “That’s really too bad because I think I’ve found another person interested in Governor’s Point. Hmm, well I guess, time will tell. Anyway, someone Carl mentored a couple of years ago reached out to me and said he was interested in picking up where Carl left off on Mongin Island. You might be getting a new realtor here soon and who knows, maybe he will take care of the lighthouse too. His name is Adam Bledsoe and I will be driving around with him sometime next week. I will make sure to stop by your shop and introduce him.”
With that Theresa smiled, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
I turned to Barb and smiled, “So, if I ever ask you to take pictures with me—”
She threw her head back and laughed. I smiled. She shook her head as she answered, “We may be done with pictures for the time being, but I can only imagine the adventures we are going to have together. I am glad you’re here, Carr. I am so glad you came home to Mongin Island.”