“Never come into a dock faster than you’re willing to hit it.”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Rule number three: Time your swing. That means aim for the center of the dock where you want to tie up.”
I followed his instructions.
“Good,” Chief Rand said. “Now give the engine a little bump. That’s right. Finally, rule number four: Roll the wheel all the way back to port. That, young man, is what we call the flourishing finish. Yep, that’s good. Turn off the engine!”
I did so. Suddenly the air was quiet.
“Let the breeze carry you into the dock.” Chief Rand stood behind me, hawking my every move.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and listened to the water lapping at the sides of the boat. We floated the final few feet parallel to the dock. I concentrated on my entry, then exhaled and let my shoulders relax. I did it! And I didn’t crash the boat.
Chief Rand hurried to the side of the boat, stretched far out, and grabbed the rope lying on the dock. He pulled us close to the dock.
“Okay, you’re all set to tie up.”
This was the final test. I leaped from the boat, and grabbing the rope, wrapped it around the base of the cleat. I made a figure-eight with the rope over the horns of the cleat. Finally, I tucked the line under and pulled tight. Done!
I straightened and waited for Chief Rand to inspect.
He climbed from his boat and stood beside me, hands behind his back, and inspected my knot. “A good cleat hitch. Job well done!”
I released a stream of air.
Chief Rand patted me on the back. His voice lowered and he spoke with emotion. “It was my honor to teach you. Your dad would be proud. Congratulations, skipper.”
* * *
Rand shared the news with Honey. With great ceremony, she presented me with my official boater education card. It had my name, birth date, and Honey’s address on it.
“You did it, Jake. I’m proud of you. Keep that in a safe place. You’ll need it whenever you’re the captain of a boat.”
With the card hot in my hand, I raced to Macon’s house.
“I did it! I can captain my own boat!” I shouted when he swung open the front door.
He slapped my back and hooted out loud.
“I can’t wait to tell Lovie!”
“Congrats! One problem, though.”
“What?”
“You still need an actual boat.”
I punched him in the arm. “Ha. Ha. Funny. Really, though… I’ve already been thinking about that. I’m going to start saving up every dollar I get. How much do you think a boat would cost?”
“Way more than you got in that skinny wallet of yours.”
I sighed and opened up my wallet wide. I counted seven dollars and an old movie theater ticket. “I’m going to need a job.”
“More like multiple jobs,” he joked. “You’re coming back to Dewees next summer, right?”
“You bet I am.”
His face eased into a grin. “Then I’ll help you draft a business plan. Something we can do together right here on the island. Dude, I’ll help you buy a boat! A decent boat, not some muddy piece of junk. I’ll even get my boater’s license. And you know what? You can dock it at our dock.”
I laughed, thinking we’d come full circle. “Said the guy who wouldn’t even get in a kayak!”
* * *
Now it was Macon’s turn to pass his test. Low clouds raced across the afternoon sky as Lucky and I hurried to Huyler House for Macon’s swim test.
I spotted Lovie and we sat together by the pool with Lucky between us. Macon’s instructor was a young college girl with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a dark blue Speedo swimsuit, the kind team sport swimmers wear.
“Here they come,” Lovie said, and walked to the porch railing to watch the Simmonses’ golf cart pull into the parking lot. “I don’t believe it! Mrs. Simmons left the house!”
I hurried to stand beside her. There she was, in her flowing colorful caftan. On one side was Aunt Sissy. Holding her other arm was Mr. Simmons. I guess he’d flown in for the event. I swallowed hard. This was only the third time I had ever seen him. And the last time wasn’t under good circumstances.
Macon ran up the stairs ahead of them to greet us.
“Dude, your mom’s here,” I said in a low voice.
“Yeah.” He was beaming that his parents had come. “It’s against the doctor’s orders. But my mom said nothing was going to stop her from coming out here to watch her son swim.”
“You’d better do good.”
“I got this,” he told me with his wide grin.
Macon wore reflective goggles and bright green and black board shorts. His parents waved at us, then settled in chairs under a big umbrella with Aunt Sissy.
Macon eased into the pool. It was so hot, I wished I could jump into the pool too.
Lovie and I returned to our seats. Lucky trotted over to lie in the shade. I scooted to the front of my chair. Lovie jiggled her foot. We looked at each other, and with a smile, lifted our hands to show each of us was crossing our fingers for luck.
The instructor joined Macon in the pool and led him through his challenges. He didn’t seem at all nervous. He took a deep breath and eased himself under the water, all the way. I shifted my eyes over to Macon’s mom, who had a death grip on Mr. Simmons’s arm. I could feel her tension ease when Macon popped back up.
That was easy. Next was freestyle. Macon never cracked a smile. We watched his strong, long arms cut through the water with the power and grace I admired in the dolphins. He easily completed a full lap.
“He’s killing it,” I said to Lovie.
“I know, right? He wouldn’t put a toe in the ocean a month ago,” she whispered back. “And now he’s a regular Cullen Jones.”
Macon completed the different basic strokes—the front crawl, the backstroke, the breaststroke, and the sidestroke—with ease. He finished his test with the survival float and a sixty-second treading-water test. When he was done, Macon lifted his arm over his head in a fist pump.
We erupted in applause and cheers. Macon climbed from the pool, and his instructor presented him with his swimming certificate. Macon held it up over his head with a triumphant smile, then raced over to show it to his mom and dad.
“Macon, we’re so proud of you!” His mom had tears in her eyes as she wrapped him in a towel.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “It’s not a big deal, really.”
“No big deal?” Macon’s dad shook his son’s shoulders gently with his big hands. “This right here is a big deal. You overcame a fear. And you achieved your goal—in record time. We’re so proud of you. And next summer we’re going to get your mom in this pool,” he added, turning his head to smile at his wife.
Mrs. Simmons laughed and nodded. “And baby, too!”
CHAPTER 23
The Emergence
Pick out the biggest, brightest star to wish on.
JULY TURNED INTO AUGUST. THE days and nights grew steamy and hot. There was no escaping the near 100-degree temperatures, not even in the shade. We spent our afternoons swimming in the Huyler House pool or going out on Lovie’s boat. I couldn’t get enough of the water.
Macon, Lovie, and I were tighter than ever. We could almost finish one another’s sentences. Along with Lucky, we had truly created our own pack. Sometimes we called ourselves “the Three Musketeers.” Or “the Scribes,” because of our journals. Macon liked “the Water Rats,” the name Oysterman Ollie called us. I came up with “the Coyotes,” but we all agreed Lucky had enough of being mistaken for a coyote. Lovie said we had to wait until we found the absolute best name… the one that fit us.
“We’ll know it when we hear it,” she told us.
We were hanging out on the wooden Adirondack chairs on the porch of the Nature Center. We had our favorite table beside a shelf the center had provided for us to house our summer collection. Judy and Alicia, Honey, and Lovie’s
Aunt Sissy walked up the stairs, surprising us.
“Hey, kids,” Judy called out with a wave. Her blue eyes were sparkling. “We have some news.”
The three of us exchanged worried glances. What did we do now?
Judy laughed. “Good news. Your community service is officially over!”
Lovie’s face crumpled, but Macon and I high-fived.
Alicia added, “We are very proud of everything you’ve done to help the team this summer. You did a great job.” She looked at Honey. “I think you should say a heartfelt thank-you to Miss Helen for all she did to teach you these past six weeks.”
“Thank you,” we all chimed, and clapped our hands. I even hooted.
Honey beamed. She looked like her old self—tanned, fit, full of gumption. I laughed to myself, thinking how Honey was always telling us kids to play outdoors. I guess getting out every morning was good for her, too.
“Can we still help the team?” Lovie looked worried.
“Of course. In fact…” Alicia turned to Judy.
Judy stepped forward. In her hand she carried a canvas bag. “We’ve made you Dewees Island’s first official Junior Turtle Team members.” She handed us each our own Dewees Island Turtle Team ball cap. “These are special caps. Look at the name on it.”
We all looked at the lettering on the front of the blue ball caps. In big lettering were the words DAWN PATROL.
We slapped our caps on our heads and checked one another out approvingly.
Honey turned to us. “I’m game to keep on going till the end of the season. What do you say?”
Lovie jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Yes!”
Macon and I looked at each other and nodded. “Sure!”
“Good to hear,” Judy said. “The mother turtles may be leaving, but the hatchlings are still coming. There’s a lot of action out on the beach. We’ve got a nest hatch happening this week.”
“As a matter of fact,” Alicia said, looking at Lovie, “the next nest due to hatch—is yours! The nest you’ve all worked so hard to protect.”
* * *
A few days later, Honey and I had finished my favorite dinner of fried fish and collard greens. Honey was in her blue chair, her feet up, reading a book. I was reading too, lying on the sofa with Lucky across my legs.
I’d already read most of the books from my dad’s bookshelf. I was currently halfway through Hatchet. I could relate to the thirteen-year-old character Brian Robeson. In the book, Brian’s plane crashed in the wilderness, and he had to survive on his own with only his hatchet.
I looked at the ceiling and wondered if I’d be able to survive if that ever happened to me. When I arrived at the beginning of summer, no way I could have. But since then, I’d learned a lot about animals and plants, the land and the sea. And about myself, too. I thought that maybe I could manage in the wild alone.
The phone rang and both Honey and I swung our heads to look at it. I moved to answer, but Honey waved me back.
“I’ll get it. I think I know what this might be.”
I hawked her every movement, her facial expressions, as she said, “Uh-huh… uh-huh… okay then.”
When she hung the phone up, her eyes gleamed. “Get your backpack, Jake. It looks like there’s a nest tonight!”
Lucky felt the excitement and leaped to his feet with a bark.
“Lucky can’t come this time,” Honey said firmly. “No dogs at the hatchings.”
“But it’s his nest too. I mean, he found us at that nest.”
“It’s a firm rule. No exceptions.”
“Sorry, boy,” I told my dog, feeling bad when he looked at me trustingly. I gave Lucky a dog bone to enjoy before we headed out the door.
Honey sped along the dirt roads and reached the beach in minutes. She could really move fast when a turtle nest was hatching.
“We’re in luck,” she said to me when she parked the cart. “Full moon!”
The moon glowed bright, lighting the beach like a theater. Honey handed me a special flashlight that had a red light.
“This is your Turtle Team flashlight. It has a red light, not white. Only red light is allowed on a nesting beach. White lights confuse the hatchlings,” she said. “Their instinct tells them to go toward the brightest light. In the wild, that would be the light of the moon and the stars over the sea.” She handed me a beach chair.
“But electricity changed everything. Now we have to worry about the light coming from the houses and the streetlamps. If hatchlings emerge from the nest and see the white light, the babies wouldn’t know better and would head straight for the streets instead of the sea. And their certain death.” She grabbed the bag of Turtle Team supplies.
“The same with flashlights. That’s why it’s important for people to turn off their lights along the beach and for the team to only use red lights.” She looked up again at the full moon. “But the moon is so bright tonight, we don’t need any flashlight. Our eyes will grow accustomed to the dim light.” She hoisted her bag on her shoulder. “This way, Jake,” she called out, and led the way down the beach path.
The sand on the path seemed to glow in the moonlight. Honey was right. Soon my eyes could see the figures and shapes in the distance. When we reached the beach, I saw that Judy and Alicia were already at the turtle nest. They flicked on and off their red-tinted flashlights to guide us to where they sat.
Honey set down her chair, then walked directly to the nest. “We have our fingers crossed on this nest,” she said to me. “The coyote disturbed it and we had to move it, so we have to face the fact that this nest might not hatch.”
“Okay.” I wondered how Lovie would feel if the nest didn’t hatch.
Honey bent over to inspect the nest, then turned her face toward mine. Her eyes gleamed like the stars.
“Oh, it’s happening, Jake!”
I felt my heart beat quicker and squatted down for a closer look. All I saw was sand. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look closer. See how the sand is caving in a little?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a sign the turtles are sitting there, waiting to emerge.”
“So, it is going to hatch?”
“It sure is.”
I beamed. I couldn’t wait to tell Lovie.
Honey lowered her voice. “When the eggs start to hatch deep in the nest, they all work together. The turtles on the top scrape the sand, the ones below them push the sand down, and they all rise to the top like an elevator.”
I imagined all these tiny turtles crammed in a little elevator, rising to the top. What floor, please?
“When the hatchlings reach the top,” Honey continued, “they stay there for several days while their shells straighten. That’s where they are right now. And they can even hear us.”
“They’re all just sitting there? Why don’t they just come out?”
“They’re waiting for the sand to cool. That’s their first clue. Then instinct tells them the right moment to run home to the sea. We don’t know what that trigger is.”
“We’ll be right here, waiting. Won’t we?”
“Oh yes. We’ll stand guard over them as they crawl to the sea.”
“From the ghost crabs,” I said fiercely.
Honey laughed at my reaction. “Indeed. A few of us turtle ladies have a saying. ‘The only good ghost crab is a dead ghost crab.’ I delegate you for crab duty. Just keep them away.”
Honey opened up her folding beach chair. “Now we just sit and wait for the hatchlings to emerge. It might be a while, so get yourself comfortable. If you need more bug spray, let me know.”
“Jake!” Lovie came racing across the beach, a rolled-up beach towel tucked under her arm. Macon was right behind her with his own towel.
“What did we miss?” she asked, breathless.
“Guys, the nest is hatching!”
Lovie squealed and hurried to the nest.
“Does that mean exactly all eighty-two eggs will hatch?” Macon asked
, peering down at the nest.
“I don’t know. But for sure some will.” I pointed to the concave circle. “Wait a minute. Something changed.” I called over my shoulder. “Honey! There’s something sticking out of the nest!”
With mutterings of surprise, the three women scrambled from their chairs for a closer look.
“Why, that’s a flipper,” exclaimed Honey.
“Are they coming now?” Macon asked, holding his hands tightly together.
“Soon,” Judy answered. “Waiting on turtles to emerge from a nest is like waiting for a baby to be born. It can go fast. Or it can take forever. You might as well get comfortable. You know what they say. ‘A watched kettle never boils.’ ”
Macon, Lovie, and I laid out beach towels not far from the nest. Time passed slowly as we waited and waited. The only action was the mosquitoes trying to feast on us.
“Is it possible to die from too many mosquito bites?” I whined, smacking one of the little suckers on my arm.
“You should have worn a long-sleeve shirt. Haven’t I taught you anything?” Lovie said jokingly.
“Tell us an interesting fact,” I said to Macon. I was desperate.
Macon scratched his head. “Did you know the loggerhead got its name because of its big head?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “Everyone knows that.”
Macon thought for a minute. “Did you know sea turtles have their own GPS?”
I looked over at him. “No. Really?”
“Yep. They use the earth’s magnetic field.”
“Okay, that’s a cool fact,” I told him.
“Speaking of turtles, what’s taking so long? Do you think the turtles are okay?” Macon asked.
“Honey said it could take a long time.”
Macon pulled his phone from his backpack.
“Mom’s getting close to having the baby. I have to check in with her. I’ve got the emergency plan outlined in here.” He started scrolling down his screen.
Lovie continued to bury her feet in the sand, using a large rounded cockleshell as a shovel.
The moon climbed higher in the sky as the hours passed. It was now high above us. Macon checked his phone over and over. The glow from the phone lit up his face. His brows were scrunched in worry.
The Islanders Page 17