On Ocean Boulevard

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “Pandora…”

  “Save it.” Pandora turned her back on Linnea and began walking away.

  Linnea felt crushed, but there was nothing left for her to say. There was no argument that would persuade Pandora to turn around. She watched Pandora stride back toward Breach Inlet without a farewell or a backward glance.

  * * *

  THE RAIN HAD rolled off the island and out to sea by early evening, leaving the air fresh and void of the menacing mosquitoes and no-see-ums that could plague the beach during periods of humidity. There were puddles here and there along the beach path, but for the most part the water had been absorbed by the beach. Linnea wore her rain slicker, just in case, and carried her turtle team supplies should the nest emerge. She had taken extra care with her appearance, knowing Gordon was coming.

  When Linnea arrived at the nest at 8 p.m., she found Mary Pringle and Barb Bergwerf already there. Companionably ensconced in beach chairs, they waved her over. She glanced around the beach for Gordon; not seeing him, she detoured to check the nest before joining her friends. The dime-size depression was now the size of a half dollar. This meant the hatchlings were sitting at the top, waiting for some cue that it was time to emerge. Linnea felt the excitement she always did at an impending emergence. She’d seen hundreds in her life, and it never got old.

  Walking back to join the others, she spotted Emmi approaching with her backpack. She carried a large beacon lamp that they sometimes used to help the hatchlings find their way to the sea. In nature, hatchlings were guided by the brightest light. For millennia, that light had been the moon and stars on the sea. But with the advance of electricity, the moon couldn’t compete with lights shining from houses and the city. The sun was lowering, and in the twilight Linnea searched for any beachfront houses that might have exterior lights burning. She wasn’t shy about knocking on the doors and letting the owners or guests know that the islands had established light ordinances they called Lights Out for Turtles. All beachfront properties were required to have beachside exterior lights turned off. The most mindful of renters knew to close the shutters and curtains too. She was pleased to see that all lights were out.

  Behind Emmi were Tee and Cindy, lugging beach chairs and bags. Cara followed, carrying the fabled red bucket. The bucket had once belonged to Lovie and was treasured by the team. They used the bucket whenever they needed to transport turtles closer to the sea. Linnea looked up to scan the sky. Faint early stars were beginning to appear in the pearlescent sky. Tonight, she thought, nature’s light might yet prevail to guide the hatchlings to the sea without human assistance. Like Lovie, Linnea always preferred nature to win out.

  She felt the joy of the team bubble beneath the discussion as they gathered for this first nest. They laughed and shared experiences of the first fifty days of the season. There was always the story of the crazy tourist, the sad turtle stranding, a discussion of the DNA study. But most of all, they talked about how this season they were already above previous nest records. And not just them: all along the southeastern coast, reports of a high number of nests brought the hope that this would be a banner year for the sea turtles. While she listened, Linnea kept an eye out for Gordon, checking her watch from time to time, wondering where he could be.

  At long last, after darkness had descended and a bright moon rose higher in the sky, Linnea spotted a single figure approaching, tall and lean. She recognized the sway of his shoulders as he moved. A smile curved her lips, and she rose from her chair.

  “Gordon, you came.”

  “Of course I came,” he replied, kissing her lips lightly.

  Linnea cast a surreptitious glance at the team nearby. As she feared, they were all watching her, witnessing the kiss. She turned and introduced him to the group as Dr. Carr, a visiting biologist from England here to study plastics in turtles. This news won the team over and they were eager to meet him. When she introduced Emmi, however, her tone was cool and she cast Linnea a curious look. Linnea smiled stiffly and ignored it. She didn’t feel the need to explain herself to her ex-boyfriend’s mother. The group chatted for several minutes, eager to learn about Gordon’s research. The Island Turtle Team was nothing if not passionate about the ocean and all the marine animals living in it.

  When the conversation flagged, Linnea led Gordon to a quiet section of a beach a bit away from the group and they settled on towels on the sand. Linnea glanced back to see Cara’s and Emmi’s heads bent in conversation. She could guess who they were talking about.

  “Any action?” Gordon asked, oblivious to the friction his appearance was causing.

  “It’s all systems go. There’s a crater in the sand over the nest, but it could stay like that for hours. Even days.”

  “I’m feeling lucky,” he said, and his eyes sparkled in mirth.

  Linnea drew circles in the sand. “I had words with Pandora,” she said.

  He cocked his head. “About what?”

  How could men be so obtuse? she wondered. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “She’s not pleased that you and I are seeing each other.”

  His face grew troubled.

  Linnea clarified: “She doesn’t see you as her brother.…”

  “Ah,” Gordon said in understanding. “I didn’t know.”

  “And she feels I’ve betrayed her, knowing how she felt about you. And I suppose I did.”

  “Linnea,” Gordon said in a serious tone, “I like Pandora. A lot. But as I told you, my feelings for her are entirely separate from my feelings for you. You shouldn’t feel badly.”

  “But I do.”

  He skipped a beat. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Don’t. It will only make things worse.”

  “One of us must, and since she’s not talking to you… Really, I want to clear the air.” He reached out to take her hand. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

  “She was supposed to join us tonight. She really wanted to see this.”

  “You never know with the Pan. She might show up.” Linnea wanted to believe him, and sitting on the beach beside him, under a rising moon, with a gentle breeze, it was easy to do just that.

  As predicted, the hatchlings were taking their time, waiting for some ancient instinct to trigger their emergence. As the hours waned, Linnea and Gordon talked about anything and everything. She found him vastly interesting when he discussed his work. He was involved in her field and a natural teacher. Plus, she loved his accent, his voice, melodious and rich. He was careful with his word choices and brought his subject to life with a turn of a phrase or a bit of humor that was as funny as it was surprising. A southerner, Linnea appreciated the art of storytelling and found Gordon a master.

  After several hours passed, their conversation was interrupted by farewells from the team members who, one by one, gave up waiting, packed up their gear, and headed for home.

  “It’s after eleven. You don’t have to wait,” Emmi told Linnea. Her voice was matter of fact and she offered none of her usual joking and friendly banter. “With the moon up, there’s plenty of light. They’ll make it on their own.”

  “I’ll wait a bit longer,” Linnea replied. “Do you want me to call if there’s any action?”

  Emmi shook her head. “No. Only call if you have a problem. But don’t hang around. Go home. They’ll be fine.”

  Cara came up beside them. “It’s her nest. She wants to wait,” she prodded. “Good-bye, then,” she said to Linnea and Gordon, then glanced at Emmi with a meaningful look. “Ready to go?”

  Linnea wanted to kiss Cara. Emmi relinquished, turned and followed Cara to the beach path. Cara glanced back at Linnea with a wink.

  Alone, Linnea and Gordon moved their towels closer to the nest. The night was dark and balmy. Closer to the dunes they could smell the lemony scent of the blooming primroses and hear the gentle scraping of the sea oat panicles as they shook with each breeze. She felt her eyelids lower and yawned.

  Gordon stretched out and patted the spot on the
towel beside him. Linnea lay beside him, her head against his shoulder. She enjoyed the feel of his chest moving up and down slowly as he breathed.

  He reached up and pointed. “There,” he said. “The brightest star is Sirius, also known as the Dog Star, for its position in the constellation Canis Major.”

  “I see the Big Dipper,” Linnea said. “And the Little Dipper. That’s all I can name. Oh, and Venus when she deigns to appear.”

  “Ursa Minor,” he said. “The Little Bear. Ursa Minor is home to the Little Dipper and Polaris, the North Star.”

  “So you love the sea and the stars, I take it?” she asked.

  “True. Back home, I have a telescope. My father used to spend time with me, pointing out the constellations. I suppose I find the night sky comforting.”

  “Are you close to your father?”

  Gordon hesitated. “I try to be.”

  He began pointing out other constellations.

  Linnea listened, trying to find all the constellations he described. The sky was littered with brilliant stars tonight, twinkling against the velvety blackness seductively. She turned her head and instead watched his face as he talked, his enthusiasm for the subject palpable. Again she was struck by the force of his intelligence. His was different from John’s. Gordon was modest about his breadth of knowledge. It slipped out as he spoke, surprising her. He was a constellation of knowledge. In contrast, John’s brilliance shone like the North Star. He was quick-witted, sharp, avant-garde. Both surfers, both bright, but that was all the two men had in common. John was a hip techie from California. Gordon was a well-mannered British professor.

  Gordon turned his head to find her watching him. His smile was barely visible in the moonlight and his eyes shone in the dim light. “Am I talking too much?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I could listen to you talk forever.”

  He moved his arm to brace her shoulders, then shifted her closer to him.

  “How did you get interested in all this?” she asked. “Stars, sea, turtles… Was your family interested in animals and conservation?”

  He snorted and shook his head. “My family’s only interest in animals is to shoot them,” he replied.

  “What?” she said with a laugh.

  “The Carrs are big game hunters. Or were. Ages ago. The only shooting we do now is with a camera.”

  “So, the answer is no.”

  “I suppose they do as much for conservation as some, not as much as others. We all can do better.”

  “If they weren’t involved, how did you get hooked?”

  “Surfing.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Like you, I got started young. Being in the ocean—oceans all around the world—I felt connected to the beings that swam in the water with me. I was always drawn to the natural world. I loved the oceans, excelled in science at school, and eventually it all caught up with me. And here I am.”

  “Did you do more academic or field research?”

  “Both.”

  She envied him his experiences. “You love it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I do. Research is the great hunt. But I don’t have to be in the wild. I have to admit, I’m enchanted by the lowcountry. The marshes and all the creeks that snake through them. Dolphins, turtles, alligators, wading birds, bald eagles, white tail deer—so much wildlife. I go out in a johnboat and it’s paradise.”

  Linnea sighed, grateful that he appreciated the wonder of the local landscape, as she did.

  “But,” he added, “I confess that I might love teaching as much.”

  “You’re a teacher?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Professor, if you don’t mind,” he teased.

  “Professor Carr. You never mentioned that choice bit of information. Where do you teach?”

  “Oxford. Only part-time. I do research as well.”

  “No…” Linnea was genuinely surprised. “You mean you might teach Cooper?”

  “Is he studying environmental science?”

  “Cooper?” She snorted. “The closest he’d come to science is engineering, as in motors.”

  She heard the laugh rumble in Gordon’s chest. “Ah, yes. Trucks. Then, no. I won’t be your brother’s teacher. More’s the pity.”

  “Count your blessings.” She listened to the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore, felt the rise and fall of his chest. “You said your parents could do better about conservation. Do you feel you’re doing enough?”

  He sighed and drew her closer against him. “That’s hard to answer. What is enough?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “All I know is that I’d like for my children to enjoy the same animals, fresh air, and water—the same natural beauty—that I have.”

  “Me too. All this… It’s priceless, isn’t it? And heartbreaking to think that all this beauty could disappear. Species going extinct. Climate change wreaking havoc. What kind of a world are we leaving behind for the next generation? What wouldn’t we pay to preserve beauty for our children and grandchildren?”

  “Thus, we fight the good fight.”

  She sighed. “Yes, we do.”

  He slid her body closer to his on the sand. Comforting. Yet, again, so close she felt her body come alive. The air thickened between them. He leaned over her so that his hips pressed against hers. He smoothed the hair from her face. Brushed a few grains of sand from her cheek. She saw his eyes over her like two brilliant stars. Staring into them, she moved her hand up to cup the side of his face. Turning his head, he kissed the tender skin of her palm. Then he lowered his head to her neck and his breath came hot along her throat. She felt her cells tingle as he lazily trailed kisses to her mouth. Then, with a breath, his lips were on hers.

  She moaned deep in her throat and stretched her arms to wrap around his back, drawing him tight. Kissing him, she was lost in the stars. One of his arms moved to cradle her head, the other was free to stroke the length of her body.

  The kiss was interrupted by the feeling of something weird climbing across her leg. Something small and spiny. With a start she jerked away her leg, bolted upward, and began swatting at her ankle.

  “What is it?” Gordon asked, sitting up.

  “I don’t know.” She jumped to her feet. “A ghost crab, I think.” She shuddered. “I hate those things.”

  Gordon reached behind him for his flashlight and flicked it on. The red light flooded the sand around them, revealing one three-inch hatchling scrambling off toward the ocean.

  “Gordon!” she yelped. “It’s a turtle!”

  He sprang to his feet.

  “Careful where you step!” she exclaimed. She also flicked on her red flashlight and spread the cone of light around her. Then she shone it at the nest. There was an opening, but it was small. No other turtles were out.

  “That must be the scout. That’s the single turtle that heads out first. It sometimes happens, though we don’t know why.” She looked around the sand. “We should pick up our towels. The entire nest could hatch at any moment.” She gathered her wits. It was happening!

  “Why don’t you follow that hatchling to the sea?” she told Gordon. “The tide is out and he’s got a long way to go. Don’t let a ghost crab get him.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Linnea smiled, watching as his beam of red light swept the beach in search of the small turtle. Then, he walked at a snail’s pace beside it until all she could see was the beam of his red light in the darkness. Sharing this with Gordon was bonding.

  She shook out their towels and moved to sit beside the nest. The wind had quieted and overhead, the thin, wispy clouds were moving fast. The stars were playing peekaboo.

  She waited at the nest, eyes peeled for any flippers moving in the sand. She stretched out to grab her backpack and retrieved her phone. Scanning through her messages, she didn’t see anything from Pandora. “Darn you, Pan,” she muttered. “You’re just hurting yourself.” She tex
ted her for the tenth time, alerting her that an emergence was imminent.

  COME NOW! she wrote, all in capitals. Then clicking off her phone, she decided there was nothing more she could do.

  The tide was coming in, swallowing the beach in gulps. The hatchlings would have a shorter trip to the sea, she thought, pleased. Overhead, the moon rose higher in the sky, its light shimmering over the ocean. Only a few thin clouds trailed the storm and soon those would be gone too. All was in readiness for the hatchlings to race to the sea.

  A lone figure was striding slowly back up the beach. When Gordon drew near, she saw his grin stretched from ear to ear.

  “I’m guessing the turtle made it to the sea,” she said.

  “It did,” he exclaimed and sat next to her on the sand. His excitement was palpable. “I saw the dive instinct. It was just as I’d read about. One minute it’s a clumsy little turtle, and the next, bam! It’s swimming.” He peered over her shoulder to scan the nest. “Anything?”

  “Not yet,” she replied. “They’re down there, just sitting under the sand. They rest in an air-filled cavity beneath the surface. They’ve unfolded and their carapaces straighten. At the same time, the yolk sac is being pulled inside the body, giving the hatchling nutrients for the journey ahead. I can just imagine them under there. Waiting. But for what signal? No one knows.”

  “Temperature of the sand? Sense of time?”

  “Whatever it is, when they’re ready, they boil out,” she said, rising to her feet. “And hold on,” she said, shining her red light on the nest. “ ’Cause here they come!”

  Before their eyes the sand began to cave in and ten or more flippers broke through, waving wildly in the air. Out they scrambled, one over the other, pushing and shoving in a comical frenzy to escape. Behind them, an army of tiny, three-inch hatchlings moved en masse, pouring out of the nest.

  “It’s a boil!” Linnea exclaimed.

  “Look at them all.”

  “They look healthy. Good-sized and lots of energy,” Linnea said. Looking at the nest, she saw more turtles climbing out, flippers waving, one over the other. She bent over the nest, trying to get a rough count on the turtles.