“Sounds good. It’ll give me time to save some money and look around.”
“Just don’t go looking too hard. You’ll find someplace and be gone before I can think this through. Just because my bossy brother thinks I can get more money doesn’t mean I want it. I like having you in Mama’s house. It feels right, and I know she likes it that way. She wanted you to live there, you know.”
“Oh, Lord,” Toy said, tearing up. “You had to go and mention your mother, didn’t you? I was doing just fine but now we’ll start to cry and I’ll never be able to leave the beach house.”
“I never cry,” Cara said with a short laugh. “But I might get misty.”
“One question,” Toy said, wiping her eyes. She had to ask and hoped it wasn’t too personal. “I don’t mean to pry, but how are you and Brett financially? Do you need the extra income from the beach house?”
Cara twisted her lips the way she did when she was wrestling with what she wanted to say. A myriad of expressions flitted across her face—surprise, vulnerability, sadness and finally honesty. She nodded her head slightly, barely enough for Toy to notice.
“Thank you,” Toy said, her voice low with emotion. “For all you’ve done for Little Lovie and me, thank you.”
Cara’s cell phone rang, and Toy was relieved that the conversation ended on such a positive note. It was Flo calling from her nest on the other side of the island and she sounded frantic. Cara waved Toy closer to listen in.
“Y’all better come here right away!” Flo said in a strained voice. “We had a boil, but it’s a disaster. When the hatchlings emerged from the nest, they began heading toward the ocean. But the sky’s so dark tonight. Once the turtles passed the shadow of the dune, the darn lights from the city behind them were so bright that the hatchlings got all confused, turned around and headed back toward the street! Mary, Barb and Tee are here, and I called Bev, Nancy and Kathey. I need the whole team here quick.”
“We’ll be right over.” Cara hung up and turned to Toy who was waiting for the report. “It’s a boil.”
Lovie clapped her hands excitedly, saying, “Oh goodie!”
“Whoa there,” Toy said, placing a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s getting late for you.”
“But Mama…”
“You know the deal. We stay till ten o’clock at the latest and it’s already almost ten. Way past your bedtime. No, don’t get all pouty. You’re lucky I let you stay up so late at all.”
“But Mama, it’s a boil!” The child was on tiptoe, pleading.
Cara was gathering her chair and supplies. She turned to Toy. “Is tomorrow a working Saturday for you?”
Toy shook her head. “No.”
“Then let her come. Little Lovie can sleep late tomorrow. So can you. Flo really needs all hands on deck. The beach is flooded with hatchlings all going the wrong way. Lovie is part of the team, after all.”
Toy slapped a pesty mosquito at her ear and knew there was no good argument against this. “All right.” She turned to Lovie and pointed a finger. “But you must promise to stay close to the nest and not walk around the beach, got it? Flo needs our help as turtle ladies and I can’t be worrying about you. Your job will be to monitor the nest on the dunes. The minute I see you walk off is the minute we go home.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Then let’s get going,” Cara said, grabbing her chair and taking off at a trot.
They arrived to find Flo knee deep in the ocean, holding a bright flashlight high in the air, mimicking the moon and hopefully guiding the confused hatchlings to the sea. The night was inky and it was hard to make out who was who on the beach. The women were mere silhouettes scattered across the sand, trying to steer the nearly invisible three inch hatchlings back toward the rolling surf using their feet as blockades. The small glowing circles of red light from their flashlights looked like low flying, rosy lightning bugs.
Toy settled Little Lovie at the nest high on the dune with the job of waiting to see if another baby turtle emerged. Then she began combing the nearby dune grass to rescue any hatchlings that may have wandered off to certain death. The hatchlings were completely disoriented, scrambling toward the lights on the pier, toward the street lamps and toward the porch lights of one careless homeowner who went out for the evening and left the ocean side porch lights brightly shining. Cara resorted to collecting the confused hatchlings in the red bucket and carrying them close to the shore where Flo’s flashlight could compete with the bright lights.
By midnight they’d succeeded in getting most of the one hundred and eleven hatchlings safely into the sea and on their journey to the Gulf Stream. They closed up the nest, tidied the beach, then bid each other sleepy farewells, feeling tired but satisfied. It was one of those nights when they felt that their efforts truly did make a difference.
Toy carried a sleeping Lovie along the winding beach path to the street. She was petite and weighed little. Sometimes Toy still felt that Lovie was her baby. This summer, especially, she’d had to force herself to let her daughter spread her wings.
“I let her stay up way too late. I should be more mindful of her schedule.”
“You’re doing a fine job raising that child,” Flo said as she followed in single file. “You should be proud. I’ve never known a child to care so much about nature. To feel nature as a child is much more important than just being able to list names of birds, or plants or animals. That kind of heart isn’t something you can teach a child in books.”
Toy hoisted her daughter to her hips, gaining a better hold. As a single, working mother, she couldn’t hear compliments on her mothering skills enough.
“They say it takes a village to raise a child,” she said. “In this case, it took a turtle team.”
“I like that,” Flo said emphatically. She didn’t say more, knowing it flustered Toy to be praised too much. Flo figured it was because Toy grew up in a home with a paucity of kind words.
They reached their cars parked on a side street and loaded the sleeping child into The Gold Bug, along with sand covered backpacks and gear.
Flo kissed the warm cheek of the child, then closed the door to the car. “Sleep tight, little turtle lady.”
When Cara arrived at her small, pink stucco house she saw that Brett had left the outside light on for her. Inside all was dark save for a stream of light shining from under the bedroom door. She dropped her sand encrusted backpack on the floor and slipped off her sandals. The night was so humid it had felt like she was wading through a mist. Sand clung to her sweaty skin from her scalp to cake in her toes. Sand was even in her teeth. She was sticky and smelly and couldn’t wait to get into the shower.
Opening the door to her room she stepped into a wall of cool air from the window air conditioner. Brett was still awake, lying in his boxers on the bed against a bolster of pillows. The overhead fan was twirling, riffling the papers he was studying. He lifted his head when she came in and under his slightly damp hair, his eyes warmed at seeing her.
“At last. I was beginning to worry.”
“I thought I’d never get home,” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Did the nest hatch?” he asked.
She nodded, then stripped the sticky, sandy shorts off and pulled her turtle team T-shirt over her head. She dumped the damp clothes on the floor.
“Not my nest. The one on 27th and it was a nightmare. The hatchlings headed straight for the lights of the city. We had to carry them to the ocean, over and over again. They’d get right to the surf then turn around and head back toward the light of the street. Poor things. But I tell you, it was frustrating. I hope this doesn’t happen all summer.”
“Go take your shower. You’ll feel better.”
The cool water sluiced down her body, rinsing the sand off in sheets. Closing her eyes, she wanted to fall asleep right there in the pouring water. The air felt cooler when she stepped out from the shower. She dried herself quickly, feeling the lateness of the hour d
eep in her bones. Wrapping the towel around her breasts, she went to the fridge to scrounge for food. She was always hungry these days. Standing in front of the fridge, she ate a boiled egg, a chunk of cheese and poured herself a glass of milk.
“What are you working on?” she asked when she returned to the bedroom.
“The July report for the new site,” he replied, looking up. He tossed the pencil on the bed. “Another month of summer gone. I don’t know, hon. Three operations up and running…it’s going to be tight.”
“We’re at the peak of the season. Things are picking up.”
“They’d better be.” He ran a hand through his tawny hair. He cut it short in the summer, but no matter what he did, it always managed to look unruly. “I wonder if we didn’t expand too fast. The Bull’s Bay operation is off to a slow start. We’re barely making it.”
She sat beside him on the bed. “Brett, I know this is tough for you to believe, but we’ll be fine. Back when the property for the site in Bull’s Bay became available we had to be aggressive or lose the chance of buying it.”
“We spent every penny we had and we’re in hock up to our necks.”
Cara sighed. She knew Brett feared being in debt. He didn’t have faith in the demographics she’d shown him. She’d spent years in marketing and advertising; she knew how to read the numbers. But he believed in her. He’d supported her business plan, put his business and house on the line, and worked like a bull in the harness seven days a week to launch the two additional operations. She hated to see the new creases carving across his broad forehead and the faint blue shadows under his eyes.
She moved to collect the papers from his hands and set them on the bedside table. Then she flipped off her towel, crawled across the mattress to his side and cuddled against his broad chest, wrapping one of his arms around her. His skin felt so hot against her own, which was cooled from the shower. She sighed and closed her eyes when he rested his chin atop her forehead.
“Toy talked to me about renting the beach house,” she began. “She thinks we should start renting to someone else to collect more rent.”
“What brought that up?” he asked sharply.
“She overheard Palmer saying something to me about it.”
Brett cursed under his breath. “Tell her to forget about it. She can stay as long as she likes.”
“I tried to, but she doesn’t feel right about it. And we do need the money.”
He sighed and it rumbled deep in his chest.
“Well, no need to worry about it anymore tonight,” she said sleepily, gently patting his chest with her fingertips. “We’ve agreed to think on it for the summer. It’s too big an issue to decide quickly.”
He remained quiet and she knew he was working things out in his own way.
“We do need the money,” he conceded. “But it’s not just the cash flow that’s wearing on me. Three locations means I’m working all the time. There’s always something going wrong, some paperwork that needs doing. I never have time for myself. For us. We’re always working, Cara. It’s all we do. This is no way to live.”
She opened her eyes and, leaning against one arm, lifted her face to him. She saw the intensity of his emotions in his eyes. Summer was his favorite time of year. He was a teacher at heart and loved taking boatloads of people out to witness the beauty of the lowcountry. He loved nothing more than to stand wide legged and grab the helm of his boat in two hands, to toot the big horn, to pull the throttle and hear the roar of his powerful engines as they churned white water. To put a man like that behind a desk was a crime against nature. And she knew that this man, her husband, did it all for her.
All her assurances were inadequate. They’d made their decision and had to stay the course. “We’re just tired. It won’t be this hard for long. Think of it as an investment in our future. It’ll be tough this season, but when it’s over, you’ll have lots of time to spend with your child.”
His eyes kindled at the words your child. This was their greatest hope, one worth struggling for.
Leaning forward, he kissed her lips. A familiar surge of emotion shot through her. He’d always had this power over her.
“What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Never.”
There followed a moment when she knew they were both considering kissing again and igniting the quick punch of lust that would lead to lovemaking. Fatigue settled the question. She lowered her head to his chest and was comforted by the three gentle pats he gave her shoulder. Brett reached over to flick off the light. Instantly the room fell into delicious, cool darkness.
“Good night,” she murmured, feeling sleep descending quickly.
“I love you,” he replied, then covered her bare shoulder with the sheet.
The ice clinked in the tumbler as Flo raised it to her lips. It wasn’t often that she allowed herself to indulge in a sip of Jamieson’s and water. She’d lived alone long enough to know that drinking alone was putting one foot on a slippery slope. Every once in a while, however, she indulged. And tonight was one of those rare nights. She wasn’t depressed. She wasn’t particularly happy, either.
She simply couldn’t sleep. The long night on the beach had left her restless and when she’d looked at the small alarm clock on her bedside table for the tenth time and it still only read 2:00 a.m., she’d given up trying. So she’d come outdoors with whiskey in hand to sit on her porch and let the island breezes settle her some.
Flo rocked, soothed by the rhythmic creak of wood on wood and the scent of her mother’s roses. Overhead she tracked a slow-moving cloud in the pewter sky until it thinned and became smoky wisps. The moody sky, the gentle roar of the ocean, the cries of the insects, the scent of roses…. Closing her eyes, she could have been the young girl who had rocked on this very porch while her mama and daddy slept upstairs. Her parents had built this house, she’d spent a lifetime here, her mother had died in it.
Miranda had believed that a spirit left part of itself behind in a beloved home. She claimed that the spirits were that unnamed something people felt when they returned to visit their childhood homes. The smells triggered memories, yes. The visual clues signaled recognition too. But it was the lingering love that elicited whisperings from the past.
Flo sipped her drink. She was not the romantic her mother was. To her mind, Miranda was gone, as her father had been for decades. And whether part of them remained in this old house or not, there was only herself left to bear the burden of its upkeep. Perhaps she came to her mother’s garden tonight seeking absolution for her decision. Who knew? She brought the glass to her lips again and felt the gentle, welcome burn as it slowly slid down her throat.
The sound of a door closing across the driveway caught her attention. She stilled her rocking, and looking over, saw a man’s figure leaving Toy’s house. Her senses on alert, she sat up in her chair and leaned far forward, squinting.
My, my, my…if it wasn’t Miss Toy’s Ethan sneaking out of her house like a fox from the hen house. Hidden in the shadows, she watched as he quietly made his way down the stairs then walked across the gravel drive to the street where a pickup truck was parked. Moments later she heard a car door close, the roar of an engine and the crunch of wheels against gravel as the truck drove away. Flo held her wrist watch up to the moonlight. It was after three a.m.
A slow smile of satisfaction eased across her face. “Good for you,” she murmured. Suddenly the world did not seem quite so sad or lonely. She chuckled softly and raised her glass in a solitary salute to youth and love.
15
Mid-August marks the end of summer along the southeastern coast and the beginning of the hurricane season. Visitors to the coast care only that the temperatures are hot and the sun shines bright over long stretches of ivory beaches. The locals, however, sense a subtle shift that begins soon after the children head back to school.
Officially the hurricane season begins June 1st when cyclones form in the western Caribb
ean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico. By late July, the storm formation shifts eastward and frequency increases. Still, most local residents don’t pay much mind to the skies in July, though there are some that like to sit over iced tea and remind folks of those storms that blew in early, catching them unawares.
By mid-August, however, every storm that spins off the coast of Africa becomes the hot topic of conversation at every greeting, mealtime gathering or phone conversation. Most of these storms cross vast areas of the ocean before dying off somewhere in the North Atlantic. But those that earn a name and head toward the United States tend to be severe. When that happens, tourists head for the hills and the locals are tuned to televisions and radios as they track its progress and debate whether they’ll leave at first warning or wait till evacuation is mandatory.
Cara never reconciled with the hurricane season. She tended to be nervous and short-tempered, even more so with her pregnancy. She’d never forgotten the terror of riding out a hurricane on the Isle of Palms with her mother, watching the water in the house rise foot by foot, hearing the wind howl like a banshee and sending them cowering in the attic, clutching each other and saying their prayers. She didn’t care that Flo and Emmi teased her mercilessly. Cara remained staunchly in the “voluntary evacuation” group to leave the barrier island.
So on August 12th, when the officials announced a named storm in the Caribbean, she clicked into high gear. She stocked her emergency supplies and prepared her house for the storm. When all was in order she met Toy at the beach house and together they got the small house ready for a possible storm. The old beach house had withstood countless storms, as her mother often told her with pride. They were just putting away the plastic bins of supplies when Flo called out a greeting. She was dragging a wooden ladder from the garage and waved, leaning on the picket fence to catch her breath.
“Here we go again!” Flo called out. “Another hurricane season—and they say this one’s going to be a doozy.”
Swimming Lessons Page 21