Drawn again to the photographs, she picked up the gray box and spread them on the floor. Kneeling beside them, she began picking through them once again. She’d diligently taken photos all summer. There were pictures of the tracks, nests, eggs and hatchlings. There were pictures of Cara, Emmi, Flo and herself, doing the typical duties of the turtle ladies. There were countless pictures of a bright and inquisitive Lovie involved in each phase of the nesting saga.
Toy felt a sudden sense of urgency and began putting the pictures into piles in chronological order. May June July August. September. Then she divided these into pictures of turtles and pictures of people, gathering them in a circle around her. She scooted closer, getting drawn into the stories. As she arranged the pictures, memories of the events came alive in her mind—words that were spoken, jokes shared, secrets revealed. Her hands worked quickly as the jumbled pile of memories was gradually arranged in some semblance of order. Hours sped by as the cool air of night settled around her. When she finished she stepped back and looked at the table, astonished.
There before her, in a neat succession of moments in time, was a beautiful, poignant, and revealing pattern. The succession of photographs created a story of one glorious summer on the Isle of Palms. It was a story of the nesting saga of the loggerheads. It was a story of duty. It was a story of friendship. It was a story of a mother and daughter.
Looking at the images she saw that she was there when Lovie built the sandcastle. She was there when her daughter collected sea shells. She was there when her baby sat in her lap and thrilled to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Just as she was there when Lovie was sick, and on her first day of school. She’d sewn her missing buttons, made her Halloween costume, cleaned her clothes, read her books, prepared her meals and served them on a clean table with a fork, a knife and a spoon. She’d kissed her soft sweet face every night before sleep.
“I was there…” she said aloud.
Toy brought her hands to her lips and tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, turning the photographs into a kaleidoscope of color.
This was her pattern of consistency. She may have made mistakes. She certainly was not perfect. But there in the series of images she found her answer.
Yes, she was a good mother.
It was very late when the front doorbell rang. Toy startled, dropping a photograph as she climbed to her feet. Opening the door, she found Ethan in the narrow halo of light. He wore a black slicker and his dark hair was plastered to his head, like he’d been walking in the mist for hours.
He didn’t wait to be asked in, but marched past her into the living room. When he got there he turned on his heel, his eyes blazing.
“I’m not going away,” he said. “I know you’re hurting. You think you don’t need anyone. You think you need to be strong, to do this on your own.
“But you’re wrong. It’s times like these that you do need people. People who care about you. People who love you.”
He paused, his mouth working. “I love you, Toy,” he blurted out. “I’m going to stay right here and get you through this. And when it’s over, when Little Lovie is back, then we can talk about the future. We have a lot to sort through. But goddamn it, Toy, don’t tell me to go away again. Because I won’t.” His mouth was set in a straight line and his fists were bunched like a pugilist’s ready for a fight.
Toy stood stunned to silence. She’d never heard Ethan sound like this before. She let the door slip shut behind her and quietly walked across the room to him.
He was watching her, his eyes burning with intensity from under dripping locks of hair, waiting for her response. She remembered that first day she’d brought Big Girl into the Aquarium. He’d been standing on the platform, his hair was dripping down his face as it was now. He’d heard her call and turned toward her.
And he was here now. She heard a click in her mind, the sound of a final tumbler of some complex combination falling into place. Gingerly she reached up to remove the wet slicker from his shoulders. He did not move to help her. She dropped the jacket on a nearby chair then reached up to stroke a damp lock from his forehead.
He looked into her eyes and his face relaxed. A half smile played at his lips. One familiar gesture evoked far more memories than words.
“Then don’t leave,” she said simply.
Something deep and abiding sparked in his dark eyes and his long arms slid around her waist, holding tight, not letting go.
28
The police told her all she could do was wait, so Toy waited.
The following day was overcast and blowy as the storm front slowly crossed over the barrier islands on its way to the ocean. The weekend visitors to the island were undoubtedly mumbling in their hot drinks about ruined golf games and rotten luck but Toy was glad for the rain. The somber clouds inveigled her to sit at the table with her photographs, a journal and an artist’s pencil.
She was a woman with a mission. The night before in a flash of brilliance she’d decided to create a journal for her daughter using the pictures she’d taken. She was restless like the sea outside her window, tossing in the night. She woke at first light and went directly from her bed to plunge into her project. Ethan found her hours later leaning over the table to sketch in the journal and make notations, writing feverishly. While she wrote, she talked aloud to Little Lovie, telling the great story of their summer together as turtle ladies on the Isle of Palms.
So it went on during the morning. Ethan sat on the sofa reading, but on occasion he let his book fall to his lap as he listened, a bemused smile on his face, to Toy as she spoke aloud the words she was writing, as though Lovie were there.
“You are my helper on the Island Turtle Team,” she told her. “One night we saw a loggerhead come ashore.” She laughed. “You thought the eggs looked like ping pong balls!”
As the journal took shape, Toy gained strength and purpose, feeling a connection with Lovie. She worked diligently, believing fervently that when her journal was finished, Lovie would be home and she could read it to her.
As the day grew long however, and still no word came from the police, her faith began to waver. The journal was bulging with pictures and scraps she’d glued to the pages. It was a scrap book of memories. Toy closed the cover and rested her hand over it, feeling the shadow of restlessness creep again into the quiet room.
The sound of a book hitting the table ricocheted in the stillness. “Come on, let’s go.”
She turned her head to see Ethan rising to a stand.
“Where are we going? To the police station?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head and reaching out his hand to take hers. “To the Aquarium.”
Ethan was right. The Aquarium was exactly the right place for her to go. She’d missed the bright and airy halls with the gleaming tanks, the exotic fish and the stunning views of the harbor. A choral group of children were singing songs from The Little Mermaid and she paused to listen. One little girl looked a lot like Little Lovie. She had a bright orange bow in her hair and was stretched out low on the floor to go eye to eye with the nurse shark. When the child turned her head she spied Toy staring. Toy smiled. In response the girl offered a tentative grin before turning back to the tank. Toy felt a pang of longing for her daughter.
When she entered the basement, the strong smell of fish and salt assailed her and the thrum of engines filled her ears. To her, it smelled and sounded like home. Behind the heavy metal doors, the small turtle hospital was empty save for Ethan, herself, and of course, the turtles. Ethan hung back, giving her space as she walked from tank to tank, greeting each turtle as she passed—Hamlin, Litchfield, Cherry Point.
“Each one of them is a teacher,” she said to Ethan, looking over the tanks. “I’ve learned more from them than I can ever thank them for.”
She walked beyond them to the largest tank set far in the back. “And you’re the best teacher of them all, Big Girl.”
The big sea turtle swam gracefully across the
big tank to the plastic window cut into the wall of the tank. Toy climbed the three wood steps to look down into the tank. Big Girl’s almond turtle-eyes were watchful, patient, as she breathed in gulps. Her neck had filled out from its emaciated state to fill out the curve of her carapace.
“You’re so beautiful,” she told the turtle, bending closer to meet her gaze. “Look how fat you’ve gotten. And your shell is gleaming. Ah, Big Girl, the water in the ocean is getting colder. If you’re going to be released home, it’s got to be soon. Are you ready, huh? Are all your wounds healed?” She reached out to pat the turtle’s shell. Big Girl dove and took a turn around the tank, gaining speed. Toy leaned back, lest she’d get splashed. But Big Girl only swam around once more then drew near again, her nares spouting droplets of water as she noisily exhaled.
Toy felt a surge of affection for the turtle mother who had journeyed with her through so many lessons this summer. She was her first rescue turtle of the hospital, the turtle that presented challenge after challenge, as though to test her. She was the turtle who taught her not to give up.
“I don’t know who saved who,” she told her in a soft voice. “Oh, Big Girl, I don’t know if I am ready to let you go.”
As Ethan and Toy drove home over the Ben Sawyer Bridge, Toy felt listless. She leaned her head back and let her gaze wander out over the vast marshes that stretched out to the ocean. The spartina grass was yellowing and the air was heavy with the pungent odor of pluff mud. Thousands of fiddler crabs were burrowing in that mud, preparing to hibernate for the winter.
They were crossing Sullivan’s Island when her cell phone chimed. Toy dug into her purse, her heart pounding, scrambling for the phone. When she pulled it out she saw that it was an Out Of Area call.
“Ethan, pull over!” she cried and flipped the lid of her cell phone. “Hello! Hello!”
There was a pause and she listened hard, closing her eyes to hear something over the beating of her heart.
“Hello, Toy?”
She could have wept. “Darryl!”
Ethan pulled the car into the parking lot of Christ Our King Episcopal Church and cut the engine.
“I’m here,” she shouted into the phone. “Thank God. Darryl, where are you?”
“I’m at a phone booth, so don’t be tracing my call.”
“No, I won’t. I swear. I’m in my car on my cell phone. Please, where’s Lovie?”
“She’s fine. She’s here with me. Hell, Toy, I didn’t kidnap her!”
“I know. I know you didn’t.”
“How do you know that?” he asked with suspicion.
“I talked to your mama yesterday. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No.” He paused. “What’d she tell you?”
Toy licked her lips and wondered how much to say. “She said you’d gone off to do a job and that you never meant to kidnap Lovie.”
“Yeah, you got that straight. No one came to pick the kid up. I waited in the sun for over an hour.”
He sounded angry. “I know,” she said, placating him. “Cara was ill. It was an emergency. She couldn’t come.”
“Well she should’a sent someone. She left me standing there. I had to go, man. I couldn’t lose the gig!” His voice was rising. “So I brung her with me.”
“Yes, okay.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a switch,” he said, his voice menacing. “Them others don’t. Cara and Brett. They called the police. Shit, why’d they do that? I’da brung her right home if they hadn’t gone and done that. Now I’m fucked. I didn’t kidnap Lovie and I didn’t rape no girl in California. I ain’t going to jail, Toy. That girl told me she was eighteen and I swear she was willing.”
“I believe you.” She was trying to keep her voice steady to calm him. He spoke in rushed sentences like a man at his breaking point. “Darryl, where’s Lovie?”
“I told you. She’s right here.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Better not. She’s been crying all day for you and I just got her settled. When she commences crying, I swear, I’m at my wit’s end.”
“Bring her home, Darryl. Please.”
“Don’t you think I want to?” he blurted out. She could envision him raking his fingers through his hair in an agitated swipe. He sounded calmer when he spoke again. “I’m not cut out for this daddy business. She ought to be with you. She wants her mama.”
She clutched the phone, squeezing her eyes tight. She wanted her daughter in her arms so badly it hurt.
“Toy, what do I do now?”
His voice told her he’d had his Come-to-Jesus and was desperate. “Bring her home,” she said, trying not to plead. “I won’t cause you any trouble. Just bring her home.”
“Right. The minute I show my face they’re going to arrest me. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“Then I’ll come get her. Just tell me where.”
He sighed into the phone. Toy held her breath. Looking at the cross on the church steeple, she began to pray.
“Okay then,” he said. “Listen good. I’ve got an idea. But you’re going to have to follow it to the letter, hear? If you don’t and I see a policeman anywhere, even one strolling by, I swear, Toy, I’ll take off and you’ll never see Lovie again.”
Her face paled and she nodded in agreement. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.”
“I’m in a town called Baileyville, in North Carolina, just across the border on Highway 26. There’s this park in the middle of town, with a big white gazebo in the middle. If you drive through on Main Street you can’t miss it. So here’s the deal. I’m going to leave Lovie sitting in that gazebo at eight o’clock. Got it? Eight o’clock tonight.”
She looked at her watch. “But it’s already four o’clock and it’ll take at least four hours to get there. I don’t know if I can get there by eight.”
“Shit.” She heard him pound the wall. “I don’t want to leave her in the dark. She’ll get scared.”
That he had thought of that gave Toy hope. “I’ll be there by nine. I swear.”
“No, that won’t work ’cause I won’t be. Tell you what. You be there by eight-thirty, even if you have to fly to get here. But at eight-thirty-five, I’ll be gone. I swear, Toy, I’ll leave her sitting there alone.”
The phone went dead. She stared at it a moment, trying to take it all in. Then she looked across the seat at Ethan, breathless. “Ethan, turn the car around. Hurry! We’ve got four hours to get to North Carolina. Drive!”
They drove north like a bat out of hell. Toy’s knuckles were white but she didn’t utter a sound as they whizzed up Interstate 26, across the Carolina border into the mountains. She was too busy praying and checking her watch. Traffic was mercifully light and they made it to the town of Baileyville by 8:28 p.m.
The sky was already darkening and the street lamps clicked on as they started driving up Main Street. Toy opened the window of the truck and stuck her head out, craning her neck as they meandered up the narrow street at a snail’s pace. Baileyville was a classic Southern town plucked from time. Main Street was lined with mature trees with gracious overhang, crooked sidewalks and low, red brick shops. She thought the town looked like it had weathered hard times since the closing of the textile mills. Still, there was a sense of pride evident in the fresh paint on the trim. And in the middle of the park, just as Darryl had described it, sat a pretty white gazebo.
“Pull over there, Ethan,” she told him, pointing to an open parking space parallel to the park. “This isn’t too close to the gazebo. Darryl can’t see you. Now remember, stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She reached for the door handle, but Ethan’s arm shot out to restrain her.
“I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
She spun around in the seat to face him. “Ethan, please!” she cried, brooking no argument. “Don’t do this. We discussed it over and over. I know him. He won’t hurt me. But he’ll
do something stupid if I rile him. So please. Just stay here. I’ve got to go alone to get Lovie.”
Ethan’s eyes were tortured as he mulled this over. “All right. But I’ll be watching. One false move…”
“Okay.” She burst from the car and took off running for the gazebo. The yellow bulbs of the movie marquis were glowing, guiding her. Only one other person was in the park, an elderly woman walking a small brown dog.
She slowed to a fast walk as she drew near the gazebo, not wanting to come up to quick and scare anyone off. She squinted and spied a small head and two short legs dangling beneath a bench, kicking with impatience. A lump grew in Toy’s throat. She knew that kick, recognized those chubby legs. She thrust out her arms and cried out, “Lovie!”
The child turned her head and peered through the white wooden slats. “Mama!
The next few seconds went by in a blur. Toy bolted to the gazebo, her shoes leaden and her breath coming short. She saw Lovie’s face, her outstretched arms, her blue eyes bright with excitement. “Mama!” she called out again and this time the voice was tearful.
Toy leaped up the stairs and with a cry of relief, scooped her baby in her arms and held tight. She buried her head in her daughter’s neck and held her close to her breast. She felt her daughter’s slender arms around her neck, her heart beating against hers. Toy was laughing and crying all at the same time. Lovie began crying, too. She’d been brave for so long, but now that she was in her mother’s arms she could hold the tears no longer.
“What took you so long?” she cried, angry at her mother. “Where were you?”
“I’m here,” Toy crooned, tasting the tears on her cheek. “I’m here,” she murmured, smelling the scent of her hair. “I’m here.”
Around Lovie’s neck she saw a chain of silver with a silver ring hanging from it. Toy recognized it as the ring she’d given to Darryl years before, the one he’d worn around his neck. She heard an engine rev, and clutching Lovie to her breast, she swung her head to the left. From the corner of her eye she saw a red Mustang parked down the road partially obscured by an overgrown shrub. A man was sitting in the driver’s seat. She squinted but couldn’t make out the features but she knew it was Darryl. The car rumbled in place.
Swimming Lessons Page 36