“Now, I didn’t say that.” Flo craned her neck to peer out over the house’s wood. “Though I’ve got the name of a good painter, should you need one? I’m just saying . . .”
Lovie chuckled at the not-so-veiled criticism. “Stratton won’t spend the money on this place until we’ve finished the work on the main house.”
“You’ll never finish that white elephant. No one ever finishes working on those historic houses.”
“Like your boat?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. They’re money pits. But you can’t let this place go for too long. The salt air is hard on these old houses.”
“I know, I know.” Lovie lifted the to-do list from the table. “I’ve compiled a list as long as my arm of projects I’d like to begin on this poor little house. But Stratton says not this year.”
“Stratton says that every year. Face it, sugar, he just doesn’t care for this place. He’d as soon sell it tomorrow.”
Lovie frowned, hearing the truth in it. “Well, he can’t. Not without my permission. And you know I’ll never give it.”
“Better not. Your daddy would turn over in his grave. It’s a sweet place,” she said in a soft tone and letting her gaze sweep the porch. “Keeping your name on the deed to this house was the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”
Lovie didn’t comment and instead took a sip of coffee. Her parents had left the modest beach house to her when she married. The rest of her inheritance she’d handed over to Stratton after they were wed, as was expected. But she’d told Stratton that her parents insisted the beach house be kept in her name to be left to their children. It was a little white lie, one that she never felt guilty for. In her heart, she knew that Flo was right. If she gave Stratton any legal leverage over the beach house, he would sell it. And that she could never allow. It’d be like selling her soul.
“Where is that old bird dog, anyway?” Flo asked.
Lovie took another sip, then slowly lowered her cup to the table. “He’s at Tradd Street. His business guests are still in town, so he’s staying there a little longer to entertain. He wanted me to stay, too, but we decided it was best for me to bring the children out here as planned.”
“How long will he be in town?”
“A week or so. Then later in the summer he’s going to Europe.”
“Europe again?”
“Yes. And Japan . . .”
Flo’s brows rose. “Really? Business must be doing well.”
“It’s booming. Keeping him terribly busy. We hardly see him anymore. He’s out late with clients more nights than not.”
Flo pursed her lips and looked out at the sea.
Lovie looked at the murky coffee in her cup with shame. She could tell Flo was holding back her words. Had she, too, heard rumors of Stratton’s philandering?
Flo swung her head back and smiled. “Hey, that means you’ll be alone at the beach house for most of the summer.”
“Afraid so.”
Flo clapped her hands. “You’re free!” she exclaimed. “It’ll be like when we were kids. You won’t have to play housewife and have dinner on the table when your man comes home. You can eat at my house, and I can eat over at yours! Slumber parties!”
Lovie chuckled at the memories of glorious summers past. “I still have Palmer and Cara, don’t forget.”
“Bring them along. I love them. It’s that old man I can’t stand.”
“Flo . . .”
“Okay, let’s let sleeping dogs lie . . . or go to Europe. Whatever. Well, this is a happy turn of events. It’s going to be a wonderful summer.” Flo’s eyes gleamed as she leaned toward Lovie. “The turtles are out there. I can feel it.”
“So can I,” Lovie said with shared enthusiasm.
The sea turtles were the glue that bound their friendship, and it had held fast for thirty years. It all started back when they were Cara’s age. Every summer since they’d walked shoulder to shoulder along the beach in search of turtle nests. They’d fought back the dreaded ghost crabs, guarded against marauding raccoons, and lay with their ears to the ground by the nests, wondering what those babies were doing deep down in the sand. When they were lucky, they saw nests hatch, and the sight never failed to thrill them.
When they grew older, both girls kept their childhood promise and studied biology at college. Flo later found her passion in psychology and changed majors. Lovie left college after junior year to marry Stratton. But their passion for sea turtles continued to burn.
“Have you by any chance gone out to check on turtle tracks?” Lovie asked. “I went out this morning, but I didn’t find any.”
Flo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “As a matter of fact, I did see tracks yesterday morning.”
“No! Where?”
“By 32nd Avenue.”
“I knew I should’ve been here. Did you mark it?”
“Now don’t get your panties tied up in a knot. I didn’t see a body pit. Just tracks partly up the beach and a turn around. I figure that mama was just checking things out.”
“A false crawl,” Lovie said, referring to the tracks left by a sea turtle who didn’t attempt to nest. She smiled and wriggled her brows with meaning. “That means she’ll likely come back tonight.” Lovie felt the familiar rush that always came at the beginning of the sea turtle nesting season. “You in the mood to walk the beach tonight? See what we might see?”
“Could be,” Flo replied with a wide grin. “Wouldn’t mind seeing me a turtle come ashore to start off the season. Though let’s not get our hopes up. You know the chances of catching her are pretty slim. But oh, Lord, I’d love to see one just so I could hold it over Miranda’s head. She’ll be hootin’ and hollerin’ that she missed it.”
“There’ll be plenty more for her to see.”
Flo folded her arms. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
Lovie was alert to Flo’s change in tone. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear the big news?”
“News? No. What news?”
From the neighbor’s yard they heard the sound of a boat’s power motor starting up, gurgling relentlessly.
“They’ve gone and done it,” Flo said dramatically. “Sold the north end of the island to some development company.”
“They sold it?”
Flo nodded. “To resort developers. Word is they’re going to build some kind of country club.”
“A country club? On Isle of Palms?”
“That’s what they say.”
“But . . .” Lovie’s mind reeled.
“Took the wind out of your sails, didn’t it?”
“I’m confused,” Lovie replied honestly as she racked her memory banks. “Last I heard, they were offering the land to the county, state, and federal governments for development as a park. What happened there? I had such hopes.”
“Well, they did offer. I guess there weren’t any takers, or offers they wanted to take.”
“Or that could match this one.” This would be an old story.
Lovie leaned back in her chair, slump shouldered with defeat. “I really wanted it to be a park. How wonderful would that’ve been?”
“We all did.”
She looked at her coffee cup with a sudden wish it were wine. “Who ended up buying it?”
“I don’t know for sure. Some developers from Hilton Head with big plans. There’s talk about a marina, condominiums, and plots for houses. As many as a thousand, maybe more.”
That news had the power to take Lovie’s breath away. “That many? I can’t believe it.”
“It’s going to be a big development. You just know they’re thinking of putting in a golf course.”
Lovie snorted. “Stratton will be thrilled.”
A new voice sounded from the porch stairs. “Who’s building a golf course?”
Turning her head, Lovie saw Palmer, his hair wet and caked with sand and his skin glowing from his first day in the summer sun. His shoulders, though slim, had the first hints of man
hood in their breadth. She smiled just to see him and felt a familiar gush of love.
“Hi, honey,” Lovie called out. “You weren’t out long.”
“Waves weren’t good.” He reached the top of the stairs and leaned against the railing.
“Come, give me some sugar,” she said, wiggling her fingers in a come hither.
Palmer rolled his eyes and pushed off from the railing, walking like a condemned man to deliver a quick kiss on her cheek. She held her hand to his hard cheek and clung to the brief moment. There was a time when Palmer climbed on her lap and told her all about his day, the good and the bad. They had no secrets. Now he was as cagey as a ghost crab, always scuttling around in secret places, popping up unannounced before disappearing again. She was told this was normal for teenage boys. She accepted it. Yet she was always hungrily searching for the sweet boy she occasionally spotted in his quick smile and hasty hug.
“You hungry?” she asked him.
“Yeah. Starved.”
“Well, go shower. I’ll fix you lunch. Have you seen Cara?”
“No,” he replied. Then, “What were you saying about a golf course?”
Flo spoke up. “There’s some talk about developers coming in and building a resort on the north end of the island. A marina, houses, condos. Maybe a golf course.”
“Really? Cool!” Palmer said, then started heading inside.
Flo grabbed his arm and tugged him toward her. “Hey, you think you can sneak outta here without giving your aunt Flo a kiss?”
Palmer tried not to smile and mocked a grudging kiss on Flo’s cheek. She promptly ruffled his hair and sent him on his way. She turned to face Lovie, her eyes speculative. “See what I mean? Everyone thinks it’s ‘cool’ that the forest is being destroyed. It’s going to be hard to rally against it.”
Lovie heard the truth in it. “Oh, Flo, everything about our sleepy island is going to change. The number of houses will jump by thousands.”
“It’ll more than double the population.”
“When I think of the cars, the roads . . .” Lovie’s shoulders stiffened as a thought took root. “The beachfront lots will be the first to go, and think of the lights shining on the beach. What will become of the turtle nests?”
“That issue’s already been raised. The developers are going to have to do engineering and environmental impact studies.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“They’ve got to do it before they can get approval for their development plans.”
Lovie thought of the announcement she’d seen posted earlier that day. “Now it all makes sense.”
“What does?”
“When I was at the Red & White this morning I saw a sign for a turtle study on the island.”
Flo leaned forward in her chair. “No kidding. What did it say?”
“Not much. It was just a notice calling for volunteers for a turtle study that’s going to be done here this summer.”
“There it is,” Flo said with a sharp slap on the knee. “Told you so.”
“Hold on a minute.” Lovie went into the house and returned a moment later with her purse. Sitting, she dug through it and pulled out a small spiral notepad and flipped through it. “Here. A Dr. Russell Bennett. The meeting is at the Exchange Club on the fifteenth.” She looked up. “Bennett. Ever heard of him?”
“No. Is he from around here?”
Lovie shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“You’re going to the meeting, of course.”
Lovie shook her head. “I haven’t decided.”
Flo’s face went still. “Lovie, you’ve got to get involved in that study.”
“Why?” she said, feeling the pressure of Flo’s expectations. “Don’t you remember what happened last year when that land was purchased?”
“They ignored you. So what? You survived to fight another day.”
Lovie shuddered, recalling the patronizing attitude toward her years of work with the sea turtles. In retrospect, Lovie felt she’d been naïve to think that she could change the plans of a powerful group of investors. She was left to wonder if her efforts to help the sea turtles were little more than a combination of hubris and hope.
She reached out to lift the book she was reading, So Excellent a Fishe by revered sea turtle expert Archie Carr. “The truth is,” she said, her fingers tapping the book, “I’m not a professional. They see me as nothing more than some local lady who cares about turtles. And this Dr. Bennett will be no different. To him I’ll just be a busybody. A pest he’ll have to deal with. Why should I put myself through that? I have some pride left. What I don’t have is any authority.”
Flo leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, looking straightforwardly at Lovie. “Because this study will give you a voice. Everyone knows you’re the turtle lady of these islands. Folks will look to you to ask the right questions and expect the right answers. You’ve been knocking yourself out for the turtles for as long as I’ve known you. You cared when no one else did. If you don’t have the authority, then who does?”
Lovie’s face tightened. “Apparently Dr. Bennett does.”
“Him,” Flo muttered. “Don’t let the title scare you off. He’s probably just some low-level biologist these developers put on the payroll to slant the report in a favorable light. This development is going to be huge. Too much is at stake for them to do otherwise.”
“Well, he’ll be lucky if two or three people show up. If it weren’t for you and Miranda and Kate, I’d be on my own out there. Let him try.”
“You’re missing the point. It doesn’t matter if anyone shows up,” Flo replied, gaining steam. “The fix is in. The turtles are out.”
Lovie felt a spurt of indignation rise up at hearing the finality in Flo’s words. “This is our island. We both know there’s no way the development won’t impact the turtles. Those turtles have every right to nest there. They’ve been here a lot longer than we have.”
“Now there’s the Lovie I know.”
“What can we do?”
“We can start protesting. Rally the islanders to protect the beaches. At the very least, a controversy will force the study to get done and be given its due. We might not be able to stop the development, but we can try to influence the plans.”
The sun was rising and she felt the heat as a renewed fire in her belly. “You’re right, of course. But I’m not going to don some hippie clothing and march in front of the Red & White carrying a protest sign. I’ll leave that to you.”
“Chicken.”
Lovie laughed at the old tease they used whenever one of them was afraid to jump. As she rose, the chair scraped loudly against the wood. “It’s getting hot out here and I have to make Palmer’s lunch.”
“He can’t make his own lunch? He’s thirteen!”
“You know as well as I do a Southern boy can starve in a house filled with uncooked food.”
Flo laughed and followed her indoors to the kitchen.
Lovie put her cup in the sink, then opened the fridge to pull out packages of sandwich meat, mustard, hot sauce, and a jar of pickles. “I have my own methods of getting things done,” she said to Flo. “I’ll go to this meeting and sign on as a volunteer, if only to keep an eye on this Dr. Russell Bennett.” Her voice was tinged with contempt at his name. “If he’s going to do a research study on our beach, then he damn well better do it well enough to satisfy me. I’ll be there every day, dogging his every move. This is my beach.”
Flo chuckled and opened the jar of pickles. She pulled one out, catching the drips with her tongue. “This time, you won’t be considered a busybody.” She smirked and put the dill pickle into her mouth. “You’re going to be their worst nightmare.”
That evening, Lovie walked softly down the hall in bare feet, a night guard peeking in her children’s rooms.
Palmer’s room was dark, but she could hear his gentle snore, a soft rhythm that blended with the echoing roar of the ocean outside his open window. She quietly c
losed the door. Across the hall, the light was on in Cara’s room. Peering in, she saw that Cara was asleep on her back with a book lying open across her belly. Lovie paused and leaned against the doorframe as her heart softened for the quixotic girl who loved to read as much as she did. In this, at least, they shared a passion. The television at the beach house was ancient, with rabbit ear antennas that were bent from too many frustrated manipulations. She refused to buy a new one, much to the children’s complaints. Her pat answer was always, “There are plenty of books you can read.” Cara obliged, but Palmer . . .
Lovie crossed the room to her daughter’s bedside and carefully lifted the book from her hands. Setting it down, she saw that Cara was reading A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Madeleine L’Engle was a favorite author of her adventurous daughter. She stared down at the face that held more of Stratton’s dark looks than her own fair ones. She was like her father in other ways, too. She had his stubborn determination, his independent spirit, and, too, his will to win.
Yet unlike Stratton there was softness in her features, fullness in the lips. A sweetness lurking under her scowl that she could see now, as she lay sleeping. Lovie very gently stroked a few strands from Cara’s forehead, feeling the moisture of tiny beads of sweat on this humid night. She bent to place a kiss where her fingers had rested. Lingering, she smelled the soap from her shower and an unidentifiable scent that was all Cara. Then she reached to the bedside lamp to pull the chain and extinguish the light.
Careful, she admonished herself. Don’t make comparisons. Cara looked like Cara.
Her son and her daughter were as different as night and day. It was a family joke that she’d somehow got the genes mixed up in her two children. Cara had inherited the long, lanky, dark looks of the Rutledge family, while Palmer inherited Lovie’s smaller, more delicate blond genes. As the years passed, however, Palmer was bitter that he remained short and Cara agonized that she sprouted tall like a weed. She was not the petite and pretty Southern belle that her mother was. No one laughed at the joke any longer.
Beach House Memories Page 6