Beach House Memories

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “It was like that for me on the beach. I’m sorry if my use of the possessive offends you, but that’s how I felt. I was tending my nests. This is my home. Each hatchling was a baby. Each one mattered.”

  “You were making it personal.”

  “And that’s not professional?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  “Well, then, so be it! Of course it was personal. Caring is personal. It’s what kept me out there, day after day, year after year. I know that you would die before you called a hatchling a baby, but my calling it a baby doesn’t diminish the work I did—and continue to do. Or that my friends do. I promise you, it’s what the volunteers will feel, no matter what you tell them.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You said so yourself. My results are . . . what did you call them? Astonishing.”

  “They are.”

  “I know they are,” she said boldly. “I’m excited about my findings. Once I got results, new questions arose in my head, and sometimes those questions changed. My father, bless his heart, pointed to those questions because he was curious. I simply tried to answer those questions.”

  “I never meant to insult . . .”

  “But you did.” Lovie paused, feeling the tension rise. “The power of tending does not require a degree from a university, Dr. Bennett. It requires persistence, careful observation, and most of all, caring. I don’t do this to become famous. It is personal. So don’t question my motives or my integrity.”

  “But you can question mine? Do you think because I have a degree, because I use methodology, because I take the larger view, that I love the individual turtle less? That I could take a bribe and sell them all down the river?”

  Lovie felt heat rise to her cheeks. “No. I’m sorry. I should never have insulted you like that.”

  He was silent a moment, then said, “Nor I, you.” He took a step closer. “Mrs. Rutledge, I assure you I’m not taking a bribe or getting rich doing this study. Frankly, I’m already rich enough. I don’t need any more money. But even if I did, I wouldn’t.”

  She crossed her arms, listening.

  “To be honest, I don’t blame you for checking me out. You’re about to hand over ten years of work and you want to be sure I’m not some mouthpiece for the developers. But I hope you’ll trust me. And if you don’t trust me, trust my credentials. Make a few phone calls. I’ll let my reputation speak for me.”

  She felt a bit ashamed for reacting so strongly. She’d never had an outburst like that before in her life, at least not to a guest. This mattered so much to her, and there was something about Dr. Bennett—his stature in the field, his breadth of knowledge, his respect for her work—that made her rise to the occasion to be his equal. Indeed, she felt his equal. This made his apology mean the world.

  “Thank you, Dr. Bennett. That won’t be necessary.” Her lips twitched. “Besides, I already did my homework. Your résumé is impressive. I mean, Lord almighty, you list Archie Carr as a reference.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” he replied with a chuckle. He turned and leaned against the railing, his shoulders slightly slumped forward in a more companionable position. “You know, no one goes into the business of ecology or championing sea turtles, or any other species, to make money. It’s damn hard work, but”—he looked at her and offered a conciliatory smile—“like you, I love it. I couldn’t give it up. It’s a bitch out there sometimes. I work long hours under the burning sun, in humidity that makes this seem like a cakewalk. I’m half eaten alive by mosquitoes, I face poachers with machetes . . .”

  Lovie laughed. “Heavens!”

  He shrugged. “And for what? Nothing less than to preserve a noble species for our children, and our children’s children, and beyond.” He looked at her, and their eyes met. “I’m not that different from you, Mrs. Rutledge. We both do it because we love it.”

  “Yes,” she said with passion. “It’s not just about the knowledge, is it, Dr. Bennett? It’s about the wisdom. That layer of intelligence working beneath it all.”

  “That’s it exactly,” he said in a voice tinged with wonder.

  “But we’re losing the battle,” she exclaimed. “The number of turtles, at least on this island, is on the decline. If this research project can’t protect them, what will? Sometimes I feel so . . . helpless.”

  “It’s a battle that’s not going away, believe me. Developers are in the business of making money. I can tell you already that there will be those who will read my report and feel it presents unjust restrictions on their plans for a hotel, or a house, or a golf course. They’ll be up in arms. They’ll go to the local people and remind them of the jobs the construction will bring, the tax dollars, how the development will increase the value of their homes. Money is a powerful motivation. But,” he said with a lift of his shoulders, “there’s always compromise. That’s what we have to fight for.”

  “I’m not a very good general,” she said with a short laugh. “I’m more the good foot soldier.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Mrs. Rutledge.”

  The doorbell rang. To Lovie’s mind, it sounded like the bell in a boxing ring. The rising tension had been broken. Lovie turned, but Dr. Bennett laid a hand on her arm, stalling her. She swung her head around, surprised at the touch, and looked up into his startlingly blue eyes, close to her own.

  He said, “What happens after we finish the project depends more on you and the people who live on this island. Do the turtles matter? What do you want this island to look like in ten years? In the year 2000? What part of this island, if any, will be preserved? One thing’s for certain. There are going to be a lot more people moving onto this island in the coming decades. There’s only so much island property out there. Developers will continue to develop, that’s a given. True, this is only one beach in the world. But as you so aptly put it, it’s your beach. But I’m here to help in any way I can.”

  The doorbell rang again, followed by an insistent knocking. Lovie turned and hurried to the front door, wishing she had just five more uninterrupted minutes with Dr. Bennett. Earlier, the hours seemed to move slower than molasses, but this last half hour had sped by.

  She opened the door and there Flo stood with her hair mildly damp and frizzing in the drizzle. Beside her was the man who had accompanied Dr. Bennett to the meeting. He was a congenial-looking man, at five seven nearly as tall as Flo, wiry, with close-cropped dark hair.

  Flo was the first to speak. “The storm finally let up and here we are. Is Dr. Bennett here? We saw him run after you and just assumed . . .” Then, looking over Lovie’s shoulder, her mouth spread to a cat’s grin. “Ah, I see he is.”

  Dr. Bennett came to the front door, towering over Lovie, and the two men smiled as old friends. “Bing!” he cried out. “Sorry if I made you wait and worry. I got stuck in the downpour and decided to stick it out. Mrs. Rutledge was a saint. She let me drip all over her carpet. Oh, Mrs. Olivia Rutledge, please meet my colleague, Dr. Bingham Wolitzer.”

  “My pleasure, Dr. Wolitzer. Won’t you come in?”

  “No, thank you, I can’t stay. Uh, Russ, we really should be going. We have to get the keys to the rental house before they shut down.”

  “Right.” Dr. Bennett turned to Lovie. “Thank you again for the towel, the robe, the sanctuary from the storm. Most especially, thank you for the chance to read your journals. I would very much like to study them again.” His gaze was open, without recrimination or judgment. “But that’s up to you.”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” she replied. “I’d very much like to take the long view and be part of the project.” She smiled with meaning. “As your partner or colleague. Wait here a minute.” Lovie walked quickly to the desk, swept up the journals and her maps, and carried them back to Dr. Bennett, letting her hands linger a moment as she handed them over. “Here you go. Oh, wait, I’ll keep this one,” she said, taking this summer’s journal. “I’ll still need it. Even if you have different forms, and I’m guessing you will, I’ll
keep my journals.” She patted the leather, then gave him a warning glare. “Guard them with your life.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get them back to you safely.”

  “You’d better!”

  Lovie heard a cough and, looking up, she saw Flo with her eyes wide with wonder. She tilted her head and her gaze bored into her as if to say, What are you doing?

  Bing spoke up again. “We’d better get going.”

  Dr. Bennett said to Lovie in the manner of a colleague, “I’ll start getting the beach divided up into sections. Could you help me assign the slots?”

  “Yes. And I’ll walk the beach tomorrow morning so we don’t lose a day.”

  “Don’t bother. Tomorrow morning I’ll do a flyover.”

  “A what?”

  “I’ll fly my plane over the island to look for tracks.”

  Lovie thought of her provincial rusty bicycle. “Really? You can see them from that high up?”

  “Sure. The tracks are readily seen when you fly low.”

  “That’d sure save a lot of time each morning. What do you need us for?”

  “They can’t afford for me to do a flyover every morning. And there’s the weather. Good ol’ footwork is still required. But tomorrow I’ll get a good base for the project, especially in the northern section that’s not been done yet.”

  “Must be something to see the whole picture from the sky.”

  “Have you ever been up in a small plane?”

  Lovie’s stomach tightened at the thought. She’d heard tales of crashes in fields and the sea. “Me? Heavens, no.”

  “Well, come on, then. Join me.”

  Lovie didn’t want to admit to him that she was afraid of even the idea of going up in a small plane. “Oh, no,” she stalled, physically taking a step back. “That’s okay. I’ll just ride my trusty bike on terra firma.”

  “You should come,” he replied urgently. “Since you’re going to be in charge of the volunteers, it’ll give you a sense of the whole island like nothing else can. The bird’s-eye view.”

  She hesitated, wringing her hands, as her mind scrambled for an excuse.

  “I thought you were my partner?” he goaded.

  Lovie looked over to Flo for support. She was mouthing the word chicken.

  “Thanks. I’d love to,” Lovie told him.

  Dr. Bennett’s face brightened. He actually seemed pleased she was coming. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow morning. On the dot. We have to get in the sky early. Oh, and wear something cool. It can be hotter than hades up there in the summer.” He hesitated, as though unwilling to leave. “Till tomorrow, then.”

  He turned to leave, and Flo, who was blocking his path, stepped back, giving him room to pass.

  Bing stole the moment to step nearer to Flo. “See ya, Red,” he said close to her ear. “I’ll pick you up at six, too.”

  Flo’s smile was seductive as she waved good-bye. She stepped into the house and stood by Lovie as they watched the two good-looking men walk to the large green Jeep and climb inside. The engine started with a roar, and after a quick wave of hands, they pulled away.

  Lovie looked at Flo with confusion. “Are you going up in the plane tomorrow with Bing?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “He said he was picking you up at six.”

  Flo laughed and shook her head. “He’s picking me up for dinner at six! You weren’t the only one getting friendly with someone this afternoon.”

  The summer night was fresh and clear. The storm had passed and the strong breezes swept away the humidity and mosquitoes. Lovie sat on her favorite dune at the farthest edge of her property, overlooking the ocean. It was higher than the surrounding dunes, and behind it dipped a lower plateau that was hidden by walls of sand and sea oats. At this spot Lovie could choose to either sit at the height of the dune and look out over the beach or nestle unseen in her hidden space to read or write.

  She lifted her face to the breeze as she sat high on her dune and listened to the roar of the incoming tide. It was reaching ever higher up the beach, stretching its watery fingers close to her dune. Around her she heard the young sea oats shaking in the strong wind that rustled the pages of her journal. She smoothed the pages with her palm, feeling that her thoughts were as buffeted by the wind. What could she possibly write tonight that could express the exhilaration she felt? Looking at her notebook, she thought of the myriad details that filled it—location of nests, dates, condition. But there was so much more that she felt and sensed than these figures could represent.

  Like today. What a glorious day! She hadn’t felt such excitement since . . . she couldn’t remember when. Lovie stared out at the ocean and felt the wind rustle through her hair. Dr. Bennett couldn’t know what his comments meant to her. Her turtle journals represented the most significant effort of her life. She’d initiated her journals and maintained them for knowledge’s own sake. It was a private devotion. Something she might someday pass down to her children.

  Over the years, this devotion had been the source of ridicule. She felt sure those who said the words didn’t know that their comments had hammered at her self-esteem as strongly as the waves pounding the shore. She’d endured the patronizing gratitude of officials: “Keep up the good work”; the gentle teasing with a gentle head shake: “Bless her heart, Lovie and her turtles”; the derision of Stratton: “You waste too much time on those damn turtles”; and even the groans of her children: “Aw, Mama, not the turtles again!”

  In contrast, Dr. Bennett’s words this afternoon were the first that gave her work praise, even validation. She replayed his words in her mind over and over all evening: “What you have there is a wonder. Absolutely astonishing.” They made her feel she could burst with pride and a heady joy that had her sitting in the wind, grinning wildly.

  Bending over the journal, she eagerly began to write.

  Sea Turtle Journal

  June 15, 1974

  Pride of one’s work is not improper, unladylike, or vain. Low self-esteem is not modesty. We can all take a lesson from the sea turtle. She does not travel thousands of miles or risk all for her ego. She has an instinct for greatness—one that I believe is found in all living creatures.

  Seven

  The following morning, Lovie was standing eagerly at the front door by six on the button. She’d carefully chosen blue jeans and a cotton shirt, having read somewhere that one should wear only natural fibers on a plane in case of a crash because man-made materials were flammable.

  She couldn’t eat breakfast; her stomach was tied up in knots at the prospect of flying. And because she was prone to motion sickness, the thought of being sick in Dr. Bennett’s plane made her stomach tighten even more. While she waited, she thought about how she was hardly a seasoned traveler.

  Her expeditions were usually by car to Southern cities a day or two away. The Rutledges had family in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and she and Stratton both loved visiting them in the mountains. Atlanta was always a draw, and she drove there often with friends. Once they had taken the children to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for vacation. Of course, there was the family farm in North Carolina, but Lovie rarely went there since it was used exclusively for hunting. Stratton brought Palmer out with him on occasion for male bonding. Lovie had never felt the need for travel. The beauty of the Lowcountry with the marshes, the ocean, the winding creeks, and all its wildlife kept her spellbound. And the city had a charm like no other.

  In fact, the only time she’d ever flown in a commercial airliner was on her honeymoon. Stratton had taken her on an extensive first-class trip to Europe, showing her in high style his favorite cities: Paris, Rome, Munich, and Gstaad. They rode a lot of trains, took a wild ride on the Autobahn, and hustled in a flurry of cabs. They traveled somewhere most every day of their two-week excursion. Stratton knew Europe well and was eager to share with her his favorite haunts in cities he’d been to countless times in his life. She couldn’t remember ever being so glad to return
home.

  But a small plane was entirely new to her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to experience it. She peeked out the window and then glanced at her watch: six fifteen. Could Dr. Bennett have forgotten his invitation? she wondered. Finally, at six twenty, she heard the roar of his Jeep coming up the drive. The big engine rumbled as she rushed out the door with her backpack.

  Dr. Bennett didn’t get out of the car, but he pushed open her door as she approached.

  “I was afraid you’d forgotten about me,” Lovie said as she climbed in.

  “I got held up,” he replied, looking over his shoulder at the driveway.

  She’d barely buckled her seat belt when he rammed the gear into reverse and shot out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. Lovie held on to her seat during the hair-raising trip to the small airport on Isle of Palms. He pushed the Jeep hard, rushing the yellow lights and then slamming the brakes at stop signs. Looking over, she saw that his angular face was tight with tension and, though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, his forehead was lined with focused attention. He shifted gears to come to a stop and clenched and unclenched his hand as he waited.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I’m fine,” he replied curtly. Then he took a breath. “Sorry I was late. I had a phone call from home I had to take.”

  Not a pleasant one, she thought, and wondered for the first time about his home life. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. She realized that though she’d thoroughly checked out his professional credentials, she knew virtually nothing about his personal life. “I hope everything’s okay.”

  The light turned green. Dr. Bennett pushed the gear into first and hit the gas. “As well as can be expected,” he muttered as he took off again.

  Lovie decided to let the conversation drop. She wouldn’t pry—they were hardly friends. Besides, she wanted him to concentrate on his driving. At any moment she expected to hear a police siren for his speeding. She made a mental note that punctuality was obviously important to Dr. Bennett.