Beach House Memories

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Lovie rose up on her elbows to look down at his face. “Russell, are you sorry we got involved? Tell me honestly. Do you regret it?”

  He moved his arm and his eyes flashed with incredulousness. “What? No. No! Never. I meant what I said to you. I love you. I think I knew that I loved you the first moment I saw you, standing in the Exchange Club with your hair neatly braided, holding on to your folder like a prim teacher.”

  “Did you?” She relaxed, smiling shyly. “I thought it was only me.”

  His smile vanquished her fears, and she lay back down and put her head upon his shoulder. She played with the button on his shirt. “Sometimes, I wish,” she began in a softer tone, “that we didn’t fall in love. That we’d remained just colleagues.”

  His sigh rumbled in his chest. “Because we’re married.”

  “Yes. What we’re doing is wrong.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Then why doesn’t it feel wrong?” she cried. “How can loving you be wrong?”

  He held her tighter. “Because we belong together. Neither of us asked for this; it just happened. I wrestled with this for many nights, determined not to show you how I felt. Yet here we are. And in my heart, I think I knew this was going to happen. I don’t know that I could have stopped it. There’s always been a certain inevitability about it.”

  “It has to be true. At the beginning I swore to myself that I was not in love with you. But I knew in my heart that wasn’t true. From the moment I met you, it was like I’d known you all my life. I honestly think we were destined to be together. I even wondered if my passion for turtles was only God’s design to bring us together. But Russell, if that’s true, then where were you? I’ve been here all my life. Waiting for you. Why didn’t you come to me before?”

  “It’s that timing thing again. I’ve been in all the wrong places.” He paused. “Then again, I’ve spent my whole life searching for something. I’ve traveled the world.” He lowered his chin to kiss the top of her head. “I know now I was searching for you.”

  She sighed and clutched his shirt. “Russell, I have no regrets. But where do we go from here? I can’t go back to my old life.”

  “Olivia . . .”

  He let the sentence drop, but he sounded so sad, even defeated. She felt the fear spring to life again.

  He raised himself up on one elbow and looked at her. “Would you consider divorce?”

  Lovie closed her eyes, remembering her conversation with Flo, and it felt like she was falling. She’d been wrestling with the question all day. Her mind swirled and her chest physically hurt, making it hard to breathe. This was the reality she didn’t want to face. But it was always there, always lurking under the surface.

  She thought of his wife, the woman he had described at dinner. Eleanor had a full life as Mrs. Bennett in their lavish home in Virginia. She no doubt competently entertained their friends, cared for their daughter, volunteered on countless committees. She had all the prestige, the financial and social security that the name of Bennett afforded her. Even if they were not in love, there was that bond.

  Lovie knew this situation and this connection all too well. What she was no longer sure of was whether the prestige of family and the bonds of a cordial marriage were enough to sustain her.

  Divorce. Just thinking about the possibility made her stomach clench and her heart race. Her body rejected it; she actually wanted to throw up. A divorce was unthinkable for a woman in her family, in her circles. The scandal would be all-consuming.

  Yet she knew that at a fundamental level she was not happy. Being with Russell, day after day, had showed her how unhappy she really was.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured.

  The wind gusted, spraying sand into her eyes, causing them to tear. She swiped at them, only making it worse. She choked back a cry.

  Russell grabbed hold of her hands to still them. “I understand.”

  “Would you?” she asked him.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Russell,” she cried, feeling the burden of his reply, and buried her face against him.

  “This is hard for both of us,” he said. “I realize that. I just needed you to know how I felt. Olivia, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Or give me hope.”

  Russell squeezed her hands. “We always have hope.”

  She lifted her arm to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Olivia, I will do whatever you decide.”

  “I don’t know what to do! I’ve never been in this situation before. I feel caught between the tides. I only know that I love you. There it is. I’m deeply, irrevocably, hopelessly in love with you.”

  He gathered her back in his arms while she rested her head against his shoulder. Another gust of cold wind blew in from the ocean.

  “This should be a happy moment,” she said, choking back a sob.

  “Let’s not decide tonight. Are you willing to take it day by day? To trust our instincts?”

  “We have so little time.”

  “We have enough,” he said against her head. “We’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

  Would they? Lovie wondered.

  “It’s getting chilly,” Russell said, rising. “We should leave or we’ll get caught in this storm.”

  They gathered their things, and as they followed the narrow beam of his flashlight down the dune, she slanted her light to the small nest flag whipping in the wind. She blinked, disbelievingly, to see a small turtle scrambling resolutely toward the ocean.

  “Russell!” she exclaimed, pointing by their feet. “Stop walking! It’s a turtle!”

  “Wha . . .”

  They both stopped moving and scanned the sand with light. “There’s only one,” she said.

  His red light illuminated the nest area, revealing a small crater where the concave dip had been. Several black flippers and tiny sandy turtle heads were wriggling their way to the surface.

  “It’s hatching!” Lovie cried out. She’d seen this many times before, but each time was like the first. She knelt beside him by the nest just as the sand heaved as though being pushed from a force below. On the second heave, the sand erupted and out bubbled hatchlings, scrambling over each other, tipping over and righting again, countless dark-shelled turtles determinedly seeking freedom.

  Russell leaned over to kiss her softly, then helped her to her feet. “Talk about good timing. We got here at just the right moment. I think this is a good omen for us, don’t you?”

  She smiled, only slightly encouraged.

  “Mind your step,” he told her as they separated and went to opposite sides of the turtles as the group fanned out across the beach.

  In the blue-black night, it was almost impossible to see the hatchlings as they raced down the slope. The bursts of lightning momentarily lit up the dark ocean, guiding the hatchlings to the sea.

  Lovie stood on the beach and watched as one by one the hatchlings reached the threshold of the ocean and instinctively began to swim, disappearing into the black water. She wondered what it would be like to leave the warmth and security of the nest, to race doggedly across the unknown beach, to bravely dive beneath the surface and enter an entirely new world.

  She saw Russell standing ankle-deep in the ocean. He raised his arm, beckoning her closer. As she drew near him, she felt the seductive warmth of the water swirl at her ankles and, reaching out, she took hold of his hand.

  Out in the distance, the storm was building.

  Seventeen

  The dog days of summer were upon them. Sirius, the Dog Star, dominated the sky and was blamed for the seemingly endless spell of hot and humid days. Mosquitoes bit hard and flies died on windowsills. Panting dogs sprawled under porches. People poured onto the island, crowding the beaches. Tanned bodies lay on colorful towels like the brown dogs that in ancient days were sacrificed to appease Sirius.

  Everyone was feeling the heat, complaining about how it was making them indolent, lazy, shade-seeking zombies.
Heat lightning continued to illuminate the night skies while tempers flashed below. Flo teased Lovie that the heat could make a sinner out of a saint. Palmer whined that the ocean water was like a bathtub and the sun was too hot to surf. Miranda worried about hurricanes. Cara and Emmi moved with the sun from shade to shade to sip sweet tea and read. Lovie thought Sirius was the brightest, most beautiful star in the night sky. She loved it because when the sun set and darkness cloaked the earth, the Dog Star faithfully guided her to the dunes and Russell.

  By mid-August, the mother turtles had swum off and the volunteers’ work was done. All that remained of the season were the unhatched nests that would continue through October. But Dr. Bennett’s Sea Turtle Project was effectively completed. All he had to do was write up the report and submit it to the development company. They’d agreed early on that Russell wouldn’t be a frequent presence in the Rutledge house, but as it was the last week of August, Lovie had invited Russell for dinner so that they could go over the records for a final time. It would be a kind of farewell dinner. She’d invited Flo and Miranda, as well.

  As she set the table with the Meissen china that she knew Russell liked, Lovie thought how hard it was to accept that this magical summer was over. And that the project was ending. Where did the time go? she wondered. It had flown by. She would give anything to stay in the beach house until the turtle season was truly complete with all the hatchlings off swimming in the Gulf Stream. Then she could sign off on the project, satisfied that the season was over, rather than leave before all the nests were hatched. She would give anything if that would allow her three more weeks with Russell.

  She would give anything but her children’s welfare, she amended. School began after Labor Day, calling them home to Charleston. Palmer was going back to Porter-Gaud School. Cara was enrolled in Ashley Hall. She had school supplies to buy, car pools to organize, and a million other details that circled around the school year. And Russell had to return to Florida after Labor Day as well to begin his classes at the university.

  Lovie had no choice but to close up the beach house this week.

  She felt tears prick at her eyes but sniffed and shook them away. There was no time for tears. She was resolved. Her intention was to keep so busy that she wouldn’t slip into the vortex of grief over the end of their affair. Besides, she didn’t want the children to wonder why she was so sad. They were morose enough just knowing they had to leave the beach. Palmer especially, she thought. He’d been positively sullen the last few days. He stayed in his room doing heaven only knew what and wouldn’t so much as speak to her.

  Tonight she’d planned an elaborate meal, sort of a farewell dinner with her children’s favorite foods. She went to the butcher and purchased a fabulously lean leg of lamb. She slivered it with garlic and fetched fresh rosemary from Miranda’s garden. It was in the oven now, sizzling and sending its mouthwatering aroma throughout the house. She made a Greek salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, and red onions from the farmers’ market, snipped some oregano and mint, thank you again, Miranda, and dressed it with vinegar and oil. For dessert she had cold custard and berries from Johns Island. She was placing white cotton napkins beside the white china when Palmer emerged from his bedroom.

  “Well, hello!” she called out. “The prodigal son has returned!”

  He stood in the hall in wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d been drinking.

  “Honey, are you feeling all right?”

  Palmer ignored her question and let his gaze cross the room. “Why so fancy tonight?”

  “We’re having a guest for dinner.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Bennett. I’ve invited him to—”

  “I don’t want him here!” he shouted.

  Lovie froze, the napkin dangling from her hand. “Palmer . . .”

  “I said he can’t come here. Not in our house.”

  Lovie felt the blood drain from her face as she confronted Palmer’s fury. It was so unlike him to shout at her. A horrid, blood-chilling suspicion crept in her mind, but she shook it off as paranoia.

  The shouting brought Cara from her room. She hung back, leaning against the doorframe, her dark eyes watching.

  “First of all, young man,” Lovie said sharply, “don’t you dare talk to your mother like that. Not ever, hear?” She was relieved to see that he appeared moderately contrite. “Second, Dr. Bennett is my colleague and I’ve invited him to dinner this one time before we leave. It’s the decent thing to do.”

  Palmer snorted at that. “Does Daddy know?”

  Alarms were going off in Lovie’s mind, but she maintained her composure. “Of course your daddy doesn’t know. He’s in Europe.”

  “When’s he coming home?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that Daddy’s been gone for six weeks and you don’t even know when he’s coming home. Do you even care?”

  Lovie reached out to place her hand on the table to steady herself.

  “Palmer, honey,” she said, gentling her voice, “of course I care. Your daddy was scheduled to come home this Friday night. But he wired to say he missed his flight and he was trying to get another. He didn’t know when he’d be back. That’s why I don’t know when he’ll be home. But it will be soon.”

  Palmer didn’t respond. He stared at his feet, frowning.

  “I’ve made your favorite dinner. Roast lamb. And custard.”

  “I’m not eating here. I’m going to Dick’s.”

  “You most certainly are not. I’ve set a place for you at the table.”

  Palmer’s mouth worked, but rather than speak he rammed his hands into his pockets and mulishly headed for the front door.

  “Palmer Middleton Rutledge, you stop right where you are.”

  He stopped at the door but did not look back.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but . . .”

  Palmer spun on his heel. He still did not look at her, but he ground out, “I’m going to Dick’s.” Then he turned and went out the door.

  Lovie ran after him, calling out as he ran down the porch stairs. “You come back here right now or your father will hear about this!”

  Palmer turned and shouted back, “Oh, yeah? Good!”

  Lovie’s last view was the sight of her son’s bright blond hair as he ran into the darkness.

  The house went still. She could hear her heart beating in her chest, or it might have been the mantel clock ticking away the seconds as she stood staring into the night, wildly wondering what darkness in Palmer’s mind had precipitated his outburst.

  “Mama?”

  Lovie spun around, surprised to find Cara at her side. “Cara!”

  “What’s up with him?” Cara asked with wide eyes.

  “I’m not sure. I was going to ask you.”

  “He’s been acting kind of weird this week. It might have something to with . . .” She abruptly stopped herself.

  Lovie put her hand on Cara’s shoulder. “With what?”

  “Nothing,” Cara replied cagily.

  “Caretta, I’ve had enough secrecy for tonight. Tell me what you know.”

  Cara frowned and stuck her chin out stubbornly.

  Lovie saw that her daughter was shaken by Palmer’s flare-up and, more, that she knew something. Lovie guided Cara to the sofa and sat down beside her. She took a calming breath. “Cara, something’s bothering Palmer. But I can’t help him if I don’t know what it is. If you know something, please tell me.”

  “Mama, I can’t tattle.”

  “This wouldn’t be tattling. I promise you, I won’t get mad.”

  Cara looked at her hands tucked between her knees. “It’s just some game he’s been playing with the guys.”

  “Game? What game? Is he involved in that ding dong ditch game?” The neighborhood was getting upset with the antics of the
boys ringing the bells and running off.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Lovie was sure Cara knew what was bothering Palmer. “Then what game?” she prodded.

  “Well,” she began reluctantly, then in a gush, the story poured out. “It all started when we went to Fort Moultrie. The boys planned to walk through the fort. In the dark,” she added, almost breathless at the thought of such a thing. “So they could try and see the ghost of Osceola. They had to go in one by one. Alone. It was Palmer’s job to walk around the fort to make sure there were no devil worshippers or anything before we went in. He was gone a long time, and we all started to get kinda worried that something happened to him. When he got back he was acting all strange, kinda mad, and he said he was going home. The guys thought he saw devil worshippers, and when they asked him, he said he didn’t but he was going home all the same. And he made me go home with him.”

  “That’s all?” Lovie asked. “You came home?”

  “Yes’m. Except that the boys all called him chicken and stuff like that.”

  Lovie sat back against the cushions and thought about the story. It was unlike Palmer to back down from the challenge. Something had spooked him when he walked around Fort Moultrie that night. Lovie felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Cara,” she said in an even voice, “did Palmer ever tell you what he saw that frightened him?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn’t. Won’t talk about that night.” She looked at her mother. “Do you think he saw a ghost?”

  “Hard to say,” Lovie replied, her mind racing in a different direction from ghosts. “Did you or anyone else see anything? Or anyone?”

  “Nope. Not even ol’ Osceola.”

  “Cara, what night was it that y’all went to Fort Moultrie?”

  Cara lifted her slim shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “Try and remember. Was it Sunday? Monday? Yesterday?”

  Cara reached up and scratched her head. “I think it was Monday.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Cara nodded. “Yeah, because I was at Emmi’s house on Sunday and her mom and dad were watching The Smothers Brothers. I remember because I was trying to talk Emmi into going to the fort with me but she wouldn’t.”