“Fine. But I’m warning you, Michaela Mercer Rosales…if I so much as get one teensy weensy drop of water up my nose…well…it won’t be pretty…”
I had to grin. “Oh, I know. It wasn’t very pretty the last time.” Her look could’ve melted the polar caps, so I swerved to another topic. “How ’bout a bowl of cereal? We’ve got all these cute little individual boxes of—”
“Just give me the bag of mini bagels and the cream cheese.”
I handed her the two items then poured myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes. We ate in communal silence.
Fifty-four minutes later found me leaning over the deck railing, looking out across the sixteenth green, waiting for Bernie to finish meditating in order to achieve the desirable mood for our pilgrimage to the beach. The cerulean sky held puffs of marshmallow clouds that looked good enough to eat. Birds everywhere, accompanied by a hypnotic drone of insects and tree frogs. A simply gorgeous day for the beach. I did love it here, and wanted Bernie to like it, too.
Lost in my reverie, I jumped a foot when a piping voice said, “Cookie.”
Startled, I turned around to find the little tot from upstairs standing beside me with a paper plate covered in plastic wrap, through which half a dozen cookies lay in a neat circle. I smiled. “Well. You certainly do have a cookie. Looks like you have six of ’em.”
The pixie beamed. “Bwenda made them. She likes t’make cookies, and dada likes to eat a lot. Me, too.”
Her trebly voice was endearing, and she was as cute as could be in her bright pink bathing suit. I crouched down to get on her level. “Well, they sure look yummy. Did you help make ’em?”
“No. We was in bed. I had one for br’fast.” She pushed the plate at me. “They’re for you and your mommy.”
That nearly knocked me over, and it was all I could do not to convulse with laughter. “Oh, thank you. My mommy and I will enjoy them. Tell, uh, Brenda that we said thank you. Will you do that?”
A disembodied voice from above interrupted our pleasant conversation. “Amanda? Amanda, get back here. Now.” The voice belonged to Brenda, and by the sound of it, she was peeved.
I looked up but couldn’t spot her. “Good morning, Brenda,” I called out. “Amanda just brought us the lovely cookies. Thank you. They look wonderful.”
The dumpy young woman appeared and leaned over the banister, long hair hanging untidily, reminiscent of the Spanish moss dripping from the tree beside us. “Oh. Hello, Ms., uh, I’m sorry…I forgot your name…”
“I’m Mike. My friend is Bernie.”
“Oh, yeah…well, uh, I hope you enjoy the cookies. I, uh, like to bake. C’mon, Amanda. I said get up here.”
The child buttoned her beautiful green eyes for a moment then stuck out her lower lip. Two spots of color appeared on her round cheeks and the tiny mole on the left side of her chin wobbled. “I’m coming.” she shrilled as she turned to leave, hesitated, waved at me, and then scooted up the stairs like a little monkey. One adorable kid, but damn. That innocuous little mole was becoming my nemesis or magnificent obsession. Why was the stupid thing bothering me so much? Was I turning into my grandmother, who’d suffered from dementia as early as her mid-forties? Good God, what a thought. I really needed to let go of this fixation before I lost my mind. We needed the beach.
Bernie opened the screen door behind me, which made me jump a foot. “What was that all about?”
Glad to rid my head of its dizzying thoughts, I grinned. A surge of mischief welled up inside. “Hey, there,” I giggled. “That? That was just little Amanda bringing down this plate of chocolate chip cookies for my mommy and me to enjoy. Brenda sends them with her compliments. The child is as cute as they come.” My grin widened.
Bernie never misses a trick. Her eyebrows knotted and her lips pursed. “For your ‘mommy’ and you? Your mommy? Your MOMMY!”
“Shh, lower your voice.”
She glowered. “Well. I have never been so insulted in my life. Your mommy? I am only six months older than you are. Six months.”
“I know that, sweetie. For crying out loud, the child is just a baby. You’re tall, have gray hair…you look like a ‘mommy’…you know what they say about children and honesty and speaking their little minds…”
Her eyes were mere slits. “And you are petite, albeit a little round in parts, a little droopy in others, and have your share of gray hair, so—”
I patted her arm. “Just block it from your memory, dear. You, of all people, know that what children say sometimes must be taken with a grain of salt. What a great segue. Speaking of salt, the ocean’s waiting for us. I’m already so hot I’m getting addlepated.”
Bernie, no doubt hoping to delay our departure, put hands on ample hips and raised her eyebrows. “So…how did Amanda like the little doll you bought her in Charleston?”
She had me there. “Oh, shoot. The doll. I forgot. Let’s run upstairs right now and give it to her before we leave. Man. I can’t believe I forgot about the doll.” I dashed inside, set the plate on the counter, snatched up the sack and pulled out the rag doll by one leg. “Let’s go,” I said over one shoulder and clambered up the stairs to the unit above us. Bernie tapped on the door. We heard garbled voices from inside but couldn’t make out what was said. Then a door slammed, resulting in our tandem startled jerks. After what seemed a lifetime, Brenda opened the door a crack and peered at us as though she’d never seen us before.
“Yeah?” Brenda’s face pressed so close between door and jamb that it looked pinched. “D’you want something?”
Fumbling for words, I managed to slap a smile on my face and say, “Uh, sorry to intrude…but…Bernie and I saw the cutest little doll when we were in Charleston and, well, we thought of Amanda and…wanted to give it to her.” Lame but the younger woman’s in-your-face rudeness had taken the wind from my sails.
Brenda grimaced, glanced over her shoulder then squeezed through the crack in the doorway, shutting the door behind her. Her thin lips couldn’t quite manage a smile. “Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t have.” By the tone of her voice and the look on her oily face, we believed her. “Uh, well, thanks anyway. I’ll give it to her.”
I’d garnered some chutzpah. “Oh, gosh, Bernie and I had sort of hoped to give it to her ourselves. Would that be okay?”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, no, I mean she’s taking a nap,” Brenda responded. “I’ll give it to her as soon as she wakes up. Okay?” Before I had a chance to even blink, Brenda snatched the doll from my hand, yanked open the door, and slipped through. The door slammed right in our very startled faces.
“Well.” Bernie sputtered. “That was unbelievable. And you went to so much effort to get the kid a present, and then she…and you…in front of me…and Amanda…” Bernie’s groping for words betrayed her total unfamiliarity with the very idea of being at a loss for something pithy to say.
“Yeah…”
“Well, I never.”
With a collective grunt, we marched back down to our level, retrieved our beach bags and headed for the car. Bernie had the look of someone headed to the dentist for a root canal instead of a delightful romp on a sunny beach. More than ever I was determined to show her a good time. Come hell or high water, my chum would leave Edisto loving the ocean.
The little parking area by the beach access was already crowded, but I managed to squeeze the Neon in between the bicycle stand and a golf cart. We dragged our stuff from the back seat, shuffled through fiery-hot sand, found a fairly secluded spot on which to drop our bags, then squirmed out of our cover-ups, and toddled to the water, which lapped and licked the shore in a benign manner.
“See?” I chortled. “It’s not threatening at all. It’s as calm as a lake.”
Bernie muttered something I couldn’t catch and entered the olive green water like Marie Antoinette to the guillotine. After only a few minutes, however, I could see her relax. Who wouldn’t? Bobbing around in bath-warm seawater is soothing and relaxing; a perfect panacea for what ails you. I cou
ld feel my own tight muscles unwind. Pure bliss.
“What’s that?”
Bernie’s question startled me. I stopped floating and stood. “What’s what?”
“That thing over there.” She pointed out to sea.
Craning my neck and shielding my eyes from the dancing sparkles made from the sun’s glare, I stared in the direction she indicated. “What? Oh, that? That’s somebody’s little buoy-thing for their crab pot.”
“No,” she sniffed. “Not that, you ninny. That.” She waved her hand. “That large brown thing floating over there.”
I looked, saw it, registered it and sucked in my surprise. “Oh, wow. It’s…it’s…wow. It’s either the largest horseshoe crab I’ve ever seen or…or…”
“What is the damn thing.”
I moved closer but not too close. “Wow. I think it’s a…it’s a—wow. Bernie. It’s a turtle. It’s a sea turtle. A huge one. Look at the barnacles on her back. They’re at least an inch in diameter. Oh, wow. I’ve come here a zillion times, and I’ve never seen a sea turtle this close up. Isn’t she something?”
For once, Bernie hadn’t a scathing thing to say. By her enthralled face, I could tell she was as pleased as I was at seeing one of Nature’s miracles. We followed the beautiful sea creature as she paddled up the sound toward the point. Enthralled, we left a good two yards between the wild animal and us but kept up with her, none the less. Having waded a good distance up the beach, we said a reluctant good-bye and turned to head back to where we’d left our things.
“Ohh,” I sighed, “I can’t believe we saw that. I can’t wait to tell everyone back home.”
“It was remarkable,” Bernie agreed.
“Now, I wish you could see a dolphin.”
“Well, I won’t hold my breath, but it would be interesting. Why not? Surprising things do happen.”
“And then, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to see the alligator that lives in the pond back at the condo.”
Bernie snorted. “Oh, yeah, right. Like I’m buying that story.”
“It’s true,” I insisted with a touch of exasperation. Sometimes her cynicism really irked me. “We see alligators in those ponds every summer. The boys see one every time they play golf or go running early in the morning.”
“Uh, huh…”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Bernadette. Sometimes you make me so mad.”
She laughed, then grimaced as a speedboat came perilously close to shore on its way up the coast. “Sheesh. Slow down, buddy!”
I was mad, too. “They think they’re so great. They have enough money to buy the darned thing but haven’t a clue how to handle it. I think you should have to take a test in order to operate a boat as big and fast as that.”
No sooner had I voiced that vehement declaration than another equally fast boat sped by, also too close to the shore. Bernie groaned. “Oh, for crying out loud. Wake up, you people.” She shook a fist at their wake.
After venting our frustration, we relaxed and spent a good half-hour more paddling around in the warm water. Deciding we were waterlogged and hungry, we threw the towel in, so to speak, and left the water. We’d each grabbed her towel and were drying off when we couldn’t help noticing the group of people gathered in a clump, staring at the water several yards down the shore.
“Wonder what they’re looking at?” Bernie mused as she tossed her frothy hair with one hand.
”Looks like they found something,” I muttered, pulling on my cover-up.
Two teenage girls strolled by, chattering in high-pitched voices about blood and guts and gore. My radar jumped ten degrees. “Hey. Excuse me. Girls.” They stopped and looked at me. “What happened back there…where all the people are gathered?”
One of the teens made a face. “It’s a turtle…a big one…she got ripped in half—”
“—Her fin or foot or something was almost off and there was a lot—”
“—Of blood and guts in the water. It was awful.”
I felt light-headed. Bernie groaned. “Oh, no.” she exclaimed. “A turtle? A sea turtle? Injured?”
“No,” one of the girls shook her head, “dead. They called the rangers. They’re coming to get it. Somebody said a boat’s propeller got it. It was awful.”
We were speechless. The girls shrugged and continued on their way. Bernie looked at me and I stared back. “Our turtle…” My voice croaked. “Oh, Bernie, it was our turtle…she’d lived all those years…free…older than dirt…she was so huge…all the barnacles…”
Bernie’s mouth was a straight line. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was as upset as I was, maybe even fighting back tears. We picked up our bags and walked to the car without saying another word. Somewhere deep in my heart I had a niggling hope that our turtle wasn’t dead but just injured, and that the rangers might be able to save her. It could happen. Anything can happen. Maybe she’d get another chance to lay eggs in the warm sand and swim to her heart’s content hither and yon. Of course it could happen. If there was one thing we’d learned from our decades of teaching kids, it was that every life has a meaning and a purpose and a value. Even a lowly sea turtle.
We were backing out of the tiny parking lot when Bernie sat up straighter and pointed toward the beach. “Mike, look.”
I squinted into the sun and was surprised and a little startled to see Jorge, our conscientious, efficient little gardener, taking long strides down the beach, away from us, toward the rangers talking to a large group of vacationers. “Jorge? What’s he doing here? And why’s he headed for the rangers?”
He seemed so out of context without his trusty leaf blower that we just sat and stared for several heartbeats in mute bewilderment. For some inane reason, it was difficult picturing the maintenance crew enjoying a day at the shore or interested in the wildlife. But why not? After all, the beach belonged to everybody. The idea that our gardener was heading for the two men in uniform was ridiculous. He was just curious like everyone else.
THIRTEEN
Exhausted by the time we reached the condo, all I wanted was a shower and a nap—not necessarily in that order—and by the way Bernie’s head hung and shoulders slumped, she did, too. We made it inside without bumping into Vicki and Lionel or Melba-the-toast. Thank God. I didn’t think I could be civil if we’d had to pause to chat with any of them, and I had no doubt Bernie’d be downright belligerent. Once inside, we headed to our rooms. We’d think about dinner later. Much later.
Two hours and fifty-three minutes later, to be exact. We both had slept. Then, had awakened feeling like we’d been on an all-day drinking binge. Cool showers revived us enough to make it out to the living room, where we turned on the boob tube to watch the news.
Bernie selected a Smirnoff while I cradled a hard lemonade to my once-again-reprieved bosoms. Bernie flopped down in her favorite chair, raised her legs, snagged the ottoman with one foot and dragged it closer. Lifting her bottle in salute, she took a swallow then grinned. “You know? I really enjoy watching other cities’ newscasts—especially the weather and sports. No matter where you travel in these United States, the sportscaster is a clone of every other sportscaster in the nation. Always youngish, chipper, full of laughs, and keenly serious about stats. And always with a name like Zip, or Rock, or Chip. Always. Don’t suppose Charleston is any different.”
I nodded and took a long draught from my own bottle. A gentle burp followed but mercifully Bernie didn’t catch it. Or, was just too tuckered to bother. Our attention on the TV, we listened, laughed, and learned nothing more than the Cardinals were doing okay, the Braves were smugly self-assured, and the Mets were on a roll. After sports came more of the hard stuff.
An elegantly coifed, albeit ultra-conservative newscaster, donning a mask of compassionate interest lest she acquire the least adverse reaction to her blatant trespassing across raw emotions, was interviewing the parents of the missing twins that had invoked the Amber Alert we’d been seeing and reading about. The mother, young, blond, but sadl
y drained of all color and personality, was leaning against her inarticulate husband. The picture of two little girls with long, blond hair, dressed in identical pink dresses was poignant enough to give me heartburn. I took a long swallow of my drink and allowed my eyes to leave the TV screen and focus on a flock of pelicans flying in perfect formation over the fifteenth green.
Bernie’s grunt drew me from my reverie. “Lord, this whole thing sickens me,” she muttered.
“The news?”
“Yes, the news. Much as I appreciate the need to keep up with all that’s going on in the world, I’ve grown increasingly tired of one depressing story tripping on the heels of another. I’ve seen enough sordid unhappiness in my long career as a middle school teacher, and even more as a principal, where the most tragic of dramas played out every single, damn day, right before my eyes. I simply don’t want to hear or see any more. Especially now, on my vacation. So, dearie, let’s switch channels and—”
“No, wait.” I’d just seen something that snagged my attention and wanted to hear more. Ohmigawd, Bernie. Did you hear that? Gangs and G-men. Right here. No way.”
“Good grief, Michaela. Settle down. What in heaven’s name are you ranting and raving about? I was talking about teaching and all the sordid, sad and depressing things I’ve had to—”
“—G-men, Bernadette. Listen.”
“G-men? Sweetie, nobody uses that absurd term anymore. What are you going on about?” Bernie remained lackadaisical, while I was so excited I nearly dumped my drink in my lap.
“Weren’t you listening? They were talking about a ‘Bonnie-and-Clyde’ copycat burglary team. Imagine that. Bonnie and Clyde. Here.”
“What are you talking about?” She’d lost her listlessness and was sitting up straighter.
I sighed. “The news, Bernadette. There’ve been a series of robberies in and around Charleston. Isn’t that amazing? Just like Bonnie and Clyde.” I glared at her pointedly. “Surely, you’ve heard of Bonnie and Clyde.”
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