“If I had more I’d offer more!”
“I know exactly what you make and I know when I’m getting the short end of the stick. You always were cheap, Cal. But I’m not just talking about the money. We always said if anything ever happened to us that the antiques you inherited would go back to your family and mine would go back to mine. But now you want my family antiques, too.”
“Everything we own, including the furniture, is considered communal property. The lawyers explained that. We have to divide it equally.”
“Have to? If we do this amicable divorce thing, we can do what we want. You just said so.”
Cal set down his glass and stood abruptly. His chair scraped the wood floor. “I can see there’s no discussing anything when you’re in this mood. This is where Nate gets it from.”
Dora gasped and felt a sharp pain, as though the words had stabbed her heart. She’d always known that deep down he’d blamed her for Nate’s autism. Dora’s heart began pumping hard in her chest and her mouth felt so dry that she couldn’t respond.
“I’d better go,” he said.
“Yes, go. You’re good at that!”
His face pinched and he turned to leave.
“You didn’t just leave me, you know,” she cried after him. “You left Nate.”
He turned back to face her. His own face was set in resolve. “Yes.”
Her heart ached for her son, her sad, lonely boy. “You haven’t called or visited him. You’re a lousy father, do you know that?” She could feel the emotion rising and was powerless to stop it, didn’t want to stop it. “You never even once took Nate fishing!”
“Fishing? What the . . . Where did that come from?”
“He wanted to learn how to fish. What boy doesn’t? Mamaw taught him. Not you. You never taught him anything. He was always a disappointment to you.”
“Dora, we’re getting off track. Why are we digging up all this anger when the only reason I came over tonight was to try to find a peaceful settlement? You always do that. You get so emotional.”
“You want to see emotion? I’ll show you emotion!” Her voice rose to a shout. “Why did you leave me? You never told me. Why?”
The louder she yelled, the more withdrawn Cal became. He blew out a plume of air. “I hated my life,” he answered simply.
Dora went silent, mouth agape, blindsided.
“Every night when I came home I stood at the door and resented that I had to enter this house.” His gaze swept the room. “I hate this goddamn house,” he said in a cold monotone. “It’s been an albatross around my neck. Then the minute I’d walk in you’d start rattling on and on about Nate’s problems or the house’s problems, or the yard’s problems. There were always problems! I couldn’t get five minutes to sit down and relax before you’d start right in wanting to discuss some earth-shattering problem, like the garbage disposal was broken.”
“You could have told me! I’d have given you space.”
“It’s not only that.”
“What else?”
“It’s us.”
“What about us?”
“There is no us!” Cal exploded. “There hasn’t been for a long time. There’s only you and Nate. I’m the odd man out. Sure, I understand that Nate needs a lot of your time. I get that. But once you got his diagnosis you were obsessed. You couldn’t do enough. You’ve been overinvolved. Our entire lives revolved around him. Dora, you hover. You plan every moment of his life.”
“It is my job!” she cried, almost in tears. “I’m his mother!”
“You were also my wife! You forgot that part. I became an afterthought in this house.”
“An afterthought? I cooked your meals, cleaned your house, did your laundry.”
“I want a wife, not a goddamn maid!”
Dora sucked in her breath. More than all the words spoken in the lawyer’s office, more than all the lists on ledgers, this moment told her for certain that her marriage was over. He didn’t love her, had not loved her for some time. Would never love her again.
“I . . . I didn’t know you felt that way.” She choked back tears.
Cal wagged his head with exhaustion. He was the picture of a man throwing in the towel. He softened his voice. “Don’t cry, Dora. Please . . .”
His words just made her sob harder. She gulped for air, unable to catch her breath. It felt as though he’d taken her heart in his hands and was squeezing it, tighter and tighter. She felt pain under her rib cage and, clutching her chest, she doubled over.
“Dora, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear him for the thundering in her ears. She staggered forward, her knees buckling.
“It’s my heart. I can’t breathe.”
Chapter Three
Sarasota, Florida
A sultry, salty breeze lifted Carson’s long, dark hair like a sheath of silk from her shoulders. It was the only visible movement as she sat still as a statue on a metal chair, leaning forward with her chin cupped in her palm. She had an athlete’s body, strong and trained. She could hold this position for a long while, her gaze laser-focused on one particular blue tank in the Mote Marine cetacean hospital.
This rear area of the hospital was more utilitarian than the larger, beautiful Mote aquarium. A large wall was dominated by an attractive sea-green and white mural depicting dolphins. The mural distracted the eye from the industrial gray stucco walls and towering water tanks in the behind-the-scenes outdoor arena. A few blue holding tanks occupied a corner of the space. All the tanks were empty save one, which held a dolphin.
“Oh, Delphine,” Carson murmured.
Carson had barely recognized the beautiful, beguiling Delphine she knew from Sullivan’s Island. That dolphin was a vigorous, sleek female in her prime. This dolphin’s skin was a dull gray, she was listless and weak, and her long body was crisscrossed with scars.
Staring at the listless dolphin, Carson couldn’t move or speak. Her heart was crushed under the weight of her guilt. Sitting in the glare of the sun, feeling the burn, Carson had to own that it was her fault this dolphin had been so badly injured. As Blake had told her, this is what her selfishness had brought them to.
Blake Legare worked for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Charleston. He’d been her friend, her lover, but the fact that she’d kept from him the truth that she’d befriended a dolphin at the dock at Sea Breeze had forged a wedge between them. She’d gone against all that he worked so hard to educate the public against doing, and in the end she’d proved him correct. She’d fed a wild dolphin and the dolphin was injured. Yet Blake still arranged for her to visit the Mote Marine cetacean hospital, where he’d brought Delphine for treatment. For this, she’d always be grateful.
Carson had driven to Sarasota from Sullivan’s Island the day before. Tired and hungry, she arrived in town late and checked into a modest motel as close to the Mote Marine hospital as she could afford. She’d barely slept a wink waiting for dawn, and was standing at the doors of the hospital when they opened.
The staff had received word of her impending arrival and were friendly enough, but until formal permission was granted for access, all Carson was permitted to do was enter the hospital area, wait patiently, and watch. She’d been sitting for over an hour and that was more than enough time to observe how sick Delphine truly was. Even with Blake’s warning, she hadn’t been prepared for the extent of the dolphin’s injuries.
A short while later, Carson heard a voice call her name. She turned to see a tall, attractive woman in a swimsuit and bright blue rash guard with MOTE emblazoned across the chest. She wore her blond hair in a long ponytail and carried a clipboard. Carson sprang to her feet, eager to talk to someone about Delphine.
“You’re Carson Muir?” the woman asked.
“I am,” Carson replied, reaching out her hand.
“Lynne Byrd,” the woman replied in greeting, giving Carson’s hand a perfunctory s
hake.
Lynne looked at her clipboard, her demeanor all business. “It says here that you’re requesting to be allowed to volunteer with the dolphin rehabilitation program.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s see.” She checked her notes. “Dr. Blake Legare contacted us.” She glanced up. “Do you know Blake?”
Carson looked at the exceptionally pretty woman and felt a flutter of jealousy. “He’s a friend.”
She smiled. “Yeah, Blake’s a good guy. We’ve worked together,” she said in an offhand manner that spoke only of a professional relationship. “He asks that you specifically be allowed to volunteer with the dolphin Delphine.” She glanced up, questioning. “Why this dolphin?”
“I know this dolphin.”
“You know her?”
Carson heard the same censorious tone in Lynne’s voice that she’d noticed in Blake’s when he’d first learned that Carson had befriended a wild dolphin.
Carson nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
Carson shifted her weight, resigned to the retelling of the painful incident. She knew that Lynne would be listening carefully not only to what she said, but also to what was left unsaid. Carson brought to mind the first time she’d seen Delphine in the Atlantic Ocean on that fateful morning.
“I was surfing outside Isle of Palms and a dolphin protected me from a bull shark that was messing with me. I’d read about this kind of thing happening, how dolphins save people’s lives, but you never really believe it, you know? But it happened to me,” she said in a somber tone. “I believe—I know—this dolphin saved my life.”
Lynne tilted her head in the way that told Carson her interest was piqued. “I’ve heard the stories, too. And I believe them,” Lynne conceded. “There are too many documented cases not to.”
Carson immediately liked the woman. “But Delphine paid a price for her heroism. As she tried to get away, the shark lashed out and bit her fin.”
“We figured the missing chunk in her fluke was from some sort of attack,” Lynne said.
Carson nodded. “A few days later, I was paddleboarding in the Cove—that’s a body of water behind Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina—this dolphin began following me, checking me out. When I saw the bitten fluke, I knew it was the same dolphin that had rescued me. I couldn’t believe it.” She let out a short laugh. “The dolphin recognized me before I recognized her.”
Lynne shook her head.
“I’m always amused when people are surprised at how smart dolphins are. We know they’re exceptionally intelligent creatures, but whenever we attribute them with any of what we think of as human qualities and smarts, we find it hard to accept. The truth is, dolphins are that kind of smart.” She paused to scribble something down on her clipboard. “So, how did she end up getting ensnared in all that fishing line?”
“This is the part I’m ashamed to tell,” Carson said. There was no skirting around her part in this. “I guess I was flattered that the dolphin recognized me. She seemed eager to befriend me, as much as I wanted to form a relationship with her, too. I know now that I should have stopped there. But I didn’t. I thought somehow I was special. So, I encouraged her. I named her. We swam together and I called her to the dock.” She paused, cringing. “We fed her fish. I know, I know . . .” she said quickly, seeing the flare-up in Lynne’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have. We did everything wrong.”
“Yeah, you did,” Lynne said, but there wasn’t scorn in the tone.
Carson continued. “One night, my nephew set up fishing lines to catch fish to feed Delphine. He’s only nine and his heart was in the right place. The next morning, I discovered Delphine entangled in the fishing lines.”
She closed her eyes. Carson would never forget the sound of Delphine’s screams piercing the early morning quiet, or the sight of her struggling to catch a breath in the choppy water. Each time the dolphin rose up in the water to take a breath, the razorlike filament cut deeper into her flesh.
“I called Blake and the NOOA team rescued her. My grandmother arranged for the plane to transport her here.” She looked at her feet. “You know the rest.”
There was a moment’s silence as Lynne seemed to be considering the story.
Carson cleared her throat. “How is Delphine now?”
Lynne’s face was grave. “Well,” she began matter-of-factly, turning again to her notes on the clipboard. “This dolphin is in critical condition. She suffered multiple lesions in her pectoral and dorsal fins, and severe slicing across her body. The fishing line had embedded deeply and required surgical removal.” Lynne flipped to the next page, and reading farther, she frowned. “What was really bad were the two fishing hooks that were embedded into her soft palate.” Lynne shook her head. “That was one badass hook. I’ve rarely seen a mammal so close to death that makes it. She was slack-jawed, her eyes glazed. I thought she was gone. But this dolphin has a strong will to live. She’s on antibiotics and fluids. We thought we were making progress.”
“Thought?”
Lynne looked up from her clipboard. “She stopped eating. Delphine has been showing no interest in food. It’s a serious worry.”
Carson’s stomach clenched. “What can you do?”
Lynne suddenly dropped her professional demeanor, leaning into Carson and lightly touching her wrist in sympathy. “All we can. It’s touch and go at this point. Delphine continues to be cared for around the clock by trained volunteers who are keeping a close eye. They’re a dedicated group. Some of them are taking the midnight shifts. We’re grateful to them.”
“I could do that,” Carson said automatically.
Lynne paused. “I’ll be honest with you. When I first heard that you were coming I was annoyed. I figured the last thing I need is some rookie wanting to play Flipper in my tank. But I know Blake Legare. I trust him. He said that I should give you a chance with this dolphin.”
Carson remained silent.
Lynne continued. “Delphine’s weak but swimming for short periods on her own and in a more upright position than she had been when she arrived. The staff is working to encourage her to swim herself for longer periods of time.” She looked out at Delphine in the tank and sighed with worry. “She’s just so listless.”
Carson followed Lynne’s gaze. “She looks depressed.”
“I don’t like to use human terms in referring to dolphins, but . . .” Lynne lifted her shoulders slightly. “Yes, I’d say she looks depressed.”
“She’s all alone in there.”
“We don’t want to encourage too much human interaction. We don’t want her associating humans with food, so the more hands-off we can be, the better it will be for her in the long run.” Lynne lowered the clipboard to her side. “But . . . I’ve been doing this for over twenty years. Every once in a blue moon I meet up with a dolphin who is extremely social. I think Delphine is one of these dolphins.” A small smile of memory flitted across her face. “Usually we don’t touch them. One time when I was in the tank with her I accidentally rubbed her skin with my palm. She whistled and looked at me. I mean, she really looked at me, like you were talking about. I swear, if she was a cat she’d have purred.”
The memory of Delphine in the Cove, her head tilted and her dark eyes shining, flashed in Carson’s mind. “I know that look.”
Considering this, Lynne studied Carson’s face. “If this dolphin has a bond with you, if she recognizes you, it might be what helps her turn the corner.”
“I did bond with her. I know she’ll recognize me,” Carson said resolutely.
Lynne nodded firmly, then looked at her watch. “It’s time to give Delphine her meds. You can come into the tank with us. Let’s see how Delphine responds to you. We’ll let her decide.”
“Thank you,” Carson said.
“Don’t thank me,” Lynne replied, back to her brusque manner. “We both want what’s best for this dolphin.”
Carson was guided to a restroom, where she
changed into a swimsuit. A volunteer gave her a blue Mote rash guard, then led her to where Lynne and another Mote staff member stood outside a large blue holding tank. The sun was shining bright overhead and the cement burned her feet as she crossed the square. Carson’s heart was beating fast; she was both anxious and fearful of being close to Delphine again. Would she welcome her? she wondered. Or was she so far gone that she wouldn’t even recognize Carson?
Lynne and the vet tech climbed up the ladder to enter the tank, and Carson followed. Peering over the edge, she saw Delphine on the opposite side of the large tank, and her breath caught in her chest. Closer, Carson could vividly see the glaring white scars crisscrossing Delphine’s gray body, still so fresh. She followed the other two women down the ladder to enter the tank’s cool water. The water in the pool was up to her waist. Lynne and the tech were already beside Delphine, holding her steady. Carson held back, her eyes glued to Delphine. She floated more vertically than was normal for a dolphin. Her beautiful eyes were open, but mere slits in the large gray head. She looked almost lifeless.
“We need you to help hold her head so I can deliver the meds,” Lynne said, waving Carson over.
Carson approached Delphine with slow steps.
Delphine, aware of each presence in the tank, tilted her head toward the new person approaching. Carson stared into Delphine’s eyes. Suddenly the dolphin let loose a loud whistle and wriggled out of the tech’s hold with one firm push of her tail.
“Delphine!” Carson cried, and held her arms out as the dolphin made a beeline for her.
Delphine let her body slide against Carson’s as she swam past her. She circled the tank, whistling with excitement. Then she returned to Carson, her large eyes wide and eager looking. Carson reached out, but before touching Delphine, she looked to Lynne.
The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer) Page 4