by Mary Monroe
Cara blinked. Her mama had come to the beach house as an escape from her husband, but Emmi didn’t know that. As close as they were growing up, Cara could never confide to Emmi the personal problems of the family. If there was one thing her mama had drummed into her head, it was to never hang the family’s dirty laundry out on the line.
“Since the boys were born we’ve come here every July and for holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. The boys love it here and, of course, so do Tom and I. Then last year my parents retired to Florida and gave me the beach house. So here I am.”
“How about your boys? I’m guessing they’re surfer dudes now, bronzed and breaking hearts every week?”
“Yes and no. They come once in a while for a weekend. James, our eldest, is an obsessive-compulsive studier. He’s in premed at Duke and refuses to waste his time coming to the island to hang out during the summer. So he stays on campus. John’s got his friends and a job. He still fiddles around with a surfboard when he visits, which is not too often. He prefers it in Atlanta. At his age the last thing he wants to do is spend time with his mother.”
“So you’re living alone here for the summer?” Cara asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and loving every minute of it. I’m as free as a bird. Whoopee!”
Cara laughed to see Emmi spread her arms and flap them like the gulls overhead. “You’re still as crazy as ever.”
Emmi dropped her hands and removed her hat to smooth her hair. Cara found it bittersweet to see the long thick red hair she’d admired cut bluntly around the chin and mingled with a few strands of gray.
“No, sadly I’m not anymore. But I’m trying to regain a little craziness in my life. Let’s not go down that road quite yet, honey. Tell me about you! I hear you’re some big muck-a-muck ad executive in Chicago. I always knew you’d amount to something, Caretta Rutledge.”
Cara sighed and moved to sit down on the long palm trunk that had washed ashore. She patted the warped wood and Emmi came to join her. They sat shoulder to shoulder and both stretched their long legs out before them as they did as kids. Cara’s legs were lean and pale beside Emmi’s tanned, thick ones.
“Was is the operative word,” she replied, then kicked her heel in the sand. “I got canned. Just before I came here. I went to work one day with a new client on my mind and before an hour was up I was escorted out the door by an armed guard. Now that’s an experience you never want to have, I can promise you.”
“What?” she asked, sounding shocked. “Did you embezzle pots of dough or bring an Uzi into the cafeteria?”
Cara laughed. “Hardly. Let’s just say it was spring-cleaning and I was a superfluous dustball. A big and expensive-to-get-rid-of bit of dust, but discarded nonetheless.”
“Cara, I’m so sorry.”
“It happens. More often in this business than you’d think. But,” she added with chagrin, “you still never think it’s going to happen to you.”
“So, how are you? I mean, are you okay or are you destitute-and-on-the-streets kind of unemployed? We used to say we’d always take each other in if we had to and my door is always open.” She paused. “Is that why you’re home?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said with a light chuckle. “At least so far. I was with the agency for a long time and the severance package was very generous. I’m far from destitute, but I wish I could tell you I’ve got a great stock portfolio or something. I figure with my costs set, I can afford to regroup this summer. A headhunter is already looking into things for me and I’m confident something will turn up. I just hope it’s sooner than later or I might take you up on that deal.”
“Any time. We’re blood sisters, remember?”
“God, do you know how lucky we are to have been kids when we were? These days it’d be crazy to share blood like that.”
“We would’ve done it anyway.”
“You think?” She kicked the sand again and her tone changed to a more philosophical note. “You know, it’s providential. I realized that when I woke up this morning. If it had happened to Mama last year, I couldn’t have stayed for the summer. But now I can.”
“Whoa, back up. You lost me. If what happened to your mother?”
“My mother has cancer.”
Emmi sat straight up and looked stricken. “Miss Lovie? Oh, no.”
“I only just found out myself. It’s lung cancer. Apparently it’s already metastasized and there’s really nothing more they can do.” Her throat constricted and she abruptly stopped speaking.
“Oh no, no, no. Not her. That’s just shitty.”
Cara nodded. “She’s asked me to stay for the summer and I’ve agreed. That’s what I meant. I have the time to stay now because I was fired, where a year ago I couldn’t have swung a whole summer off.”
“Well, you could have.”
“Not and kept my job. But that point is moot now, isn’t it? And what does losing a job compare to losing my mother?”
Emmi shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry, Cara. My heart is sick. The whole island will be heartbroken, too. Why, most everyone who’s ever spent time here knows her as the Turtle Lady. We all saw our first hatchlings because of her.”
“Remember how she used to raise a flag whenever a nest was due to hatch?”
Emmi nodded, then offered a rueful smile. “But she used to help them hatch a little, too, if you know what I mean. There are strict regulations against that now.”
Cara didn’t know or care about regulations. All she knew was that her mother would not be here next summer when the loggerheads returned. “It’s so unthinkable to imagine that she’s really dying. It’s hard to accept. When I see her I think, ‘okay, she’s sick.’ But I still can’t imagine her life coming to an end. It’s odd, but in some ways the summer looms so long. Yet, when I think this will be her last summer, then it seems frighteningly short.”
“Imagine how it must feel to her.”
“That’s what’s so amazing. She doesn’t seem the least bit afraid.”
“What is she do—”
Emmi was interrupted by the high-pitched hello of a woman approaching up the beach. Emmi raised her arm and waved back. “Hey there!” To Cara she said, “There’s Florence. You remember Florence Prescott, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Cara watched the woman approach. Flo had been like an aunt to her growing up. Yet, she was ageless, too, her brilliant white hair a stark contrast to her very tanned skin. She wore a green T-shirt with a picture of a loggerhead and the words Turtle Team across the front.
Flo shook her head as she drew near and called out, “As I live and breathe, it’s Caretta Rutledge in the flesh. How are you doing, darlin’?”
Cara stood to embrace the woman with the same ease she had for years when Flo walked right into their kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. “I’m fine. You look great! Oh, it’s so good to see you again.”
“You’re looking pretty good, too,” Flo said, removing her sunglasses and giving Cara the once-over with blue eyes shining like searchlights. “For someone on death’s doorstep. Lovie told me you’d been under the weather since you arrived.”
“I was, but I’m better now.”
“The island makes you feel better. You should come home more often.”
Cara heard the scold beneath the smile and nodded. “I’m here for the summer now, Flo.”
Flo’s expression changed quickly to become serious and her eyes flashed in understanding. “So, she’s finally told you?”
Cara nodded, tightening her lips.
“Good. I’m glad. She needed to tell you as much as you needed to hear it. Lovie needs you now, Cara. She’s missed you something fierce.”
Flo’s voice was full of conviction and Cara shifted her weight. She’d never thought her mother needed her, much less missed her.
“It’s going to be hard on all of us,” Flo continued, “but we can’t let on. We need to keep upbeat.”
“I was thinking,” Emmi broke in. “We’ll
have to figure out how to cover for Lovie over the summer if she can’t keep up with her schedule.”
“You won’t be able to take it away from her,” Flo replied in her matter-of-fact manner. “The turtles are her life.”
“No, they’re not,” Cara said. “She needs to think about other things this summer and she may not be up to the task. The turtles have taken my mother away for long enough.”
Flo studied her face, then spoke slowly. “You never understood about your mother and the loggerheads. And I guess there are parts of the story you never can. But trust me on this, Caretta. If you take those turtles away from her, you’ll kill her faster than any cancer will. She’s been doing this for as long as you’ve been alive and it means the world to her. Not just the turtles, but also the feeling of renewal they give her. It’s a special connectedness to God, to the earth, to the best part of herself. She’s earned that small bit of peace—and you know what I’m talking about.”
Cara didn’t reply.
“Why, you know how much she looks forward to the turtle season every year. She lives for it. Finding and marking the nests, waking early to find tracks or staying up late to sit with eggs till they’ve hatched. She keeps all the records, writes the newsletter, gives lectures, instructs the children, welcomes the tourists and who knows what else? She’s like a mama hen worrying about each and every one of those hatchlings.
“And on top of all that, people with causes live longer, age slower, stay sharper and are just damn more agreeable.” She released a quick smile that set her eyes glittering like topaz. “Even if they are a bit single-minded. Take the turtles away from Lovie and what’s she got left? Just her illness, that’s what. Dry rot will set in and she’ll be waiting to die. I’ve seen it happen too often. Why, the very notion boils my blood. I say she needs to feel a part of this team now more than ever. Olivia Rutledge is the Turtle Team.”
Emmi nodded her head in staunch agreement.
Cara, who had remained silent during Flo’s fiery defense, ran her hand through her hair. “What do you recommend we do?”
Flo heard the deference and exhaled a long breath. Chewing the end of her sunglasses, she regarded Cara shrewdly. “You should get involved.”
“With the Turtle Team? Me?”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Thanks for the offer, but I’m not the Turtle Team type.”
Flo brought back her shoulders. “I’m not sure there is a type.”
“Sure there is. The nurturing type.”
She skewered Cara with a look. “And you’re saying you are not the nurturing type?”
Cara looked her right back in the eye. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Florence burst out laughing. “The hell you aren’t. You just don’t know it yet. There’s nothing like a nest of hatchlings to bring it out, too. Okay, now here’s my suggestion. Just hear me out. We both know your mama wants to spend time with you this summer. This would be the perfect project for you to share. She might not be up to doing all the tasks, though, so you can take over a lot of the physical activities like getting up early and following up on the turtle track reports and checking the nests at night. Lovie can do the charts, write the newsletters and still come down to the beach as often as she feels up to it. That way, no one is taking away any of her duties.”
Cara made an agonized face. “But I’ll be taking on a lot of them. Flo, you know I’ve never wanted to be a turtle lady.”
“Oh, come on,” Emmi chided, nudging her in the ribs. “Your mama came over to my house and got me involved last summer and I have to admit, I was reluctant to have to get up early every morning, especially with the boys gone and no breakfast to make. But you know your mama. The next thing I knew I was walking the beach every morning, feeling great, and couldn’t wait for the sun to set so I could sit out there by the nests with the girls at night. Being part of the team grounded me and made this island my home again. You were just saying a minute ago how the summer loomed so long. This will give it focus. Best of all, you’ll have this to share with your mama.”
“And she needs you now,” Flo added simply.
Cara realized that this one quietly spoken statement was the winning argument. Her mind spun, trying to think of alternative solutions. But there were none. She felt herself being dragged along into this decision like a piece of driftwood in the tide.
“Will you help me? I don’t have a clue what to do.”
“Of course. We all will,” replied Flo. “But not to worry, Caretta. You’ve got the greatest teacher of all.”
Emmi’s eyes filled suddenly and she wrapped her arms around her once again.
“I’m so glad you’re home. Welcome back.”
The loggerhead deposits her leathery, Ping-Pong ball sized eggs into the nest cavity, laying two, three or four at a time. She will lay eighty to one hundred and fifty eggs in each nest.
CHAPTER NINE
On the South Carolina coast, summer doesn’t begin at the equinox. Summer begins after Memorial Day when the schools open the floodgates and kids pour out onto the beach with hurrahs of triumph, colorful towels flapping like flags and surfboards pointed toward the sea. The beach houses that line the shore are rented clear through until September when the schools pull the children back in. Until then, cars cruise the boulevard bumper to bumper.
For Cara, summer began with her first day on the Turtle Team. Soon after her “induction” into the team, a phone call came in reporting turtle tracks at 22nd Avenue. When Lovie woke up to the news, she smiled like the Cheshire cat.
“Fetch the red bucket,” she said, throwing back the covers.
With the bucket in tow, they headed out in The Gold Bug for the nest. It was a cloudy, introspective morning with a brisk, moist wind. Cara drove, enjoying the feel of the clutch again on a winding road after years of automatic in stop-and-go traffic. They bumped along Palm Boulevard with the top down like two teenagers on an outing. Looking to her right, she saw Lovie smiling as she held on to her cap, little wisps of fine white-gold hair flying against her small, slender hands. Sometimes she could look so young, Cara thought.
She parked along the sandy roadside, placed her hat on her head, then hopped out of the car to run around and help her mother out. Grabbing the supplies, they headed out along the twisting, narrow beach access path. The houses were so close together Cara could smell coffee and bacon coming from the kitchens. Ahead of her, Lovie was as nimble as a mountain goat, but she paused midway to cough. It sounded deep and wet and Cara recalled hearing that cough a few times around the house as well. An inner alarm went off.
“Are you okay?” Cara asked. “Maybe you’re catching something?”
“No, no, it’s just the dry air and sand.”
“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Perhaps you shouldn’t be coming out here.”
“Nonsense, I’m fine. The doctor said exercise is good for me. Come on, let’s go find those tracks.” She cleared her throat and with a tease in her voice asked, “You do remember what a turtle track looks like, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mama,” Cara replied in singsong, picking up the bucket. She was never going to live down her first disastrous day searching for turtle tracks. The day before she’d run back from the beach to breathlessly tell Lovie she’d found tracks. Lovie made the phone calls to Emmi and Flo. Then they all raced to the designated beach with probes in tow, only to laugh until tears moistened their eyes when Cara’s tracks turned out to be the trash man’s tractor tracks.
Chagrined, Cara was determined never to make that mistake again. Once on the beach, she readily spotted the wide turtle tracks that carved the smooth, untrammeled sand. They traveled from the high tide line to a small body pit. Not far beyond it was a huge, man-made hole, probably the remains of a massive sea castle laid low by the tide.
“Fools,” Lovie muttered coming close. “A sandcastle is one thing, but a huge crater is another. Don’t they know a turtl
e has to crawl by? She might’ve gotten trapped in one of these pits.”
“I’m sure they didn’t even think of the turtles when they were building it,” Cara replied, moving on to the turtle’s nest. “Not everyone is as turtle crazy as you are.”
“They should be. The loggerheads have been coming to this beach for a lot longer than any of us have.” She picked up a long, tapered T-handled dowel and gave it with ceremony to Cara. “This was my probe stick. And now it is yours. It’s kind of a badge of honor in the Turtle Team, so don’t take it lightly. Only a few people are approved to probe a nest and I’m going to teach you how it’s done. So pay close attention.”
She drew lines in the sand, dividing the circular body pit into four parts. Then, beginning with one quarter, she taught Cara how to hold the probe stick and balance her weight before carefully pushing the stick into the sand. Her small, slender body moved gracefully, inch by inch, up and down, sliding across the small area like a ballerina doing pliés on the beach.
“It’s important not to push in fast like a drill because, if you should find the egg chamber, your probe will go through the soft sand like a knife through butter. You don’t want to push hard, either, lest you break an egg. So nice and easy, like this.” She probed a few more times with deliberate slowness and care. When she was done, her breath came short. “Now you try it.”
Cara took the probe stick, feeling more nervous than she thought she’d be. “At least I’ll get some payback from all those ballet lessons you made me take as a child.”
“No knowledge is wasted,” her mother volleyed.
Cara centered the probe between her legs, bent at the knees, caught her balance, then began. Each time she pushed the stick through the sand, she was sure she was going to come crashing into an egg.
“Not so fast,” Lovie admonished. “There’s no hurry. Why are you always in a hurry, Caretta?”