by Mary Monroe
“As an old oyster man once said, you’ve either got it in you before you eat the oysters, or you don’t.”
She gazed at his face. His eyes were astonishingly blue in the firelight. “So, who is right?” she asked in a strained voice. “The old wife or the old man?”
He lowered his head to kiss her neck. “I think this calls for a little field research.”
She closed her eyes as shivers of pleasure swept through her blood. “Plant or wildlife?”
He moved her head to the side with his chin as his lips traveled down her neck. “Definitely wildlife.”
His breath came hot along her throat and Cara felt each hair rise as a million cells tingled. She moaned, stretching her arms out from under her head to wrap around his shoulders, lowering him toward her. He stretched out beside her, slipping one arm under her back to cradle her head. Drawing her closer, he lazily stroked the length of her body.
She wanted this man. Oh yes, she wanted him badly and pressed closer, almost writhing with desire. Brett’s body was solid and strong. He leaned over her, arching, moving his thigh over hers. He moved slow and easy, making her own blood race madly through her veins. She tightened her grasp as his kisses traveled teasingly, maddeningly, up her neck.
When at last he brought his lips to hers, Cara opened her mouth, ready to devour him whole. But he would not be hurried. He was deliberate, tender, exploring. Then he deepened the kiss to a passionate possession. She shivered and tightened her grasp, matching his desire. Her hands moved down to reach under his cotton shirt, then slide up along the broad muscles of his back, relishing the silky smoothness against her fingertips.
Brett drew back and raised his head to look down at her. She gazed back, welcome pulsing in her eyes.
He lowered his head again. She raised her lips.
“Come on, wild thing,” he said with a quick kiss on her nose. “We’d better pack up and go before the tide comes in or we’ll be swimming for the boat.”
He shifted his weight and moved away from her, climbing to a stand.
Cara lay on the ground, stunned, staring up at him with her arms flat at her side and her mouth open in a silent protest.
He reached out to her.
She took his hand and with a single tug he hoisted her to her feet. She stood dazed, dusting off her pants, feeling as though she’d missed some cue. A few feet away, Brett moved quickly, dousing the fire, gathering the supplies.
What had just happened, she wondered? Did she give the wrong signals? Was she too aggressive? Was that it? Did she say or do something to turn him off? With a furtive movement, she checked her breath.
Brett drew closer carrying the gear. “That about does it. Ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” She stumbled forward feeling awkward. “Can I carry something?”
His eyes sparked with humor. “I seem to recall that I’m the one that’s doing all the carrying on this trip.”
“Oh, yeah.” She didn’t know whether to smile or act aloof. It had slipped her mind that she’d be riding piggyback to the boat. Once again she’d wrap her arms and legs around him. Just the thought of it sent her shivering with an odd mixture of anticipation and embarrassment.
He handed her the net and gloves, then hoisted the cooler. “Come on, then,” he said and began walking toward the perimeter of trees that loomed like a black wall in the shadows.
She swallowed all the questions that were poised on the tip of her tongue and hurried to follow him back to the boat.
The eggs will incubate in the sandy nest for fifty-five to sixty days, unless disturbed by a predator. Turtle eggs are gourmet meals for raccoons and ghost crabs. Dogs, cats, feral hogs and vultures will also hunt the eggs. Egg poaching by humans is common in areas, as well.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Even in the flattering pink light of early morning it was sad to see what a shambles the beach house had fallen into. Cara walked the grounds, sipping her coffee and getting a sense of the space. The sunlight cruelly exposed the chipped paint and the sagging decks. Under the porch, years of accumulated garbage, things her mother might call treasures, made the beach house look alarmingly like a junkyard. As for the yard, it was worse. One of her fondest summer memories was rocking on the screened porch listening to the bees buzz and catching the scent of wildflowers intermingled with the jasmine, honeysuckle and roses in her mother’s garden. Looking around, it was clear the overgrown, scrubby lot needed a firm, guiding hand.
Cara set down her coffee, pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and began making her list. She liked lists. The longer the better. They organized her thoughts and gave her a sense of control over chaos. She wrote down the numbers first. One, two, three and so on. Looking around at her surroundings, ignoring the sense of dread at the magnitude of the job, she began to prioritize. Her hand moved fast, trying to keep up with her thoughts. In a short while, she had nineteen to-dos on her list.
Crossing the T with a flourish, she was once again a woman with purpose. She tucked the list in her pocket and donned her mother’s old gardening gloves. They were thick and serious—and made her feel like a professional. She’d start with the trash first to clear space for other projects she had in mind.
The morning passed quickly. By the end of it she’d cleared most of the junk from the decks. The areas under the porch were broom clean and the trash organized into two piles. The enormous one she’d designated for a special garbage pickup. The smaller one was made up of assorted old art supplies, rusted garden tools, wobbly beach chairs and other flimsy items that she was hoping her mother would okay to add to the trash bin. She was huffing and puffing under the weight of an old, rusting air conditioner on its way to the dump pile when she heard her mother’s voice behind her.
“You’re not throwing that out, are you?”
Cara walked the final steps and lowered the incredibly heavy unit to the ground. Still bent with her hands on her knees, catching her breath, she turned her head to see her mother anxiously staring at the trash pile.
“Yes, Mama,” she said with dry lips. “I’m throwing it out. It’s junk.”
“Oh, it still has life in it. Don’t you think someone could use it? We could donate it to Goodwill?”
“No one wants that piece of junk. It will cost more to repair than to buy a new one.”
Lovie wrung her hands together and stared at the pile. “You’re not throwing all that away, are you?”
Cara felt disheartened. She’d worked like a dog all morning and she’d hoped for a little thanks, not a wall of opposition. This was touchy ground, however. Her mother could be very skittish about throwing anything out. She once even had a fit when old paint cans she suspected of having a bit of useful color left in them were tossed.
“It was a fire hazard out here. Not to mention an eyesore.”
Her mother went over to the pile. While Cara held her breath, Lovie began picking through rusty screwdrivers, a broken chain saw, a worm-eaten bench and an old metal bucket missing a handle. She seized hold of an old tricycle.
“Oh, I think Cooper could use this.”
Cara wanted to tell her that Cooper was already too big for it and probably had a brand-new tricycle at home, but rather than start off with an argument, she obligingly rolled the wobbly, rusty trike out from the pile back under the porch. When her mother started pulling out the rotting wicker chair, however, she held firm.
“It’s got to go, Mama. I’ll get a new one, I promise. No, no, no, please don’t tell me it has lots of life in it. Half its back is missing. Release it, Mama! Let it go!”
Lovie frowned, but left the chair in the junk pile. She stood with her hands clasped, looking at the pile with a forlorn expression.
Cara came near to put her arm around Lovie’s small, slumped shoulders. “Wait till you see what I’m going to do. What we are going to do. Since we have the whole summer, what could be better than bringing the house back to its original shape? Wouldn’t you like that? Remember how beauti
ful it used to be out here on a summer night? The butterflies flocked here.” She extended her hand toward the yard, seeing in her mind’s eye the wildflowers that used to cover the dunes. “My plan is to clear away all that ugly old brush, trim the bushes, dig up old roots, then maybe you can plant some new rosebushes. Remember your roses?”
Lovie’s face softened and a small smile played at her lips. “I just couldn’t keep up anymore. I tried to water…”
“I know, I know. It got to be too much,” Cara said, quickly putting to rest any regrets. “I’m not sure I can do it all on my own. But what I can’t do, I’ll hire someone to do.”
“But Cara, you’re talking about a very big job.” She paused to look at her askance. “You don’t know what you’re doing in the garden, do you? You never had much patience for it as a child. You used to moan whenever I asked you to pull a weed.”
Cara laughed. “I figured it would be like with the turtles. You could teach me. Did you ever hear about Tolstoy’s bicycle? It’s an amazing thing. He learned to ride one at your age. Seems I could learn to plant a garden.”
Lovie’s eyes lit up. “Yes, you could do that. Are you really interested?”
“I thought I’d give it my best shot.”
“I have a wonderful library of garden books you could read.”
“I hope you have some with lots of those lovely photographs so I can identify what’s what. When I read the descriptions they all start to sound the same to me. But if I see it, it’s in my mind for life.”
“I’ll help you, don’t worry.”
Cara’s excitement rose at seeing her mother’s dismay spark into enthusiasm. “I thought I’d rebuild the porch, too. It’s rotting in places and I have nightmares of you or Toy falling through. And the house definitely needs a fresh coat of paint. Do you think you could find the original shade of yellow?”
Lovie nodded and her gaze moved to the trash bin where several paint cans lay. “There should be a can in there with the paint number scribbled on it. You see? That’s why I keep things. You never know when you’ll need it.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “These days we can find a match from a paint chip. And I was thinking of Charleston green for the shutters. Unless you want hurricane shutters?”
“All these plans, Cara. It will be expensive. Palmer has me on a very tight budget.”
Cara’s blood began to simmer at the thought of her brother being so stingy with their mother’s own money. But she didn’t want to ruin the mood with a discussion of Palmer. “Forget about the money,” she told her. “I’ve already budgeted to cover it.”
“But how? You don’t have a job. Cara, I couldn’t take your money. Not now.”
“You’re not taking anything. I’m giving it. Please, Mama, let me do this for you. It will give me such pleasure.”
Lovie lifted her chin and looked out over the tumbleweed landscape. Her gaze moved on to take in the gentle lines of her cottage, the large trash pile on the driveway, and finally rested on her daughter’s face. Cara’s color was rosier, much better than the pallor she’d arrived with and her mahogany-colored eyes were bright from the exercise. And to think, Cara wanted to do something for her.
“I don’t know why I was hanging on to all that junk anyway,” she said. “There are a lot more important things to keep close.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “And it would be nice to see this place all spruced up once more before I…” She stopped herself and forced a smile to her face. “Well, it’d be real nice.”
Cara had to turn her head lest her mother see the flash of tears. “Come over here, Mama. There’s something you should see.” She led the way past the trash pile to the front of the house, where a row of ancient, gangly oleanders dominated the dune. She grabbed hold of one big branch and pulled it back away from the base of the high porch.
“In the process of yanking out weeds with roots that went straight to China and getting spooked by a black snake that shot out from the grass, I found this,” she said, panting to pull the branch back farther. She waved her mother over with a quick movement. “Come take a look.”
Lovie rounded the beastly bush to peek in. There, along the broken slats of lattice, was a thin, rangy climbing rosebush struggling toward the sun. She laughed, high and with heart. “Why, I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. A lone straggler. However did you find it?”
“It takes one to know one.” She waited until her mother cleared the area, then gently released the branches. They sprang back in a furious rustling. “I remembered that you had roses growing here, before these oleanders got so big. I just started searching. I couldn’t believe my luck to find one still alive. There’s hardly any air or light back there. That’s what reminded me about the pergola. You used to have roses climbing all along one that covered the whole length of the porch.” She put her hand over her brows and peered at the house, remembering it as it once was. “I really loved that pergola. Whatever happened to it?”
“Hurricane Hugo made quick work of that. And most of the front porch, as you can see. I fixed up the screened porches and the roof with the insurance money. Sadly, we didn’t have the place well insured. Your father had no interest in this cottage and begrudged every penny I squeezed out for it. I could only afford to replace the front stairs.”
“You were lucky Hugo didn’t take the whole house.”
Lovie nodded in agreement. “It was the tornadoes that did most of the damage. Flo’s and my house narrowly escaped. But if you look down the block, most of the others are gone. The flooding was bad, though. Everything got a good soaking. A big boat landed right smack in Bill Wilson’s front door.” She chuckled, remembering the sight that was anything but funny at the time. “Still, you’re quite right. We were lucky. I like to think it was divine intervention. Sometimes a place means a lot more to a person than just somewhere to live. It’s like—well, it’s like a touchstone. Stratton would never have let me rebuild the beach house had I lost it. I don’t know what I’d have done if I didn’t have this place to come to over the years.” She looked out toward the sea. “I just don’t know.”
“That’s why we have to fix it up. It’s not only important to you, Mama. This place matters to me, too. And to Toy. And Palmer, even if he won’t admit it. And it will come to mean a lot to Linnea and Cooper. I’m sure of it.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised at hearing this from Cara. Then, with a different tone, one that resonated with wonder and a deep satisfaction, she said again, “Do you really think so?”
“I do.”
“You can’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” She looked up at the beach house, her eyes sparkling, and said brightly, “So, what should we do first?”
The next morning, while Toy was sitting at the sewing machine trying to thread a bobbin, the phone rang. Cara and Lovie were out on turtle business so she hurried, checking the hall clock en route. It was nine o’clock, late for a call about turtle tracks.
“Hello?”
There was no reply.
“Hello?”
“Nice to hear your voice.”
Her breath hitched. “Darryl, I told you not to call me here.”
“What are you getting all upset about? Don’t you want me to check up on you? See how you’re doing? You’re the one always telling me that we’re having this baby.”
“You don’t care about this baby. You don’t even care about me.”
“Aw Toy, don’t go sayin’ that. You know you’re the one I love. Haven’t I always told you that?”
“Is that what you told that woman?”
“What did you expect? You left without saying a word to me, not even giving me a chance to talk to you. We coulda worked things out. Then you’re gone for four months and I don’t even have a clue where you are. I thought I’d never see you again. You broke my heart.”
“So I suppose to get back at me you go out with other girls.”
“You were gone! And a man’s got certain needs. I wouldn’t need to see no other woman if you were here with me.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “I miss you.”
Toy closed her eyes tightly.
“It doesn’t have to be this way. Let me come see you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Come on, honey. You’re the one I want. You know that.”
“And the baby?”
“Okay, okay, I’m willing to talk about the baby, too. Anything so we stay together.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Sure I do. Why don’t I drive over to where you are so’s we can talk about it some. Where are you? What’s the address?”
“I can’t have you coming here, Darryl. Miss…They won’t like that.”
“Who the hell cares what they like? You won’t be staying there no more anyway.”
“I might. I haven’t decided that yet.”
“Well I’ve decided.” His voice rose. She heard him inhale deeply, then exhale. She could imagine his slender fingers holding on to the cigarette and the long plume of smoke. “Look, you’re letting these people who don’t matter tell you what to do. You need to be listening to me. We belong together. Who are these people you’re so scared of that you don’t want me coming over? Are they family or what?”
“No. They’re just folks I’m working for.”
“What kind of work?”
“You know, like a companion. I do a little housecleaning and cooking. I used to drive the old lady around, but her daughter is here now and she does most of that so I can rest more.”
“I’ll just bet. Do they pay you good?”
“Yeah,” she hedged, not wanting him to know how much she was making. “Pretty good. But I don’t have to pay for nothing so I can save for when the baby comes. They don’t come free you know. And there are all these baby things I have to buy, like a crib and diapers and blankets. It’d be nice if you helped me a little. I mean, this is your baby.”
“So, you don’t want to see me but you want my money, huh? What a cunt.”