She finished the walk without spotting tracks. But she did spy Linnea and John out in the surf. The waves were modest, but they looked like they were having fun. Cara had never surfed, though Palmer had surfed avidly when they were growing up and Brett had loved the sport. She admired Linnea for deciding to follow her bliss and just do it. She watched her ride a wave, her arms outstretched like a bird in flight. Cara’s heart swelled with pride. “Good girl,” she said aloud. Then promised herself she’d give Hope the chance to take lessons in the future.
She was showered and dressed and had a snack packed by the time David arrived. They loaded up the big car with children and gear and headed for Magnolia Plantation. They drove in a companionable silence. Hope and Rory babbled in the backseat. Cara stared out the window, lost in her thoughts.
“You seem fired up about something,” David said, glancing over at her.
“Do I?” she said, thinking how perceptive he was. “Actually, I do have a lot on my mind. A chance at a new account.”
He turned his head briefly and she saw that his eyes brightened with curiosity. “I’m glad. Care to talk about it?”
His voice was pleasant. Interested. She welcomed his opinion and explained.
“The client is the owner of a restaurant chain in Charleston. Chic, high-end. I’m sure you’ve eaten at one of them. They’re expanding beyond Charleston and looking for fresh marketing ideas. I knew someone who knew the owner.” She glanced at him. His eyes were on the road. “That’s one of the perks of living in a small town. I’m meeting with them tomorrow afternoon. I’ve been putting together my ideas. I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.”
“You’ve had big clients before.”
“I have. Very big. But it’s only me now, and the stakes are high.”
“Do you feel prepared?”
She took in a breath, considering. “I do. I really think my ideas are good ones.”
He seemed impressed. “Then my money’s on you.”
She looked at his hands on the wheel. Long-fingered, tanned. Clean nails. Brett had worked with his hands, and like a worker’s hands, they were always chapped, stained, and scratched. But he’d taken care to keep his nails clean.
“Think twice,” she told David. “I’m an independent consultant up against major, high-powered consulting firms. They have money to spend on flashy presentations. All the bells and whistles. My presentation will be, shall we say, only me and my ideas.”
“Isn’t that what matters?” He threw her a smile. Looking back at the road, he said, “I don’t know if you realize how persuasive you are.”
CARA FELT LIKE a million dollars as she strode up King Street. It was an overcast day and the streets were crawling with cars. But to her, the day was sunny. She was wearing a new Ralph Lauren summer suit with a pencil skirt that fit her lean body and long legs like it was designed for her. She’d styled her hair, which was growing longer, to tuck it behind her ears, and wore her mother’s large pearls. In her briefcase was a neatly typed presentation that gave her the confidence in her step. As she swung her arms, she noticed the glances she was getting from strangers. It fueled her fire. This is my town, she thought. And I’m back.
Hall’s Chophouse in the Upper King District was a bastion of Charleston where the old guard met young pages and squires to eat, drink, and do business. She opened the heavy doors and paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. At once, Billy Hall stepped forward and greeted her warmly.
“Cara Rutledge.” The lights went on in his eyes and there was the instant connection of old Charleston. “It’s so grand to see you again. I remember you coming in here with your father and mother.”
“This was Daddy’s favorite place.”
“You moved away, didn’t you?” His tone held a hint of scold.
“Yes,” she replied, holding her own but smiling. “But I came back years ago. I live in my mother’s beach house on Isle of Palms. I’ve kept pretty much to the islands.”
“I’m glad you’re back. You can’t ever really leave Charleston, can you?”
She shook her head. “No. Charleston is my home.”
“Your brother’s here.” Billy looked across the red-bricked room to the gleaming bar. “There he is.”
Cara looked over and saw Palmer sitting on a stool with a few friends. She smiled, delighted to see him. Then she spotted the glass in his hand, and her gut clenched.
“You’re a bit early for our meeting,” Billy said. “Why don’t you say hello to Palmer? Meet us upstairs when you’re done. We’re in the private room.”
Cara affixed a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Hall.”
Cara hadn’t seen her brother in several weeks. It was odd, but living out on the island she sometimes felt like she was a hundred miles from the city rather than a quick trip over the bridge. For her, going to the city meant wearing nice clothes, proper shoes, makeup. Her mother had pummeled into her the message that ladies didn’t stroll a city like Charleston in beachwear. Whenever Lovie had passed a young woman in cutoffs and a T-shirt on East Bay, she’d rolled her eyes and muttered, “Raised by wolves.”
Life on the islands was more laid-back than in the city. City and island, each had its charms. Having lived in both places, having been both city mouse and country mouse, Cara appreciated each unique lifestyle—and the proper clothing for each.
Palmer was leaning on one elbow on the bar. His cheeks were flushed and he was staring down at his almost empty glass of what she knew was bourbon. Linnea had mentioned that she was worried about how much her father was drinking lately. Cara’s mind flashed to her father’s heavy drinking, and she wondered if Palmer was suffering late-onset alcoholism. She told herself not to scold. That wouldn’t help—and besides, she wasn’t his mother. She was his sister and friend. Just breathe, she told herself.
“Palmer,” she said softly when she reached him, and touched his sleeve.
He jerked around and seeing her, his blue eyes widened with surprise.
“Cara!” he exclaimed, and rose to his feet. His joy at seeing her was palpable. “What are you doing here? And looking so fine.”
He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, almost bowling her over with the fumes of alcohol.
“I’m here for business,” she said, taking the stool beside his.
“Business, eh?” Palmer asked, seemingly impressed. “Well. Let me buy you a drink.” He lifted his hand to flag the bartender.
“No,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m working.”
“Never stopped me,” he said with a laugh.
She thought, I can see that, but kept her smile tightly clenched. It was just after five and Palmer was already well into the sauce.
“Palmer, what brings you here today?”
“Business.” He shrugged. “Or the lack of it.”
“Is there a problem?”
He stared into his drink and laughed without humor. “I guess you could say that.”
“What? Can you tell me?”
“Aw, it’s just business. Ups and downs. That sort of thing.”
“I understand business, you know.”
He looked at her and smirked. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re the smart one. You’re the one Daddy should’ve left the business to. You don’t fail at anything, do you? I bet if he had, it’d be thriving now. Not near bankruptcy.”
Cara’s heart chilled. “Bankruptcy?”
Palmer quickly shook his head and waved his hand sloppily in the air in a sign of dismissal. “No. Not that. I was just using words.” He paused to finish his drink in a single gulp.
“You can tell me.”
He slammed the glass down on the bar so loudly other guests looked at him with disapproval. He didn’t seem to notice. “A few investments have gone south.” He shrugged. “It happens.” His cheeks sagged.
Cara drew closer. “Palmer, you’re my brother. I love you. You were there for me when Brett died. I couldn’t have made it through the financial mess if it were
n’t for you. Let me help. Is there anything I can do?”
His blue eyes melted with affection as he gazed back at her. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle. Daddy told me the business was like being on a ship. You have to roll with the ups and downs.” He moved his hand as if it were a ship riding the waves, then let it land on the bar. “I’ve been through this before. Soon we’ll be on calm seas again. Don’t you worry.”
Cara looked at her watch. “Palmer, I’m sorry, but I have to go. My meeting . . .”
“Sure. Off you go. Good luck, sister mine.”
“Palmer, why don’t you go home? Julia must be worried.”
A glance was exchanged, and Cara knew her brother understood her meaning.
“I’ll settle up and go. Don’t be a stranger. Come visit. The house feels so empty.”
“I’ll try. But you should come to the beach house. It’s summer! And you need to see Linnea. She’s a surfing prodigy.”
Palmer’s face lit up. “Is she?” He burst into a genuine grin. “That girl’s a spitfire. Just like you.” Then he shook his head in mock ruefulness. “What is it about the Rutledge women? Y’all seem to have gotten the best the gene pool has to offer.”
Cara laughed and bent closer to kiss his cheek. “It’s just being a woman, brother mine.”
AN HOUR AND a half later, Cara walked out of the private meeting room and down the stairs. She paused to take a deep breath, then made her way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd to the bar. She felt her news bubbling in her like fine champagne and she had to move deliberately to keep herself from jumping up and down. The bar was packed, too, but she got lucky when a man rose. She grabbed his stool and pulled out her phone. She dialed the number of the person she most wanted to share her news with.
“David Wyatt.”
“David? I got the job! They loved my ideas and decided at the table!”
“Congratulations! I’m not at all surprised.”
“Come meet me for a drink. Let’s celebrate!”
There was a moment’s pause, and she knew he was looking at his watch. “If I hurry, I can make the next ferry. I’ll be there if I have to swim.”
She laughed, feeling the joy of it. She cradled her phone to be heard over the jazz band that had started playing. She felt her lips move against the keys.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sea turtles that arrive at sea turtle hospitals most commonly suffer from debilitated turtle syndrome, shock from exposure to cold temperatures, injury from a boat strike or shark bite, and consumption of marine debris like plastic bags or fishing line.
OVER THE NEXT few weeks, John showed up at seven every morning that the surf was good, and if Linnea was free from baby duty they took off together. He brought the boards and Linnea brought the coffee. His knocks on the door became customary. John often dropped in for no particular reason. Sometimes he’d show up with lunch or coffee, or occasionally in the evening with a bottle of wine. They would sit at their laptops, he working, she searching for jobs. Cara had already declared he was a “lovely young man,” and felt comfortable having him around. The fact that he often sat on the floor and played with Hope helped solidify that opinion. Hope couldn’t pronounce his name and it came out “Don,” so John’s nickname around the beach house became Uncle Don. Emmi was over the moon about their friendship and her matchmaking arrows were flying.
Linnea wasn’t interested in falling in love this summer, however. This brief period at the beach was becoming an extraordinary time of self-discovery. A hidden self was emerging—independent, courageous—that had previously been tucked away by a lifetime of feminine inhibition.
Part of this awakening came from her time out on the ocean. She found that being on the water heightened her perceptions and her senses. She carried the peace of the sea with her throughout the day, tackling tasks with an ease that brought tranquility not only to her but also to the household. Cara had commented on it several times: “You have such a lovely calm about you,” she’d say. Or, “I never for a moment worry about Hope when she’s with you.”
John’s coming and going also added a new dimension to her life. She’d always felt she had to be “on” with other men. With John, it was refreshing to share a common interest rather than a drink. They were friends first.
On such a day in early July, it was Linnea’s day for turtle duty so she couldn’t go surfing. The team was busy morning and night, since the females were still nesting and the earlier nests were beginning to hatch. When she stepped out of the house in her uniform T-shirt, Linnea was surprised to find John waiting by the door. He was clad in his usual swimsuit, but instead of a rash guard, he wore a turtle team T-shirt.
“John, good morning! I’m sorry, but I can’t go surfing this morning. I have to walk the beach for turtle duty.”
“I know,” he replied easily, reaching out to take her turtle team bag. “I thought I’d tag along, if that’s okay.” He pointed to his chest. “I even wore my turtle shirt.”
“I saw,” Linnea said, raising one brow with amusement. “I have to say, I’m surprised you have one.”
“Are you kidding? My mom’s on the team, remember?”
She laughed. It was just like Emmi to give her son a Turtle Team shirt every year, convinced he’d want one as much as she did. As far as Emmi was concerned, nothing was cooler than being on the turtle team.
“So, no surfing today?” she asked.
“It’s a lake out there today. We’re not missing anything. Shall we go? Mom’s already sitting by the phone, waiting for calls.”
They walked along the beach in the same relaxed manner in which they paddled out on their boards. Completely at ease, they talked about anyone and anything. Linnea always started her walk toward Breach Inlet. Then she’d turn around and head all the way north to Ninth Avenue. Beyond that was someone else’s area to monitor. It was an easy walk, no more than half an hour, designed to get all the volunteers’ turtle track sightings reported by seven o’clock.
“Have you found any leads yet for a job?” he asked.
“No,” Linnea replied. “But I’ve narrowed my search.”
“Location-wise?”
“No, I’m pinpointing what part of the field I’m most interested in. As for location, I’m open to moving, but I’ve concentrated on the South.”
“Do you want some help?”
She turned her head, curious. “You know the business?”
“No. But I’m a whiz at search engines. And . . . you might consider broadening your location search. California might be someplace to start looking. Lots of opportunities.”
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”
He looked at her and said, “What are friends for?”
Linnea swiped a pesky mosquito from her face, then stopped to tuck her hair into her turtle team cap. Something at the water’s edge a distance away caught her attention. She squinted at the large, dark shape.
“John!” she called out, pointing. “Do you see that?”
Not waiting for an answer, she took off at a clip toward the bridge at Breach Inlet. Her heels dug into the soft sand along this always-changing section of beach. The turbulent water of Breach Inlet roiled as she trotted toward the mysterious shadowed hulk that lay unmoving near the base of the bridge.
It was a sea turtle! Her breath caught in her throat, and she ran faster, her heart pounding in her chest. An adult. Probably a female. As she drew closer, her heart nearly broke at the tragedy of losing a nesting female holding future generations.
John came to a stop behind her and whistled softly. “That’s a big one.”
“Yeah,” she said, and began rolling up her pants. It was the biggest she’d ever seen, a full-grown turtle, maybe three hundred pounds and three feet long. It was unmoving and covered with barnacles. Not a good sign. The first thing she had to do was drag it ashore before the current towed it off into Breach Inlet. She stepped i
nto the chilly water and felt a yank back on her arm.
“You can’t go in there,” John said, holding her back. “It’s like quicksand, and the currents in Breach Inlet are deadly.”
Linnea jerked her arm free. “I’m getting that turtle. It’ll get swept away, and we’ll lose it.”
“No,” he said sharply. “I’ll get it. Wait here. I’ll push it to you.”
Before she could stop him, he stepped into the sloping sand of the shoreline. She held her breath as the gelatinous sand sank around his feet. Fortunately, a motorboat sped by, creating a strong ripple that pushed the turtle closer to shore. John took a few more slow steps out along the shallow slope. There was an abrupt drop-off not far offshore, she knew, and the water roiled beyond, deathly and dark.
“Be careful, John!” she called, clutching her hands.
But John was already at the turtle’s side, a few feet beyond the shore. Any farther and they wouldn’t be able to fetch her. They only needed to get her a few feet farther up on the sand. John stood behind the turtle and grabbed hold of the shell. With a guttural grunt, he pushed her forward, and like a surfboard, the turtle sailed closer to the beach. Linnea rushed into the water, the sand sucking at her feet. The turtle’s shell was slimy with barnacles and algae, but it was the chunk of shell missing from her rear that stole her breath. But there was no time to stare. John was already at the turtle’s back. They had to lift the turtle up the sand. He gripped the opposite side of the carapace and, looking up, met her gaze, his eyes shining with determination.
“Ready?”
When she nodded, he shouted, “Lift!”
John gave another grunt, and his arms strained under the tremendous weight of the turtle. But Linnea could barely move it.
“Wait,” she called, catching her breath. She hurried to the front of the turtle. It wasn’t smart to stand near a loggerhead’s jaws, but she wasn’t even sure this one was alive. John moved to the back of the shell. As she bent to grab the front of the shell, she saw one of the eyes flicker open a slit.
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