Palmer stood on the porch in khakis and a polo shirt, his expression wary. He looked so much like his old self that she burst into a wide grin of pure pleasure. Seeing it, Palmer opened his arms. Cara stepped into them. Brother and sister hugged each other, laughing with the joy of it.
“Oh, Palmer, it’s so good to see you.”
“Cara . . .”
“Come in, come in,” she said with exuberance.
“It’s been ages since I’ve been in here,” he said, following her through the living room, his gaze darting about. “Nothing’s much changed.”
“No,” she repeated. “No changes for Primrose Cottage. But there might be a few changes elsewhere.” She threw him a glance, her brow arched.
Palmer caught the reference and tilted his head, curious.
They headed for the kitchen table, as was their habit as children. She wanted to surround him with as much relaxed, family comfort as she could muster. Two glasses of iced sweet tea were served in tall cut-crystal glasses. On the table lay two folders. The navy one bore the insignia of Morgan Grenfell Trust Limited in the Channel Islands. The white one was blank.
Palmer eyed the presentation and looked at her quizzically.
“Please, sit down,” Cara said, indicating a chair. After he sat, she joined him at the table.
“What’s this all about?” Palmer asked. “Everything is so formal. I feel like I’m being sent to the executioner.”
“Hardly,” Cara said with a short laugh. “This is more likely your release from prison.”
Palmer shook his head without understanding. “Okay then, sister mine. I raise the white flag.”
“I know you do,” she said gently. Cara paused, then began, “I’ve asked you here to tell you a story. I’d appreciate it if you’d just listen to the whole story before you interrupt with questions.”
“A story? About what?”
“Palmer . . .” Cara said with exasperation.
“Sorry.”
She folded her hands on the table. “This is a story about our mother.”
Palmer’s eyes flared with interest.
Cara cleared her throat and began to tell her brother about the great love story of Olivia Rutledge and Russell Bennett. She told it as she herself had heard it, simply and without embellishment. The love story was so profound, it didn’t need any. Then she moved on to the more difficult part.
“When Mama gave me the beach house,” she said, “she bid me to keep her story secret. From everyone, including you. I agreed. When I did, Mother entrusted me with the rest of the secret. One that had been troubling her, knowing her death was imminent. You see, her love story and what I’m about to tell you are intricately connected. One can’t know one side without the other.”
Cara reached out to move the two folders to the middle of the table. She pushed the navy folder with her fingertips toward Palmer.
Palmer didn’t move. He simply stared at it.
“Read it.”
Palmer flipped open the folder and read. She watched as he leaned forward over the papers . . . as his face colored. When he finished, he closed the folder and laid his palms upon it.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, aghast. “You own the beachfront lot?”
“Yes. Mama left it to me with the beach house.”
Palmer leaned back in the chair as if he’d been dealt a blow. “I can’t believe it. After all these years of begging you to sell the beach house, to build another house, you were sitting holding that lot. You knew I was digging to find out who owned it!”
“Yep,” she said with a short laugh. “It used to drive Mama crazy.”
“Well, shit.” Palmer burst out laughing, slamming his hand on the table. “Sister mine, you’re one helluva poker player.”
“I know. But, Palmer, I haven’t yet played my final hand.”
Palmer’s expression shifted. Cara saw again the vulnerable child in the man. The brother she’d grown up with. A curious boy, even hopeful. One without a scheme.
“You see, I promised Mama I would never tell anyone about the land. To do so would force the story of her love affair with Russell to become public. At least to her family. She paid the highest price to keep that secret. She let Russell go. He was the love of her life.”
“I’ve got to say, that makes me happy to hear. I’m glad she found some happiness.”
“You know Mama. She didn’t want to hurt Russell’s reputation or his wife’s. Or bring shame to us, her children. So she stayed with Daddy. I think we know what a sacrifice that was. But that’s why she came to the beach house. It was her sanctuary. Knowing that, Russell left her the land so that she could, if she ever chose, leave Daddy and provide for herself. A private form of insurance. Before she died, she instructed me to put it into conservancy.”
“But you didn’t.”
Cara shook her head. “I tried. As it turned out, to do so I would have had to expose her secret. I made an executive decision. I decided to keep the land as though it were in conservation. Unsullied. Open to the countless people who walked past it on the way to the beach every day. Palmer, I did my best to keep her secret.”
For a long time Palmer said nothing. Then he asked, “Why tell me now?”
“Because it’s time for you to know. I gave this a great deal of thought. I wrestled with it for many nights. But I believe it’s the right thing to do. Palmer, you’re my knight in shining armor. I’m so proud of you. Of what you’ve done for yourself and for your family. Mama would be proud, too. You’re truly the patriarch of the family now. One we all look up to and admire.”
Palmer put his palms up. “Hold on. While I appreciate the kind words, let’s be realistic. I’ve fallen off the white steed. I’m flat on my back, broke, and, I don’t mind telling you, a little bit scared.”
“That’s a good start.”
He laughed. “You always were a ball-buster.”
Cara laughed too, owning it. “Seriously, you’ve made some great strides. Joining AA—”
“Cooper joined with me.”
“I know. How did your meeting with Bobby Lee go?” she asked, referring to the family’s longtime lawyer.
“As good as a meeting with Bobby Lee can go, under the circumstances. He’s a good man, served our family well. I’m in a fine mess, but we’ll sort it out. I’ll sell the business. The name and the history associated with it hold value. And . . .” Palmer paused, and rubbed his palms together. He appeared guilt-ridden. “Julia and I have decided to put the house on the market. I’m sorry, Cara. I feel like I let you down. Let the whole family down. But I had no choice. I can’t afford to maintain it, and I need the money. I’ve lost most of our savings. My inheritance is gone. And now the house.”
“To hell with the house,” Cara said.
Palmer’s eyes widened.
“Come on, Palmer, Mama and Daddy bought that house in the sixties. It’s not like it’s been in the family all that long. And frankly, I always hated it. It was never a happy home. And besides, it’s haunted.”
“What?” Palmer was both surprised and amused. “You sensed it too?”
“Why do you think I don’t come around?”
Palmer barked out a laugh. “So that’s why.” Then his smile fell, and he said ruefully, “Julia loved it.”
“She told me she’s glad to be moving to Sullivan’s Island. She’s tired of tending that big old house. And she’s especially happy you ruined the portrait of Daddy.”
He paused, comprehending the magnitude of the words. “She did?”
“Yes. Do you think she’s been happy watching you sink under the weight of it? She loves you, Palmer. Why, I don’t know.”
They both laughed, knowing Cara was joking.
“I’m going to have to sell the lodge too.” He looked at her sheepishly.
Cara shrugged. “It’s yours to do with what you will. Besides, I don’t hunt.”
Palmer smiled gratefully. “Well,” he said, “I guess that’s that
.”
“Not quite.” Cara drew herself up and addressed her brother as she would a client. She moved the white folder with her index finger across the table toward him. Palmer looked at it, then at her, curiosity shining.
“I’ve come up with a proposal,” she said. “We both know you’ve been after me for years to sell the lot and build a house on it.”
Palmer’s brows rose in surprise. “Yes,” he drawled, and leaned forward over the table. “Like I told you, I’ve got plans—”
Cara lifted her palm. “Hold on, brother. This time, I’ve got plans. This is going to be a joint project. Here’s what I propose. I’ll provide the land. You’ll use your money from the sale of the Tradd Street house and whatever else you choose to sell to build the spec house. We’ll work out an LLC with Bobby Lee. Each of us will, hopefully, see a profit. That should, at the very least, buy you time to decide your next venture.”
Palmer sat back in his chair, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. We’re family. You were there for me when I needed you. I’m only glad I can be here for you with meaningful support. Mama loved us both equally. You know she didn’t have a mind for figures. As bright as she was, she was naïve about such matters. I suppose many women of her generation were. But she was very smart and had her own set of values that didn’t always equate with dollars and cents. When you got the house in Charleston, Mama was pleased because she knew it mattered to you and Julia. It made you happy. She gave me the beach house because she knew I loved it. She never took into consideration the monetary value. For her, it was the emotional value that mattered.
“The land, however, posed more of a problem at her death, because of the secrets it shrouded. But times have changed. We have changed. It feels right to use the land to help you too,” she said, tapping the white folder, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “It’s all detailed in that folder. Take your time reading it. Palmer, if we use the land in this way, the secret will be kept between us. The land is in my name, not hers. When I sell it, we’ll both be bequeathed a final gift from Mama.”
Palmer brought his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. She saw the tears squeeze out of his eyes.
Cara said, “Russell Bennett wrote to Mama that he believed the mind often dictates to the heart. But he believed the heart was the truer guide. He was a very wise man.”
The chair creaked along the floor as Palmer stood. He brusquely wiped his eyes, then held out his hand.
Cara rose to take it. They shook on the deal.
He led her to the sunroom. The sun poured in, and beyond, the mighty Atlantic rolled in and out in its predictable manner. Moutarde, still in his molt, began chirping at the presence of humans, curious, delighted.
Palmer went to stand before the windows and, crossing his arms across his barrel chest, stared out.
Cara joined him by the windows, but watched her brother instead. She imagined he was visualizing, as he always had, the house the two of them would build on the lot. One house, slightly to the left so that she could keep her view. She smiled to herself. That had always been Palmer’s biggest selling point in all the years he’d tried to convince her to sell the beach house. It was funny how life turned out, she thought. She felt lucky to be here, alive and well, to witness the end of this chapter of their lives.
“Can you see it?” she asked him.
Palmer turned his head. “You want to know what I see?”
She nodded.
“I see Linnea and Cooper surfing out there. And someday, their children. They’re my real treasures. The best things I’ve ever done.”
Suddenly the room was filled with the scent of jasmine. It was pervasive, stronger than ever before. Cara looked at her brother to see his eyes widen with wonder.
“Is that it?” he asked in a whisper.
Cara smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Behind them the canary began to chirp insistently. Curious, Cara turned her head to look. Moutarde was hopping back and forth on his perches, clearly excited. She looked beyond to the living room. The bookshelves, the fireplace and mantel, the paintings. Suddenly she gasped. There was a shimmer of light, ethereal as a sunbeam, coalescing in the center of the room. The floating dots flittered like dust motes, then gathered to form a hazy image—transparent, vague, but unmistakable. Cara clutched her brother’s arm tight and pointed.
Palmer turned his head. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Mama . . .” he breathed.
Brother and sister stood together, hand in hand, lost in their own thoughts as slowly the ghost began to dissipate, gradually disappearing.
Palmer took a step forward, hand outreached. “Good-bye, Mama,” he said in a choked whisper. It was a farewell more than a decade in the making.
There followed a deep silence, eerie yet comforting. All that was left of the vision was the scent of jasmine. They each took a deep breath. Then Palmer turned to Cara. His eyes were filled with light.
“You can’t ever sell this place!”
Epilogue
“For, lo, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”
SONG OF SOLOMON 2:11-12 KING JAMES VERSION (KJV)
IT WAS A morning for second chances.
The Rutledge family had come together to support Cara’s first event for the South Carolina Aquarium. The summer was behind them and they faced a fall of change when all the world turned gold. Though the island’s beach season was over, word of the aquarium’s sea turtle release had brought hundreds of people to Front Beach on Isle of Palms. They were lined up on either side of an open swath of beach where the sea turtle would make her final crawl to the sea. Mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, news people with cameras—everyone was claiming a spot to see the turtle.
Palmer and Julia stood in the front beside Cooper, all wearing ISLAND TURTLE TEAM shirts. Palmer’s arm was around Julia. Cooper’s hair had grown out enough to cover his scalp. Most of all, he appeared relaxed near his parents, smiling behind his sunglasses.
Cara felt the excitement building in the group. This wasn’t just any sea turtle being released today. It was Big Girl. The press had ballyhooed the success of this turtle’s second chance at going home, and she’d become the darling of Charleston, her big block head on posters everywhere. In her heart, Cara had always known this was a special turtle.
A murmur rose up from the crowd as the aquarium’s van drove onto the beach. The TV cameramen trotted closer and the crowd inched forward. The turtle team volunteers in yellow shirts, including Flo and Emmi, rallied, keeping the spectators back with friendly reminders that they’d get a chance to see the turtle as she crawled past. Little children clapped their hands and jumped up and down in anticipation.
A small group gathered at the back of the truck. A man with a microphone was talking to Toy. Cara watched her expertly answer the questions and tell the story of Big Girl’s rescue and recovery. She was a natural on camera. Cara smiled, thinking Toy was wise to stay where she shone in her work.
Cara, too, was happy in her new position at the aquarium. She was here in an official capacity. She’d worked furiously putting out press materials and doing presentations, educating the public why this particular turtle was so meaningful to the rehabilitation effort.
When Toy finished her interview, she turned and gave the signal for the turtle to be lowered from the truck. The huge white crate was lifted to the ground by six strong men. She could only imagine how much heavier Big Girl was at nearly three hundred pounds than the juvenile turtles or Kemp’s ridleys that were usually released.
Toy waved a group of people to the front.
Little Lovie and Danny were shy and proud in equal measures as they stepped forward carrying signs. They looked adorable, and Toy beamed with pride. Danny’s sign had the turtle’s name written on it. Little Lovie’s gave he
r weight. Then Linnea stepped forward, beaming, wearing her T-shirt.
Cara laughed out loud at seeing her niece back from San Francisco and called her name. When she caught her eyes, Linnea pointed in a got-you signal. Beside her, Toy was laughing, pleased she’d managed to carry off her surprise.
“Okay, Big Girl,” Toy said. “It’s time to go home.”
Cara moved closer to the crate, not wanting to miss a moment of the release. This one was personal. There were grunts as the men lifted Big Girl from the crate and set her on the sand. Her throat bellowed as she lifted her head, smelling the sea. The crowd oohed at the first glimpse of her size. That’s a big one, she heard repeated in the crowd.
Cara watched Big Girl study her surroundings—people to the left and to the right. An open path to the sea straight ahead. Her heart skipped a beat as Big Girl made her first move forward on the sand after months in the tank.
“Go, Big Girl!” she shouted.
She was on her way. The children walked ahead of the turtle with their signs, all the way to the shoreline.
Big Girl knew what to do. This wasn’t her first rodeo, Cara thought. She was strong and healthy and headed for home. Her powerful flippers dug into the sand, one after the other, in a straight path to the shore. Linnea walked behind her with Toy, her honor guard. It was a privilege, and no two people deserved the honor more. As Big Girl passed she elicited gasps, and phone cameras rose into the sky as people saw the shark bite on her gorgeous, reddish-brown shell.
That’s right, Cara thought on seeing the reaction. This girl’s been through some tough times, taken a few knocks, but she’s moving forward, as steady and relentless as a tank. She’s going all the way home. That, she knew, was Big Girl’s most important lesson.
From time to time Big Girl paused, resting under the weight of her carapace. When she did, the ancient mariner lifted her head as though hearing the clarion call of the sea urging her home. Then she pushed forward again, flipper after flipper, scraping the sand on her long trek across the beach. When at last she reached the water’s edge, she paused one more time and let the gentle waves cascade over her, cooling her.
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