by Lisa Carter
Until the dizziness passed. Until her vision cleared. Until the pain in her lungs subsided.
Dripping with sweat, she took a few steadying breaths before shifting gears. Lesson learned. Despite the size of Kiptohanock, she’d avoid contact with her family.
One summer. The two-month pilot program. She’d lie low. Something she was good at.
And like Thomas Wolfe had said, you couldn’t ever go home again. Or at least, not her.
*
“Daddy! Come quick! Daddy!”
Weston dropped the hammer and raced out of the former lightkeeper’s cottage. He ran toward the beach, where the incoming tide lapped against the shoreline. Where he’d left his nine-year-old daughter alone… The librarian pegged him rightly. He was a terrible father.
“Isabelle!”
Panting, he plowed his way to the top of the dune. “Answer me.” The fronds of sea oats danced—taunting him—in the afternoon breeze.
On the beach below, she windmilled her arms to get his attention. He willed his heart to return to a semblance of normal. She’d gotten his attention, all right. He scrambled down the dune toward his daughter.
She clutched the straw hat on her head. “Look, Daddy.” With her free hand, she gestured to a set of tracks stippling the sand from the base of the dunes to where they disappeared around the neck of the beach. “Turtle tracks.”
Izzie bounced in her flip-flops, a redheaded pogo stick. “Maybe turtle eggs on our beach, too.” She clapped her hands together. The hat went flying.
He sighed, and watched it blow out to sea.
“We could have babies. Just like Max.”
His gaze flickered to his daughter. “If there are eggs, they won’t belong to us. Best thing we can do is leave them and their turtle mama alone.”
Izzie’s face fell.
He tickled her ribs. “Even Max will tell you to give new mamas a wide berth. They’re touchy. And ornery.”
“Was Mama touchy and ornery with me?”
“N-not when you were the most beautiful, wonderful baby who was ever born.” He nuzzled her cheek with the stubble of his jaw.
“Daddy.” She giggled and pushed his shoulder. “You are so prickly.”
He caught Izzie in his arms and gave her a bear hug. “Like a porcupine.”
Laughing, Izzie wriggled free. “I’m gonna follow the tracks to the water.” She disappeared beyond the curve of the dune before he could formulate, much less express, a warning.
One day she wouldn’t be so easily diverted from the rest of the story. And he could never tell Izzie the whole truth.
Behind the dune, Izzie screamed. He jolted, his heart palpitating once more.
“Daddy! Hurry…”
Parenting—not unlike certain Coastie jobs—ought to come with hazard pay. Breaking into a loping run, he jogged around the point.
He found Izzie at the edge of the surf, where the waves curled and skittered over her bare toes like a watery sand crab. She crouched beside a prehistoric-looking sea turtle. A metallic hook jutted from the creature’s neck.
“Izzie, get back.” He waved his arm. “Injured animals are dangerous.”
“The turtle mama.” Izzie sank to her knees. “She’s hurt.”
He came closer. The olive-gray carapace on the turtle’s back was gouged and dented.
“She’s just lying in the sand, Daddy.” Izzie’s eyes swam with tears. “I don’t think she can make it back to her babies without our help.”
How to explain this? “Turtles spend their lives in the ocean. Females only come ashore to lay eggs and then they leave.”
Izzie glared at him. “They leave their babies?” Her voice rose. “Mamas aren’t supposed to leave their babies.”
“No, they aren’t,” he whispered. And he wondered what questions about her own mother he’d field later from Izzie.
“It’s the turtle way, Izz.” He ran his gaze over this relative to the dinosaur. “If this turtle didn’t make it into the water by dawn, she’s been baking in the sun for hours.”
He lifted his ball cap, crimped the brim and settled it on his head again. “It doesn’t look good for her, Izz.”
“Please… Help her, Daddy.” In her face, the unspoken belief her daddy could fix everything.
If only that were so.
He pulled Izzie to a safer distance as the turtle’s flippers thrashed in the sand. He’d seen this before when he was stationed in Florida. One of the turtle’s flippers was mangled, probably from a boat’s propeller.
“We’ve got to save her, Daddy.” Izzie tugged on his arm. “Save her so she can take care of her babies.”
“Izzie.” He squatted to his daughter’s level. “Things like this happen. We have to let nature take its course. Mothers…” He gazed over the whitecaps. Izzie knew this better than anyone.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mothers die, Isabelle.”
“No.” Izzie jerked free. “You’ve got to do something, Daddy. Don’t let her die, too.”
His breath caught. Was that what his daughter believed? That he’d let her mother die?
But upon reflection of his many failures as a husband, perhaps he had. He stared at Izzie, this tiny replica of him and Jessica. And his heart hurt.
“No guarantees.” But reaching a decision, he fished the cell out of his cargo shorts. “I’m an engineer, not a marine animal specialist, Izz. But I know where to find one.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
How could he not try to save the turtle mother? Especially since it was his fault Izzie’s mother died.
Chapter Three
“It’s a critical time, Caroline. Peak season is approaching. I’m glad your team will be joining us seaside.”
Caroline smiled at Dr. Roland Teague, a fellow marine scientist. They’d walked from the nearby Virginia Institute of Marine Science facility—VIMS—in Wachapreague to the Island House for a lunchtime meeting. Situated over the inlet on pylons, the bank of windows in the restaurant overlooked the tidal marsh.
She’d known Roland since her undergrad days at Virginia Tech. The fifty-something scientist had been a friend and professional mentor ever since. Clad in an outlandishly tropical shirt, Bermuda shorts and boat shoes, Roland hadn’t changed much over the years. Except for the streaks of silver in his thinning Jimmy Buffet–style mane.
Catching her staring, Roland laughed. “What’s gray, stays.”
She laughed as he’d meant her to. “How’s Danielle?” She owed Roland and his wife more than she could ever repay. They’d been a blessing in an otherwise very dark time in her life.
“Busy with the end-of-quarter classes at the community college. She said to tell you hello. She wants you to come over for dinner soon.” Roland paused to take a deep swig of sweet tea. “I’m excited about this plan you’ve spearheaded with the aquarium board of directors in Virginia Beach.”
After what had happened this morning with her father, she was no longer so sure that her personal involvement in the sea turtle project had been a good idea.
Roland set his glass on the tabletop with a dull ping. “Last year, we found sixteen nests on the Eastern Shore, though we’re on the extreme northern limits of their nesting grounds. This year biologists are predicting record high numbers. We’re overdue on the Shore for a rescue center of our own.”
She swirled the batter-fried hush puppy in the small tub of butter. “Nesting is up along the entire coastline of the southeastern United States. We’re not sure why. Maybe climate change and warmer weather has raised water temperatures.”
“That’s why your expertise is so invaluable to us here. You’ve got an impressive résumé. Everything from the Caribbean and Central America to coordinating one of North Carolina’s Outer Banks stranding teams.”
An expert in aquaculture, he winked. “Not to mention you’re a hometown girl and have an ‘in’ with the locals.”
Caroline refrained from disabusing him of that notion. On her last res
earch assignment in Virginia Beach, she’d pushed the idea of creating a rehabilitation center staffed by a few professionals and manned by interns in the high season to educate the local populace and serve as another Eastern Shore tourist draw.
She’d spent long hours with a planning committee formulating a cost-effective strategy. If the center was successful, she hoped the aquatic veterinary hospital would also eliminate the need to transport injured marine animals to treatment centers farther away. The animals most often did not survive transport. A hospital on the Eastern Shore would mean the difference between life and death.
“The center will bring much needed jobs on the Shore,” Roland added.
She thought of her father and his stubborn refusal to accede gracefully to any change. “I hope Kiptohanock and the other coastal villages will catch our vision. If they decide to balk…” She bit off the end of the hush puppy.
“That’s why the board sent you. You’re our public relations secret weapon. With ‘small-town girl makes good’ as our leading advocate, what can go wrong?”
She traced the condensation on her tea glass with her finger. What could go wrong indeed? Without the backing of influential locals—like Seth Duer—the proposed center would die a quick death in the face of resistance to change and a deep-seated distrust of outsiders.
The Eastern Shore was isolated by nature. And the Eastern Shore population preferred it that way.
She grimaced. “No pressure there, Roland.”
He popped a hush puppy into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “I have all the faith in the world in you, Caroline.”
Glad somebody did. If she didn’t believe so strongly in this program… If God hadn’t clearly shown her it was time to go home and make amends, she’d… She’d be on a beach off the turquoise waters of St. Kitts.
“It’s all hands on deck at this time of year. Sometimes we get ten calls a day from home owners, the Guard, game wardens and watermen.”
She nodded. “Thanks for offering us access to your laboratory here during the pilot program. My graduate students will arrive later today.”
“They’ll bunk in the dormitory with my summer interns.” He speared a sea scallop with his fork. “I guess with family here, you’ll be living with them and not on the economy as the Coasties say.”
She was saved from making an embarrassing admission when Roland’s cell, clamped to his belt, beeped.
“Teague here.” His eyes widened. “Where?” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I’ll send her right away.”
She tilted her head as he ended the call.
“You’ve got your first case.” He grinned. “It was the marine animal hotline. There’s a turtle stranded on a nearby beach.”
“What species?”
He pocketed his phone. “Home owner didn’t say. Probably wouldn’t know a loggerhead from a leatherback anyway.”
“Where did you say the turtle’s beached?”
“Out on the Neck by the old lighthouse.”
She scraped back her chair. “I haven’t been out that far in years. Does the access road still connect the barrier island to the peninsula? Or was it washed out in the hurricane last year?”
“I’ll text you the precise coordinates. But the causeway is still intact. In great shape, actually, since a new owner bought the lighthouse from the Coast Guard. He’s in the process of renovating the entire structure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Another ’come here?”
He pushed his plate aside. “Speaking as a ’come here myself, don’t sell us short too quickly. Go and do your thing. Saving the turtle plus winning the hearts and minds of our Shore neighbors.”
She grabbed the bill. “Roger that.” And gave him a mock salute. “I’m on my way.”
*
Weston watched the gunmetal-gray RAV4 round the point. He finished cutting the board for the crown molding and dusted his hands across his cargo shorts. The SUV sped down the causeway to the neck of land upon which the lighthouse and keeper’s cottage had been built over a hundred years ago.
Removing his work gloves, he cut his eyes at Izzie. She perched at the top of the dune, per his explicit instructions, awaiting the aquatic veterinarian the stranding hotline had promised to send.
The vehicle slid to a halt beside his Colorado. The door swung open, and a reddish brown head emerged from the car. Reddish brown…
He squinted, not believing his eyes. What was the librarian doing here? Maybe she’d driven the vet out to their remote location. Weston scanned the RAV4 for other signs of life.
“Caroline!” Izzie clambered down the dune and flung herself at the librarian.
Who’d exchanged her business attire for rolled jeans and a Hawaiian motif T-shirt with the outline of a sea turtle and the word Honu. She’d threaded her lustrous hair through the back of a ball cap labeled Kiptohanock Marine Animal Rescue Center. Caroline looked as surprised as he felt.
He placed one hand on his hip. “You’re not a librarian.”
A smile lifted one corner of her full lips. “No.” She hugged Izzie. “I’m not.”
“You’re a veterinarian?”
She disengaged Izzie’s stranglehold around her waist. “You seem to be having a hard time wrapping your head around that. You don’t think girls are smart enough to be vets?”
“Daddy says girls are smart enough to be anything they want to be. Smarter than boys more often than not.”
“Oh, really?” Caroline quirked her eyebrow. “Good to know.”
Her eyes flitted to the lightkeeper’s cottage behind him and upward to where the lighthouse towered. “So you’re the ’come here who bought this derelict relic of our Eastern Shore maritime history.”
Weston crossed his arms over his chest. “Not so derelict anymore, thanks to hours of labor.”
“Glad to see you’re not one of those who come to play but never invest in the local economy.”
He widened his stance, his feet even with his hips. A habit he’d never outgrown from his Coastie days. Born of keeping his balance on board the cutter amid surging seas. “We’re here to stay. I’ve put in my own labor to make sure this place becomes our year-round home.”
Izzie bounced on the balls of her feet. “Daddy and Sawyer are almost finished with my room.”
“Sawyer?” Caroline’s eyes sharpened. “Sawyer Kole?”
“You know him?”
She glanced away. “Not well.” Her gaze returned to him. “And you’d be the former Coastie who bought this place. Commander Clark.”
“It’s Weston. I’m not in the Guard anymore.”
His daughter grinned. “He’s my full-time daddy now.”
Those melted chocolate eyes of hers flicked to where his left hand rested at his side. And his heart did a quick jerk.
“Come on, Caroline.” Izzie tugged at her arm. “The turtle mama’s hurt, and I think I’ve found her eggs.”
The lady vet hung back. “Turtle mama?”
Izzie, unable to remain motionless, surged ahead.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve got a budding aquatic vet, too.”
When she reached inside her vehicle, he noticed the five rows of beaded and metallic bracelets encircling one slim wrist. Caroline retrieved what resembled a tackle box. He tore his gaze away as the lady vet headed after Izzie.
He trudged through the sand beside her. “You work with turtles a lot?”
She plowed through the sand in her flip-flops. “I’m a turtle specialist, actually.”
Full of nervous energy, Izzie came back for them. “Y’all are so slow… Come on, everybody.”
He smiled. “Monkeys like you tire us old people out long before lunch.”
The vet paused to catch her breath at the crest of the dune. She peered at the dark blob on the sand below. “Is that a—?”
She stumbled down the dune toward the beach. Izzie charged after her.
He shuffled his way toward them at a more sedate pace. “Is that a what?”
/>
Placing the tackle box on the sand, Caroline opened the lid and extracted a pair of latex gloves. “It’s a Kemp’s ridley.”
“Is that good?”
Her forehead creased. “Kemp’s ridleys are the most endangered sea turtles. The rarest of them all.”
Izzie crowded closer to inspect what he surmised was the marine veterinarian’s version of a doctor’s black bag.
“Let her work, sweetheart. Give the turtle lady room.”
Caroline gave him a curious look before she dropped to her knees.
He leaned forward. “I should’ve brought a beach towel so you wouldn’t get sand on your clothes.”
Above the briny sea air, the tantalizing whiff of the lady vet’s exotic perfume allured his senses. Jasmine? he wondered, remembering one CG assignment on Oahu.
Caroline touched the torn right-front flipper. “No worries. Sand is an occupational hazard of my job.” Her mouth tightened as she probed the depth of the hook protruding from the turtle’s esophagus. “I’ll need to transport the turtle for surgery.”
“You’ve got to make her better.” Izzie clasped her hands under her chin. “So she can take care of her babies.”
Caroline rose and brushed the sand from the knees of her jeans. “You didn’t uncover the eggs, did you?”
Izzie shook her head.
“Good.” Caroline’s gaze swept the beach and came to rest on the tirelike treads in the sand. “Most Kemp’s ridleys are born on a narrow strip of beach in Rancho Nuevo, Mexico. Juveniles forage the eastern seaboard as far north as Massachusetts for food. They especially love the shallow waters of the Chesapeake.”
Eyes on the tracks, she headed for the base of the dune. Izzie and Weston followed. When the tracks stopped, so did Caroline.
She pointed toward the disturbed area in the sand. “Most times the turtles camouflage the nest so well we can’t find it unless we catch them in the middle of laying eggs. But our turtle—probably from her injuries—didn’t do her usual thorough job. Lucky for us.”
Izzie found Caroline’s hand. “I’ll take care of Turtle Mama’s eggs till she can get better and come back.”
Caroline frowned. “All seven of the sea turtle species lay their eggs on the beach where they themselves were hatched and then they head out to sea again. They don’t stick around to make sure the eggs hatch, Izzie.”