Kitabı oku: «Swimming Lessons»

Praise for the novels of Mary Alice Monroe

“An inspirational tale of redemption.”

—Publishers Weekly on Swimming Lessons

“Monroe makes her characters so believable, the reader can almost hear them breathing…. Readers who enjoy such fine southern voices as Pat Conroy will add the talented Monroe to their list of favorites.”

—Booklist on Sweetgrass

“Skyward is a soaring, passionate story of loneliness and pain and the simple ability of love to heal and transcend both. Mary Alice Monroe’s voice is as strong and true as the great birds of prey of whom she writes.”

—New York Times bestselling author Anne Rivers Siddons

“With each new book, Mary Alice Monroe continues to cement her growing reputation as an author of power and depth. The Beach House is filled with the agony of past mistakes, present pain and hope for a brighter future.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Monroe writes with a crisp precision and narrative energy that will keep [readers] turning the pages. Her talent for infusing her characters with warmth and vitality and her ability to spin a tale with emotional depth will earn her a broad spectrum of readers, particularly fans of Barbara Delinsky and Nora Roberts.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Four Seasons

Swimming Lessons
Mary Alice Monroe

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Martha Keenan

Contents

Odyssey

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part Two

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Part Three

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Part Four

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Acknowledgments

Odyssey

The sea is thick and murky. Can you see me?

I am propelled forward, caught in a spiral of swift water. The Great Current carries me as it writhes along the coastline, swirling around the great gyre and through a vast spread of sargassum weed. It snakes from south to north, a supernatural force pushing me forward. Always onward.

I am a loggerhead. I’ve journeyed far in this vast ocean, a servant to my magnetic compass. Yet now I hear a voice that cries above the roar of the current. It is the voice of my ancestors, a voice that has guided mothers for generation after generation, for two hundred million years. I heed the call and spread my beautiful long flippers. Strange forces gain strength in my soul, compelling me eastward. Light shimmers above, then grows dark. Aqua to indigo, over and over on this odyssey.

I ignore the hunger that gnaws at my belly and swim through the living broth of drifting plankton. I push past gangly, gliding invertebrates and hallucinatory looking creatures, beyond the wreck fish and sea bream that share space beneath a gilt rock laden with pink coral and bright anemones.

I am riding a river of current, gliding in watery thermals, warmed by the sun, powered by the earth’s rotation. I am soaring through liquid wind, reaching out to the place of my birth.

I am swimming…swimming…swimming home.

Part 1

First get wet, get comfortable in the water.

Let your skills develop naturally, at your own pace.

1

Last night, Toy Sooner dreamed again of the turtle. It was always the same dream, one so vivid that when she awoke she was tangled in her sheets, disoriented and filled with a great, nameless yearning.

Toy sat on the precipice of the sand dune looking out over the wave-scarred beach. Another day was ending. Around her the sea oats were greening and above, a nighthawk streaked across the slowly deepening sky. The tide was coming in, carrying seashells, driftwood and long-harbored memories tumbling to the shore.

She identified with the loggerhead sea turtle in her dream. Was it merely that the turtles were on her mind? She searched the restless sea that spread out to forever under the vast sky. Out in the distant swells, the sea turtles were gathering for the nesting season. Toy sensed the mothers out there, biding their time until instinct drove them from the safety of the sea to become vulnerable on the beach and lay their eggs.

It was an emotional time of the year for her. Each May when the sea turtles returned to the Isle of Palms, she felt the presence of her beloved mentor, Olivia Rutledge, returning with them.

She hugged her knees closer to her chest. This small dune on this empty patch of beach was her sanctuary. She came often to this sacred spot—to think, to remember, to find solace. She felt closer to Olivia Rutledge here—Miss Lovie to everyone she’d met. This dune had been Miss Lovie’s favorite spot, and on some nights, especially when the sun lowered and the birds quieted, as now, Toy imagined she heard Miss Lovie’s voice in the sweet-scented offshore breezes.

It had been five years since old Miss Lovie had passed. Five years spanned a good chunk of her life, she thought, considering she’d only lived twenty-three. After Olivia Rutledge died, Toy had worked hard every day of those five years to make a better life for herself and for Little Lovie, her daughter. That had been a vow made at Miss Lovie’s gravesite and a promise to her infant daughter.

“I did my best to keep my vow,” she said aloud to Lovie Rutledge, feeling her spirit hovering close tonight. “I finished college, got a good job and I’ve made a nice home for Little Lovie. All tidy and cheery, with flowers on the table, like you taught me. I want so much to be a good mother.” She rested her chin on her knee with a ragged sigh as the longing from the dream resurfaced.

“So, tell me, Miss Lovie. Why don’t I feel that I am? Or content? I’m still like that turtle in my dream, swimming toward someplace I can’t seem to get to.”

A high pitched cry shattered her thoughts. “Mama!”

Toy’s gaze darted toward the call. Her young daughter sat a distance from the shoreline surrounded by colorful plastic buckets and spades. Her long blond hair fell in salt-stiff streaks down her back as she bent over on hands and knees before the crude beginning of a sand castle.

“What do you want, Little Lovie?”

“Mama, come help me with my castle!”

Toy sighed, sorely tempted. “I’m working, honey.”

“You’re always working.”

She saw a scowl flash across Little Lovie’s face before she ducked her head and went back to her digging. Mingled in the muffled roar of the ocean she heard Olivia Rutledge’s voice in her mind. Stop what you’re doing and play with your child!

Toy desperately wanted to play with her and enjoy each precious, fleeting moment with Little Lovie. She felt an all too familiar twinge of guilt and paused to allow her gaze to linger on her daughter. Little Lovie was carefully molding another tower with her chubby hands.

That child was happiest when she was at the seaside, Toy thought, her heart pumping with affection. Whether collecting shells, digging castles or rollicking in waves, as long as she had her toes in the sand she was content. She was only five years of age, yet Little Lovie was so much like Miss Lovie Rutledge that Toy sometimes believed the old woman’s spirit had returned to settle in her namesake. For Toy, the sun rose and set on her child. And it was for her child’s future that she gathered her discipline.

“Let me finish this report,” she called back. “Then I’ll come help you finish that sand castle.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, okay?”

Her daughter nodded and Toy resolutely brushed away grains of sand from her notebook and returned to the report that was due by morning. She was an Aquarist and had been placed in charge of her own gallery at the South Carolina Aquarium. It was her first break and she needed to prove that she was capable of the responsibility.

The noseeums and mosquitoes were biting in the sticky humidity and blown sand stuck to her moist skin but she worked a while longer, determined to finish in the last of the day’s light. A short while later she closed her notebook and raised her gaze toward her daughter. Another lopsided tower had been added to the castle.

But her daughter was gone.

Toy’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes wildly scanned the beach. “Lovie!” she cried out, leaping to her feet.

“Mama, look!”

Toy swung her head around toward her daughter’s voice. Little Lovie was arched on tiptoe at the water’s edge. The bottom of her pink swimsuit was coated with a thick layer of damp sand and she was pointing excitedly toward the sea.

Toy ran across the beach to grasp hold of her daughter’s slender shoulders. “You know you’re not supposed to go near the water,” she scolded, even as her eyes devoured her child and her hands gently wiped sand from her face. “You scared me half to death.”

The five-year-old was oblivious to her mother’s concern. Instead, her large blue eyes were riveted to something in the surf.

“It’s right there,” she cried, wiggling her pointed finger urgently. “I see it!”

“What do you see, a dolphin?” Toy turned her head back toward the Atlantic to peer into the rolling surf. Then she saw it. A large dark object floated at the surface not more than fifty feet out.

It wasn’t a dolphin. She squinted and moved a step closer. Could it be a turtle? The dark hulk appeared lifeless in the waves. “You stay right here,” she ordered in a no nonsense tone, and this time, Little Lovie didn’t argue.

Toy rolled her pants higher up on her slender legs, coiled her shoulder length blond hair in a twist at the top of her head, then walked into the sea for a closer look. She felt the chilly spring water swirl at her ankles, calves and then dampen the hem of her shorts as she waded forward, intrigued by the shadowy object bobbing on the waves.

It was a turtle! It had to be at least two hundred pounds—and it looked dead. What a pity, she thought and she wondered if this was a nesting female holding eggs. It was always a shame to lose an adult turtle, but to lose a nesting female was a tragedy. The loss was one of generations.

A wave carried the turtle closer and Toy’s stomach clenched at the sight. It looked like she’d been floating for a long time. She was badly emaciated and the shell was dried and covered from tip to tip with barnacles.

“Poor Mama,” she muttered. There’d been too many dead turtles washing ashore in the past few years. “Barnacle Bills” the turtle team called them, and this was another to add to the list. She’d call and have DNR pick the carcass up in the morning. Toy was about to turn back when she saw a flipper move.

“She can’t be…” Toy bent forward, squinting. A breaker smacked her legs but she kept her eyes peeled on the turtle. A flipper moved again.

“She’s alive!” she called out to Little Lovie.

The child jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Toy hurriedly waded closer to Little Lovie to be heard. “Honey, I’m going to need some help. Run up to Flo’s house and tell her to come right quick, hear? Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The child took off like a shot for the dunes. Just beyond was the white frame house of Florence Prescott, the leader of the island’s turtle team. Flo was very active in the community and always out doing something for someone, but she was usually home at the dinner hour. At least Toy hoped she was today.

She turned back toward the turtle. The inert creature was floating with her posterior up, like a lopsided rubber raft. She’d have to haul her in. She sighed and looked at her clothes. Well, they were halfsoaked anyway, she thought as she began wading toward the turtle.

The pebbly sand suddenly dipped and sliding down, her toe was sliced by the sharp edge of a shell. White pain radiated up her leg and looking down, she saw the murky water stained red with blood. The turtle was drifting farther away in the current. Ignoring the pain, she kicked off to swim to the floating hulk.

The big turtle was in much sorrier shape than she’d first realized. As she drew near, the turtle’s dark, almond eyes rolled in her large skull in a mournful gaze.

“Don’t be afraid, big girl,” she said to the turtle, feeling an instant connection. “I’ll get you out of here in no time.”

A small wave slapped her face as she swam around the turtle. Her eyes stung and she spit out a mouthful of saltwater. Once behind the rear flippers she could get a good handle on the shell. Then, using the carapace like a kickboard, she began kicking and pushing the turtle toward the shore.

She was making good progress when she caught a quick silvery flash of movement in the corner of her eye. Her breath hitched as she scanned the vista. The water’s surface was turning glassy in the brilliant colors of the setting sun. She hesitated, not fooled by the serenity. Dusk was feeding time for sharks.

Toy knew she was in a vulnerable position. The predator would be curious about the sick turtle—an easy prey. With her toe bleeding she knew the smart thing to do would be to leave the turtle and get out of the water.

Then she saw it again. This time it was unmistakable. The slim, v-shaped dorsal fin broke the surface, heading her way in a lazy, zigzag pattern. Toy froze as the shark neared, then swiftly veered off. The turtle’s instinct flared and her flippers feebly stroked in the surf. The shark surfaced again, but this time farther out by the inlet.

“Well, no one ever said I was smart,” she told herself, gripping the turtle’s shell. With a grunt, she pushed with all her might, propelling the turtle forward. She repeated this twice more before her feet hit sand. The shark was closer again, circling in a pattern of surveillance.

That bull shark was four feet of sleek danger and she knew it could attack in shallow water. She hurried to the front of the turtle and grabbed hold. “We’re not home yet,” she muttered and began tugging the enormous turtle in. Behind her on the beach she heard Florence Prescott calling her name.

“Hurry, Flo!” she cried over her shoulder.

With athletic grace that belied her advanced years, Flo ran straight into the water, her tennis shoes still on.

“Drag her out of the water,” Toy cried with urgency. “We’ve got company.”

Flo looked over her shoulder. “God damn,” she muttered.

Little Lovie ran into the surf, arms reaching for the turtle. “Let me help!”

“Lovie, you get back on the beach this instant!” Toy ordered.

“But I want to help!”

“Do as your mama says,” Flo told her. “Sharks nibble hatchlings in ankle deep water and your toes are just the right size. Go on now, git.”

Little Lovie scrambled out of the ocean.

Flo grabbed hold of a side of the turtle’s shell. Her deeply tanned arms spoke of many years spent in the sun. “On the count of three…”

With a heave-ho, they shoved the turtle up the final few feet to the edge of the beach. Out of the water, the full impact of the huge turtle’s weight was felt. It was like pushing a boulder and it took all they had to get the turtle to scrape sand till only the tips of the incoming tide caressed her rear flippers.

The turtle remained motionless. Toy plopped down on the sand beside her and lifted her foot to check out her wound. She was shocked to see that the cut in her big toe was deep and bright red blood trickled in a steady flow. And it hurt like hell. It hit her how reckless she’d been to stay in the sea with a bleeding wound. Raising her gaze, she looked again out at the sea. The shark had already disappeared beneath the murky water. She started to laugh with relief.

“What are you laughing at?” Flo asked. “Is that a cut you’ve got there?” She swooped down like a mother hen.

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Those shells can be like razors. Let me see it.”

“Really, Flo, I’m okay.”

“Bring it here.” Flo bent and, grabbing hold of Toy’s foot, studied the toe closer. She clucked her tongue. Little Lovie hovered nearby, mesmerized. After a quick perusal, Flo released the foot and rose to a stand. “Put some antibiotic ointment on it and you’ll live.”

Toy looked up at her daughter with a reassuring smile.

“I can’t believe you went out there with a shark trailing you,” Flo said. “You know better.”

Toy took the scolding with good nature. “I didn’t see it when I swam out and I wasn’t sure I was bleeding.” She snorted and added smugly, “But I got her in, didn’t I?”

Florence Prescott usually had something upbeat to say about most things, but she looked at the turtle with a frown and shaking her head said, “I’m not sure it was worth the risk. This turtle looks barely alive. And she’s covered with gunk. I’ve buried strandings that looked better than this one.”

“No, she’s beautiful. That gunk is merely leeches, algae and barnacles. We just have to get her someplace where we can clean her up.”

Before they could discuss this further, their attention was caught by calls coming from up the beach. “Well, thank goodness the cavalry’s here,” Flo said. She stretched her arm overhead and waved, calling out, “Cara! Brett! Over here!”

Toy turned toward the dunes and saw an attractive couple in khaki shorts and green Barrier Island Eco-Tour T-shirts. Toy’s spirits soared and she grinned from ear to ear as she lifted her arm in a wave.

A tall, lean woman strode toward them in a long-legged, no-nonsense manner. Her glossy, dark hair whipped in the breeze and behind her smart, tortoise sunglasses, Toy knew Cara’s brown eyes were sparkling with excitement at the prospect of a live turtle on the beach.

Behind her, Brett’s broad shoulders and height towered even over Cara. Though he wore the same T-shirt of the tour company they owned, on Brett the clothes were faded and worn, giving him the disheveled appearance of an island boy.

Little Lovie yelped with excitement at seeing them and ran into Brett’s arms for a quick hoist high up in the air.

“It’s a turtle, see!” she cried out.

“I see it!” Brett’s blue eyes brightened against his weathered tan as he grinned wide and swung Little Lovie around, her legs flying behind her. Then he tucked her on his hip with a hug of affection.

“What’ve we got?” Cara asked, walking directly to the turtle. She bent over the sea turtle to get a closer look.

“Probably a nesting female,” Flo replied as she quickly moved to Cara’s side. “She’s covered with barnacles. And look, leeches too. Ugh, the horrid blood suckers are all over her.”

Cara grimaced at the pitiful sight. “She must’ve been floating for weeks.”

“Weeks? Longer than that,” Flo replied. “These poor floaters can’t dive to hunt and this old girl likely hasn’t eaten in months. Her neck is so thin…she’s all skin.” She clucked her tongue. “I don’t know if she’s going to make it.”

“She’s not gone yet,” Toy said, joining them at the turtle’s side. She felt fiercely protective of the turtle she rescued. “I’ve been amazed at how resilient sea turtles can be. I’m not giving up on her.”

“She’s certainly a big girl,” Brett said, drawing near with Little Lovie in his arms.

“Let’s see how big she is.” Cara pulled a measuring tape out of her backpack and made quick work of measurements. She called out the numbers to Flo who scribbled them down in her notebook. Little Lovie scrambled out of Brett’s arms to hover closer, half curious, half repelled by the condition of the turtle.

Toy tucked her fingertips into her back pockets. The early evening’s chill seemed to go straight through her wet clothes.

“From tip to tip of the shell, I’ve got forty inches,” Cara called out. “I’m guessing she’s well over 200 pounds.”

Flo slapped the sand from her hands. “Well, that’s that. I guess I’d better call it in to DuBose at the Department of Natural Resources to come get her.”

“I could call the Aquarium,” Toy piped up.

Cara checked her watch. “It’s after six o’clock. DuBose won’t be in her office.”

“No, but there’s the DNR hotline number,” Flo replied. “Someone will come out.”

“Tomorrow, most likely,” said Brett.

“DNR doesn’t do rehab,” Cara said, zipping up her backpack. “What will they do with a live turtle?”

Flo shrugged. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“I could call the Aquarium.” Toy said again, a little louder.

The two women turned their heads toward her in swift unison.

“The Aquarium?” asked Flo with doubt. “What will they do? They don’t take in sick sea turtles.”

“Well, actually, yes they—we do,” Toy replied. “At least, the Aquarium took two in before. A few years back. They didn’t do the rehabilitation, but they held the turtle until it could be moved to a vet. I don’t know…it’s just a thought,” she added hesitatingly.

“Even so,” Cara replied. “No one will be at the Aquarium at this hour either. Why do the emergencies always happen after business hours? It’s like some unspoken law.”

“But we can still call the Aquarium,” Toy persisted. “We always have someone on call.”

“Really?” Cara asked, interested. “Then, I suppose that is a possibility to consider.”

“The DNR still has to be notified,” Flo said with finality. “Anything to do with turtles is their jurisdiction.”

“Sure, but then they’re stuck with trying to find a place to rehabilitate it,” Toy argued back.

Cara shook her head. “Flo, don’t get worked up. We’ll call DuBose.”

While Cara and Flo argued the point between them, Toy limped off, her heel digging half moons into the sand. She went to Little Lovie’s lopsided sand castle, noticing the bits of shells and sea whip that Lovie had decorated it with while she stuffed the buckets and spades into the canvas bag.

“You okay?”

Toy turned her head surprised to see Brett standing by her side. His broad shoulders blocked her view of the women at the shoreline.

“It’s just a scratch from a sea shell,” she said and returned to stuffing her bag with toys.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

She tossed a sandy spade into the bag and rested her hands on her thighs, then she looked up again. He was standing with his hands on his hips and a calm and a patient expression on his face. It was so typical of him. Surrounded by volatile women, Brett was always a steadying force for them all. She’d come to look up to him as the big brother she’d always wanted and he’d steered her straight through some pretty rocky waters over the years.

“Do you really think the Aquarium will take the turtle in?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Honestly, Brett, I don’t know. I’ve heard talk of taking turtles in this season, but nothing’s been decided. It’s certainly not up to me.” She hesitated then said with feeling, “But at least it’s a possibility.”

“And a good one. Do you know who to call?”

A smile twitched her lips as she nodded.

“So, what are you waiting for? Make that call. You sure don’t need our permission. And it sounds to me like you’ve got the best idea going.”

Toy pulled her cell phone from the canvas bag, dreading the task she’d set for herself. After all her bluster, she couldn’t back out now. Brett crossed his arms and waited while she dialed the number of her supervisor at the Aquarium. She told herself it was the cold, not nervousness, that made her fingers stiff but the pounding in her heart was proof that it took nerves for her, a low-level staff member at the Aquarium, to be calling the Director of Animal Husbandry. She shivered as the wind gusted.

Jason answered the phone after two rings. The phone connection from the beach wasn’t good and she had to repeat sentences, but she managed to quickly sum up the situation. After a few minutes conversation she closed her cell phone and looked up at Brett, eyes wide with triumph.

“Jason said to bring her in!”

“Well, hey! Good work, kiddo.”

Toy felt a surge of satisfaction at the congratulations Cara and Flo gave her when she delivered the good news.

“The only problem is,” Toy added, “the Aquarium is locked tight until morning.”

“What are we supposed to do with the turtle till then?” Flo asked.

“When I interned at the sea turtle hospital at Topsail,” Toy replied, “Jean Beasley told me about the first sick turtle they found. She was a big loggerhead, like this one. They found her floating, too. It was late in the day and they didn’t have anywhere to take her, so they carried the turtle to Jean’s garage on the island, washed her off, wrapped her in warm wet towels and watched her through the night. The next morning they drove her to a veterinary hospital. That same night the turtle was released back to Jean’s garage.” She smiled. “And that was the beginning of the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle hospital.”

“You thinking of starting a hospital, now?” Flo chided.

Toy smirked and shook her head. “Maybe someday. But right now I’m thinking we need to stop talking and get this turtle off the beach. The sun is going down and Little Lovie is cold, I’m cold, and that means the turtle is cold, too.”

As if to punctuate her statement, the turtle made an effort to take a labored breath. It was feeble yet enough to prompt the group to action.

“Well, if they could do it, so can we,” said Cara. She bent over to grab hold of the turtle’s shell. “Okay, everyone, grab a side.”

Brett moved alongside the turtle and took hold. Toy followed suit.

“Whoa, gang. Where are we taking her?” asked Flo.

“Where else?” Cara replied with a crooked grin. “To the beach house.”

2

Primrose Cottage was a quaint yellow beach house with mullioned windows and a welcoming veranda. It sat on a high dune across from the ocean and was surrounded by sweetgrass, sea oats and wildflowers that grew in a riotous display. Modest but comfortable, it was one of the few remaining original cottages left on Isle of Palms. Primrose Cottage was once the summer home of Olivia Rutledge. After her death, the beach house was passed on to Lovie’s daughter, Cara, who then rented the house to Toy for a fraction of its worth. It was the kind of generous arrangement that a family member would make for another.

It was to this beach house that the turtle team decided to bring the sick sea turtle for the night. With Brett’s strong back, the four of them managed to carry the enormous sea turtle up the beach, over the dunes, and along the narrow beach path to the house.

The sky was dusky and the yellow light streaming from the cottage windows was welcoming as they approached. Cara was panting hard and her arms strained like they were breaking by the time they set the huge sea turtle down on the sand and gravel in front of the beach house.

“I have a whole new understanding of what it takes for those mamas to crawl out from the sea under all that weight,” Cara said, bent with her hands on her knees. “Look at my knees, they’re shaking!”

“You think this was tough?” Brett asked her with a short laugh. He wiped his hands on his shirt. “Giving you a piggyback ride through the pluff mud makes this seem like a walk in the park.”

While the others guffawed, Cara twisted her mouth into a smirk. “Ha ha ha, very funny,” she replied. “Just for that I think I’ll add a few pounds for the next jaunt to the hammock.”

His brows rose. “I think my dreamboat has already taken on a little extra cargo.”

This set off another round of laughs from Toy and Flo as Cara sauntered up to slap his arms, already raised in mock self-defense. Toy watched the teasing banter between husband and wife and wondered what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a man. The kind where slapping could be playful rather than hurtful.

“Save your energy. We’re far from done,” Flo called out, heading to the underbelly of the beach house’s raised porch.

Primrose Cottage had endured years of salt air, blustery wind and blazing sun, and the old house was showing its age. It was an endless battle to keep the paint from peeling, the mold from peppering the wood, and any gravel on the driveway. The small area under the front porch was closed in on two sides by a wall of a wobbly, faded white wooden trellis weighed down with jasmine vines. This confined area was so stuffed, Toy could barely see the cement slab.

“We’ll have to clean out this place if we aim to put this turtle here for the night,” said Flo. She surveyed the area and muttered, “And I thought I had a lot of stuff.”

“It’s not all mine,” Toy said defensively. “Most of it was Miss Lovie’s and I don’t figure we should move it.”

“Why not?” Flo replied. “She won’t miss it.”

Toy looked dismayed at the comment but Flo only shrugged then moved a pink bicycle with training wheels and plastic streamers stemming from the handles. “If you ask me—and you didn’t—I’d say both the elder and the younger Lovies have accumulated a mountain of stuff.”

“Okay, okay,” Cara called out as she surveyed the wall to wall clutter. “I admit, I’m not the best landlady, but you should’ve seen the mountain of junk I threw out already. You know what a pack rat my mother was. She couldn’t bear to let go of anything. Every rusted tool and each cracked flower pot still had some life left in it. Every time I threw something out she was at the trash bin pulling it out again.”

“That’s just a reaction to the Depression years, child,” Flo replied, rolling the tricycle out. “All of us tainted by it hang on to stuff longer than we should.”

“Whatever… Because of her I hate to hold on to anything. Stuff just accumulates!” She shook her head and put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the assorted garden tools, turtle supplies, toys and pots crammed in the space under the porch. “See what I mean? In just five years all this stuff gathers. I guess I should’ve come over to clear this place out for you, Toy. It’s mine to figure out what to do with.”

“I don’t mind,” Toy replied honestly. “I hate to get rid of anything that belonged to Miss Lovie.”

“Puhlease…” Cara said, raising her hands. “I had to fight with my mother to throw anything out, don’t make me fight with you.”

“Well, let’s just clear it out for now,” said Flo. “Y’all can decide what to do about it later.”

“I’ll grab the car keys and move it out to the driveway,” Toy said. “That’ll clear a big space.” She patted the gold, 1972 VW bug with affection before she opened the door. It creaked on its hinges. “This old girl has a few lapses, but this is one piece that I’ll never toss away.”

The VW Bug was once the pride and joy of Olivia Rutledge. Everyone who lived on the island knew that if they spotted “the Goldbug” parked along Palm Boulevard, the Turtle Lady was out on the beach tending to a turtle nest. Miss Lovie had left the car to Toy in her will, and at 103,000 miles, the Gold Bug was still going strong.

While Toy moved the car, the others worked together to shove the clutter to the lawn, leaving only Little Lovie’s blue plastic kiddie pool. This was scrubbed, rinsed then filled to the half way point with water.

“I reckon this is as good as it’s going to get,” Cara said, surveying the cleared and swept space. “Let’s bring her in.”

“Easy now,” Flo said as they each took hold of the turtle and carried her under the porch. Gently, they slipped the enormous turtle into the kiddie pool. She landed with a soft splash, filling every inch.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” Brett said, rising.

“You ain’t kidding,” Flo added, drying her hands on her shorts. “She barely squeezed in. If that loggerhead was healthy, she’d use those powerful flippers to climb out from that ridiculous plastic bin and stopping her would be like trying to stop a tank.” She clucked her tongue. “Poor thing. She’s so weak and sick, she doesn’t even try.”

Toy crouched closer to the sea turtle that lay dull and limp in the pool. She looked more like one of Little Lovie’s inflatable toys than a real loggerhead. She knew this noble turtle had survived against daunting odds to reach maturity. She’d traveled countless miles to the beach of her birth to lay her eggs. She didn’t deserve to be in such a pitiful condition.

“I’m going to scrub her down,” she said, rolling up her sleeves.

“Are you sure you’re supposed to do that?” Flo asked. “Maybe we should just leave her be.”

“Flo,” she said, rising to a stand. “May I remind you that I work at the Aquarium and I’ve handled lots of sick sea turtles when I interned at the turtle hospital in Topsail. So, yes. I am sure we’re supposed to wash her down.” Her expression shifted to reveal the hurt exasperation she felt with the other woman.

Flo’s brows rose in surprise at Toy’s reaction. Then her shoulders lowered and her lips lifted to a thoughtful smile. “I reckon I can get pretty fixed in my ways at times.”

Cara guffawed from behind them. “Who, you?”

Toy breathed easier and met Flo’s smile.

“Well, kiddos,” Flo said, slapping her hands together. “It looks like this turtle is in good hands. It’s getting dark and I’m already late for my date. If you don’t need me, I gotta go.”

“Who is the lucky guy this time?” Cara asked.

Flo just waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’ll be fine without me for a while. I’ll come back tomorrow morning to help with whatever you need done. What time do you think we’ll be shoving off for the Aquarium?”

“Jason is getting there early to set up a tank for her. He said to bring her in around eight,” replied Toy.

“Then I’ll be here at seven. I’ll bring coffee.”

She leaned forward to give a quick kiss on Little Lovie’s cheek then offered a wave to the others. “Take good care of our girl,” she said as she walked off, her flip flops clapping against her heels. She disappeared around a gangly oleander.

The small space beneath the porch seemed suddenly quieter without her energy.

“So then,” said Cara, breaking the silence. Her eyes turned toward Toy. “What should we do first?”

Toy scratched behind her ear, surprised to suddenly find herself in charge. She caught sight of Little Lovie standing by the steps of the porch wrapped tight in her beach towel, shivering. Her damp hair lay in clumps around her head. She was slight with no meat on her bones, as her mama would say. “The first thing I’ve got to do is warm up the little bug over there before she chatters away her teeth.”

“Let me do that,” Brett offered, walking toward Little Lovie. “I know you two ladies can’t wait to get your hands on that turtle. While you scrub to your heart’s content, I’ll scrounge around the kitchen and fix up some hot dinner for all of us.” He turned to the child. “What do you say to that?”

Little Lovie looked up at him with limpid eyes and her teeth biting the towel. She nodded.

“Come on then, before your lips turn any bluer,” he said.

“Hey, darlin’,” Cara called out to him. “While you’re at it, I’d like a vodka martini with three olives.” She winked when he glanced back at her with a smirk.

Toy enjoyed their banter and watched Brett place his big hand against Little Lovie’s back, nudging her toward the door. They were so like what she thought a father and daughter should be. And she felt again a stabbing guilt that somehow she’d failed her daughter because there was no father for her.

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” she said to Cara.

“Don’t I know it.”

“He’ll make a great father someday.”

Cara’s smile slipped. “God willing.”

Toy caught the sudden shift in emotion and let the topic drop. Miss Lovie used to say that the island breezes softened the bones. In Cara’s case, Toy saw that it was true. Marriage had sweetened Cara. And for sure, no one could have been nicer or more supportive of her and Little Lovie than Cara and Brett. They were like family—the only family Toy and Little Lovie could count on.

“Let’s get this show rolling,” Cara said in an upbeat voice, wiping sand from her hands. “You’re the boss here. You’ll have to tell me how this is done.”

“There’s not a whole lot we can do here,” Toy replied, unrolling the hose. “All the medical treatments will be done tomorrow at the Aquarium. But at least we can get all that slime and those leeches off. Even if she doesn’t make it, I reckon she’ll be happier for a bath.”

“I hear that,” Cara said, walking to the faucet. “Fresh water okay?”

“Yep. It’s even better than sea water for cleaning her off. Kills those ol’ barnacles.”

“Well, here’s a nice fresh water shower, baby,” said Cara. Water gurgled from the hose and splashed onto the turtle’s shell.

While Cara hosed down the turtle, Toy brought over a bucket filled with soft scrub brushes. Her stomach clenched as she knelt by the turtle. It was covered with stubborn barnacles and hundreds of thread-like, wiggly leeches.

“God, I hate leeches,” she muttered with a shudder.

“You and me both,” Cara said as she knelt beside her. Her mouth was a tight grimace. Their eyes met, then with a mutual sigh of resignation, they both dove in and began to scrub.

They scrubbed and picked and rinsed until it seemed to Toy that she’d removed acres of the ocean’s slimy bottom from the turtle. The bigger, gray, crusty barnacles were tenacious but the smaller ones were easily plucked off. Dozens more clung stubbornly to every inch of the turtle like boils. At least the horrible leeches were off and she had to admit the loggerhead did look better. The shell was spongy to the touch, but bits of its rich brown coloring could be seen between the dried, flaky bits.

The gentle turtle remained still and uncomplaining. She rolled her eyes back to stare at Toy with an almost human expression.

“Bless her heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was saying thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” Cara replied, patting her shell.

“I think we should name her.”

“I thought you biologists didn’t like to get personal with wild animals.” Cara said the word biologists with a gentle tease.

Toy made a face, but secretly she thrilled to the title. It was hard earned. “It’s true, but I confess I like to give names to the ones I work with every day. It helps me remember one from the next and it’s more personal. Besides, I have a hard enough time remembering names. Who can remember a number?” She paused to look with scrutiny at the loggerhead. “How about Caretta?”

Cara barked out a laugh and pretended to squirt Toy with the hose. It had long been a tender point between Cara and her mother that she’d been named after the Latin name for loggerheads, Caretta caretta. She’d spent a lifetime insisting on being called Cara.

“Don’t even think about it. Besides, doesn’t the Aquarium already have a turtle named Caretta? We have to come up with something more original for this big girl.”

Toy sat back on her heels. “That’s it! Big Girl.”

Cara nodded with approval. “Big Girl it is.”

“Well, Big Girl,” Toy said, tossing her scrub brush in the bucket. “I think that’s about as clean as we can get you tonight. Let’s wrap her up in wet towels, and then all that’s left is to wait until morning.”

“And pray she makes it.” Cara added. “I don’t know if turtles have expressions, but this poor girl even looks sick.” Night was falling fast and in the dim gray light, the shabbiness of the under-porch area was apparent. “We can’t just leave her out here by herself. What if she wanders off? Or some animal gets her?”

“No, of course not. I’ll stay with her.”

“Are you sure?”

Toy rose and put her hands to her lower back, aching from bending over the kiddie pool for so long. Her khaki pants were soaked and muddied, and her aching knees had dozens of tiny dents in the skin from kneeling on sand and grit.

“Yeah,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “No problem. I’ll just drag down the lounge chair from the porch. It’ll be like camping.” She snorted. “Kind of.”

Cara grimaced. “I hate camping.”

“Me, too.”

They burst out laughing.

“I’ll take the second shift,” Cara offered. She stretched her long arms over her head, yawning loudly. “It’s hotter ’n Hades down here. Lord help us.” Then without saying more, she began rolling up the hose.

Toy began gathering up the brushes and emptying the bucket. They both moved with the silent, slow movements of exhaustion.

“One thing, though,” Toy said in afterthought. “If I’m down here with the turtle, will you help get Little Lovie to bed?”

Cara’s eyes lit up. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Later that evening, they all headed for bed. While Cara and Brett settled Lovie, Toy dragged the old wooden lounge chair from the porch down the stairs to the cement slab, then went back up for a sleeping bag, a flashlight, a bottle of insect repellent and a bottle of chilled white wine. She slathered the contents of one bottle on her body and poured the contents of the other into a glass.

A vine of jasmine as thick as a python snaked in and out of the rickety lattice. Any breeze that might waft in from the ocean was blocked by the heavy foliage, but it provided a heady scent that helped overpower the dank smell of mildew and the fishy odor of turtle. Toy used the last of her energy to set the lounge chair at the edge of the concrete slab where the space opened up to the ocean’s breeze. Then, without removing her clothes, she crawled into the flannel folds of the sleeping bag and lay facing the stars.

It was a steamy night on the island. From the darkness the insects were singing their lullaby. The moon was rising and from deep in the blackness came the soothing, omnipresent roar of the ocean.

Not an evening passed that she didn’t give thanks to the Lord for being able to live here with her daughter in this cottage near the beach. Primrose Cottage was the only place in her entire life where she’d felt safe and truly happy.

The old wood lounge creaked as she shifted her weight. From somewhere a night bird called, and close to her ear she heard the high hum of a mosquito. Slapping her neck with a curse on all mosquitoes, Toy wrapped herself mummy-like in the sleeping bag and lay in her cocoon for several minutes while the heat sweltered.

It wasn’t long before she couldn’t breathe. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered as she kicked off the sleeping bag. Instantly the breeze cooled her moist skin, and just as quickly, the pesky mosquitoes hummed closer. It was going to be a long night, she thought. She shifted on the creaking lounge chair to grab more repellent. Across the floor, the turtle remained unmoving under the towels. Often these turtles hung on to life by a thin thread. Toy sat very still, waiting for several minutes in the silence to hear a breath. None came.

Worried, Toy unwrapped herself from the sleeping bag to brave the mosquitoes and check on the loggerhead. She removed the towel from over its big head. The turtle was lying perfectly still.

“How are you doing, Big Girl?” she asked, squinting in the dark. She bent to gently touch the turtle’s eyelids, seeking some response.

The turtle blinked and released a long exhale.

Toy exhaled, too, in great relief. “You had me worried there, old girl,” she said, reaching out to place her palm on the turtle’s roughened shell. She felt a strong bond with the mother sea turtle. “We single mothers have to stick together,” she said and, though she had no logical reason for it, she acted on instinct and began to pat the shell.

She thought again of her recurring dream of the sea turtle. Of how Big Girl had traveled long and far to reach this bit of beach she called home.

“You made it home,” she crooned softly. “All that way, through all those dangers. How many seasons have you survived out there in the ocean, huh? Are you forty years old? Fifty? More?”

No one knew for sure how long loggerheads lived. Some thought they lived to one hundred years or more.

“Don’t you worry, Big Girl. You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”

Upstairs, Cara closed the storybook and glanced over at the little girl on the bed beside her. Pale lashes rested on cherubic cheeks while soft puffs of air came out evenly through her rosy lips.

Cara’s heart pumped with affection for the little girl she’d helped raise since she was born. Toy liked to say that the spirit of Miss Lovie came to rest in the heart of this child, and though it was Cara’s nature to pooh-pooh such sentiment, in her heart she believed it was true. She caught glimpses of her mother’s gentle spirit in Little Lovie. And certainly in her love of nature, the sea turtles especially.

Cara reached up to softly stroke the blond hairs away from Little Lovie’s forehead, still damp from her bath. It was a gesture she remembered her own mother making. A surge of emotion moistened her eyes.

“You’re thinking of your mother, aren’t you?”

Cara turned toward the voice at the door. Leaning against the frame she saw the tall, broad form of her husband, his arms crossed at his chest, his eyes soft with concern. Brett’s keen ability to observe even small details was what made him both a great wildlife guide and a great husband.

She nodded and let her gaze wander. “I always feel her presence keenly here at the beach house.”

“It’s not surprising. She loved it here more than anywhere else.”

“Wouldn’t she just love having a turtle under her porch?” She laughed lightly at the thought. “She sure loved the turtles.”

“She loved you. Are you sure you won’t be happier living in this house? She left it to you, after all. Maybe she wanted you to live here. I wouldn’t mind moving.”

“Someday, perhaps. But the memories are still too strong. Even after five years, the pain’s too fresh.” She shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe because she died so soon after our reconciliation. For so long we barely ever talked. And then when we finally started, she had to up and die. Hardly seems fair.”

“At least you cleared the air. You had the chance a lot of other people miss.”

“I know. I’m grateful for that, I really am.” Cara reached up to tuck the pink sheet under Little Lovie’s chin. “It’s just, there’s still so much I want to tell her. So much I would have liked to share with her. I feel robbed.”

Cara rose from the bed and wrapped her arms across her chest. She gazed around the room. This was once her bedroom, the room of a girl’s dreams and heartaches.

“After she died, I tried sleeping in Mama’s bed. The scent of her gardenia perfume hung in the air like a ghost. It was pervasive—in the closet, the curtains. It was like she was everywhere. I know it’s crazy, but I missed her so much, I resorted to wearing her bathrobe to bed. I used to pretend that her arms were wrapped around me while I cried like a baby. Me!” She sniffed. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“You never told me that.”

Cara leaned back against him. “It’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

He slid his arms around her waist. They felt strong and secure, and closing her eyes, she caught the scent of the sea in his clothes. “I’d much rather sleep in our own bed, in our own house and have your arms around me.”

He bent and she felt his cheek against hers and his muscle move into a grin. “That sounds good to me.”

“Besides,” she said, straightening. “It’s been good for Toy to live here. She finds comfort in being surrounded by Mama’s things.”

“She loved her like a mother.”

“In a lot of ways, she was her mother, the mother Toy never had. Remember the way she cried at Mama’s funeral? Made me look like I didn’t care as much. I got some strange looks, I recall.”

“It’s not your way to cry.”

Cara wondered about that statement. It was the kind of thing people said about her and she used to believe it. Growing up, she’d worn her stoicism like armor against the slings and arrows of her father’s anger. It had served her well as an executive in an advertising firm in the chilly north. Yet, she found that iron armor heavy to bear here in the softer air of the islands.

“Still, it’s strange the way Toy doesn’t want to get rid of anything of Mama’s. I don’t think she’s changed a single thing in this house for the five years she’s lived here. Not so much as a book has been moved from its sacred spot. It’s like this house is a shrine to Mama’s memory.” She gave off a short laugh. “It would be annoying if she weren’t so darn sincere.”

“And insecure,” he replied.

“What do you mean? I think she’s doing great.”

“She is. But all the responsibility of raising Little Lovie falls squarely on her shoulders. Toy’s still pretty young and she doesn’t have a husband to help out. Or family to fall back on.”

“She has us.”

“That she does. But I’ll wager she still feels alone.”

Cara knew what it was like to live alone and not depend on anyone else for financial or emotional support. As empowering as it was, there were many lonely moments. Especially at night.

She looked around her old room—Little Lovie’s room now. The rest of the house may not have changed since her mother’s death, but Cara had insisted that this room be transformed from a grown-up’s guest room with paintings of marshes and surf to all pink and frills with prints of mermaids on the walls. The only piece of furniture that had remained was the black iron bed that she had slept in as a girl. She’d always thought that one day her own little girl would sleep in it. Cara looked at the little girl in the bed now, and felt deep in her heart that this was the child meant to sleep here.

“It scares me how much I love this child. I don’t want to be just some aunt in her life. Someone who sends her gifts on her birthday and on Christmas. I want to be someone special to her. The aunt she can talk to when she’s angry with her mother. The one who gives her advice when she has her first crush on a boy, or when she gets her first period, or gets drunk and needs a ride home. I want to be that someone who takes her to special places, to expand her horizons. You know…the fun aunt.”

“Honey, I’ve no doubt you can fill that bill.”

Cara set the book on the bedside table and leaned far over to place a kiss on the child’s forehead. She stayed a breath longer as she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of soap in Little Lovie’s hair.

When she moved aside, Brett took his turn. His shoulders dwarfed the small girl as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Rising, he smoothed the blanket and put her favorite stuffed sea turtle beside her. Then, placing his hand on the small of his wife’s back, they walked softly from the room.

“I think God gives children that special smell to protect them,” he said, closing the door behind him. “It’s so sweet it melts you at the knees and you’d do anything for them.”

“She is pretty special,” Cara said.

“Our child will be special.”

Cara leaned back against him, feeling the weight of that statement heavy in her heart. They had tried so hard for five years to have a child. “Brett, I’m scared to get my hopes up again.”

“It’ll work this time.”

“It didn’t the last two times. Let’s face it, Mother Nature isn’t very kind to women in their forties trying to have babies.” She looked up and saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. “I just thought…” She sighed. “You know, that I’d be one of the lucky ones. I still fantasize that this time will be the one. You know, the third time is the charm.” She sighed and turned in his arms to face him. “Besides, we can’t afford to keep doing the in vitros.”

“Let me worry about that.”

She patted his chest. “It’s not just the money. I don’t know if I can handle another round emotionally. The doctors might be able to say the embryo isn’t a real baby yet, but for me, every time I lose one I feel that it is.” Her voice hitched as she rested her head against his chest. “It just hurts too much.”

“I know, I know,” he said softly against her ear. “But remember, we’re in this together. We’ll be fine. Our baby will be fine. You have to have faith.”

“I do,” she said softly as he squeezed her tight. “In us.”