Beach House Memories (14 page)

“Hard to say,” she replied vaguely. “I’ll never really know if I chose this project, or if the project chose me.”

His eyes glimmered with appreciation at her answer. He moved a step closer, speaking in earnest. “You know, Archie Carr always says that naturalists were born, not made. Unlike other areas of science, like chemistry and physics, where a scientist chooses to pursue a subject that interests him. Or as Archie put it, the heart follows the mind. For naturalists, it’s the reverse.
The mind follows the heart. You, Mrs. Rutledge, are a true naturalist. You’re rare.”

Lovie felt his words intensely. There was no teasing now, no slanted comments about her being a turtle lady, no condescension for a well-meaning woman who loved turtles. He’d called her a naturalist. He viewed her as an equal. He couldn’t know what that meant to her.

“Mrs. Rutledge, I wonder . . . Would you consider being my assistant in this project? Well, not assistant. More a partner. A colleague?”

“A colleague?”

“Yes. Your knowledge of the island, the nesting sites, your records, are invaluable. I’ll have to burn the midnight oil to get this project under way as soon as possible.”

Lovie wanted to jump on board and say yes, but an unpleasant thought that had been niggling in the nether regions of her mind all afternoon surfaced again. One planted by Flo. She hesitated, rubbing her palms together.

“Dr. Bennett, before I agree to the project, I have a question for you.”

“Fire away.”

“You’ve been hired by the development company, haven’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“And they need this impact study in order to move forward with their plans.”

“Yes,” he replied in a tone that told he was wondering where her questions were heading.

“Once you gather all the information, what will happen to it? Will they seriously consider the findings, or just file and ignore them? They have a lot invested in this property, and from what I understand, the plans for the development are on a grand scale. What’s to stop them from doing whatever they like and ignoring
the needs of the turtles? Building groins, docks, walls along the beach like they did in Florida?” She looked briefly at her hands. “How can we be sure the report won’t be in any way . . . biased?”

Glancing up, she saw that his face had tightened, barely perceptibly. He crossed his arms and considered her question, his gaze fixed on Lovie. “You’re questioning my motives?”

She hadn’t expected him to respond so bluntly. He continued to stare at her, barely blinking.

“I’m just asking what others are thinking.”

“I see.” Dr. Bennett hesitated. “You think perhaps I’m getting a little cash under the table? Maybe a new lot in the new development, something to sweeten the report?”

“I’d like to believe you aren’t,” she replied honestly. “But I don’t know you at all.” She saw the surprise on his face and ran her hand through her hair. “This is our island. This isn’t academic for us.” She spoke quickly now, wanting him to understand her position.

“I’ve been up against guys like these many times before, trying to get them to turn off the lights shining on the beach, reduce noise, stop people from riding the backs of the turtles, poaching. The list goes on and on. And you know what I get? A pat on the head and someone telling me to keep up the good work. That kind of condescension is infuriating, not to mention insulting. No one wants to see my records or hear my opinions. I’m dismissed. So I’ve gone it alone. I’ve walked the island every day for years, knowing all along there was a possibility that no one would ever see my work. And I didn’t care. Because I know at the very least I’m making a difference in the sea turtle population on this island, hatchling by hatchling. Even if it’s small. I’ve earned the right to be suspicious of anyone who comes in and takes over
my
project. So I’m asking you, Dr. Bennett, if we succeed in getting more volunteers and we all put our backs into the project, what’s going to come of it?”

His smile was rueful, even a little sad. “What’s going to come of it?” he repeated. “Do you want an honest answer?”

She nodded.

“I don’t know. Nobody does. There are no guarantees.”

Now Lovie’s lips tightened in frustration. It seemed too easy an answer.

Dr. Bennett sighed and put his hands on his hips. He suddenly looked very tired.

“I’m a lot of things,” he began. “I’m a biologist, a student of natural history, a field researcher. But I’m not a politician. I’m here to study the nesting cycle of the loggerheads on this island and to offer an opinion on the impact the development’s plans will have on them. Period. What happens after that is not up to me.”

“So you just come in, do your job, and leave?”

He shifted his weight and pursed his lips in thought. “I leave your island, yes. But I’ll continue the good fight. My work with sea turtles is more global. I don’t confine myself to one beach. This is a migratory species, Mrs. Rutledge.”

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped back. “But this isn’t just any beach to me. It’s
my
beach.”

“You refer to the beach, even the turtles, as yours. That kind of territorialism can be dangerous in research.”

She felt slapped. “There you go again, Dr. Bennett. Taking the imperial stand of one who knows so much more, has so many degrees, has traveled the world. Well, good for you! You’re a man. You had that choice.” She pointed to herself, feeling her heat rise. “I took another path. I never had that freedom.”

“It’s not an issue of male or female. I have several female colleagues,” he argued.

She walked farther away from him, turning her back. “I realize that. Of course. Yet, from where I stand, I see things
differently. Perhaps it’s because I
am
a woman, I stayed in one place. I tended the beaches as an animal might tend her nest.”

She turned to face him. “I doubt you’ll understand what I’m about to say, but any woman would get it immediately.” Lovie began pacing across the porch, searching for words for something that she’d never had to explain before. What she did was so instinctual. She didn’t have words on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s rather like housework,” she began. “No, that’s not quite right. I mean . . . How can I explain it? When a woman is in her home, she’s always looking, or more, scanning, wondering if the pot’s boiling, if she’s out of milk, if the children are in view, if the doors are locked.” She was talking as much to herself as to him.

“We women walk around our houses every day, day after day, picking things up, patting things down, observing patterns, changes. We tend our nest by being fully present. We pay attention to the details, over and over. Our motions are circular. Nonlinear.” Lovie looked at him, earnestly hoping he’d follow her drift.

“It was like that for me on the beach. I’m sorry if my use of the possessive offends you, but that’s how I felt. I was tending my nests. This is my home. Each hatchling was a baby. Each one mattered.”

“You were making it personal.”

“And that’s not professional?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Well, then, so be it! Of course it was personal. Caring
is
personal. It’s what kept me out there, day after day, year after year. I know that you would die before you called a hatchling a baby, but my calling it a baby doesn’t diminish the work I did—and continue to do. Or that my friends do. I promise you, it’s what the volunteers will feel, no matter what you tell them.”

He didn’t reply.

“You said so yourself. My results are . . . what did you call them? Astonishing.”

“They are.”

“I know they are,” she said boldly. “I’m excited about my findings. Once I got results, new questions arose in my head, and sometimes those questions changed. My father, bless his heart, pointed to those questions because he was curious. I simply tried to answer those questions.”

“I never meant to insult . . .”

“But you did.” Lovie paused, feeling the tension rise. “The power of tending does not require a degree from a university, Dr. Bennett. It requires persistence, careful observation, and most of all,
caring
. I don’t do this to become famous. It
is
personal. So don’t question my motives or my integrity.”

“But you can question mine? Do you think because I have a degree, because I use methodology, because I take the larger view, that I love the individual turtle less? That I could take a bribe and sell them all down the river?”

Lovie felt heat rise to her cheeks. “No. I’m sorry. I should never have insulted you like that.”

He was silent a moment, then said, “Nor I, you.” He took a step closer. “Mrs. Rutledge, I assure you I’m not taking a bribe or getting rich doing this study. Frankly, I’m already rich enough. I don’t need any more money. But even if I did, I wouldn’t.”

She crossed her arms, listening.

“To be honest, I don’t blame you for checking me out. You’re about to hand over ten years of work and you want to be sure I’m not some mouthpiece for the developers. But I hope you’ll trust me. And if you don’t trust me, trust my credentials. Make a few phone calls. I’ll let my reputation speak for me.”

She felt a bit ashamed for reacting so strongly. She’d never had an outburst like that before in her life, at least not to a guest. This mattered so much to her, and there was something about
Dr. Bennett—his stature in the field, his breadth of knowledge, his respect for her work—that made her rise to the occasion to be his equal. Indeed, she felt his equal. This made his apology mean the world.

“Thank you, Dr. Bennett. That won’t be necessary.” Her lips twitched. “Besides, I already did my homework. Your résumé is impressive. I mean, Lord almighty, you list Archie Carr as a reference.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he replied with a chuckle. He turned and leaned against the railing, his shoulders slightly slumped forward in a more companionable position. “You know, no one goes into the business of ecology or championing sea turtles, or any other species, to make money. It’s damn hard work, but”—he looked at her and offered a conciliatory smile—“like you, I love it. I couldn’t give it up. It’s a bitch out there sometimes. I work long hours under the burning sun, in humidity that makes this seem like a cakewalk. I’m half eaten alive by mosquitoes, I face poachers with machetes . . .”

Lovie laughed. “Heavens!”

He shrugged. “And for what? Nothing less than to preserve a noble species for our children, and our children’s children, and beyond.” He looked at her, and their eyes met. “I’m not that different from you, Mrs. Rutledge. We both do it because we love it.”

“Yes,” she said with passion. “It’s not just about the knowledge, is it, Dr. Bennett? It’s about the wisdom. That layer of intelligence working beneath it all.”

“That’s it exactly,” he said in a voice tinged with wonder.

“But we’re losing the battle,” she exclaimed. “The number of turtles, at least on this island, is on the decline. If this research project can’t protect them, what will? Sometimes I feel so . . . helpless.”

“It’s a battle that’s not going away, believe me. Developers are
in the business of making money. I can tell you already that there will be those who will read my report and feel it presents unjust restrictions on their plans for a hotel, or a house, or a golf course. They’ll be up in arms. They’ll go to the local people and remind them of the jobs the construction will bring, the tax dollars, how the development will increase the value of their homes. Money is a powerful motivation. But,” he said with a lift of his shoulders, “there’s always compromise. That’s what we have to fight for.”

“I’m not a very good general,” she said with a short laugh. “I’m more the good foot soldier.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mrs. Rutledge.”

The doorbell rang. To Lovie’s mind, it sounded like the bell in a boxing ring. The rising tension had been broken. Lovie turned, but Dr. Bennett laid a hand on her arm, stalling her. She swung her head around, surprised at the touch, and looked up into his startlingly blue eyes, close to her own.

He said, “What happens after we finish the project depends more on you and the people who live on this island. Do the turtles matter? What do you want this island to look like in ten years? In the year 2000? What part of this island, if any, will be preserved? One thing’s for certain. There are going to be a lot more people moving onto this island in the coming decades. There’s only so much island property out there. Developers will continue to develop, that’s a given. True, this is only one beach in the world. But as you so aptly put it, it’s
your
beach. But I’m here to help in any way I can.”

The doorbell rang again, followed by an insistent knocking. Lovie turned and hurried to the front door, wishing she had just five more uninterrupted minutes with Dr. Bennett. Earlier, the hours seemed to move slower than molasses, but this last half hour had sped by.

She opened the door and there Flo stood with her hair mildly damp and frizzing in the drizzle. Beside her was the man
who had accompanied Dr. Bennett to the meeting. He was a congenial-looking man, at five seven nearly as tall as Flo, wiry, with close-cropped dark hair.

Flo was the first to speak. “The storm finally let up and here we are. Is Dr. Bennett here? We saw him run after you and just assumed . . .” Then, looking over Lovie’s shoulder, her mouth spread to a cat’s grin. “Ah, I see he is.”

Dr. Bennett came to the front door, towering over Lovie, and the two men smiled as old friends. “Bing!” he cried out. “Sorry if I made you wait and worry. I got stuck in the downpour and decided to stick it out. Mrs. Rutledge was a saint. She let me drip all over her carpet. Oh, Mrs. Olivia Rutledge, please meet my colleague, Dr. Bingham Wolitzer.”

“My pleasure, Dr. Wolitzer. Won’t you come in?”

“No, thank you, I can’t stay. Uh, Russ, we really should be going. We have to get the keys to the rental house before they shut down.”

“Right.” Dr. Bennett turned to Lovie. “Thank you again for the towel, the robe, the sanctuary from the storm. Most especially, thank you for the chance to read your journals. I would very much like to study them again.” His gaze was open, without recrimination or judgment. “But that’s up to you.”