Beach House Memories (26 page)

Everyone smiled in approval, and their applause was heartfelt. Flo released a piercing whistle.

Lovie felt the emotion rise up to blur her vision. She blushed, always a little shy at being called out in a group.

Russell handed her the bucket. “Madam, would you do the honors?”

Through her tears, Lovie could see the five dark hatchlings scurrying at the bottom of the bucket and hear the raucous scratch-scratching of their sandy flippers against plastic. Their brown-black coloring was a sharp contrast to the bright red of the bucket.

“Cara?” she called. “Will you help me?”

Cara bolted forward to put her hands on the bucket.

“Good luck,” Lovie murmured to the hatchlings, then she and Cara lowered the bucket, letting the hatchlings scramble free to the sand.

They were comical, like Keystone Kops, as they bumped and crawled over each other to escape. Endearing little tracks, miniatures of those left behind by their mothers, trailed along the moist sand as the turtles fanned out, determinedly following the age-old call of the sea.

Lovie rose to her feet and her gaze swept the group of volunteers gathered around the hatchlings. Some of them had brought their children, hoping they’d learn from the experience. Lovie saw how they were all children in this experience, with eyes as large as saucers. A few had cameras and clicked madly, free to photograph in the daylight. This was the first sea turtle hatchling most of them had ever seen.

Cara diligently followed a lone straggler as it made its way to the surf. The hatchling paused for a fraction of a second, lifted its head as if to sniff the sea for direction, then took off again. The ingoing tide reached higher with each wave, finally sweeping over the hatchling, washing off the sand and revealing the gleaming reddish-brown color of its shell. Tasting its first salt water, the hatchling surged eagerly forward with renewed vigor. A second, larger wave captured the hatchling, and in that miraculous, tumbling instant Lovie saw the hatchling dive. She reached out to grab Russell’s hand, so awed by the power of this ancient instinct. Immediately this last of the turtles began swimming furiously, gracefully, with the skill of 180 million years of training.

As the wave receded, carrying its passenger along into the vast sea, Lovie again felt her eyes fill. She wasn’t sure if she cried for the hatchling or for Russell’s words. But everyone was getting teary eyed, hugging each other and patting friends on the back.
People came up to congratulate them and to thank Russell for allowing them to be part of the project. For so many years she’d hoped to enlist the help of islanders for the sea turtles, and this summer it was actually happening.

The group began disbanding, calling out farewells and walking off toward different paths to their homes and their lives. Flo was far ahead, talking with Miranda as they exited the beach. Cara was walking home along the shoreline, playing tag with the waves. In all the excitement, it wasn’t until Lovie began walking back that she realized Russell was still holding her hand.

Russell drove Lovie to his house, where she’d parked her car, and she climbed into her old station wagon. It was an oven inside, so hot it hurt to sit and her thighs stuck to the fabric. The engine whined but didn’t turn over. “Not again,” she muttered. After a third effort, the engine was wheezing, fainter and weaker. She put her forehead in her palm and groaned. She cursed her folly for not getting the car checked out when it had happened earlier. She’d been so busy, but that excuse seemed lame. Now she was stuck. This could take hours . . . She looked out the window, but Russell had already gone into his house.

Lovie slammed her car door, hating the old rust bucket that had failed her. She felt her cheeks flame with each step as she walked toward Russell’s two-story cinder-block house, painted a color somewhere between salmon and peach. It was the second home of a friend of the mayor’s and made available to Russell for the summer. It was a choice piece of property, ocean side with long, rolling dunes to the beach. But the front yard was a scrubby patch of sand, weeds, and wild grasses.

She made her way along the narrow cement walkway that went straight as an arrow to the front porch, which was, in kind,
a dreary slab of cement. No potted plant, no hanging fern, no decorative front mat broke the dry monotony of the neglected entryway. Sand piled up under the doorframe where Russell’s sandals were left. Even the door was dusty, with spiderwebs at the corner. Lovie rang the doorbell and waited, but there was no answer. She tried again and waited, peeking in the window, but the curtains prevented her view. When no one came, she wondered if the doorbell was broken. She knocked twice, harder each time.

At last, there was a shuffling of feet behind the door and then it swung open. Russell was wrapped in a towel, dripping wet and obviously just stepping out from the shower. “Olivia!” he exclaimed. His face reflected his surprise at seeing her, then quickly changed to pleasure.

Olivia flushed to see his broad bare chest and his wearing only a towel. “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you,” she stammered, trying to avoid looking directly at him.

His smile slipped to reveal concern. “No bother at all. What seems to be the matter?”

“It’s so embarrassing, but my car won’t start. I meant to take it in to the garage. Looks like I shouldn’t have waited.”

He tightened his hold on his towel, gave it a quick hoist up. “I’ll just get dressed and we’ll take a look. Come on in.”

Lovie followed him in, appreciating the immediate coolness and the relief of being out of the glaring sun. For all that she complained about Stratton’s need for air-conditioning, on this blisteringly hot morning she appreciated the closed shades and blissful artificial chill.

“I apologize for the mess,” Russell said, quickly picking up a pair of trousers from the back of the chair and a pillow from the floor. “I’ve got about three projects I’m working on simultaneously.”

“I’ll just make a call and get out of your way.” She was embarrassed to catch him unawares.

“No hurry. Use the phone. It’s right there on the desk. I think there’s a phone book there, too, somewhere under that mess. I’ll be down in a flash.” He raced up the stairs.

She’d been in his house back in June when she’d helped set up the program. Other than more books and more mess, the place looked pretty much the same. The rental house was typically furnished with moderately priced furniture meant to look beachy: rattan sofas, palm-printed fabrics, bad art of beach scenes and sailboats. The walls were white and the floors were a neutral brown tile, pleasant but boring. She thought she’d find it hard to stay for the whole summer without adding personal touches and color.

Russell Bennett, it appeared, couldn’t care less about style or color. Only work seemed to matter. Every spare flat surface was covered with books, tilting piles of overflowing manila folders, science magazines, and dirty dishes and coffee cups. The dining room had been changed into a makeshift office. An enormous poster of the island hung on the wall. It was marked with colored flags that indicated the nests. Cheap metal file cabinets had been added, as well as movable bookshelves. Someone smoked, too, she thought, noticing the filled ashtrays, and wondered if it was Russell or Bing.

She used the phone to call home. Palmer answered and she explained why she was held up. She was looking in the phone book for the number of the local garage when Russell returned downstairs.

“Can I get you some water?” he asked.

“Yes, please. And an aspirin? I’ve got a headache blooming.”

Noises of cabinets opening and closing and water running came from the kitchen.

“Here it is,” he said, coming up behind her carrying a glass of water. He handed her two aspirin and she accepted them gratefully. “You’re probably dehydrated. You’ll have to be careful to bring enough water in your backpack, especially on these hot days.”

Lovie nodded, swallowing down the aspirin. “Thank you.” She drank the water thirstily.

“Did you eat today?”

She shook her head. “I try to grab something before I leave, but I stayed in bed a few extra minutes this morning.”

“You should eat. You’re getting thin.”

She was surprised that he’d noticed. She had been losing weight, but it wasn’t intentional. She was simply running around so much she sometimes forgot to eat. She pulled the elastic from her hair and released her braid, removing the constriction from her aching head.

“You also look exhausted.”

“I am a little tired.”

He took her glass and refilled it. Then he gave her a banana from a selection of fruit on the kitchen counter. “A little potassium would do you good, too. And here’s a salt shaker. Sprinkle some on your palm and lick it. It’ll help restore your balance. You eat while I go out and take a look.”

She ate the banana with her eyes closed and rubbed her temples. A short while later Russell returned, shaking dust from his pants with one hand and studying a green liquid on his other.

“Bad news, I’m afraid. There’s an enormous puddle of coolant under there. It’s bad. If it was just leaking a bit, I’d fill it with coolant and follow you to the nearest station. But this car’s not going anywhere. You’ll have to get it towed.”

“Towed? Oh, Lord. That could take hours.”

“Prepare yourself. It’s the water pump. I just hope you haven’t
damaged your engine. You might have quite a job on your hands. It could be awhile till you get your car back.”

“But I have to have a car. I’m alone here.”

“You could rent one.”

She nodded, bringing her fingertips to her temples.

Russell grabbed the phone. “What’s the name of the station on the island?”

“The Isle of Palms filling station.” She handed him the scrap of paper she’d written the number on.

Russell smirked. “Of course.”

“They’re good,” Lovie replied, scrunching up her lips from the salt. “Ask for Pop.”

The tow was arranged in short order. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“I feel like such an idiot,” she said.

“Why? Because your car broke down? It happens to the best of us.”

“Perhaps it’s a sign. The car has over a hundred thousand miles on it. I’ve been thinking about getting a new one, but Stratton says it’s still got a lot of life left in it.”

“I notice he’s not driving it,” he replied. “How do
you
feel about it?”

“It’s been a good car.”

“But do you like it enough to keep it?”

“No, I hate it!” Then a reluctant smile eased across her face. “But it does have a lot of life in it, at least as far as memories go. I’ve driven everywhere in that old beast—car pool, to church, back and forth from the beach house to the city, to the children’s recitals, graduations, games. And countless turtle nests over the years. That car has been true blue. It’s just getting old. And it did try to warn me . . .”

“So you’ll fix her up and keep her?”

“To be totally honest, I’ve been longing for a smaller car,
something sporty and easier to park for the island. I admit I’ve been a little jealous of your Jeep. Maybe it’s time for me to look around a bit.”

Russell rubbed his jaw, then reached out his hand to her. “Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, surprised.

“Are you up to going back out for a little while? How’s your headache?”

“Better. But . . .”

“Can the kids spare you for a bit longer?”

“I already called them. They’re fine. Cara’s at Emmi’s and by now Palmer’s at McKevlin’s surf shop.”

“So we’re good to go.” Grabbing his keys, Russell opened the door, and Lovie stepped out into the piercing wall of sun and heat. Suddenly, she heard a high-pitched voice.

“Hello! Lovie!”

She turned to see a tall, broad-beamed woman in a bright orange flowered Hawaiian muumuu and matching orange floppy hat walking toward them. Beside her was a short, wiry man with a leathery tan and fisherman’s cap. He walked with a rolling gait like he was still on a boat.

“Hello, Ada,” Lovie replied, cringing inside. Ada would stop you in the street and chat forever.

“Why, you’re the last person I expected to see here,” said Ada, drawing near. Her large blue eyes slunk from Lovie to Russell in scrutiny.

Lovie plastered her hostess smile on her face. “Ada and Wally Blair, allow me to introduce you to Dr. Bennett. He’s come to conduct the turtle research project here on the island. Surely you’ve heard about it?”

“No, no I haven’t,” she replied, eyes still on Russell. She looked like she was going to gobble him up for breakfast. “But
we’ve only just got here. We’re a little late this year.” She looked at Russell and asked pointedly, “You’re staying in Hank Harrison’s house, Dr. uh, Bennett, was it?”

Russell stood with his hands behind his back. “It is, and I am.”

“Then we’re neighbors. Isn’t that nice? Wally, we won’t have a house of screaming kids or drunks next door to us this summer.” She smiled sweetly, then asked, “I don’t imagine you’ll have too many wild parties?”

“No, ma’am. I’m the quiet type.”

Lovie thought the old harridan almost looked disappointed.

“So, you say you’re working on a project for sea turtles?” she asked. “Which one is that? I swear, I’ve never heard of a turtle project on Isle of Palms. Lovie, don’t you just walk the beach all on your lonesome? What do they call you? Oh, yes.” She smiled sweet as sugar. “The Turtle Lady.”

Russell’s lips tightened and he didn’t reply. Lovie could tell he wasn’t about to, either. She sighed inwardly and launched into a quick description of the project, then had to bring Ada up to speed on the potential sale of the northern portion of the island. Her husband, Wally, stood as still as a bird dog with his eyes fixed on the ocean. Beside her, Russell wore the polite expression of attentive boredom.

“Mercy, that’s a lot of news. I suppose that’s why you two had so much to catch up on—off the beach, that is.” Ada waved her hand in front of her face. “Isn’t it hot?”

“Exactly,” Russell interrupted. “Mrs. Rutledge is expecting a tow truck. Her car broke down in this heat after the turtle patrol. I’m sure you don’t want to stand in this sun any longer than you have to. You’ll excuse us. A pleasure to meet you both.”