Swimming Lessons (3 page)

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.”

A
rising coastal sun sent piercing spears of light into Toy’s eyes. She blinked lazily twice, then jerked her head up.

Her first thought was of Big Girl.

Clarity washed the cobwebs from her mind as she recalled in a rush all that transpired the night before. She’d stayed with Big Girl until the wee hours of the morning. Cara had crept downstairs to take the second shift, bumping into the clunky wood lounge chair with a loud curse. Toy had been in a fitful sleep, dreaming again of the swimming sea turtle and tangled up in the sweltering sleeping bag. She’d dragged herself upstairs to her bed, stripping off her sweaty clothes and flopping naked onto blissfully cool sheets. Under the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan, she’d fallen instantly into a deep sleep.

She felt groggy, like she could sleep for another few hours, but she dutifully rubbed her eyes and kicked off the sheets. She rose slowly and padded in bare feet across the wood floor to the small, white tiled bathroom, eager for the rush of cool water and minty soap to wash away remnants of the steamy night. She emerged a short time later, refreshed and eager to see the turtle. She dressed
quickly in her Aquarium uniform of khaki shorts and the gray polo shirt with the SC Aquarium emblem, pulled her damp hair up in a clip and tied her tennis shoes.

Morning light poured into the small living room from a row of three windows that offered a breathtaking view of grassy dune, palms, blue sky and thousands of acres of sparkling ocean. In front of these were an old down sofa and two enormous armchairs slip-covered in the cabbage rose pattern that Olivia Rutledge had loved. Between the chairs sat a round ottoman in the same fabric. It had been a favorite spot of Miss Lovie’s, and every time she looked at it, Toy thought of her sitting with her legs up, a book in one hand, sipping tea.

The tongue-in-groove walls and golden heart pine floors were typical of many of the old island houses. On the walls were oil paintings of the lowcountry, all by local artists, historical and contemporary: Verner, Williams, Pratt-Thomas, Greene, Smith and others. It was a cozy, cheery room, and a world away from the shabby trailers Toy had grown up in.

From the main room, a narrow hall adorned with Rutledge family photographs that dated back to the turn of the century led to two small bedrooms. Toy went to the seaward room to gently nudge her daughter awake. Little Lovie groused and grumbled but eventually was lured from her bed. Next, Toy headed downstairs under the porch.

She found Cara stretched out on the lounge chair, one leg falling off it, gently snoring. She smirked, never having seen the usually sophisticated Cara Rutledge Beauchamps in that pose. The morning was already warm, hinting at the hot, humid day it would become. Toy bent close to the turtle and hesitated, wondering
with sudden fear if the turtle had made it through the night. She removed the damp towels from its shell.

The turtle’s eyes rolled up to look at her.

“Ah, Big Girl!” she exclaimed, relieved beyond measure. “It sure is nice to wish you a good morning. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I was worried. But you’re a survivor, aren’t you? Just like me.”

Her large eyes watched Toy with a sickly expression.

“You aren’t feeling so good, are you? Don’t you worry. We’ll get you to the hospital in no time.”

Toy heard a loud yawn behind her. She turned to see Cara squinting through half-opened eyes and scratching her wildly disheveled hair.

“I feel like I slept on a railroad track,” Cara said in a hoarse voice.

“You look like it, too. A shower will improve your outlook.”

“A shower, a massage…I need the whole spa treatment. How’s Big Girl?”

“She’s alive—barely. We can try to feed her once we get her in a proper tank.”

“She probably just wants coffee.” Cara absently scratched a mosquito bite on her arm. “Speaking of which, is Flo here yet? I’d kill for a cup right now.”

“Not yet. Come on, sleepyhead. We’d better get a move on. It’s going to be a busy day.”

She went back upstairs to find Little Lovie back in bed. “You too?” she exclaimed as she tickled her stomach and toes, rousing her slowly. Reminding her of the sea turtle under their house did the trick and she laughed as Lovie scrambled into her clothes. Next she began preparations for breakfast. She was putting bread into the toaster when Flo burst through the door like a hurricane.

“Morning, Turtle Team!”

“I thought you’d never get here with that coffee,” Cara exclaimed, coming into the room. Her dark, damp hair was pulled back on her head and her brown eyes were more alive after her shower.

“Nice shirt,” Toy said to her, looking at her own shirt that Cara was wearing.

“I can wear day old, wrinkled shorts if I have to, but I just couldn’t put that stinky, turtle bombed T-shirt back on. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Help yourself,” Toy replied.

Cara stopped at the table where Little Lovie was eating cereal to lean over and nuzzle her neck. “Mmmm, gimme some sugar.”

While Little Lovie squealed, Toy turned to reach for cups from the cupboard. Olivia Rutledge had stored the remnants of generations of mismatched collections of china in the beach house. One of Toy’s morning pleasures was to choose a pattern to suit her mood. Today she chose the green and pink floral Wedgwood.

Flo poured the coffee while Cara poured the milk but no one took the time to sit at the table. They stood leaning against the counter and sipped as they arranged the day. Flo agreed to stay with Little Lovie while Toy and Cara escorted Big Girl to the Aquarium. This led to their favorite topic of conversation—the turtle nests.

“It’s the end of May,” Flo said with a sorry shake of her head. “We should have at least one nest by now.”

Cara’s face reflected her worry. “Last year’s numbers were so bad, I was hoping we’d have a swell of girls coming to lay eggs this summer to make up for it. I hope our worst fears aren’t realized and they just aren’t out there.”

“The hurricanes last year sure didn’t help.”

“It’s early yet,” Toy said with optimism. “After all, Big Girl was out there.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Flo said, raising her mug. “May there be many healthy ones out there, just biding their time.”

“Here’s to their homecoming,” Toy added, clinking mugs.

“Speaking of homecomings, I’ve got some news.” Cara leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “I heard from Emmi. She’s sold her house in Atlanta and plans to move here permanently! She’ll be here for Memorial Day.”

“It’s about time she got herself down here,” Flo declared. “She usually blows in with the turtles. The season doesn’t really start until we have one turtle nest
and
Emmi Peterson back.”

Toy sipped her coffee and thought of the big-hearted, big-boned woman with a smile as bright as her fiery red hair. Emmaline Baker Peterson was the last member of the core Turtle Team started ages ago by Miss Lovie. Volunteers came and went, but the core team shared a bond that came from long hours spent together at the beach, mutual reliance and countless stories shared.

“I missed her last summer when she didn’t come down,” Toy said. “The whole season was weird. There were hardly any turtles and Emmi wasn’t here. There must be a connection there.”

“Last year was pretty tough for her,” Cara said.

“Is the divorce final?” asked Flo.

Cara nodded. “She just signed the papers. Emmi sounded pretty beat up by the whole thing. To be honest, so am I. I still can’t believe she and Tom are divorced. They were the poster couple for happy marriages. They’d
loved each other since they were kids. Hell, I fell in love with Tom the same day Emmi did! How does love like that just end? If it can happen to them…”

“Tom was fooling around,” Flo said in that matter-of-fact manner that brushed away any connection between Tom and Emmi and whatever Cara was brooding about. “When a man does that, he’s throwing the marriage away. I’d like to give that boy the tongue lashing of his life. He was raised better than that.”

“Be nice to Emmi when she gets here,” Cara said. “No lecturing.”

“Lecturing?” Flo sounded insulted.

“You know what I mean. Just take it easy on her. Despite everything Tom may have done, she didn’t want the divorce. And their sons are taking it hard. It’s going to take a while for her to get past this.”

“All the more reason she should be here. With us,” said Flo with certainty. “She needs her friends now more than ever.”

Toy pushed away from the counter. “I know a turtle that needs us, too. Here comes Brett pulling up in the driveway. Come on. Let’s move Big Girl to the Aquarium.”

The South Carolina Aquarium is a proud, stunning structure of gleaming steel, stone and glass that captures the golden rays of the sun and the aqua blue reflection of the sea to sparkle against the watery horizon. It is the crown jewel of the Charleston harbor.

Toy felt a thrill each time she approached it. She still couldn’t believe that she could walk through the gates every day and not have to pay for the privilege. The proudest day of her life was the day she got her job as a staff aquarist.

Toy was the manager of the Lower Ocean Floor Gallery exhibit. She oversaw the health and maintenance of over one hundred indigenous fish and reptiles. She directed their feeding schedules and the exhibit maintenance, managed the volunteers, gave tours to school children, and whatever else was called for. There was a team mentality at the Aquarium and she never knew when she walked through the doors what awaited her.

And never was that more true than today.

She glanced over her shoulder at the white crate in the back bed of Brett’s pick-up truck. Big Girl lay quietly beneath a padding of towels. Toy chewed her lip, hoping the towels were still damp. Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside Cara and Brett in the front seat of the pick-up, she directed Brett to the rear loading dock of the Aquarium. She sighed with relief when she spotted two male volunteers in Aquarium logo shirts waiting at the black iron gate.

“Hey Favel! I sure am glad to see you,” Toy called out as she hopped from the cab of the truck. Her gym shoes landed with a soft thud on the cement. “We had a heck of a time hoisting Big Girl into the crate for the trip in.”

“Big Girl?” Favel’s white hair was like snow on top of a tall mountain and made all the more striking by his deep tan. He was typical of the dedicated volunteers who spent as much time working at the Aquarium as the hired staff. Favel had been a diver since the Aquarium opened. Retired, he had to be forty years older than Irwin, a baby-faced college student majoring in marine biology.

“That’s what we call the loggerhead. When you try and lift her, you’ll know why.” Toy turned and made quick introductions to Cara and Brett.

“Ethan isn’t too happy that you’re bringing this turtle into his domain, you know,” Favel told her in a low voice.

“He isn’t?” she asked, feeling a sudden stab of nervousness.

“You know how fanatic he is about cross contamination,” he replied. “And, the fact that no one consulted him.”

She swallowed hard, feeling her insecurity about bringing the turtle into the Aquarium as a lump in her throat. “Well, Jason approved it.”

“Right,” Favel said, acknowledging Jason as the last word. “So, let’s give this turtle a room at the inn.”

Brett helped the two men load the heavy crate onto a rolling cart. Toy followed them as they rolled it toward the lower dock entrance of the building. Toy didn’t have much occasion to come to the cavernous port entry. Down here, enormous, monolithic cement pilings rose to form the underpinning of the Aquarium. Charleston Harbor flowed in and out of giant square bins, rising and falling with the tide and filling the air with the pungent scents of mud and salt. The raucous cry of gulls and the horn of the tour boat, Spirit of the Carolinas, sounded in the distance. The wild sea hovered at the precipice of the great Aquarium.

Inside the Aquarium the basement literally thrummed with power. Giant pipes and wires snaked along the ceiling. Red painted pumps, shiny black valves and rows of gray steel fuse boxes lined the walls. She followed the cart to the huge industrial service elevator and pushed the button for the third floor where Jason told her a holding tank would be waiting. She clenched and unclenched her fists as the elevator crawled slowly upward, worried about Ethan’s reaction. She hoped that the others did not sense her nervousness. At last the elevator steel doors yawned open and they stepped out into another world.

The Great Ocean Tank, which the staff simply called the GOT, extended over two levels of the Aquarium and held 380,000 gallons of water and hundreds of animals and plants. From the public’s side, the great tank provided breathtaking views of the sandy sea floor, the rocky reef, and the deep ocean to the public. Here at the top of the tank, however, behind the curtains, it was markedly different from the gleaming, light-filled rooms the public saw. Back here was the heart of the exhibit.

The top of the GOT was rimmed with ceiling-to-floor black curtains on one side, like a wall of starless night separating the exotic world that lived in the ocean tank from the utilitarian world of giant pumps and filters behind it. Pipes and valves connected to cavernous filtration tanks pumped salt water in and out of the tank like major arteries and veins to the heart.

Behind the GOT were several smaller tanks. These held quarantined fish, hospitalized fish, and back-up stock to replenish the main exhibit. She knew most people didn’t have a clue how much effort went into caring for a major Aquarium. It truly was manipulating a world for the animals.

And this world was the realm of Ethan Legare.

“Where is Ethan?” she asked, looking around as they rolled the crate onto the floor.

“He’s usually in the tank first thing,” Favel told her. “He dives to make sure all the animals in the tank are okay. And to check for floaters on the surface. He’s got a big shark that likes to snack at night.”

“And Jason?”

“Haven’t seen him yet.”

She exhaled, anxious that no one had been here to meet her. She turned to the group. “Could y’all just wait
here for a minute? I’m going to go find someone who can tell us where to put Big Girl.”