Swimming Lessons (2 page)

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.”

P
rimrose 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.”