Swimming Lessons. Mary Monroe Alice

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ