“Yeah. See you around.” Annabelle offered a brief wave of her fingers, then turned and headed back toward Breach Inlet.
Linnea watched her long legs and Havaianas sandals trace a parallel path to her incoming tracks. That was such a weird exchange, she thought. There was an undercurrent that was almost combative. As if Annabelle had some kind of chip on her shoulder. Was it because Linnea hadn’t recognized her? She wouldn’t recognize anyone behind those giant sunglasses. But in truth, even knowing who she was, she really couldn’t say she remembered her. Most of Linnea’s best friends in high school lived South of Broad in her neighborhood. They’d been friends since nursery school, journeyed through elementary school together. By the time they made it to high school, bonds had been set in stone. Charleston could be a small town in that way.
And yet, Linnea realized, she’d been home nearly a week and hadn’t yet called any of her old friends. She knew why. She still wasn’t ready to talk about the past, even if she was controlling her narrative.
She changed direction, not wanting to follow Annabelle. Not a great start to her morning, she thought, pumping her arms to get back her mojo. As she walked, she cast her gaze out over the ocean. A line of pelicans flew over the waves in formation, their broad wings almost touching the water. She counted eleven. Gulls were out in force, their raucous laughter sounding overhead. Peeps played their endless game of tag with the waves. Dear peeps, she thought with genuine affection.
The sand grew warmer under her feet as the sun rose higher in the sky. She slowed down her pace, not in any hurry. She had no appointment to keep, no job to get to. Linnea was lost in her thoughts when her gaze was arrested by movement farther up the beach. She stopped, squinting, trying to make out what the mounded shape was. Instinct flared. She drew closer, and her heart began pounding as the mound moved again. She stopped abruptly and held her breath.
She couldn’t quite believe her eyes. It was a loggerhead! But it couldn’t be. It was only the end of April—too soon for a nesting turtle, wasn’t it? Her mind whirled with questions. The nesting season usually began mid-May. But staring out, there was no denying this was a loggerhead. She had to be a nesting female. In the daylight! That alone was rare. She was returning to the sea after her long trek across the sand to nest in the dunes. Linnea could readily see the telltale tracks, two feet wide, scarring the tide-swept beach. One long line led from the ocean to the dunes; the second trailed behind the turtle as she crawled back to the ocean.
Careful, she told herself. No sudden moves! She didn’t want to alarm the turtle. If the turtle had been incoming, Linnea would have stayed back, out of sight, so as not to disturb her on her way to nest. It was normal for a turtle to sit in the surf under the cloak of darkness and scope out the beach. If she spotted anything threatening—a human, a strange light, an animal—the turtle would turn around at the shoreline and head back to the safety of her home, the sea. Coming ashore was dangerous business for a sea turtle. Out of the water, she had to contend with the effects of gravity on her three-hundred-plus-pound body. She was clumsy, slow. Vulnerable to attack.
Yet this turtle’s work was done; she was crawling back to the sea. Linnea quickly scanned the area to see if other people were near. She didn’t want to attract attention to the turtle. No one was out this far along the southern tip of the island. Again, rare for a loggerhead to nest here. Linnea moved forward again, keeping to the turtle’s rear so as not to startle her. Drawing close, she marveled at her size and majesty. What a beauty! Linnea had never seen a wild turtle so close in the light of day before.
This was a full-grown female, at least three hundred pounds, probably more, in her prime. Sand covered her shell, encrusted with several barnacles. Linnea counted five large scales down the turtle’s midline, bordered by five pairs of scales along the edges. The turtle lifted her blockish brown head, as though sniffing the salt air. Linnea knew the loggerhead had been given its name because of its massive head. With its incredibly powerful jaw, the loggerhead could eat any type of food it could get its mouth on, preferably mollusks and crabs, though its favorite treat was jellyfish.
The turtle heaved a heavy sigh; then, with almost exaggerated effort, her right flipper dug into the sand and she dragged her heft forward. The right, then the left, then the right, over and over. When she reached the wet sand, she lifted her head as though smelling the salt air and tasting home. The turtle sped up with palpable enthusiasm into the breach. The first wave washed over her, clearing away the sand and revealing the gorgeous deep color of her reddish-brown carapace.
Linnea put her hands to her mouth, feeling a kinship with the turtle as she struggled to reach her home. She understood what it felt like, after a long journey, to cross the threshold back into a community that was filled not with strangers but with familiar faces, smiling, and surroundings familiar and welcoming.
“You’re home, sweet mama!” she called out as the turtle’s powerful flippers stroked the waves, and in that miraculous moment the turtle was transformed. She lost her gangly clumsiness and with a few strokes became a beautiful swimmer, graceful and strong.
Linnea stood in the surf, tears in her eyes, her arms crossed tight across her chest, and watched the large head of the turtle move farther out in the dark water until, at last, the turtle dove and disappeared into the sea. Then she took a breath and, filled with excitement, took off running. She was an idiot to have left her phone at home. She had to call Emmi and Cara.
Turtle season was on!
* * *
THERE WAS EXCITEMENT in the air as the turtle team left Emmi’s garden. Emmi, Cara, Flo, and Linnea stood at the garden gate to wave farewell to their fellow team members. The Island Turtle Team had its first nest.
The team had come running when Emmi made the calls. There was an air of disbelief mixed with excitement as they’d moved the nest farther up the beach to a safer location. Sullivan’s had gained a lot of land from points north, and new dunes were forming. The nest was marked with the orange SCDNR sign that declared it legally protected, and Barb had taken photos. When the nest was safely put to bed, the team had gathered at Emmi’s house to hastily organize the start of a new turtle nesting season.
Flo shook her white head and said with amazement, “I’ve been on this team since Sally Murphy started the teams back in the eighties. The Department of Natural Resources always set May fifteenth for us to begin walking the beaches looking for tracks. But April thirtieth? Are you kidding me? I can’t believe it.”
“Climate change,” said Linnea succinctly.
“It can’t all be climate change,” Flo replied dryly.
“Of course it can,” Cara said. “The season is starting early for so many species. Look at the migrating birds. And this heat so early! That should be your first clue.”
“Regardless of the reason,” Emmi said, playing the role of team leader, “the season has begun. Michelle Pate is the boss, and she wants the volunteers across the state to start. Thank goodness we finished training the new recruits.” She looked at Linnea and asked with a tease sparking in her eyes, “Do you need a refresher course?”
Linnea snorted. “No! I’ve been on the team almost as long as you have.”
Emmi chuckled in acknowledgment. “Come on, y’all. I could use another cup of coffee.”
Linnea had followed her grandmother Lovie on turtle treks for as long as she could remember. The system hadn’t changed in the past thirty years, though the number of volunteers had swelled to the 140 on the team now. The volunteers walked their designated sections of beach daily at 6 a.m., then reported back to the core team. This small group was permitted by the SCDNR to make critical decisions for the nests. For Isle of Palms and Sullivan’s Island, the team was led by Emmi Baker. Mary, Barb, Tee, Cindy, Bev, and Crystal made up the rest of the core. Cara and Flo were members, but more honorary than active.
As permit holders, the core members located the eggs and made the important decisions whether to leave the eggs
in situ to incubate or, if the nest was in a location that could cause harm to the eggs, move it to a safer spot on the dunes. Nests were discovered early in the morning most days until mid-August. Then came the nest-hatching period, which lasted from mid-July until sometime in October. From the discovery of the first nest until the last hatchling swam off to the Gulf Stream, sea turtles were the center of the lives of the volunteers.
Linnea waved farewell to the last team member, then followed the ladies into Emmi’s kitchen. Stepping back inside, she leaned against the wall and let her gaze sweep across the room. Pale-blue cabinets, creamy shiplap wood, heart-pine floors—the style was casual, comfortable, welcoming.
Linnea remembered back to when the team meetings had been held at her grandmother’s beach house. Lovie and Flo had been best friends, the two of them forever traipsing between the two houses with food, gossip, and turtle news. Cara and Emmi had come to the island for the summers and grown up best friends. They too felt equally at home in both women’s kitchens. Years had passed, marked by marriages, divorces, births, and deaths. But the tradition of walking freely between the two houses remained a constant. Looking at the women sitting at the table—Cara, Flo, Emmi—Linnea realized that she was the first of the next generation to roost with the other hens in these kitchens. She counted herself fortunate to have these women in her life.
She refreshed her coffee, then went to join them at the table.
“Well, that’s one for the books,” Emmi said, summing up the morning. “The first nest in South Carolina is put to bed. That’s something.”
“Yes,” Cara agreed. Then, turning to smile at her, she added, “And Linnea found it. If she hadn’t been out walking, I wonder how long it would’ve taken for anyone to notice the nest. If ever.”
“It would’ve been a rogue nest,” said Linnea.
“Another day and the tracks would’ve been swept away,” added Emmi.
Flo stretched out her arm across the table. Her skin was so thin now that Linnea could see the veins bulge blue. “You saved the day, kiddo.” Flo’s eyes sparked with approval; satisfied, she leaned back in her chair.
“I was just lucky,” Linnea demurred. “But I’ll never forget it. Seeing that mama out there, in the daylight no less, returning to the sea…”
“I wished you’d called,” Flo said begrudgingly. “A daytime nester is rare.”
“I would’ve if I’d had my phone! I know, I know,” Linnea said, hand up. “It won’t happen again. But I wasn’t planning on seeing a turtle!”
Flo said again with disbelief, “A nest in April…”
“I have to admit,” Linnea said, “being alone made it even more special. I’d never been alone with a turtle before. It was just the two of us. It felt sacred. I followed her right up to the ocean. I walked in up to my ankles and didn’t go any farther. But…” She hesitated. Did she dare explain what she’d felt, or would they think she was being ridiculous—even childish?
“What?” asked Cara, her voice and expression encouraging.
Linnea continued: “Watching the mother turtle, something inside me made me want to follow all the way with her. To swim out to the breakers, then dive under the water. To see where she would take me.” She laughed shortly, embarrassed by the confession. “Of course, I couldn’t.”
Cara looked at her, her smile wistful. “I know what you mean.” She paused. “Years back”—she shook her head—“goodness, it was the first time I ever saw a turtle laying her nest. I was with Mama.”
Flo made a soft sound of recognition, knowing the story that was coming.
“Mama had awakened me,” Cara continued. “She dragged me out of bed to watch. I was, shall we say, a bit grumpy about it. I didn’t care much for turtles back then. At all. I was jealous of them when I was growing up. They took up so much of my mother’s attention. Anyway, out I went. We watched the turtle lay her nest, side by side, holding hands, and for the first time, the shared experience bonded us rather than separated us. We stayed back and gave her space to throw sand and camouflage the nest, then we quietly walked the turtle back to the sea, just like you did this morning. Mama said we were her honor guard.” Cara’s face eased to a soft smile in memory. “We stood with our feet in the bath-warm water, and Mama talked about wanting to go with her. Just like you are now. I remember she said she wanted to dive under the sea. One breath… and she’d be gone.” Cara paused. “That was the night she told me she was dying.”
“Oh,” Linnea said softly, moved. She looked around the table and saw the impact of the story on the faces of Flo and Emmi, each lost in her own thoughts.
“I don’t mean to be a downer,” Cara added with a short laugh. “It was just I understood what you meant.”
“It was a nice story,” Flo reassured her. “I hadn’t remembered that in a long time. We do go to another world, you know. Someday. We all take that final breath and just… go,” she said in her matter-of-fact manner. “Frankly, I’m ready for it.”
Emmi waved her hand. “Hush now, Flo. Don’t talk like that.”
“Like what?” Flo asked indignantly. “It’s how I feel. I lived a good life. No regrets.”
Linnea looked at Flo, her blue eyes bright with confidence and assurance, and caught a glimpse of the Florence Prescott she’d not seen in years. The vivacious, funny, wise woman she’d once been.
Emmi turned to Linnea and changed the subject. “It’s so nice you’re back in Charleston. How long are you here for this time? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Linnea felt Emmi’s eyes boring into her and cast a quick glance at Cara. She returned a gaze that told her she might as well get it over with.
“I… I didn’t tell anyone I was coming, except my parents. You see…” Linnea took a breath and plowed on. “This isn’t a vacation.” She rubbed her hands together under the table. How to tell John’s mother that they’d broken up? There was no easy way. Suddenly everything seemed so complicated. She looked up and met Emmi’s gaze.
Emmi’s expressive green eyes, so much like John’s, appeared confused. “I don’t follow.”
Linnea decided to be blunt and let the truth speak for itself. “I’ve moved back home,” she said. “I left California.”
“What?” Emmi said, stunned. “Why?”
“The startup I worked at failed. My job disappeared.” She looked at her hands.
Across the table, Flo clucked her tongue. “Oh, honey, that’s too bad.”
Emmi leaned forward. “But you said you moved back home. Permanently?”
Linnea licked her lips. “Yes. John and I broke up.”
It took a second for Emmi to digest this. “Oh no,” she said with dismay. “You two seemed so happy together.” She turned to Cara. “Didn’t I just say what a great couple they were?” She swung her head back to Linnea. “I was waiting for the big announcement.”
“I’m sorry,” Linnea muttered.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Flo said.
“What happened?” asked Emmi.
Linnea blew out a stream of air. She was stuck in the unenviable position of having to talk about her breakup with her boyfriend’s mother. She felt tongue-tied. What could she say? She didn’t want to sound negative about John. Anything she said could, and likely would, be misconstrued.
“Emmi, I think you should call John and ask him about it.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Emmi…” Cara said in warning.
“No, it’s okay,” Emmi said, trying to sound positive. “I just want to know what happened. Maybe it’s just a big misunderstanding.”
Linnea didn’t think John’s inability to grow up and commit was a big misunderstanding. “I really don’t want to go into it with you, if you don’t mind. In fact”—she looked at her watch—“I must get going. It’s getting late.”
Emmi leaned forward and rested her hand on Linnea’s arm, staying her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. Please don’t feel you have to rush off.�
�
Linnea looked into her eyes and felt a moment’s relief.
Emmi smiled her enormous smile. “God, I was awful. I’m sorry. I was just caught off guard. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. But,” she said reassuringly, “I can bet the fault had something to do with John.”
Linnea offered her a tenuous smile. “It takes two to tango.” Then, more sincerely, she added, “Just know that I’m sad. And he’s sad. And we’re trying very hard to remain friends.”
Emmi nodded, her lips tight as though holding her thoughts in.
Linnea rose. “I really do have to go.”
“Hold on,” Cara said, also rising. “I’ve got to dash too. I took the morning off from the aquarium but must get back. Good meeting. I think everyone’s got their marching orders and are gung-ho. I’ll alert the aquarium when I get there. And I’ll be available for turtle duty only on an ad hoc basis,” she reminded Emmi.
“I know. You’re doing your part for the turtles at the aquarium. But I’ll call you for consults.”
“You’d better.” Cara leaned forward to kiss Emmi’s cheek. “See ya.”
Emmi walked them to the door. She said to Linnea, “We’re okay, right? What happens with you and John is your business. I don’t want this to come between us.”
Linnea wondered if that was possible. “Let’s not let it.”
“I’m glad you’re back on the team. We missed you.”
Linnea and Cara walked along the stone path through Emmi’s garden, ablaze now in red azaleas, through the white picket fence gate.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Linnea remarked as she latched the gate.
“It went better than I’d expected. I thought she’d weep and wail and throw herself on a mock funeral pyre.” When Linnea groaned, Cara said, “Take it as a compliment. You were her dream daughter-in-law. And she’s dying for your grandchildren.”
“She has two from James!”
“She wants John’s grandchildren. He always was her favorite.”
On Ocean Boulevard Page 7
