The night sky had brightened and as Emmi had predicted, the hatchlings were on the right course for the ocean. The tide was coming in. She could hear the gentle roar of the waves lapping the shore and wagered the hatchlings could too.
“There has to be over one hundred,” he said, and she heard his excitement.
“At least. I’m guessing more.”
“We almost missed them. You, Miss Rutledge, are proving to be a distraction.”
The last sea turtle waved its flippers in the air as it struggled to climb out of the hole. Without its comrades, the turtle was having a hard time scrambling out.
“Can you help him?” he asked.
“He has to do it on his own. But…” Linnea bent to smooth out the edge of the hole, careful not to touch the turtle. After a few tries, the turtle got purchase on the sand and climbed out. The hatchling began its race to the sea.
“Well done,” Gordon exclaimed, and rose to a stand. He helped Linnea up, and together they followed the sea turtles down to the shoreline on the lookout for ghost crabs.
Linnea was happy that everyone else had left and it was just Gordon and herself. She didn’t want to be selfish, but alone, the experience felt more personal.
They reached the edge of the shoreline and stood watching as one turtle after another reached the water’s edge and eagerly pushed forward into the sea, their home.
“There’s the diving instinct,” Gordon said, pleased to see it again.
“Millions of years of instinct,” she said. “It guides them to the sea. In that one miraculous moment their comical crawl becomes a determined dive. They’ll swim for three days along the surface to reach the Gulf Stream and the huge flats of Sargassum weed. Birds will pluck them from above, and fish will gobble them from below. It’s a miracle any of them survive to adulthood. Only one in a thousand will.”
“Predator glut,” Gordon said, citing the biological model the reptiles followed.
“But if they make it, they’ll tuck in the Sargassum to hide and have a chance for survival. And in thirty years, she’ll come back here to nest again.” She looked up at him. “I find that very inspiring.”
“And rather hopeful.”
They stood hand in hand at the shore’s edge and watched the last of the hatchlings reach the water.
Linnea leaned against him, feeling the late hour mingle with the satisfaction of watching her nest safely escorted to the sea.
“They’re on their own now,” she said softly, staring at the dark sea. It was a bittersweet moment.
“Thank you,” Gordon said, slipping an arm over her shoulders as they stared out. “For inviting me to share this with you. You made it truly special. I’ll always remember it.”
“I can see you someday, an old man, telling your grandchildren, ‘I remember one night… where was it, oh, yes. South Carolina. I was with this girl. I can’t remember her name, but she was nice. I saw my first turtle nest hatch.’ ”
He chuckled softly. “That’s not quite how I’ll tell the story.”
“Oh?”
“I’d say, ‘One magical night on an island in South Carolina, I watched a hundred hatchlings run home to the sea under the light of a half moon. And I was holding the hand of a woman with starlight in her eyes.’ ”
She turned to look up at his face and smiled, thinking how she’d thought the same about his eyes.
“Your story is much better.”
He looked down into her face. “And you know how I love the stars.”
She only smiled.
“Let’s go home.”
She turned in his arm to tilt her head, feeling his breath mingle with hers. “I can’t think of a more perfect ending to this perfect night.”
Chapter Eighteen
Research has found perceiving nature’s beauty to be a significant predictor of life satisfaction. In other words, the more one perceived nature’s beauty, the more one reported life satisfaction.
“I LOVE NEW YORK!” Emmi shouted.
Cara stood, arm in arm with her best friend, staring up at the Empire State Building. Toy, Linnea, Julia, and Heather clustered near, all giggling and remembering scenes from the classic romantic film An Affair to Remember. They were all dressed in their chic best as they walked down Fifth Avenue toward Kleinfeld Bridal, gawking at the windows, the historic buildings, and the people. It was a breezy morning and the city seemed to be exulting in the sunshine and warmth. Attractive women strolled by in colorful dresses, abandoning blacks and browns for a lighter palette. Men carried their suit coats over their arms as they stood in line for a hot dog or bagel, and tourists lifted phones into the air.
Cara didn’t care if they looked like tourists. They were tourists! She was one of many women on her wedding-dress trip to the Big Apple with her best friends. She had every intention of buying corny souvenirs, cheap scarves and bags, pretzels from a street cart, and just maybe a gyro. She looked at Emmi, glad to see her signature wide smile on her face again. They’d hired a nurse to stay with Flo. Already the difference in Emmi was palpable. She squeezed Emmi’s arm and said, “I love New York too.”
A few blocks’ walk and they arrived at their destination. The monolithic stone and glass entrance of the Kleinfeld salon was before them. They pushed through the impressive doors into a bridal wonderland, entering the lush store with hushed reverence. The large waiting room had arched entryways and pillars with a regal red carpet. Cara was surprised by how many groups of women were clustered there, waiting for their names to be called with an air of excited expectancy. The sharply dressed sales force, all in black and high heels, moved quickly with wide smiles as they escorted troops of wide-eyed brides and fawning entourages.
Cara checked in at the sleek front desk, framed by potted orchids. She was anxious because she was a few minutes late for her appointment, her friends having stopped too many times to admire the shop windows on Fifth Avenue. It was like herding cats. The receptionist greeted her warmly nonetheless, and within minutes her sales consultant came to greet them.
“Is this the Rutledge group?” A woman about Cara’s age with creamy skin and stylishly cut salt-and-pepper hair approached carrying a clipboard.
A chorus of yesses chimed out.
“Welcome to Kleinfeld. My name is Anita and I’ll be your consultant. Who is my bride?” she asked the group. Her voice was cultured and very pleasant. Her gaze lingered expectantly on the younger Linnea and Heather.
Cara met Emmi’s gaze, and her lips twitched. “I am,” she said, and lifted her hand.
“Oh!” Anita recovered quickly and hurried to take her hand. “Welcome.”
“I’m sorry we’re a bit late,” Cara told her.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Anita said. “This is your appointment. We want you to enjoy every moment. You have one of the first appointments of the day. Enjoy the peace—before too long, there will be mayhem. Please, follow me.”
She led them into the main bridal salon, a single grand room decorated all in white, with high atelier ceilings and ionic pillars. It was brightly lit, largely thanks to the camera lighting affixed to the ceiling for the popular television show Say Yes to the Dress, which was filmed there. The room was divided into five areas, each with a large gilt mirror and a small podium for the bride to stand upon, surrounded by velvet cushioned seats. And everywhere there were dresses—on mannequins, hanging in brightly lit closets, and on brides. Cara felt adrift in a sea of taffeta, lace, tulle, and silk in all shades and hues of white. It was all like some great, luscious wedding cake. The ornate gowns, the gleaming floors and carpets, the sparkling displays of headpieces and jewelry—Cara was bedazzled. Looking at her friends, she saw the same openmouthed, wide-eyed wonder on their faces.
They all took a seat before a gleaming platform that Cara knew she’d be posing on before long. What she needed, despite the early hour, was a glass of champagne.
Cara introduced her guests, amused to see her friends, young and old, perched on
the edges of their seats in excitement.
“Tell me about the wedding plans,” Anita began in rote fashion.
Cara said, “It’s a smallish wedding, maybe one hundred people. We’re having a sit-down dinner, so I will need something formal but also lightweight. No long sleeves. The wedding is being held at a beautiful plantation house in Charleston. It can get hot.”
“Oh, I love Charleston. How lucky you are to live there.”
Cara smiled. She heard this a lot.
“Do you have any idea what kind of style you’re interested in seeing?” Anita asked. “Any designer in particular?”
“I don’t have a designer in mind, but I prefer something simple in design, more sleek than fluffy. Nothing with too much lace or sequins or—”
Emmi piped in, “More Meghan Markle than Diana.”
Anita perused Cara’s classic pink linen shift dress and bone heels, pearls at the neck, and nodded. “I understand. Is there a price you feel comfortable with?”
“It’s not the price as much as the time frame I’m worried about,” said Cara. “The wedding is only a couple months away. Won’t that limit me to ready-to-wear?”
Anita nodded. “I’m afraid so. But don’t worry, Kleinfeld has a large inventory. You’ve come to the right place. I’m sure we’ll find something you love.”
“I’m not a young bride,” Cara told her, feeling the need to say this. “I’m apprehensive about looking too, well, girlish.”
“You’re not old,” Anita said with a light laugh.
But Cara didn’t want her meaning brushed aside by polite banter. “Mature?” she offered.
A smile of understanding eased across Anita’s face. “I understand. Come with me and let’s get started.” She directed Cara out of the main room to a private section.
Anita was, Cara soon learned, a patient woman. The first armload of dresses she brought into the dressing room offered samples of several different styles of gowns from assorted designers. Cara dismissed them all without trying them on.
“I’ll be back,” Anita said as she carried the dresses back out.
As Cara sat in the dressing room waiting for Anita to return, a thin robe wrapped around her, her mind wandered back to when she was preparing for her first wedding to Brett. It had been a completely different approach to getting married. Once Cara had agreed to stay in South Carolina and marry him, Brett was hotfooted to tie her down. He didn’t want to wait. In a rush, Cara had gone to a boutique in Charleston to search for a suitable dress or suit that she could purchase that day—no entourage like today, just herself. She’d pulled a few white and ivory dresses from the rack, found a white-lace, knee-length dress that was on sale, and bought that. She remembered it had cost a little over one hundred dollars. The least expensive of the dresses Anita had brought in was over a thousand dollars.
Anita returned, pink-faced from rushing and carrying a second load of heavy gowns. There was nary a sparkly, sequined, or bling-laden dress among them. The quality of the fabric and the construction was much finer. And, Cara noticed, the prices were much higher. Cara liked this batch better. Anita assisted as she tried on one gown after another, quickly deciding on what was in the right direction, and dispensing with those that were not.
There was a knock on the door. Anita opened it and Emmi’s face poked into the room. “We were wondering if you got lost.”
Anita quickly took charge, shooing Emmi out of the room. “We’re making progress. Cara knows what she wants. She’ll be out shortly.”
“We found a few dresses you might want to try.”
“No,” Anita and Cara said simultaneously.
Anita turned to smile at Cara. “Be patient,” she told Emmi. “I think we have a few to show you.”
A few minutes later, Cara strolled out into the main room wearing a bow-backed strapless gown. She stood on the podium and waited for the response. Her friends were silent. Their eyes were narrowed as they stared.
“What do you think?”
“It’s… pretty,” Heather offered halfheartedly.
“You look beautiful,” exclaimed Toy.
Linnea smiled but said nothing.
“You look like you’re about to take flight!” Emmi exclaimed.
Immediately the other women started to giggle.
“What?” Cara asked.
“That bow is so big it looks like wings,” Emmi said.
“The front is simple enough,” Julia offered kindly. “It has great style.”
Linnea shook her head. “Next!”
Cara laughed lightly, agreeing with them, and headed back to the dressing room, her long bow train trailing behind her.
“I think I need that glass of champagne,” she said to Anita on entering the dressing room.
When Cara came out in the second gown, the women were in a jovial mood, chatting, drinking champagne. In the surrounding areas, two other women were trying on gowns in front of their groups. Cara stepped up to the podium. This gown was better received.
Again simple in design, the form-fitting silk and taffeta dress had a V neckline that plunged to the waist.
“I love it,” Heather said. “It’s so striking.”
“You look beautiful in that one too,” Toy said, ever encouraging.
“You’ll make David a very proud man,” said Emmi, tongue in cheek.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit… daring?” asked Julia.
“If I had Cara’s figure, I’d dare to wear it,” Emmi remarked.
“I don’t know,” Linnea said. “It’s so form-fitting and dramatic, I think the dress is wearing you. Do you know what I mean?”
Not seeing the enthusiasm she was hoping for, Cara said, “It’s nice, but it’s not the one.”
“This is good. We’re narrowing it down,” Anita said. “Are you willing to bump up your price a bit? There’s one gown I have in mind that would look beautiful on you.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“Sip your wine. I’ll be right back.”
From this final selection, Cara slipped on a bateau-necked, A-line gown of pure silk. It slid over her body like cool water. Cara loved the creamy feel of the fabric. Anita did the long row of back buttons, handed her a pair of heels, then guided her across the dressing room to turn to the full-length mirror.
Cara hadn’t known what to expect when she tried on gowns today. Honestly, she hadn’t expected to feel much at all and was prepared to purchase the one dress that was the least disappointing. So she was caught by surprise by her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth slipped open in a quick gasp that soon became a wide grin. The elegant silk complemented her skin tone and flowed from her shoulders, fitted at the waist, then flowed loose and full to the floor like a waterfall. Without any embellishment, her body was highlighted.
Cara wanted her friends to love this dress as much as she did. In her heart, she knew this was her dress. She sucked in her tummy, held back her shoulders, and walked out into the salon to the group she knew would be her harshest and most honest critics. The silk swished around her legs as she walked. She heard a great sucking in of breaths as she stepped up on the podium.
To her great relief, this time they all oohed and ahhed and exclaimed how beautiful she looked in that dress. The store manager, Dorothy, stopped by their station and told Cara that she simply had to see her in this gown.
“It’s my favorite gown. But only someone with your long, lean figure could carry it off with such a style,” Dorothy said.
“And that silk,” added Anita. “It’s the highest quality.”
Cara searched out the one person whose opinion mattered most. Across the short space that separated them, Cara met Emmi’s gaze. The expression on Emmi’s face told her everything. Tears had flooded Emmi’s green eyes. She brought her hands to her mouth and nodded.
In that moment, Cara felt ageless. Anita approached to place a long, unembellished veil on her head that swirled around her shoulders to fall to the floor. It was the co
up de grâce. The squad gushed. Cara twirled around, basking in their praise and feeling, for the first time, as giddy as a bride-to-be should.
* * *
LA GRENOUILLE WAS the French restaurant Cara most wanted to visit. The ambience was as romantic as if they were in Paris, with heavy white linen, red upholstery, a gilt ceiling, and small, shaded lights on the table. And flowers, everywhere were brilliantly colored fresh flowers.
David ordered champagne to begin their dinner, and the women clapped when the cork popped.
“My favorite sound in the world,” exclaimed Julia.
“More champagne?” Toy asked with awe. “There was champagne in our hotel room when we arrived, champagne at the bridal salon, and now more! I could get used to this.”
“It’s my bachelorette party,” Cara exclaimed. “We want you to feel special, because every one of you women here is very special to me. You’ve been there for me for the ups and downs, when I needed a shoulder to cry on, or someone to kick up my heels with. You’ve walked the beaches with me, and ran into the waves by my side.” She raised her glass. “To friends!”
Glasses clinked and a few tears were wiped away from cheeks.
“I feel special, all right,” Emmi exclaimed. “I’m staying at the Plaza! I’ve wanted to sleep in that hotel ever since I was a little girl and read Eloise.”
“I love that book,” said Heather with a quick hiccup. “When I was little, Daddy and Mama took me to the Plaza to stay in the Eloise Suite. Do you remember? It’s all pink. Daddy, you’ll have to take Hope there when she’s older.”
David smiled at Cara.
Cara’s thoughts raced to Hope, staying with a babysitter in the hotel. At her last sight of her daughter, Hope was sitting in bed against a pile of pillows eating mac and cheese from room service.
Her friends were giggling and getting a little loud, comparing notes about how they could see Central Park from their rooms. Toy began talking about their adventures in the bridal salon, but Emmi shushed her and pointed to David.
“There’s a fox in the henhouse,” Emmi told her. “No spoilers.”
On Ocean Boulevard Page 23
