“I got nothing,” Cara said, averting her gaze. She was dying to tell the girls about the doctor’s appointment, but she and Brett had agreed not to tell anyone yet.
“Well, I’ve got something,” Flo said, coming to the table with her eyes sparkling. “Guess who’s had a gentleman caller every night for the past week?”
“Who?” Emmi asked, eyes wide.
Flo looked over her shoulder at Little Lovie. The child was completely focused on rolling her cookie dough. She leaned forward and said in a whisper, “My neighbor.”
“Really? She hasn’t said a word,” Cara said in a low voice. She huddled closer. “Are you sure it wasn’t a repairman or something?”
“Honey, that was no repairman I’ve ever seen. This guy was tall, dark and handsome.”
“Damn,” Emmi said.
Cara leaned back in her chair, a small knowing smile curling her lips. “I hate to disappoint you, but that sounds suspiciously like a description of the man she works with at the Aquarium. Toy told me she was going to be working on a grant with him. I’ll bet that’s him.”
Flo’s face fell in obvious disappointment. “Oh.”
“I met him when we brought Big Girl to the Aquarium,” Cara continued. “He’s the head of the Great Ocean Tank. Edward, Ethan, Nathan…something like that. You should’ve seen this guy in his black diving suit with those dark eyes,” Cara added.
“In his diving suit?” asked Emmi.
“I swear to God! All lean muscles and dripping wet! He’d just come out from the big tank. It made for quite a sight.”
“It’s the best dive gig in town,” Emmi added with a wicked smile. “Maybe I should volunteer.”
Cara chortled and picked a bit of cookie and popped it into her mouth. “He is good looking,” she added.
Flo leaned forward. “How old is he?”
“Thirty, maybe more.”
“Is he married?”
“Uh-oh, your matchmaking antennae are popping back up.”
“I just asked.”
“I know what you asked. Save your breath. Toy isn’t interested.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Toy is never interested in anyone. The woman hasn’t had a date in five years.”
Flo frowned. “It’s not for lack of my trying.”
“Nor mine,” Cara replied, sharing a look of commiseration. “No, our Toy may have a lot of male interest but as far as I can tell, she’s a nun. She’s taken vows of celibacy.”
“Maybe not a vow of celibacy, but she’s made a vow to your mother that she’s hell bent to keep,” said Flo.
“You mean about changing her life.”
Flo glanced meaningfully over at Little Lovie. “Maybe we should talk about this at another time. Little pitchers have ears.”
“Are you talking about Ethan?” the child asked innocently.
Cara’s eyes widened and she popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth.
“Who’s Ethan?” Flo asked.
“Mama’s friend. He comes over a lot.”
“Is he nice?” Emmi wanted to know.
“Mmm-hmm,” Lovie replied, licking her fingers. “He reads me stories. I like him.”
Cara leaned close to whisper in Emmi’s ear, “It’s not nice to pump a child for information.”
Emmi only smiled sweetly at Lovie. “Does your mama like him?”
Cara elbowed Emmi. “Best cookie I ever had,” she said to the little girl, cutting off all further questions. Lovie beamed at the compliment.
She was reaching for a second cookie when the doorbell rang, and a moment later, Toy’s voice sang out in the front hall. “Hello? Where are y’all?”
“Follow your nose,” Flo called back.
“Mama!” Little Lovie cried out at the same time.
Toy entered the room looking as exhausted as Cara felt. Her skin was chalky, her gray-blue eyes were dull, her blond hair was falling from the elastic and her gray South Carolina Aquarium shirt and khaki pants were splattered with heaven only knew what. Yet the moment her gaze settled on her daughter, Toy’s eyes lit up like sparklers and life sprang to her expression.
“Look at you!” Toy exclaimed arms out to Little Lovie as she crossed the floor. She wrapped her arms around the child and kissed her, oblivious to cookie dough and flour. “Are you being a big girl and helping Flo?”
“I made all these cookies,” Little Lovie exclaimed, eager to impress her mother. “Want one?”
“In a minute,” she replied, turning her head. “Thanks, Flo. This was real nice of you.”
“Oh, stop. It’s nothing,” she replied with a scoff. “I think she ate more dough than actually made it into cookies.”
“I think most of the dough is on her face and hands,” Toy observed. In a swoop, she picked up her daughter and brought her to the farmer’s sink that was big enough to bathe the child.
Cara watched with fascination as Toy hoisted the child under one arm while with her free hand she turned on the water. Then, using her palm as a cloth, she mopped her child’s face and hands with a mother’s speed and efficiency, all while Lovie remained motionless with her eyes and mouth clamped tight. Lickety-split and Little Lovie was washed and dry.
Cara wearily rested her chin in her palm, wondering when and where Toy had learned these maternal tricks of the trade. She came from the worst possible home life with a mother no better than an alley cat. But here she was, a model mother. Maybe it was something one was born with, Cara wondered. Something in the X chromosome. If it was, she hoped she had inherited that particular mothering gene as well.
“Mama, the big hand and the little hand are on the six,” Little Lovie said, pointing to the wall clock. “Can I watch my cartoons?”
“Is it six-thirty already? Maybe you should eat dinner first.”
“My tummy’s full.”
“She ate her weight in cookie dough,” Flo said. “Before that, I fed her peanut butter sandwiches. Let her watch her show. Put your feet up and I’ll get you a nice glass of wine while I serve dinner. We’re dying to hear about Big Girl.”
“Well, okay then,” Toy said to her daughter. “Do you know how to turn on the T.V.?”
“Yes ma’am!” she called, running from the room.
“Let me get my own wine,” Toy told Flo. “You’ve done enough for me today. And if you don’t mind, I’ll take some water first.” She washed her hands and wiped her face with the dish towel. When she lowered it, she leaned against the counter and tilted her head, contrite.
“I’m really sorry I’m late,” she told Flo. “You saved my life taking care of Lovie today. We had another turtle brought in at the last minute. Another one, can you believe it?”
“How many does that make?” asked Cara.
“She’s number five.”
Any talk of turtles brought Flo in close with focused attention. “Who brought her in?”
“Charlotte Hope from DNR brought her in from Fripp Island last night to Dr. Tom’s clinic. The turtle spent the night there, then Tom brought it to the Aquarium this morning. This poor turtle… The lower third of the right front flipper was missing and it was very ragged with broken bone. There were large lacerations on the plastron and carapace above and below the flipper. Definitely looked to be a shark bite victim. Not to gross you out, but would it help to see pictures I took?
“Sure,” said Flo with eagerness.
“Uh, how about after dinner,” Emmi said, and Cara readily agreed.
“After dinner, then,” Toy continued. “Anyway, the flipper had to be amputated up to the joint. This was the first time I had fully anesthetized a turtle. When they are under you almost don’t know if they are alive because you can’t get a pulse or hear the heart beat like you can in mammals. I actually breathed for the turtle while Tom did the surgery! He’s a great teacher.” A grin of self-satisfaction spread across her face. “Very neat.”
“You’re learning so much, Toy,” Cara said with honest admiration. S
he was beginning to see Toy in a wholly new light. It was like Toy was spinning fast into a glittering new galaxy.
“Speaking of learning a lot,” Toy said, “the grant is going really well, too. We’re making great progress. Ethan has worked on lots of grants in the past and he’s very good at it. If we get this…” She crossed her fingers and sighed with anticipation of what she could do with all that money. “Just pray we do.”
Flo narrowed her eyes, pouncing on this. “Is Ethan the young man who has been coming to your house most nights?”
“That’s right,” Toy answered as she reached for her wine. “We’ll be working for a few more weeks so we can get the grant in by deadline.”
“All work and no play…” Emmi chimed in.
Toy just shook her head at that. From the other room, the sing-song music and bumps and horns of cartoons blared.
“Five turtles,” Flo said as she brought her own wine to join the girls at the table. “You’ll be busy, that’s for sure and certain. If you need any more help with that ragamuffin, just holler.”
Toy swirled her wine in thought. “Thanks, Flo. Until I get more volunteers in there, I’ll have to work later most nights. I don’t know how long it will be before I can get a team working smoothly but until then—” she shook her head “—I just don’t know. But I don’t want to take advantage of your good heart. And Cara,” she said, turning to her, “I realize this is your busy season, too.” She exhaled a plume of air. “So, I’m going to look into hiring a babysitter.”
Flo looked insulted. “A what? Now listen, sugar,” she said to Toy. “I’ll be happy to pick up my little darling from school, or camp or wherever—whenever. I’ve got time to spare. Don’t you trust me to take care of her?”
Toy sat back hard against the chair. “Of course I do! I just thought, well, I hate to ask because you always seem so busy. You have your own life, too.”
“Busy?” Flo looked astonished. “Honey, I’m retired!”
“But you’re always running off doing something or other. You’re involved in everything.”
“I fill my days,” Flo replied succinctly. “But that’s different.” Her brows gathered and she looked at her hands on the table. They were strong hands, tanned and with short, clean nails. They were hands that were no stranger to work. “I keep busy. But at my age, it’s nice to still be needed. To have purpose. What with Miranda gone now, you and Cara and Emmi—and especially that precious child—you’re my only family.” She lifted her gaze and her blue eyes shone bright against her dark tan. “Don’t you know that?”
Cara’s breath held at this rare display of personal feeling from Flo. Across from her, the emotion of the day welled up in Toy’s eyes. Even Emmi was silenced.
Flo brushed away crumbs from the table in staccato motions, as though trying to brush away the uncomfortable confession. “This house feels so empty. So quiet. I can’t stand to hear myself patter around in it. The darn place echoes like a tomb. It’s funny, but when Miranda was alive she used to watch her stories on the television all day. I thought back then that the constant noise would drive me batty. But now, why, I leave the television on most evenings just to hear another voice in the house. Isn’t that silly? Truth is, I get darn lonely here all by myself.”
She sighed and her gaze slowly swept the room. “To be perfectly honest, I love this house, but it’s getting to be a little much for me.”
Emmi gave Cara a glare that said I told you so.
“I didn’t realize,” Cara said at last, reaching out to put her hand over Flo’s. “No, I didn’t notice,” she amended. “I’ve been caught up in my own world, my own problems. I should have realized that you might be missing your mother. Needing some help. But you have to admit, you put up a pretty good front.”
“Yeah,” Toy added with feeling. “What about all your gentlemen friends?”
Flo snorted. “What gentlemen friends?”
Emmi tilted her head in question. “You always say you have a date.”
Flo’s smile slanted. “Ah…that. Well, I have a few friends I play cards with on Tuesday nights at the REC Center. Then there’s bingo at the church on Thursdays. A movie club on Friday afternoons. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I go out with men and women. We go out together. They’re not date dates!”
Cara sat back in her chair, laughter bubbling inside. “Why you old fake!”
“Yeah,” Emmi joined in.
Toy skewered her eyes and said in a scolding tone, “And you making me feel like a total loser for staying in on weekends while you waltzed out.”
“You should go out more,” Flo countered. “You’re young! Pretty. You’re shouldn’t be hiding your light under a bushel like you do.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Cara said. “It was all a cover-up. Why didn’t you just tell us you were lonely?”
“It’s not the kind of thing you just up and tell someone. How are you? I’m lonely, thanks. How are you?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I didn’t want your pity. Don’t want it now!”
“Not pity,” Cara said gravely. “Never pity.”
“After Miranda died, you were fussing around me, treating me like I was the next to go. Girls, there’s a lot of life left in this old mare. I’m not ready to be put out to pasture.”
“We were just worried about you.”
“Well, don’t,” she replied brusquely.
“I couldn’t help but notice the garden has gone to seed,” Emmi said, not beating around the bush.
Flo looked down at her hands as a faint blush crept up her cheek.
“Let us help,” Emmi concluded.
“I can hire someone.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Cara spoke up. “You just told Toy that she couldn’t hire anyone because you wanted to help. Why can’t you accept that we want to help you?”
“You’ve always been there for us all these years,” Emmi said. “It’s our turn now.”
“If you won’t let us help you, then I won’t let you help me,” Toy said.
“You girls are too much,” Flo said. Her voice was low and her eyes averted.
Cara glanced across the table to meet Toy and Emmi’s gazes and they shared a silent pact to be on better watch for Flo and her needs.
“You are not alone,” Cara told her.
“Oh, honey, I know,” Flo replied in a rush, obviously embarrassed for her position.
“You are not alone,” Cara repeated.
“I know that darling,” Flo said, pulling her hand away.
Cara reached out and took Flo’s hand again, then looked into her eyes. In the fierce blue, she saw for the first time in all the years she’d known her, the advancing age and her new vulnerability. “You are not alone.”
Flo opened her mouth to speak, then she closed her lips. The fight flowed from her shoulders as they lowered. Toy reached out to put her hand over the two. Emmi joined in.
“You’re my girls,” Flo said in a husky whisper.
Cara squeezed her hand, then let go, sitting back in her chair and averting her gaze. The others did likewise. She knew Flo would have been mortified for anyone to see the tear pooling at her lashes.
“How about some dinner?” Flo asked in a voice filled with false cheer, pushing back and rising to a stand. It was obvious to all that she was desperate to escape the tender moment.
“How about some more wine?” asked Emmi.
9
Summer on the Isle of Palms was in full swing. By the first day of summer children across the country were released from schools and families loaded up cars with gear and kids and headed for the beach. Cars with license plates from South Carolina, North Carolina, Ohio, New Jersey, Illinois and others were spotted all over the coast.
Cara didn’t like to venture out on Palm Boulevard between four and five o’clock, especially not on the weekends. It was the hour of mass exodus from the beaches and cars lined up at the traffic light for the chance to get on the connector to the mainland. She
glanced in the rearview mirror to see her niece, Linnea, and Little Lovie in the backseat, shoulder to shoulder, bent over Linnea’s teen magazine. She’d taken the girls on a shopping spree at Towne Centre. They’d each found a swimsuit, flip-flops, beach hats and cute accessories for their hair and ears. She’d had so much fun watching them make their choices. Linnea was into the current fashions and was pushing the boundaries from girl to teen. Little Lovie liked anything that sparkled.
Cara had to work to keep the smile off her face as she listened to Lovie desperately trying to be grown up for Linnea. She was showing her the sparkly lavender nail polish she’d just purchased. Linnea never clucked her tongue or rolled her eyes when Lovie said something silly. What great girls, Cara thought, then made a quick decision. She turned off Palm Boulevard and into the parking lot of Acme Cantina, their favorite island restaurant.
“Aunt Cara?” Linnea asked, looking up from the magazine. “We’re going out to eat?”
“Why not?” she said, letting loose the grin. “I’m not in the mood to cook and I thought we deserved something special.”
“But will Daddy know where to pick me up? He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Let him wait. It’ll do him good.”
She cut the engine and turned to look in the backseat. Linnea’s face was shadowed with distress. At thirteen, Linnea had lost the soft roundness of girlhood. Her long neck and high cheekbones under brilliant blue eyes gave hints at the beauty she would someday become. Though there was some of her mother, Julia, in her nose, Linnea looked remarkably like her grandmother, Olivia Rutledge.
Perhaps it was because Linnea looked so much like her mother, and that an expression of worry had been so common on her mother’s face growing up, that Cara instinctively sought to erase it from Linnea’s.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t do anything to get you in trouble.”
“It’s just that Daddy gets so mad if I’m not ready.”
“Does he?” she asked dryly.
Her brother, Palmer, though a dear at times, could be an ass at others. Since she’d returned home to the Isle of Palms they’d had their run-ins. Her brother couldn’t stand it when she voiced her opinions, but that didn’t stop him from voicing his—loudly and often. While she was living in Chicago, Cara hadn’t had much contact with her brother and his wife, Julia, and their two children. She wouldn’t have recognized her niece and nephew if she’d walked past them on the street. It wasn’t a situation she’d been proud of. She’d made up for lost time in the past five years, taking the children to her house on weekends, spoiling them with gifts, and bringing the whole family out on Brett’s tour boat to Capers Island for camping expeditions. Cara and Julia maintained a civil relationship but Brett and Palmer had struck up an unlikely friendship. Once they got together they were two wild good ol’ boys, especially out on the water. Seeing it always made her laugh.
Swimming Lessons Page 12
