Swimming Lessons

by Mary Alice Monroe

Emmi paused, as though letting that statement sink in. Cara wanted to get the rest of the story before she collapsed into a blubbering mess. “Go for the mascara while you’re at it,” she said, offering another tissue. “You look like a raccoon.”

  Emmi sniffed and made two swipes under her eyes then dabbed at her nose.

  “So what happened then?” Cara asked, moving a box from a blue floral armchair and flopping into it.

  “There was a row. Again. He brought up the same old argument about how he gave me the house in Atlanta so the boys could keep their home and how it was wrong of me to sell it. How that made things more difficult for them. When I told him how I had no choice but to sell the house because I couldn’t afford to live in it on the measly amount of money he’d settled on me after twenty-five years, he had the nerve to tell me I needed to learn how to be frugal. I don’t get any child support, you know. Trust me, that monstrosity of a house needed more cash than I could wrangle being frugal.”

  “I know,” Cara replied, feeling her blood begin to boil. She couldn’t believe Tom could be so heartless after so many years of marriage.

  “And get this. He had the gall to tell me that he deliberately did not include the beach house in the divorce settlement because he knew how much it meant to the boys and he didn’t want to see it sold for the settlement. So, he thinks it’s like I’m cheating somehow to sell it now, after the divorce. As though I’m sneaky and planned the whole thing in advance. Like he did with that trophy wife-to-be.

  “The worst part is that the boys think this, too. They took turns begging me not to sell it, telling me how much they love it and how they want to come here with their friends. Hello! Did they forget that if I kept it, it wouldn’t be just a beach house anymore? That I need a place to live in, too?” She tore at her tissue, sending bits of paper floating in the air. “Or, maybe they just don’t care.”

  “They’re being incredibly selfish. You’ve spoiled them, Emmi.”

  She broke down into tears and this time, Cara let her cry. What a mess a divorce could be, she thought. She was there when Emmi and Tom had fallen in love, she’d been a bridesmaid at their wedding, a godmother to their sons. All that had been built together with hope for the future and love was now being ripped apart, piece by piece, leaving nothing in its wake but anger and resentment.

  “And,” Emmi cried, grabbing for another tissue, “here’s the best part. Tom starts lighting into me that since I already sold the family house in Atlanta, how I ought not to sell the family beach house, too. How it means too much to the family. How we should keep it for the family. He kept using that word, family. I thought I was going mad and screamed back at him, What family? There’s no family anymore. He broke up the family, didn’t he remember that?”

  “It sounds like he’s trying to shift the blame on to you,” Cara said. “That’s a new low, even for him. If he’d managed to keep his family business in his pants none of this would have happened in the first place and his family would still be together.”

  “And now he gets to walk in and grandly tell me—in front of the boys—that he’s going to make it all better by buying the beach house. Not for himself, he assured me. He was putting it in the boys’ names. He’s paying me the full asking price.” She reached out and wagged her fingers in an exaggerated motion. “No more negotiating or haggling over money with the harridan. He wants me to FedEx the contract so he can sign the papers and get it over with, once and for all.” She released a ragged sigh then repeated softly, “Once and for all.”

  Emmi shrugged, releasing a short, bitter laugh. When she spoke again, the anger had fled and was replaced by a softer, hurt tone. “So, there it is. Tom is buying my beach house.” She sighed and turned to look at Cara, her green eyes reddened and wounded. “Ever since I was eight years old I had a crush on him. You should know. You were there. For thirty-two years he hung around this house. And now I find out that’s what he wanted all along. The house. It was never me he cared about. He was in love with my goddamn house!”

  “Emmi, first of all, that’s just not true. Like you said, I was there. Tom loved you. He’s an idiot for losing you and it breaks my heart to see how he’s treating you. But once upon a time, he did love you. As for the house, you don’t have to sell to him, you know.”

  “I know! Of course I know that,” she exclaimed loudly, letting her frustration blurt out. Her lips tightened as she struggled for composure. “I sat all alone for hours and thought about it and thought about it.” She shook her head with resignation and defeat. “And it all makes sense. If I want to sell the house, and James and John love this place and he’s willing to pay me to give it to them, then I’d be a fool not to let him.”

  “You would get to keep the beach house in the family,” Cara said, playing devil’s advocate.

  Emmi nodded, looking down at the torn tissue in her lap. “Except, I wouldn’t be the one to pass it on to them.” She looked up and her eyes were full of defeat. “Tom would get all the credit for that. He gets to be the big hero coming in to save the day, brandishing a check faster than a speeding bullet.”

  Cara rose to walk to the window. She remembered sitting on this porch when they were children, rocking back and forth on the porch swing while talking about their dreams. Cara was going to be a ballerina. Emmi wanted to be a marine biologist until she met Tom Peterson. Her dreams had changed then to wanting nothing more than to be Tom’s wife and the mother of his children.

  She turned and, crossing her arms said in her forthright manner, “Emmi, you don’t have to sell. You could keep the beach house and live in it full time. The boys could visit you here. Maybe not with carloads of pals and booze, but nonetheless…”

  “I thought about that, too,” Emmi replied more soberly. Cara’s matter-of-fact attitude was having its effect. “But that won’t work for me. You see, for the past weeks that I’ve been living here, I’ve been haunted by the memories of us—the Peterson family. Everywhere I look there’s a photograph on a table or a memento on the shelf. I don’t know if I can get past the divorce if I stayed here. I’m having a hard enough time without a million reminders surrounding me of what’s gone. It’d be like living in a mausoleum.

  “No,” she shook her head. “I need to start my new life. Without Tom. And I can’t do it here.”

  Cara was fresh out of ideas. She came back to the chair and sat on the arm. “Well, then, Emmi, you’ve got to be realistic. If you don’t want to live here, and you can’t afford to keep it for the boys, then Tom stepping up to buy the house is the best thing that could happen. Consider it your way of getting the money that you should have in the divorce settlement. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Oh, Cara.” She looked so crestfallen, so completely and utterly defeated, it shocked Cara to see it. “I didn’t care about that big house in Atlanta. But why couldn’t this house—my family house—have been my gift to the children? After all these years I’m suddenly nothing. I have nothing. I’m jealous of Tom and what he can buy for the boys. What do I have to give them?”

  Cara came to sit on the sofa. She wrapped her arms around Emmi’s shoulders and drew her near. “Did I ever tell you what my mother said to me that night we were holed up at our beach house during the hurricane? Right before she died?”

  Emmi nodded. “She told you that she was leaving you the beach house. I remember because you were very emotional about it. You’d thought she was leaving it to Palmer.”

  “That’s right. That night at the height of the storm, she told me that she’d always meant for me to have it, not because of any monetary value, but simply because she knew that I loved it. That meant the world to me. I felt then, as I do now, that it didn’t matter if the hurricane came that night and took the house away. What she gave me that night was my sense of worth. I knew I mattered enough to have been considered.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? That you felt worthy in your mother’s eyes because she gave you the beach house? G
reat.”

  “You’re not letting me finish. It wasn’t about the house at all, don’t you see? What Mama told me that night, what I’ve held close to my heart, is that in the end, the beach house was not so much a place as a state of mind. It’s a sanctuary. The beach, the ocean, the solitude—these are only a means to help us travel to the true peace that lies deep inside of us. Mama told me to sell it if I had to. And maybe I will someday. But I’ll always have the beach house because the magic of the beach house is not contained within four walls. The beach house is only a symbol of my mother’s love for me.”

  She took Emmi’s hand. “You are James and John’s mother. Nothing will ever change that. You’ve been the rock of your family. You are the one who created the happy memories here in this house. You are the one who stayed up at night with them when they were sick, and the one who never missed a violin performance, a soccer game, or a photo op for the prom. You listened to their stories and bandaged their wounds. You are the one your boys will bring their wives home to meet, and their own families to visit. Because no matter where you are, Emmi, you are their home.

  “Your duty now is to find that peace deep inside of you again so that you can welcome them with serenity and joy.” She paused then asked, “Honey, I’ve got to ask you, what’s with all this sexy spandex you’ve been wearing? And all that talk about wild sex and trying to be eighteen on the outside again? You need to find Emmi inside of you. That wild, wonderful girl I grew up with who was afraid of nothing and believed she could be anything she wanted to be in the whole wide world. She’s been hiding. Dig deep and call that girl back out! I miss her!”

  Emmi released a half sob, half laugh. “So do I!”

  Emmi had moved her head from Cara’s shoulder and sat looking at her with eyes like two emerald flames in her face. Cara saw in them the hope that what she said might actually be true. Then Emmi took a deep breath, shuddered, and slowly straightened to an upright position. Releasing the breath, she scrubbed her face with a palm.

  “I need a shower,” she said. “And some dinner. I’m starved.”

  “Brett’s bringing home some clams and I’ve got a crusty loaf of French bread and some fabulous green olive oil. We’ll have a feast.”

  “Afterwards I’ll finish packing and clean up this place.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  She turned her head. “You realize I’m homeless. I’ll need to find a place to live.”

  “You will. Again, I’ll help you.”

  “Okay, then.” She slapped her palms on her knees and stood. She brought her pink tipped nails to her head and raked the long red tresses, groaning loudly, like she was waking herself up from a bad dream. Then she dropped her hands and slanted a glance at Cara. Something wicked sparked in those green eyes.

  “I’m gonna let ol’ Tom buy this house. And just for him, I’ll even jack up the price.”

  Cara laughed and clapped her hands. “She’s back!”

  14

  July was arguably the busiest month for the turtle ladies. In the morning they were on call for the turtles that laid nests during the night, and in the evening they sat by the nests that were due to hatch. Some nights the moon shed its golden light upon a smooth beach, the tide was in, and the hatchlings scampered to the sea lickety-split. On such nights, Cara went home tired but fulfilled.

  Other nights the sky was dark with clouds and the mosquitoes outnumbered the stars. Cara slathered on bug spray and sat huddled by the nest wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants. These were the nights their dedication was tested.

  It was on such a night that Toy went with Cara and Little Lovie to a sand dune to wait for a turtle nest to hatch. Little Lovie had proved to be a devoted turtle lady—or “Little Turtle Lady” as Brett had nicknamed her and had it printed on a T-shirt. Cara and Toy sat in beach chairs by the nest, their legs stretched out before them, and watched as Little Lovie walked the nearby beach and stuffed spartina into sand crab holes.

  Toy had been hoping for some time alone with Cara ever since the Fourth of July party. Palmer’s advice to Cara about renting the beach house still brought a prickly flush of anger whenever she recollected his words. Why couldn’t Palmer just mind his own business? They were happy with the arrangement; things were moving along smoothly. Why did he have to go stirring up the mud?

  But Palmer’s suggestion had stayed in her mind, niggling her at quiet moments, demanding that she get past the affront and look objectively—honestly—at what Palmer was saying. She wanted to remain angry at him, but in truth, Cara could get a lot more money renting to someone else. The underlying question was how long could Cara continue to support Toy and Little Lovie?

  Then Toy had thought about all of Cara and Brett’s new expenses with the business expansion and how they’d been spending serious money on the in vitro processes. Cara and Brett lived in a modest house and lived a quiet lifestyle. Toy had always thought of Cara Rutledge as someone who was rich, without worries about money. Yet, what if she wasn’t? What if that was merely convenient for Toy to believe? What if Cara was like so many people who had their money tied up in their businesses? What if she was pinching pennies and worrying about her bills, the same as Toy?

  That image set root in Toy’s mind and immediately she knew it was the truth. Seeing Cara in that light was an equalizer. Cara was not her mother or her aunt, not even her sister. Cara Rutledge Beauchamps was a friend.

  And a friend did not take advantage of a friend.

  Toy scooted her beach chair closer, dragging it through the sand.

  Seeing her draw near, Cara leaned forward toward her. “Want some bug spray?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Water?”

  “Yeah, actually. I finished mine.”

  Cara dug into her canvas bag, pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. While Toy twisted off the cap, she licked her dry lips, nervous about what she wanted to say.

  “It’s a hot night,” said Cara after a long drink.

  Toy nodded and clasped her hands together, feeling grit in her palms.

  “Where’s Ethan? I haven’t seen him in a couple nights. He’s becoming quite the fixture at the beach house.”

  “He’s speaking at a fundraiser.”

  “I’ll bet he’s a good speaker. He’s smart, his voice is low and rich—and if the women aren’t interested in his topic, they can just stare at him for an hour. It’s a win-win presentation.”

  “Very funny. He’s actually very knowledgeable and interesting to listen to,” Toy said, feeling a bit defensive of Ethan.

  “I’m sure he is,” Cara deadpanned. “Just as I’m sure he gets lots of contributions. Who could say no to him?” She slanted her gaze. “Not you, apparently.”

  “Cara…”

  “Sorry, dear, but it was too easy. You know how we feel about Ethan. Brett and I like him very much. And Flo dotes on him. Not every fellow would spend most of Saturday helping Brett repair Flo’s fence.”

  Toy’s smile was spontaneous. “He is special,” she replied, remembering how proud she’d felt watching him from the beach house window as he and Brett labored at Flo’s house.

  “The fence looks marvelous, doesn’t it? Do you think we could hoodwink that boy of yours into helping Brett build a fence for our beach house? Oh, by the way, Flo’s cooking barbecue on Friday night and she wants us all to come, especially Ethan.”

  “Just say the word barbecue and Ethan will be there.”

  They chuckled at this common response in lowcountry men.

  “Cara,” Toy said, edging forward on her chair. “Now we’re on the topic of houses, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Cara leaned back against the canvas chair and set the bottle of water on the sand. “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Well,” Toy began hesitatingly. She took a breath and said in a rush, “I overheard what Palmer said to you at the party the other night. About the rent for the beach house.”

  “Oh, n
o,” Cara replied, leaning forward. She rested her forearms on her knees shaking her head. “Damn that Palmer.”

  “No, he was being a good brother to you, looking out for your interests. And he’s right. You could get a lot more money for that house from someone else.”

  “Toy, that doesn’t matter. You and I have gone over this. I’m happy with our arrangement.”

  “But I’m not sure I’m happy with it.” She saw Cara’s stunned expression and, seeing that she’d misunderstood, hurried to add, “Cara, I’m grateful, of course. But I love you too much to take advantage of your and Brett’s kindness. You’ve been helping me for five years, ever since Miss Lovie passed on. I never could have made it through school if it weren’t for you. You’re a second mother to Little Lovie.”

  “That’s what I want, what I’ve always wanted.”

  “I know, truly I do. But I’m on my feet now. I’ve made it, thanks to you and Brett and Flo. I’ve a long way to go,” she added with a light laugh, “but I can take care of myself more and depend on you less. That’s all I’m saying.” She took a breath. “And I can start by finding a new place to live.”

  “I don’t know if I like that. I want you close by. I want that child near me. Where would you go?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know exactly, but not far. Mt. Pleasant, maybe? Little Lovie would be furious to be far from the turtle team. You’re her life. And mine.”

  “Have you saved any money? That’s the first thing. You’ll need a down payment. And rents are high in Mt. Pleasant. Maybe I know someone…”

  “Cara, listen to yourself. You’re figuring everything out for me, like you’ve always done.” Once again she felt a stabilizing calm within. “I can do this.”

  Cara didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at Toy with a quizzical expression, like she was seeing her change before her very eyes. Then she leaned back in her chair. “Let’s not decide tonight? Let’s just agree to start thinking about it. We’ll get through the summer and see where we are come fall. How does that sound to you?”