Swimming Lessons

by Mary Alice Monroe

  He reached the front door and checked out the shiny brass turtle door knocker, the bright green topiary by the door and the shiny clean window glass. Nice and tidy. Must be marriage softened Cara Rutldege’s sharp edges, he thought. Then he recalled that she wasn’t a Rutledge any more. What the heck was that big guy’s name?

  He smoothed back his hair, rolled his shoulders and rang the doorbell. It bothered him that he still felt so damn nervous at having to meet her. A moment later the door opened and there she was.

  His first thought was that he had no idea how beautiful she was. The woman was a stunner. Not in a soft, kittenish way, like Toy, but in that sleek, glossy style that wasn’t really his type. He was as tall as she was, yet she had a way of making him feel she was looking down at him.

  “Mr. Duggans?” Cara asked crisply.

  “That’s my daddy’s name,” he replied. “You can call me Darryl.”

  “Mr. Duggans will do. I have a list here of phone numbers you can call at any time. If Lovie doesn’t feel well, or if she wants to come home—anything at all—call me.” She handed him the typed list.

  Another list. The damn thing was even numbered.

  “I’ll be at work, but if Lovie wants to come home early, for any reason at all, I’ll be at that number.”

  “She won’t be wanting to come home early.”

  “But if she does?”

  “She won’t,” he ground out, stuffing the envelope into his shirt pocket.

  He watched her eyes narrow and her lips tighten, as if to hold in a torrent of words she was just itching to shout out at him. He waited, almost hoping she’d let loose. But to her credit she managed to rein in and put on a fake smile. He knew that face real well. It was the one the bar managers always put on right before they fired him.

  “I’ll get Lovie” was all she said. Then, remembering her manners, asked, “Would you like to come in?”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  He just wanted to pick up his kid and get out of here. He stuck his hands in his back pockets and paced the cement stoop of the modest house. A straggly rose bush didn’t look like it was going to make it past another season. He didn’t wait long. The door opened again and Lovie rushed out to greet him with a heartfelt hug.

  “Daddy!”

  He was surprised by the surge of affection he felt for the little girl in the blue gingham dress and pigtails. She sure did make him feel righteous and proud. She was the sweetest thing in his life right now.

  “Well, let’s be off,” he said with a smile.

  “Wait,” Cara called out.

  He halted and turned his head.

  “I just wanted to confirm the pick-up at Patriot’s Point. At the boat dock. Four o’clock. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, dismissing her. “Four o’clock.”

  Cara put her hand on her lower back and rubbed it absently. She looked down at Lovie and a smile sweeter than Darryl figured she could make appeared on her face.

  “You have a good time, sweetie.”

  “She will,” he said, then taking Lovie’s hand, led her away.

  For all that she lived on a barrier island, Toy had never surfed before. She’d been too pregnant, too shy, too inhibited to ever try the sport, even though she’d secretly admired the bronzed and buff bodies of the other men and women her age as they rode a wave in. So when Rafael offered to teach her, she readily accepted.

  The waves were even and easy but Toy couldn’t manage to stand up on the board. After an hour she felt beaten and tossed by the waves, she had saltwater up her nose, her eyes were stinging and sand was stuck in her teeth. She dragged the surfboard out from the water, ready to call it a day.

  She was wearing the bikini that Elizabeth had given her, and over it, a tight fitting rash guard. She was so focused on remembering all the pointers that Rafael had given her that she was oblivious to the admiring glances she was getting from all the men that watched her.

  “You’re too stiff,” Rafael told her as he trotted up to her side. “Like the board. Girl, you got to learn to relax.”

  It irritated her that he wasn’t even winded while she could barely stand. “I’m trying,” she said, but her tone was anything but relaxed.

  He laughed and lifted a lock of salt stiff hair from her brow. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

  “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to quit.”

  “I’m not a quitter,” she snapped. Then she sighed and added, “But I am a realist. I’ve only got this one afternoon left. What’s the point?”

  “Why does there have to be a point? I want you to get up on that board so when you get home to that little island you live on, you can get a surfboard and not be afraid to do it again.”

  “Who has time for surfing, anyway?”

  “Make time! Pura Vida!” he called out, quoting the Pure Life mantra of Costa Ricans. “All work and no play make Toy a very unhappy girl, right?”

  He elicited a smile from her and she nodded. “But Rafael, I am trying. I just don’t get it.”

  “Come with me,” he said, cajoling her back to the water. “No, put down your board. You can leave it there. Let’s try a new approach.”

  He took her hand and they walked back to the rolling, white tipped surf. The water was warm but refreshing under the hot, tropical sun. He walked her waist deep into the wave.

  “Okay now, put your arms straight out, like you’re flying,” he said. “Let the waves wash over you. Here comes one.”

  Toy obediently stretched out her arms, held her breath and turned toward the wave. The wave smacked full in the front, crashing and shoving her over. She rose, sputtering.

  “That’s how not to do it,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Try it again, only this time, turn your body…so.”

  Toy scowled and shoved a mop of hair from her face. Then she stood and turned her hips sideways against the waves like his.

  “Arms back out,” Rafael ordered. When she complied he moved behind her and slid his arms under hers. His dark tanned skin was a sharp contrast against her pale, sun-pinkened skin. She giggled and stepped away but he grabbed hold of her hips. She felt his fingers, slender but strong, holding her firmly in place. “Come on, girl. I’m trying to teach you.”

  “Teach me what?” she asked over her shoulder, laughing.

  He had the devil in his eyes but he grinned and replied, “How to move. How to keep balance. Heads up!”

  Another wave came and lifted her again, but this time her angled body sliced through the wave. His hands held firm to her hips as she slid up and down against his body with the motion of the wave.

  “See how that feels?” he asked by her ear. “Relax now. Here we go.”

  Another wave came, and another, each time lifting her up, then lowering her in a gentle rhythm as Rafael held her steady at her hips.

  “Let’s go a little closer to shore,” he told her. His fingers held hers at the knuckles and he led her to where the water only hit her thighs. “Now this time, querida, sway your body with the waves. Feel them. Close your eyes. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. When the wave comes, just let go and ride it. Ready? Here comes one…”

  He held on to her hips again. Toy closed her eyes and relinquished herself to the wave. She felt the rush of water, the powerful tug at her body. She didn’t lift up this time in anticipation but allowed the water to push her hips up and to the side. It was a little frightening but Rafael’s hands held her firm.

  “No worry, I’ve got you,” he said. “That was good. Feel how the water moves your hips? Put your arms out and let your hips flow with the wave. Again!”

  This time she let her hips sway with the momentum, feeling the tug and pull, going with it rather than fighting it.

  “Good!” Rafael said. “You got it!”

  “How is this helping my surfing?”

  “Surfing is about feeling the waves and having fun. Now let’s try the board again.
”

  They went back to the beach to grab the surf boards. Tired but determined, she followed him back out to the waves. Once more she lay belly down on the board and paddled. Rafael stayed close behind her, pushing her board because she was already so tired her arms were weak. Once they got past the breakers they stopped and sat on their boards, heads looking out toward the swells.

  “There looks like some good waves coming.”

  Toy saw a swell building. As it came at them she tightened up. “Let’s take it.”

  “No, no, not this one. You have to wait for the right wave. See how that one closed out? You want to wait for one that peels. Patience, girl.”

  She released her pent-up breath, and again watched the swells.

  “Okay,” Rafael called to her. “This one is it! Get ready!”

  “Ready!” Toy felt her adrenaline rush and turned her board to face the beach.

  “Paddle!” Rafael shouted. He reached over to give her board a shove for that extra momentum. The board lunged forward in an exhilarating surge and in a splashy rush she realized that she’d caught the wave. She knew she was supposed to jump up, but wary of her balance she carefully put one foot up, then, holding her breath, the other. Up a little more, arms out… In one fluid move, she felt the wind at her face and an unutterable exhilaration. She was riding the wave!

  It only lasted ten seconds, but it was a glorious, memorable, life altering ten seconds. When she reached the shore she was laughing from the sheer joy of it.

  “You did it!” Rafael called out, running toward her. “I knew you could!”

  “Thank you!” she cried out and ran to him, grinning ear to ear. Her self confidence was soaring. “I always wanted to but never thought I could!” They hugged and it was all about triumph and joy and heady success.

  “Let’s do it again,” she exclaimed.

  “No, crazy girl. You’re riding the adrenaline now. We like to call it quits after the best ride.”

  “But I feel so euphoric, like I could ride forever.”

  He nodded, grinning. “That’s the feeling you’ve got to hold on to.” He grabbed her board and carried it for her as they headed back to the Villa Baulas.

  “I never knew that standing in the waves could help me surf,” she said, feeling as though her feet were not even touching sand.

  “No one can be confident if all they do is worry and stress.” He laughed. “Besides, all that wave stuff? That wasn’t teaching you surfing.”

  She stopped short and swung her head to glare at him. “What were you doing then?”

  He offered her a cocky grin. “Teaching you how to dance. Tomorrow night we’re all going to Kiki’s to party. You, too. No more excuses. Ticos love to dance!”

  The sky over Isle of Palms was overcast and the seas choppy. There was very little business at the Eco-tours so Cara didn’t feel guilty about closing up early. She rubbed her lower back. It had been aching all morning and she’d found a few spots of bright red blood on her panties. “It’s only some blood,” she told herself, trying to keep calm, reminding herself that the doctor said some minimal spotting was normal. It was nothing to get worked up about. She’d put her feet up on a chair all morning and it was probably sitting in that awkward position that caused her backache. There was no point bothering Brett with telling him, she thought. But just to be on the safe side, she was going home early.

  On the drive home, a dull, throbbing ache bloomed in her abdomen. Her mind blindly refused to accept that it felt like a menstrual cramp. She’d been sitting funny, that was all. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel and she accelerated, wanting to get home where she could lie flat on the bed. Then she’d feel better. The cramping would go away then.

  The dull ache sharpened to pain as she climbed from the car. She put her palm to her abdomen and held her breath. Her mind was screaming, no, no, no as she walked knock-kneed to the house, scrambling for her keys with shaky fingers. The front walkway seemed so long and each step was labored. By the time she got the door open, she felt a terrifying leakage seep between her legs.

  “Please, God,” she prayed. “Please let the baby be all right.” But as she sagged against the wall, slowly lowering herself to the floor, Cara knew there was no more hope for the precious life she was carrying. Closing her eyes tight, she felt her dreams fading away.

  Brett had arrived home not long after and found her in a fetal position on the bathroom floor in a small pool of blood. She didn’t remember much about the trip to the hospital or the D&C they’d performed. By the time the hospital released her, the sky was darkening. She felt like an empty shell and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and pull the blanket over her head.

  She cast a glance at Brett beside her, driving them home. In profile, his face was chalky and dark circles framed his eyes. He hadn’t said more than a few pat phrases to her though he’d stayed by her side, held her hand, and dealt with all the paperwork. Neither of them had uttered one word of grief or comfort to the other. To others it appeared they were being stoic. Cara knew that it wasn’t courage but cowardliness that kept them mute. Neither could bear to give verbal witness to the fact that their baby, their last hope, had been lost in a sea of blood.

  When they arrived home, the lights were on. Brett hurried to her side of the car and helped her out. She was light-headed and chilled from loss of blood. Shivering in the summer heat, she leaned against him and walked in baby steps, feeling the thick pad like a diaper between her legs. Her back pain was crippling and she had desperate cramps. Pain was all she had left of her pregnancy.

  Inside, Flo and Emmi were waiting for her with grief tugging at their smiles. Flo had made minestrone soup and Emmi laid out chunks of cheese and French bread but the scents only made her more nauseated. Cara accepted their kisses and murmured words of encouragement stiffly. Words of comfort rang so false in her ears. She managed to nod to everything they said until she could escape to her room with a backward wave. She rested her forehead against the closed door. The sorrow and pity in their eyes was more than she could bear.

  The table lamp cast a narrow pool of light, giving the room an empty, lonely feel. Her fingers tapped her blanket. Lying in bed, her gaze swept the room—the walls, the bureaus, the open closet with rows of colored shirts, pants and terry robes on hooks. Feeling restless, she was searching for something she could not name. In the other room she heard the soft voices of Emmi and Flo and the gentle clink of silverware.

  Cara could not shake the nagging sense that something was very wrong, something not connected with her miscarriage. She shifted in the bed, careful of her abdomen, to look at the clock on her bedside stand. The digital numbers were blocked by a glass of water.

  “Brett?” she called. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and called louder, “Brett?”

  She heard his footfall on the hardwood floors then he opened the door to her room. His face was etched with concern.

  “Yes? Do you want something?”

  “I can’t see the clock.”

  “Honey, don’t worry about the time.”

  “Please. Something… Can you move the water glass?”

  Her voice was rising with urgency and not wishing to upset her, he obligingly moved the water glass. The clock read 7:42 p.m.

  “See? It’s late,” he told her. “You should try to sleep.”

  She dragged herself up to rest on her elbows, clawing at the sheets. Her mind fought through pain, fatigue and grief to focus on the clock. It was late. Late.

  Then it hit her. A panic welled up inside of her and she made soft whimpering noises in her throat as she jerked her head to the left, then to the right, searching wildly.

  “Cara, what’s the matter?” Brett’s voice was sharp with worry.

  She dragged her hand through her hair, pulling it tight as her mind sharpened. “Oh, my God, Brett. Where’s Lovie?”

  An hour later, Brett sat on the bed beside Cara, holding her hand. She was propped up against pillows
in bed, her face white with pain and shock. Flo and Emmi were pacing the floor, wringing their hands with worry lining their faces.

  A policewoman in blue uniform stood in front of the bed and was writing in her notebook as she asked questions.

  “You were supposed to meet this Darryl Duggans at Patriot’s Point, is that right?”

  Cara nodded. “Yes. At four o’clock.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “At the boat dock. I reminded him of that when he came to pick up Lovie. Four o’clock at the boat dock.” She squeezed Brett’s hand. “But I didn’t make it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the policewoman said. “I understand that. I’m sorry.” Sergeant Kim had met Cara several times over the past five years on turtle calls. She was a big turtle lover and always came running whenever she was needed.

  “When did you try to reach this Darryl?”

  “Not until around eight tonight. With all that happened…” She put her hand to her lips. “I forgot,” she said, her voice breaking.

  “You didn’t forget!” Flo sprang to her defense. “You had surgery, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I didn’t pick her up,” she said with anguish. “I didn’t tell you or anyone else to fetch her. It was all arranged. I simply forgot.”

  Brett spoke up, his voice firmly putting the questions back on track. “We tried to call Darryl at the number he gave us, but the number was disconnected. I gave you the number we had.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s a cell phone number. The bill hadn’t been paid so it was cut off.”

  “Great,” Brett said as a curse.

  “Where could he have gone? Have you been able to reach anyone who knows him?” Cara asked.

  “He has a mother,” Flo offered. “She lives in North Charleston, I believe.”

  “We’re looking into that,” Sgt. Kim replied. “She claims she doesn’t know where he is, either. Says to tell her if we find him because he owes her money. Seems she’d recently lent him three hundred dollars.”