She felt it now. She was slipping into the insistent undertow of the past. There was no use fighting it. It was so easy to simply close her eyes. And relinquish.
Autumn brings its own haunting beauty to the sun-soaked beaches and dunes on Isle of Palms, where Olivia “Lovie” Rutledge lives in her beloved Primrose Cottage with her daughter, Cara. Looking back as summer fades, Lovie can remember many island summers, but especially one. . . .
In 1974, America was changing, but Charleston remained eternally the same. Lovie had always done what was expected—marrying the son of a historic Charleston family, Stratton Rutledge, and turning over her fortune and fate to his control. But one thing she steadfastly refuses to relinquish: her family’s old seaside cottage. The precious summers spent on the barrier island are Lovie’s refuge. Here, she can escape with her children from the social expectations of her traditional Southern mother, and her overbearing husband’s ambition and philandering. Here, she indulges her lifelong vocation as a “Turtle Lady,” tending the loggerhead sea turtles that lay their eggs in the warm night sand and then slip back into the sea.
This summer, however, is different. Visiting biologist Russell Bennett arrives on the island to research the loggerheads. What begins as a shared passion for the turtles changes to a love far more passionate and profound than Lovie has ever known—but one that forces her to face the most agonizing decision of her life.
For Charleston’s elite, divorce is an unforgivable scandal, and Stratton’s influence is far-reaching. If Lovie dares to dream beyond a summer affair, she risks losing everything: her reputation, her wealth, even her precious children.
Beach House Memories—a poignant and emotional tale of a strong, passionate woman torn between duty and desire, between the traditions of the old South and the social changes sweeping America—will capture your heart. For Lovie, it is an empowering journey of seasons of self-discovery.
Until this autumn, this time of changing tides, of holding on and letting go. . . .
“This luminous tale—set in the South Carolina Lowcountry that we both love so deeply—was hard to put down. Fans of The Beach House will at last discover what happened during the summer of 1974. But readers new to Mary Alice Monroe need not worry, for this emotional story of love and loss stands alone.”
—New York Times bestselling author Dorothea Benton Frank
Mary Alice Monroe “helps to redefine the beauty and magic of the Carolina Lowcountry,” enthuses Pat Conroy, while Publishers Weekly praises her “evocative, often beautiful prose and keen insights” that, bring to life the South’s “poison and tonic.”
“Monroe’s usual resplendent storytelling shines even brighter in BEACH HOUSE MEMORIES, which offers startling insights into the intimate connection between nature and the human heart.” —New York Times bestselling author Patti Callahan Henry
The Butterfly’s Daughter
“A novel that, like the monarch butterfly, has a plentitude of beauty and wonder.”—New York Times bestselling author Ron Rash
“Monroe invigorates her characters with a spiritual energy that effectively drives the inspiring novel.” —Booklist
Last Light over Carolina
“Haunting . . . a story of past mistakes and second chances.” —The Charleston Post and Courier
“Perfectly portrayed character. . . . An exciting read that allows her fans to feel they have grown up on the beautiful coastal waters of South Carolina.” —Charleston City Paper
Time Is a River
“Compelling.” —Asheville Citizen-Times
“This exquisite, many-layered novel . . . treats readers to lush descriptions of nature.” —Booklist
MARY ALICE MONROE is the New York Times bestselling author of The Butterfly’s Daughter, Last Light over Carolina, and Time Is a River for Gallery Books. The recipient of the 2008 Award for Writing from the South Carolina Center for the Book, she is also an active conservationist in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Visit her at www.maryalicemonroe.com.
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AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY BARBARA J. BERGWERF
COPYRIGHT © 2012 SIMON & SCHUSTER
Beach House
Memories
Also by Mary Alice Monroe
THE BUTTERFLY’S DAUGHTER
LAST LIGHT OVER CAROLINA
TIME IS A RIVER
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Mary Alice Monroe, Ltd.
Excerpt from Saving Sea Turtles by James R. Spotila reprinted by permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Gallery Books hardcover edition May 2012
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Designed by Julie Schroeder
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Monroe, Mary Alice.
Beach house memories / Mary Alice Monroe.—1st Gallery Books hardcover ed.
p. cm.
1. Self-realization in women—Fiction. 2. Marriage—Fiction. 3. South Carolina—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.O529B44 2012
813'.54—dc23 2012004099
ISBN 978-1-4391-7066-3
ISBN 978-1-4391-7104-2 (ebook)
This book is dedicated to Marguerite, my dear sister and brilliant muse.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Readers Group Guide
Acknowledgments
I’ve been infatuated with sea turtles for a very long time. Over the years, many peopl
e have acted as my teacher, colleague, and friend. Thank you to all who helped make this book a reality.
First I’d like to thank my editor, Lauren McKenna, for her luminous instincts and guidance. Thank you, Lauren, for believing in this story and my talent ’til the eleventh hour. To Louise Burke for her firm and steady hand of support for each book and who makes me feel like part of the Gallery family, and to Jean Anne Rose and Ayelet Gruenspecht for their faith and for sustaining the PR, Alexandra Lewis, and the entire staff at Gallery Books for their amazing support.
Heartfelt thanks to my glorious agents: Kimberly Whalen, for reading the book and giving her invaluable insights, and especially for her continual support and cheerleading. And to Robert Gottlieb, for always being at my side with his incomparable advice and for memorable meals when I come to New York. Thank you also to Claire Roberts, Jessica Olivio, Adrienne Lombardo, and Alex Slater at Trident Media Group. I’m also grateful to my film agent, Joe Veltre at Gersh.
I’m thankful to everyone at Brilliance Audio for the fabulous audiobooks and for granting me the joy and privilege of narrating my books. A special nod to Sheryl Zajechowski, Laura Grafton, and Mark Pereira. I continue to bask in the joy of my friendship with Eileen and Bob Hutton and rely on their wisdom and smiles.
My love and thanks to Marguerite Martino for her consistent stream of inspiration from the first and for her invaluable critiques. Coffee in the morning with her starts my workday. For editing the manuscript with an eye to accuracy for all things turtles and history, I am indebted—again—to my esteemed friends Sally Murphy and Mary Pringle. A special thank-you to my island neighbor, Mickey Williams, for his stories of growing up on Isle of Palms back in the day, to Leah Greenberg for talking out plots and plans, and to Jennifer Pinsak Penegar, for the gorgeous patchwork shawl that kept me warm while writing and is in the book. And love and thanks to my writer friends Dorothea Benton Frank, Patti Callahan Henry, and Jane Green for their support.
For years of education and camaraderie on the beaches, and for being part of our turtle family, I thank:
My fellow Isle of Palms/Sullivan’s Island Turtle Team members: Mary Pringle, Barbara Bergwerf, Tee Johannes, Bev Ballow, Barbara Gobian, Linda Rumph, Grace and Glen Rhodes, Nancy Hauser, Kathey O’Connor; and the support staff: Ben Bergwerf, Peyre Pringle, and Nicholas Johannes. Thanks too, Nicholas, for an education on airplanes. And to all my fellow turtle team volunteers, too many to name. But you know who you are.
My friends at the South Carolina Aquarium. I am especially grateful for the support of Kevin Mills, Jason Crichton, Rachel Kalisperis, Kelly Thorvalson, Shane Boylan, Jack Higgins, Adrian Cain, Kevin Campworth, Josh Kohl, Keisha Legerton, Whit McMillan, Kate Dittloff, and all the staff who contribute daily to support the sea turtles and all marine life in countless ways and with such enthusiasm. I am honored to serve with my fellow board members and grateful for the generous giving of their time and support for our shared mission: Ken Seeger, Sheila Hodges, Kate Jerome, Bruce Hecker, J. Donald Higgins, Bryson Geer, Jonathan Zucker, Todd Abedon, Dixon Woodward, Will Albrecht, Kenneth Bauer, Charles Claus, L. John Clark, John Danahy, Randall Goldman, Erika Harrison, Virginia Hermann, Reba Huge, Wilbur E. Johnson, H. D. Larabee, Laura Davies Mateo, Thompson Penney, David Rivers, H. Del Schutte, Bryan Sherbacow, David L Simmons, John L. Simpkins, Catherine Smith, Stephanie Smith-Phillips, John Swink, Lawrence O. Thompson, Teddy Turner, C. Ray Wrenn, Tomi G. Youngblood, David Tigges. And Emeritus: Pat Conroy, James Ferguson, William Finn, Peatsy Hollings, Hilton C. Smith Jr., Robert R. Macdonald, Layton McCurdy, Robert E. McNair, Richard W. Riley, Victor Samra Jr., Theodore S. Stern, M. William Youngblood, and Jerry Zucker.
My friends at the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, I thank so many who have walked the beaches with me and provided me with an education on sea turtles, especially DuBose Griffin, Charlotte Hope, Kelly Sloan, and Al Segars.
My fellow board members of the Leatherback Trust in Playa Grande, Costa Rica. Sincere thanks to James Spotila, Frank Paladino, Maggie Kruesi, Harold Avery, Randall Arauz, Robert Raymar, David Wright, George Shillinger, Ray Lowe, Kristin Reed, Tom Elzey, John Spotila, Mario Boza, Pilar Santidrián Tomillo, and the hardworking staff, interns, and volunteers dedicated to preserving the Pacific Leatherback and all sea turtles.
I offer a heartfelt nod of thanks and respect to the memory of Florence Johnston, an original turtle lady in South Carolina, who graced me with numerous interviews before her passing. She was an inspiration. Thank you also to Meg Hoyle at Learning Through Loggerheads, and to another grande dame of the sea turtle world, Jean Beasley and her dedicated staff of volunteers at the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Hospital in Topsail, North Carolina, and to David Owens at the College of Charleston.
On the home front, I offer thanks and affection to my support staff: Angela May, Buzzy Porter, and Lisa Minnick. As with all my novels, I close with my love and gratitude to those who continually teach me the soul of my story: Markus; Claire, John, Jack, Teddy, and Delancey; Gretta and Zack.
I’ve taken some liberty in dates in the manuscript for the sake of story. I thank all those who checked the facts of my manuscript. All sins of omission and commission herein are mine.
Finally, I send my sincere thanks to all the people worldwide who have worked tirelessly, volunteered, and made donations—all with great faith and hope for the survival of sea turtles.
Those who come together to walk a turtle beach, to excavate a sea turtle nest to save some hatchlings, to work to stop fishing practices that kill turtles are part of a family. The very act of doing something for the turtles is an expression of faith in something larger than oneself. The reason that I have hope is that there is a large family of people who all do their part to save turtles for one more day.
—JAMES R. SPOTILA,
Saving Sea Turtles
Beach House
Memories
One
Lovie Rutledge believed memories were like the tides. Sometimes they rushed in with a pounding roar to topple you over. At other times they gently washed over you, lulling you to complacency and then tugging you back to halcyon days that, with the passing of years, seemed ever sweeter.
She seemed to spend more time with her memories of late, especially on evenings such as this one when the red sun lazily descended over the Intracoastal Waterway, and the jeweled tones of the sky deepened. From the trees, the pensive cries of birds called all to roost. Lovie sat on the windward porch, still and silent, attuned to the moody hour. Sunset was her favorite time of the day, an introspective hour when the sky brought down the curtain on what she knew were her final days.
Lovie leaned her snowy white head against her chair, gave a slight push with her foot, and sighed as she rocked rhythmically back and forth, like the waves slapping against the shore. A small smile of relief eased across her face.
Peace at last, she thought.
The wailing winds of the hurricane that had blown across her small island a week earlier had left in their wake the incessant guttural roar of chain saws. The Isle of Palms had been pummeled, as had most of the South Carolina coast. It would take months to clean up. As though in apology, Mother Nature graced the island with crisp after-storm breezes that spurred the populace to a frenzy of repairs. Lovie was glad for the activity—the bellowing of voices, honking of horns, laughter of children, whoops from the beach, high-pitched calls of greeting as families returned home from evacuation. She heard in the clamor the shared exuberance of hope.
And yet, Lovie longed for the hush and lull of pace that came at the day’s end.
Stop your complaining, old woman, she admonished. You should be grateful that you wake up at all! Birdcall or hammering on wood—whichever! The sounds of life around her were welcome—especially now as death hovered like a thief, waiting for its opportunity to snatch away her last breath.
Lovie sank deeper into the cushion and let her tired body ease as she stared out again at a smattering of yellow flowers that
had managed to cling to the vines during the storm, and beyond them, the sea. The Atlantic Ocean breathed like a beast snoring serenely in the distance. The gentle rolling water cloaked the secrets it held, while the earth revealed all. Ah, but she wasn’t fooled by her old friend.
I thought you were going to take my house with this last storm—and me along with it, she thought with a faint chuckle. Well, I thank you for leaving us be. At least for a little while longer. She sighed and kicked off again with her foot. I’ve known you too long and too well not to be wise to your mercurial nature. You appear so gentle and peaceful tonight. But Lord help the fool who ignores you.
Lovie suddenly coiled in a spasm of coughing that racked her frame, so thin now she could be mistaken for a child. When at last the fit subsided, she bent forward, clasping the arms of the chair, gasping for air.
“Mama! Are you okay?”
Lovie turned her head to see Cara’s worried face inches from her own. She felt Cara’s larger hand tighten over hers in a reassuring squeeze. Dear, sweet, daughter, she thought as her pale blue eyes found refuge in Cara’s dark brown ones. There were crow’s-feet at the corners, adding maturity to the wide-eyed worry. Cara had been dismayed at turning forty, crying that her youth was over and now she was on the downhill slope. Lovie knew better. Cara was still so young! So strong and confident.
Lovie felt the panic that always came with the coughing spells loosen its grip. Gradually her breath came more easily. She nodded weakly.
Cara’s eyes narrowed, quickly checking for signs that Lovie needed oxygen or a dose of pain medication. “Mama, it’s getting chilly. Let’s go inside.”
Lovie didn’t have the breath to answer, but she weakly shook her head.
Cara hesitated, then with a tsk of mild frustration, she didn’t force the issue, as she might have just months earlier.
Lovie leaned back again in her chair. Staring at her from the settee across the room was a large calico cat. The cat had mysteriously appeared after the hurricane, lost and mewling piteously. Cara fed her daily, cleaned up after her, and petted her long fur whenever she passed. Cara called the cat the Uninvited Guest and pretended not to care one way or the other about her. But Lovie could tell she was secretly pleased the cat had decided to stay. It was Cara’s first pet.
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