Lovie laughed, a short, bitter sound that had nothing to do with thinking the situation was amusing but because it was what she’d come to expect. Lovie clearly remembered the many times he’d said those exact words to her over the years, and how many times she’d rallied. Weekends, weekdays, when she was pregnant, tired, last minute—it didn’t matter. She was his wife and that’s what wives did. They stood by their husbands through thick and thin, for better or for worse.
Yet this had been a particularly long and cold winter, and his many evening absences had been noted and counted. Lovie wondered if her desperate craving for the feel of the sun’s warmth on her skin was because her husband had grown so cold.
“It seems you’ve made up your mind.” Her voice was lifeless. “Have a good time.”
There was silence on the other end, as though he were thinking of what to say. Apparently he didn’t have much to add because he said only, “I’ll call you when I get back. Give my love to the children.”
She hung up the phone feeling empty, vacant—like he’d already left.
June 15 came slowly for Lovie. She rose early as was her custom, swallowed a quick cup of coffee, and went off to ride her bike along the shoreline. Thunder rumbled faintly, and dark clouds hovered low over the Atlantic Ocean. Lovie hoped for a little rain to water her newly transplanted flowers, but she wanted to make it back to the house before the first drops fell. Glancing at her watch, she figured if she hurried she’d have enough time to do a little research at the library before the two o’clock meeting.
There were no tracks found this morning, so she made it back in good time. She went to her room to iron a favorite village print blouse. A short while later she emerged, the crisp blouse tucked into bell-bottom jeans. Her hair was neatly plaited into a braid that fell down her back like a skein of flaxen-colored wool.
“Cara!” she called out, walking out of her room.
“Kitchen!”
She found Cara sitting at the kitchen table with Emmi, their long thin legs roped around the chair legs. They were slathering thick layers of peanut butter on Wonder bread. The smell made her mouth water.
“Girls, I’m going to the library, then there’s the meeting at the Exchange Club. Do you want to come along? You can pick out some new books. Maybe you’d like to volunteer for the project. If you write a paper on what you did for the study, I’ll bet you’d get extra credit at school.” She tried to make her voice upbeat and encouraging.
“Nooo way,” Cara replied, rudely shoving her palm out. “You’re not roping us into turtle duty.”
“It’s not turtle duty,” she replied, firmly lowering Cara’s hand from in front of her face.
Emmi tried to refuse politely. “We already have a lot of reading on our list this summer, Mrs. Rutledge.”
Lovie didn’t miss the commiserating glance the girls shared. She gave up. She’d tried for years to get the girls interested in helping the turtles, and it was like pulling eyeteeth. Summer after summer she met countless children thrilled at the prospect of seeing a hatchling. She loved teaching children about the turtles and the nesting cycle. But Cara and Emmi, and Palmer as well, not only had no interest in the sea turtles but shared a disdain for them.
“Fine,” she said on a sigh. “Suit yourselves. I won’t be gone long. I’ll just be a few blocks away at the Exchange Club. Now remember, girls. You’re to stay in the house till I get back, hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girls replied in unison, then looked at each other and giggled.
“Oh, no, don’t you two get any ideas,” she said with suspicion.
“We won’t, Mama,” Cara replied.
Lovie looked at the two girls. Their blue eyes were the very picture of innocence. She didn’t believe them for a moment.
“We’re ten years old,” Cara said. “We’re not babies, you know.”
Lovie leaned forward to kiss Cara’s cheek. “Of course you’re not.”
The Exchange Club was a little wood-frame building that sat on a prime piece of real estate alongside Hamlin Creek. Sitting on Palm Boulevard, the clubhouse was a favorite spot for locals to gather for small weddings, birthday parties, garden club workshops, oyster roasts, and about any other meeting on the island. Lovie looked at the sky, considering. It was a short walk from Primrose Cottage, but she didn’t want to get caught in the rain. She grabbed an umbrella from the basket by the door and headed out.
The winding gravel road was bordered by sandy lots that were overrun by wild indigenous palms, shrubs, and wildflowers. She walked the three blocks to the Exchange Club at a clip, swinging her green-and-white umbrella. A black-and-white cat sunning in the middle of the road didn’t appear the least bothered by her passing. As she approached the parking lot, she was surprised to see at least ten cars, and stepping out from one was Kate Baker. Her red ponytail fell over her shoulder when she bent to pull something from the car, offering full view of her generously filled-out flowered Bermuda shorts. When she stood, she was carrying a tray covered in aluminum foil.
“Hi, Kate. What’ve you brought?” Lovie asked her, taking hold of Kate’s purse to lighten her load.
“Oh, hi, Lovie. Cupcakes,” she replied, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure at seeing Lovie. “The mayor asked me to bring something for the meeting.”
“He didn’t ask me to bring anything.”
“He probably has other plans for you, Miss Turtle Lady. Are the girls being good?” asked Kate.
“Oh, sure. So far,” Lovie replied with a chuckle.
“They’d better. I told Emmi I’d tan her hide if she stepped one foot out of your house. When those girls get together, mischief isn’t far away. Bless their hearts.”
“Oh, look. There’s Flo waiting for us by the door.” She raised her voice and called, “Flo!”
Flo stood at the double doors, talking with animation to Lois McLeod. She looked long and lean in her white pedal pushers and gingham blouse. Lois stood erect, her brown hair straight to her shoulders, her arms crossed, and a serious expression on her face. They’d called her “Beanpole” as a girl, and she’d never filled out. Her owlish eyeglass frames accentuated her pointed features. When Flo heard her name called, she turned her head, smiled, and waved them over.
These were Lovie’s best friends on the island, women she’d known for years and the only ones who, when they could, offered to help her patrol the beach in the morning in search of turtle tracks.
“What took you so long?” Flo asked Lovie. “I thought you’d be the first one here.”
“I was at the library. I did some research on this Dr. Bennett.”
Flo stepped closer, alert. “What did you learn?”
“He’s a bona fide biologist and researcher, and a teacher at the University of Florida. So much for your theory, Flo. In fact, he’s authored or coauthored an impressive number of papers, and I was surprised that I’d actually read some of them.” She looked at Flo. “He’s no flunky, that’s for sure.”
“We don’t know his personal life,” Flo argued. “I can’t imagine an assistant professor makes a big salary.”
“Come on, Flo.” Sometimes Flo wouldn’t give up on an idea, like a terrier with a bone. “I don’t know that a corporation can hire someone biased for a study like this,” Lovie continued. “I mean, otherwise the study would be biased.”
Flo rolled her eyes. “Don’t be naïve. This is the seventies. Watergate, Nixon, corruption of judges, the CIA activities in Chile. Want more examples?”
Lovie glanced at her watch. “We’re all here. Why don’t we just listen to what he has to say?”
The meeting room was one large open space, like an auditorium. Simple but functional with linoleum floors, a bar on one side, and a fireplace on the other. Windows were open on this humid afternoon, tall floor fans were whirring, and already a cluster of eight women stood around a folding table that held a large crystal bowl of punch. Lovie recognized them all and felt a stiffening of her spine to see them here.
Over the years she’d called each of them to ask her to join the turtle project, but all had been too busy or too disinterested to get involved. But here they were, suddenly interested when a biologist from the University of Florida—a man—summoned. Lovie couldn’t help but feel the insult personally.
The front door opened, and George Clarke, the mayor of the island, rushed in, flustered and red faced. George was a portly man with thick gray hair and a rounded belly that spoke of his love for Southern fried food and beer. As he walked their way, he paused to wipe his brow with his handkerchief and adjust the narrow dark tie in the collar of his short-sleeved white shirt. His hands free, he clapped them together and came before them like a man relishing the sight of them.
“Well, well, ladies! Don’t you all look lovely today? I’m assuming you’re all here to talk turtles this afternoon?”
“Of course that’s why we’re here,” Flo muttered to Lovie with a twinge of disgust. She couldn’t abide being patronized.
“Ah, Lovie,” the mayor said, reaching out to clasp her hand in greeting. “I’m especially glad you’re here. We couldn’t have a meeting without our resident Turtle Lady, could we? How are the turtles this year?”
“It’s early yet, but we’ve got four nests that I know of. A good start.”
“Splendid,” he replied, patting her hand as his gaze searched the room. He nodded in acknowledgment of a wave.
Lovie’s lips tightened in annoyance at his disinterest, and she slipped her hand back.
“Is Dr. Bennett coming?” Lois asked.
The mayor was quick to dispel any worry. “Dr. Bennett will be here in just a few more minutes. He flew in today all the way from Virginia, but the storm caused delays. He flies his own plane, you know. He took me up in it last week to fly over the island. I tell you, it gave me a whole new perspective to tour the island from the sky. Yes, sir, a whole new way of looking at things. This development is going to be such a boon.”
Lois leaned in. “The rumors have been flying, but nobody knows anything for sure. Is there going to be a golf club?”
“Nothing is finalized, of course,” Mayor Clarke began with caution. But his enthusiasm caught up with him. “But I think I can safely say that there are hopes for a golf club. And a tennis club.”
Flo perked up and jabbed Lovie in the side.
A murmur of excitement followed, with someone saying, “A golf club, right here on Isle of Palms!”
“That will bring in the right kind of people,” one of the women added. “The kind that will build nice houses.”
“Exactly. And that will bring in a good, strong tax base,” concluded the mayor. “We’ll be able to build more roads, a better fire department, and increase our police force. Yes, ma’am, it will mean great things for our island.” He clasped his hands together.
“It will also mean the destruction of the maritime forest,” Lovie added soberly. “I, for one, am sorry to see it go. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”
“There’s always a price to pay for progress, my dear,” Mayor Clarke said in a sage tone.
There followed several minutes of discussion on the flaws and merits of the potential country club and golf course. Lovie refrained from speaking, choosing to listen to the opinions, most of which, to her surprise, seemed to favor the construction of the country club. Was she the only one sorry that a park wasn’t going in? Frustration bloomed in her chest and she glanced at her watch. It was two twenty. How much longer did Dr. Bennett expect them to wait?
Minutes later the door opened and two men stepped into the room. They both appeared to be somewhere in their early forties and were dressed in khaki pants and the kind of pale brown, multipocketed shirt that was ubiquitous among men involved in wildlife. Theirs bore the emblem of the University of Florida. The first man to enter was shorter, wiry, with neatly trimmed brown hair. His arms were burdened with papers and what looked like a poster. The second, taller man walked past him and proceeded directly to the group. The mayor strode toward him with his hand outstretched and a broad smile on his face. They met in the center of the room, shaking hands and exchanging a few words.
Lovie studied the man who clearly was Dr. Russell Bennett. He was over six feet tall with the rangy, athletic fitness of a man who spent most of his time out of doors. Echoing this, his skin was darkly tanned and his blond hair was so bleached by the sun it looked almost white. He had a long, angular face, but his eyes were hidden behind dark Ray-Bans. Despite his common, uniformlike clothing there was an elegance about him. He moved with the restraint that she recognized as breeding and privilege.
Eager to begin, Mayor Clarke asked everyone to take a seat. A few dozen folding chairs had been set up, and Lovie wondered if Dr. Bennett was disappointed at the low turnout. She, frankly, was surprised that eight showed up.
She took a seat between Flo and Kate in the front row and clasped her hands over her pocketbook in her lap. Looking up again, she saw Dr. Bennett standing behind the table while, behind him, the other man was setting up a color poster that showed the basic anatomy of the loggerhead sea turtle. Dr. Bennett removed his sunglasses and surveyed the crowd. Lovie was surprised by the brilliant blue of his eyes. What made them truly remarkable, she decided, was the sharp contrast of the whites of his eyes against his dark tan. It made the blue all the more astonishing.
Lovie shifted her gaze back to her lap, thinking it had been a long while since she’d been so struck by a man’s appearance. Certainly not the response a married woman should have for another man.
Kate leaned over to whisper, “Now I know why so many women showed up.”
Lovie responded with a wry grin, as much at her own ridiculousness as the others’. The front door opened and two women she didn’t recognize walked in.
“Take a seat, ladies,” the mayor told them, obviously pleased to see two more join the group. “We’re just about to begin.”
They hurried to find seats, bringing the number of women to an even dozen.
The humidity was rising and the room was stuffy. Outside, the storm was about to let loose. Mayor Clarke wiped his brow, cleared his throat, and began.
“I guess we’re all here. We best get a move on. Don’t want to get caught in the storm, do we? Thank you all for coming. I know you’re here to listen to Dr. Bennett, not me, so I’ll make my introduction short. As you all know, the city, the Beach Company, and the Sea Pines Company are conducting environmental and engineering studies of the northern end of Isle of Palms for the purpose of providing vital information to determine just what that land might be used for and how the environment would be impacted by the development. After an exhaustive search, we were fortunate to find the very best man for the job.”
Clarke turned and offered a polite bow of acknowledgment to Russell Bennett. He then lifted a sheet of paper, cleared his throat, and began to read his prepared statement.
“Dr. Bennett is a leading expert on sea turtles. He has a degree from Harvard University and did his graduate work at the University of Florida. Dr. Bennett’s studied sea turtles all over the world. He’s traveled to the Caribbean, South America, Central America, Mexico, and Costa Rica, and of course did exhaustive work with the sea turtles in Florida.” He looked up from his papers and smiled. “Now he’s right here on the Isle of Palms and we’re mighty pleased to have him head up this important study. So without further ado, I present to y’all Dr. Russell Bennett.”
There followed a polite applause. Lovie watched as he calmly looked out at the audience. Then he smiled, and it transformed his scholarly, even diffident expression into one of surprising warmth.
“Thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to come here on this humid day to listen to me speak about the research project I am about to begin for the Isle of Palms,” he began.
He had a melodious voice, pleasant to the ear with its gentle Virginian accent. “The purpose of the study is to determine what impact a development the size and scope of the proposed resort woul
d have on the local wildlife, in particular nesting loggerhead sea turtles. On this island, as in most of South Carolina, loggerheads are the only species of sea turtles that nest regularly. Not the green or Kemp’s, and certainly not the leatherback. Still, the loggerheads are a species on the decline, so every nest is critical.”
Lovie glanced around the room to see puzzled expressions on the women’s faces. He was talking over their heads. No one else in this room beside herself and Flo even knew the difference among the sea turtles.
He took a breath and began pacing, using his hands as he spoke. “I see several components to the project: management, monitoring, research. We’ll form teams to walk the island to locate nests and accumulate data crucial in monitoring populations, formulating protective regulations, and help support those making management decisions, and maximizing reproduction for recovery.”
Strike one, Lovie thought. Even she was having a hard time following.
A hand went up and he paused. “Yes? Do you have a question?”
It was Debbie Underwood, a part-timer from Ohio. “Uh, you say we got loggerheads. How many kinds of turtles are there?”
A faint smile crossed Dr. Bennett’s face, a dawning of understanding. He bent his head in thought, then leaned back against the table in the manner of someone about to begin a long story.
“I should begin with a little background information first,” he said with a smile.
Lovie hid her smile in her palm. Strike two. Dr. Bennett had just realized that he wasn’t speaking to a group of graduate students but to a handful of housewives, most of whom knew little about sea turtles. She waited, curious to see how he’d handle the situation. Or if he even could.
To her surprise, Dr. Bennett had the gift of a natural storyteller. He launched into a fascinating history of the sea turtles, beginning with mythology, including her favorite that Earth was borne by three elephants carried on the back of a turtle. He then moved on to a brief lesson in anatomy, blending dry statistics with amusing anecdotes. He seamlessly led into why sea turtles needed our protection. Lovie knew all these basics, but she enjoyed hearing someone talk so comfortably and with such authority on a topic she held close to her heart. His love for the turtles was obvious, as was his passion to preserve and protect them. Kate and Flo exchanged a look of astonishment with Lovie when he spoke of his studies with Archie Carr, the father of sea turtle study and conservation. For sea turtle enthusiasts, whether lay or professional, an association with Carr was the gold standard.
Beach House Memories Page 8
