lounge chair with a loud curse. Toy had been in a fitful sleep, dreaming again of the swimming sea turtle and tangled up in the sweltering sleeping bag. She’d dragged herself upstairs to her bed, stripping off her sweaty clothes and flopping naked onto blissfully cool sheets. Under the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan, she’d fallen instantly into a deep sleep.
She felt groggy, like she could sleep for another few hours, but she dutifully rubbed her eyes and kicked off the sheets. She rose slowly and padded in bare feet across the wood floor to the small, white tiled bathroom, eager for the rush of cool water and minty soap to wash away remnants of the steamy night. She emerged a short time later, refreshed and eager to see the turtle. She dressed quickly in her Aquarium uniform of khaki shorts and the gray polo shirt with the SC Aquarium emblem, pulled her damp hair up in a clip and tied her tennis shoes.
Morning light poured into the small living room from a row of three windows that offered a breathtaking view of grassy dune, palms, blue sky and thousands of acres of sparkling ocean. In front of these were an old down sofa and two enormous armchairs slip-covered in the cabbage rose pattern that Olivia Rutledge had loved. Between the chairs sat a round ottoman in the same fabric. It had been a favorite spot of Miss Lovie’s, and every time she looked at it, Toy thought of her sitting with her legs up, a book in one hand, sipping tea.
The tongue-in-groove walls and golden heart pine floors were typical of many of the old island houses. On the walls were oil paintings of the lowcountry, all by local artists, historical and contemporary: Verner, Williams, Pratt-Thomas, Greene, Smith and others. It was a cozy, cheery room, and a world away from the shabby trailers Toy had grown up in.
From the main room, a narrow hall adorned with Rutledge family photographs that dated back to the turn of the century led to two small bedrooms. Toy went to the seaward room to gently nudge her daughter awake. Little Lovie groused and grumbled but eventually was lured from her bed. Next, Toy headed downstairs under the porch.
She found Cara stretched out on the lounge chair, one leg falling off it, gently snoring. She smirked, never having seen the usually sophisticated Cara Rutledge Beauchamps in that pose. The morning was already warm, hinting at the hot, humid day it would become. Toy bent close to the turtle and hesitated, wondering with sudden fear if the turtle had made it through the night. She removed the damp towels from its shell.
The turtle’s eyes rolled up to look at her.
“Ah, Big Girl!” she exclaimed, relieved beyond measure. “It sure is nice to wish you a good morning. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I was worried. But you’re a survivor, aren’t you? Just like me.”
Her large eyes watched Toy with a sickly expression.
“You aren’t feeling so good, are you? Don’t you worry. We’ll get you to the hospital in no time.”
Toy heard a loud yawn behind her. She turned to see Cara squinting through half-opened eyes and scratching her wildly disheveled hair.
“I feel like I slept on a railroad track,” Cara said in a hoarse voice.
“You look like it, too. A shower will improve your outlook.”
“A shower, a massage…I need the whole spa treatment. How’s Big Girl?”
“She’s alive—barely. We can try to feed her once we get her in a proper tank.”
“She probably just wants coffee.” Cara absently scratched a mosquito bite on her arm. “Speaking of which, is Flo here yet? I’d kill for a cup right now.”
“Not yet. Come on, sleepyhead. We’d better get a move on. It’s going to be a busy day.”
She went back upstairs to find Little Lovie back in bed. “You too?” she exclaimed as she tickled her stomach and toes, rousing her slowly. Reminding her of the sea turtle under their house did the trick and she laughed as Lovie scrambled into her clothes. Next she began preparations for breakfast. She was putting bread into the toaster when Flo burst through the door like a hurricane.
“Morning, Turtle Team!”
“I thought you’d never get here with that coffee,” Cara exclaimed, coming into the room. Her dark, damp hair was pulled back on her head and her brown eyes were more alive after her shower.
“Nice shirt,” Toy said to her, looking at her own shirt that Cara was wearing.
“I can wear day old, wrinkled shorts if I have to, but I just couldn’t put that stinky, turtle bombed T-shirt back on. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Help yourself,” Toy replied.
Cara stopped at the table where Little Lovie was eating cereal to lean over and nuzzle her neck. “Mmmm, gimme some sugar.”
While Little Lovie squealed, Toy turned to reach for cups from the cupboard. Olivia Rutledge had stored the remnants of generations of mismatched collections of china in the beach house. One of Toy’s morning pleasures was to choose a pattern to suit her mood. Today she chose the green and pink floral Wedgwood.
Flo poured the coffee while Cara poured the milk but no one took the time to sit at the table. They stood leaning against the counter and sipped as they arranged the day. Flo agreed to stay with Little Lovie while Toy and Cara escorted Big Girl to the Aquarium. This led to their favorite topic of conversation—the turtle nests.
“It’s the end of May,” Flo said with a sorry shake of her head. “We should have at least one nest by now.”
Cara’s face reflected her worry. “Last year’s numbers were so bad, I was hoping we’d have a swell of girls coming to lay eggs this summer to make up for it. I hope our worst fears aren’t realized and they just aren’t out there.”
“The hurricanes last year sure didn’t help.”
“It’s early yet,” Toy said with optimism. “After all, Big Girl was out there.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Flo said, raising her mug. “May there be many healthy ones out there, just biding their time.”
“Here’s to their homecoming,” Toy added, clinking mugs.
“Speaking of homecomings, I’ve got some news.” Cara leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “I heard from Emmi. She’s sold her house in Atlanta and plans to move here permanently! She’ll be here for Memorial Day.”
“It’s about time she got herself down here,” Flo declared. “She usually blows in with the turtles. The season doesn’t really start until we have one turtle nest and Emmi Peterson back.”
Toy sipped her coffee and thought of the big-hearted, big-boned woman with a smile as bright as her fiery red hair. Emmaline Baker Peterson was the last member of the core Turtle Team started ages ago by Miss Lovie. Volunteers came and went, but the core team shared a bond that came from long hours spent together at the beach, mutual reliance and countless stories shared.
“I missed her last summer when she didn’t come down,” Toy said. “The whole season was weird. There were hardly any turtles and Emmi wasn’t here. There must be a connection there.”
“Last year was pretty tough for her,” Cara said.
“Is the divorce final?” asked Flo.
Cara nodded. “She just signed the papers. Emmi sounded pretty beat up by the whole thing. To be honest, so am I. I still can’t believe she and Tom are divorced. They were the poster couple for happy marriages. They’d loved each other since they were kids. Hell, I fell in love with Tom the same day Emmi did! How does love like that just end? If it can happen to them…”
“Tom was fooling around,” Flo said in that matter-of-fact manner that brushed away any connection between Tom and Emmi and whatever Cara was brooding about. “When a man does that, he’s throwing the marriage away. I’d like to give that boy the tongue lashing of his life. He was raised better than that.”
“Be nice to Emmi when she gets here,” Cara said. “No