Swimming Lessons. Mary Monroe Alice

Toy…” Flo said with a light laugh.

      “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. You can be sure Ethan knew the terminology. He chatted so easily with Dr. Tom, like he was a doctor, too.”

      “Well, of course he did. It makes sense, Toy. He has more experience. Isn’t he your supervisor?”

      “That shouldn’t make any difference at all. I’m the one in charge of the turtle. But I’m always asking Ethan a question or having him double check most everything I do. I’m terrified of making a mistake. After all, this turtle’s life depends on me.” She wrung her hands. “But sooner or later I have to depend on my own abilities.”

      “And you’ll know when that moment comes, my dear. Toy, I’ve been in that very same situation. Most of us have. When I started out as a social worker, the doctors came in and yammered on and on with their ten dollar words. I was shaking in my shoes, just like you are now. I felt downright stupid, completely out of my depth. But you know what happened?”

      Toy shook her head. She’d been listening intently, not stirring in her seat.

      “I studied hard, like you are now, and learned the words quicker than a hot knife through butter. Toy, every job has its own jargon, some more than others. But you’re young, you’re bright, you’re enthusiastic.” She smiled with great warmth. “You’ll catch on.”

      Toy grasped this like a drowning woman. “I am studying every free minute, that’s for true. Why, the other night, poor Lovie fell asleep next to me on the sofa waiting on me to read to her. She looked so cute with her storybook tucked under her arm.” She sighed. “Of course, I felt guilty.”

      “Guilt is part of motherhood, my dear,” Flo said archly. “Why would you think you’d be spared?”

      Toy looked at Flo’s leathery, deeply lined face and her bright, spectacularly blue eyes. Ever since Miss Lovie had died, Flo had taken up the role of godmother to Toy and Little Lovie. Her advice, though often delivered with a velvet fist, was always heartfelt.

      “You sure you don’t want that cup of coffee? Maybe a sweet roll?”

      “No, thanks,” Toy, replied, rising. “I’ve really got to go. Thanks so much for listening. I truly do feel better.”

      “Go on then and make good your escape. And don’t worry about that little ragamuffin. I got me one of those super squirters, too, and I’m dying to soak her good and proper. We’ll be so wild with our new toys, she won’t even notice you’re not here.”

      What a pair, Toy thought but she walked with a lighter step to her car. With Flo’s fiery tongue and Little Lovie’s stubborn streak, they just might be good for one another.

      Toy put down the ragtop of the Gold Bug and let her hair blow in the wind. The tide was high as she crossed the Ben Sawyer Bridge and the water of the Intracoastal Waterway reflected the brilliant blue, cloudless sky like a mirror. It was going to be a hot one, Toy thought. A lot of beachcombers were going to be happy and Brett’s boat business was going to go through the roof.

      Toy glanced at her watch. It was already 7:30 a.m. on the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. Traffic was blissfully light this early and she’d make good time. If she worked fast, she’d be home by lunch. Then she’d keep her promise and take Little Lovie to the beach. And this time, she thought as she tightened her hands on the wheel, she’d help build that sand castle.

      Toy turned on the radio and hummed as she zoomed over the gleaming new Ravenel Bridge. She liked country music. Songs of unrequited love, broken dreams, fights in bars, life and death. Country music sometimes made her think of Darryl and how he used to sing to her the songs he’d written. She rarely thought of him anymore, and when she did, it was with detachment, like he was dead or from some other life, long ago.

      Her future lay before her, she thought with a heady grin. Onward and Upward! Charleston loomed, its church spirals pointed heavenward. Traffic was light on East Bay Street and she make good time, parking in the empty lot just down the road from the Aquarium that would soon be another condominium. The city was changing along the waterfront at a pace that seemed faster than the one she walked as she made her way down the street.

      Her Aquarium T-shirt was already beginning to cling to her skin by the time she entered the blast of air-conditioning inside. Her first stop was the compact, industrial food prep kitchen. Big Girl might be emaciated, but she was still a fussy eater. So far, she seemed to like squid best. Toy cut and weighed the squid and fish, thinking as she did so that trying to feed a thirtysome-year-old turtle wasn’t all that different than trying to feed a picky five-year-old child. Toy cleaned up her kitchen mess and brought the food to Big Girl.

      “You’re here. Perfect!”

      “Ethan?” She hurried toward his voice to find him cleaning Big Girl’s tank with a skimmer. “What’s happened? Is Big Girl okay?”

      “She’s fine. I got a call about another turtle.”

      “A turtle? Where?”

      “At Cherry Point on Wadmalaw Island. The fishermen who found her are bringing her in to the fishery.”

      “How did you hear about it?”

      “They called me.”

      “They called you?”

      “Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad. The fishermen down there know me and that I work at the Aquarium. They wouldn’t know who else to call. So, boss, is it okay with you to bring the turtle in?”

      “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me if it’s okay to bring another turtle into the Aquarium. Into your space?”

      She could almost hear the chuckle in his voice. “No. Jason has already given the okay. I’m asking you if you’re ready to take on another one.” He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t seem to be on this decision tree, or you’d know what my answer would be.”

      The prospect of a second turtle was exciting, but the fact that Jason and Ethan had given the okay was thrilling.

      “Yes, I do. And yes, I am. Bring it on in!”

      “All right, then. I’ve already rustled up another holding tank. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. Are you ready to go?”

      “Go? Go where?”

      “To get the turtle, of course. It isn’t going to crawl in on its own.”

      “I thought you said that the fishermen were bringing it in.”

      “To the fishery, yes. But not all the way here. They’re already doing us a favor by cutting their day short to bring the turtle to the dock.”

      “Oh, sure. Fine.” She looked at the food dish in her hand as her mind spun around all she had to get done. “I just have to feed Big Girl first, and clean out her tank.”

      “You feed. I’ll sweep.”

      His enthusiasm was contagious. The corners of her mouth lifted to a smile as she felt the tension of the early morning bubble to excitement.

      Cherry Point Seafood Company had been in business on Wadmalaw Island since the 1930s. It was a family business that once upon a time had transported passengers as well as seafood and local crops between the Sea Island plantations and Charleston. Back then, local folks could travel to Charleston by either water or horse, and most preferred a boat trip to a long, hot horse ride. Today, there were no more passengers. The long wooden structure with docks that stretched along Bohicket Creek was used strictly for commercial fisherman. It was home to the dozens of shrimp boats and fishing boats that brought in their daily catches.

      “Sure seems quiet today,” Ethan said, pulling the Aquarium’s white pick-up truck into the parking lot. The bed of gravel and shells crunched beneath the tires. He cut the engine and the truck shuddered to a halt.

      “Well, it is a holiday,” she said, looking out