Swimming Lessons. Mary Monroe Alice

course you are.”

      Cara rose, gathered the two wine glasses and brought them to the sink. Then she went to the fridge to rummage for the makings of dinner. Brett had brought some local shrimp home from the market. She took these out and laid them on the counter. Taking a shrimp knife from the drawer, she began peeling. A minute later, Emmi was standing beside her at the counter, peeling shrimp.

      They worked in the silence of old friends in a comfortable setting. Cara didn’t have any answers for Emmi, nor, she suspected, did Emmi expect them. Or even want them. Sometimes, the best thing to offer was simply safe shelter.

      Medical Log “Big Girl”

      May 28

      This turtle has major buoyancy problems. She’s so full of gas her tail end floats high, making it hard for her to dive to eat. Endoscopy scheduled. We continue to debride, scrape and scrub. After days in a freshwater bath, the barnacles all came off but left pockmarked scarring. The outer scutes are so heavily dotted it looks like Big Girl is wearing a crochet sweater. Turtle is so emaciated there is a big void where fat flesh should be.

      Even though she is underweight and dehydrated, she is the biggest rehab turtle I’ve ever worked with. Don’t worry, Big Girl. Those scars will heal! TS

      6

      When the telephone rang, the room was filled with the metallic gray light of early dawn. Toy groaned and rolled to her stomach, dragging the pillow over her head. Who could be calling at this hour? Didn’t whoever that rude person was know today was Sunday, the blessed day of rest?

      Sleepily, she dragged her mind through possibilities. Favel said he would go to the Aquarium this morning to take care of Big Girl, and Irwin was covering the afternoon. She yawned lustily. She was so looking forward to sleeping late.

      When the answering machine clicked on, she tugged the pillow from her head to listen. She heard Flo’s strident voice on the machine.

      “Hey! We’ve got a nest! And it’s right smack in front of our houses. Toy! Are you there? Pick up. Pick up!”

      Toy threw the pillow aside as she lurched for the phone.

      “Hello? Flo? Hello?”

      But Flo had already hung up, no doubt to call Cara. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Toy sat up and scratched her head while adrenaline cleared her thoughts. A nest… In front of the beach house…

      They’re here! A smile dawned on her face. She hurried down the hall barefoot, tugging up the bottoms of her baggy cotton pajamas.

      “Wake up, sleepyhead!”

      “Go away,” Lovie whined, turning her back on Toy and burrowing under the covers. Kiwi, the calico cat sleeping beside her, raised her head. Her yellow eyes regarded Toy with disdain at being disturbed.

      Toy knew bringing Little Lovie to the beach would slow her down, but she wanted her daughter to share this, to be part of something that was important to her, as it had been to her namesake.

      “Lovie, there’s a turtle nest—right in front of our house!” She shook the lump under the blankets. “Come on, girl!”

      Lovie pulled back the blankets, sending Kiwi leaping from the bed. “The nest is here?” When Toy nodded, Lovie scrambled from under her blankets as fast as a ghost crab from its hole in the sand. Toy went to her drawer and pulled out shorts.

      “I can dress myself!” Lovie snapped.

      Little Lovie pitched a fit when Toy tried to pick clothes out for her so rather than deal with a tantrum, Toy just called out, “Meet you in a few!” and trotted down the hall. Excitement bubbled in her veins. She grabbed her running shorts, sniffed the green Turtle Team T-shirt and deeming it acceptable, slipped it over her head. She then pulled her unbrushed hair back into a ponytail. Over this, she slipped on the Turtle Team cap. They met at the screen door where they both slipped on sand crusted sandals. Little Lovie had her pink T-shirt on backward and her golden hair tumbled in a mass down her shoulders. Toy held back a smile but wisely said nothing. Miss Lovie once told her to “choose your battles.”

      After a good push she got the wobbly screen door open. She’d have to fix that some day, she thought as she hurried to the old wicker basket on the porch. She found her long, thin, yellow metal probe stick and backpack. Just a week before, in anticipation of the season, she and Little Lovie had sat at the kitchen table and cleaned out the dusty green backpack of last season’s sand and grit and put new batteries in the flashlight.

      She’d watched as Little Lovie carefully placed back all the turtle team tools: a red flashlight, a tape measure for measuring the tracks, orange tape, wooden shish kebob sticks for counting eggs, brochures for tourists, a magic marker and the lovely half shell that once was Olivia Rutledge’s and now was her prize possession. Miss Lovie’s probe stick and red bucket had gone to Cara, but Toy had purchased a red bucket of her own. In it were several thick wooden stakes and the bright orange federal signs that marked all nests.

      “I think that’s it,” she said to Little Lovie, then had a sudden thought. “Wait one more minute.” She ran inside to the kitchen junk drawer and grabbed a cheap instamatic camera. She tossed it into her backpack and hoisted it on her shoulders. Then going back out, she took Little Lovie’s hand. “Let’s go!”

      They followed the narrow beach path like hound dogs on the scent. The tangy, salty morning air led them around white dunes that had shifted and grown tall during the winter storms. Now the dunes were dotted with yellow primrose and beach grass, and pocked by the small holes of ghost crabs. Toy looked over her shoulder to see their footprints in the sand—hers large, Lovie’s small—side by side. Reaching the top of the dune, Toy paused, mouth open, her breath stolen by the sight.

      The breadth of sand was aflame with the pink, orange and yellow light of dawn. Beyond, the vast blue ocean was glistening in the light, a rolling, breathing beast stretching out to meld with the horizon. She turned to look at her daughter. Little Lovie stood motionless, her blue eyes staring at the sunrise.

      “I’m glad you brought me,” Lovie said softly.

      Toy squeezed Lovie’s hand. In those few words, she knew her daughter’s young spirit had fully awakened in the beauty of this dawn.

      Scanning the beach, her heart quickened when she spotted the clearly defined turtle tracks that scarred the smooth sand from the high tide line up to the dune.

      “Mama, look!” Lovie called out, pointing. Her voice was high with wonder. “The turtle walked around our sandcastle! Wasn’t she nice?” Little Lovie clapped her hands and took off like a shot.

      Toy laughed lightly, her amazement stirring her own childlike wonder. “You good ol’ turtle,” she muttered. The turtle tracks did, indeed, travel up to, then around, the sand castle seemingly not wishing to disturb it. Her gaze followed the turtle tracks up to a small circular mound on the dunes that was the turtle nest. Already a small cluster of people gathered around it. She recognized Flo’s shock of bright white hair and Cara’s glossy brown, Glenn’s sun helmet, Grace’s short dark curls, and…who was that lean, leggy redhead? She called out with a wave and began walking toward them.

      “The turtles are here!” Flo exclaimed, raising her arms high in triumphant welcome. Her voice bubbled with the excitement they all felt. The joy was visceral. This nest signaled a beginning of their summer’s vocation. Hopes were flying high that it would be a good season.

      Cara turned and waved in welcome from her spot farther down the beach near the castle where she was measuring the tracks. Little Lovie came crashing into her legs, wrapping her arms around Cara. Grace and Glenn offered Toy hugs while accepting her congratulations for being the ones to find the season’s first nest.

      Turtle volunteers were a dedicated and loyal bunch. Toy knew all of the eighty people who took turns walking the beaches early in the morning to search for turtle tracks. Yet of all these, Grace and Glenn were special. In their late eighties, they put the young’uns