Swimming Lessons. Mary Monroe Alice

shook her head. “Flo, don’t get worked up. We’ll call DuBose.”

      While Cara and Flo argued the point between them, Toy limped off, her heel digging half moons into the sand. She went to Little Lovie’s lopsided sand castle, noticing the bits of shells and sea whip that Lovie had decorated it with while she stuffed the buckets and spades into the canvas bag.

      “You okay?”

      Toy turned her head surprised to see Brett standing by her side. His broad shoulders blocked her view of the women at the shoreline.

      “It’s just a scratch from a sea shell,” she said and returned to stuffing her bag with toys.

      “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

      She tossed a sandy spade into the bag and rested her hands on her thighs, then she looked up again. He was standing with his hands on his hips and a calm and a patient expression on his face. It was so typical of him. Surrounded by volatile women, Brett was always a steadying force for them all. She’d come to look up to him as the big brother she’d always wanted and he’d steered her straight through some pretty rocky waters over the years.

      “Do you really think the Aquarium will take the turtle in?” he asked.

      She shrugged. “Honestly, Brett, I don’t know. I’ve heard talk of taking turtles in this season, but nothing’s been decided. It’s certainly not up to me.” She hesitated then said with feeling, “But at least it’s a possibility.”

      “And a good one. Do you know who to call?”

      A smile twitched her lips as she nodded.

      “So, what are you waiting for? Make that call. You sure don’t need our permission. And it sounds to me like you’ve got the best idea going.”

      Toy pulled her cell phone from the canvas bag, dreading the task she’d set for herself. After all her bluster, she couldn’t back out now. Brett crossed his arms and waited while she dialed the number of her supervisor at the Aquarium. She told herself it was the cold, not nervousness, that made her fingers stiff but the pounding in her heart was proof that it took nerves for her, a low-level staff member at the Aquarium, to be calling the Director of Animal Husbandry. She shivered as the wind gusted.

      Jason answered the phone after two rings. The phone connection from the beach wasn’t good and she had to repeat sentences, but she managed to quickly sum up the situation. After a few minutes conversation she closed her cell phone and looked up at Brett, eyes wide with triumph.

      “Jason said to bring her in!”

      “Well, hey! Good work, kiddo.”

      Toy felt a surge of satisfaction at the congratulations Cara and Flo gave her when she delivered the good news.

      “The only problem is,” Toy added, “the Aquarium is locked tight until morning.”

      “What are we supposed to do with the turtle till then?” Flo asked.

      “When I interned at the sea turtle hospital at Topsail,” Toy replied, “Jean Beasley told me about the first sick turtle they found. She was a big loggerhead, like this one. They found her floating, too. It was late in the day and they didn’t have anywhere to take her, so they carried the turtle to Jean’s garage on the island, washed her off, wrapped her in warm wet towels and watched her through the night. The next morning they drove her to a veterinary hospital. That same night the turtle was released back to Jean’s garage.” She smiled. “And that was the beginning of the Karen Beasley Sea Turtle hospital.”

      “You thinking of starting a hospital, now?” Flo chided.

      Toy smirked and shook her head. “Maybe someday. But right now I’m thinking we need to stop talking and get this turtle off the beach. The sun is going down and Little Lovie is cold, I’m cold, and that means the turtle is cold, too.”

      As if to punctuate her statement, the turtle made an effort to take a labored breath. It was feeble yet enough to prompt the group to action.

      “Well, if they could do it, so can we,” said Cara. She bent over to grab hold of the turtle’s shell. “Okay, everyone, grab a side.”

      Brett moved alongside the turtle and took hold. Toy followed suit.

      “Whoa, gang. Where are we taking her?” asked Flo.

      “Where else?” Cara replied with a crooked grin. “To the beach house.”

      2

      Primrose Cottage was a quaint yellow beach house with mullioned windows and a welcoming veranda. It sat on a high dune across from the ocean and was surrounded by sweetgrass, sea oats and wildflowers that grew in a riotous display. Modest but comfortable, it was one of the few remaining original cottages left on Isle of Palms. Primrose Cottage was once the summer home of Olivia Rutledge. After her death, the beach house was passed on to Lovie’s daughter, Cara, who then rented the house to Toy for a fraction of its worth. It was the kind of generous arrangement that a family member would make for another.

      It was to this beach house that the turtle team decided to bring the sick sea turtle for the night. With Brett’s strong back, the four of them managed to carry the enormous sea turtle up the beach, over the dunes, and along the narrow beach path to the house.

      The sky was dusky and the yellow light streaming from the cottage windows was welcoming as they approached. Cara was panting hard and her arms strained like they were breaking by the time they set the huge sea turtle down on the sand and gravel in front of the beach house.

      “I have a whole new understanding of what it takes for those mamas to crawl out from the sea under all that weight,” Cara said, bent with her hands on her knees. “Look at my knees, they’re shaking!”

      “You think this was tough?” Brett asked her with a short laugh. He wiped his hands on his shirt. “Giving you a piggyback ride through the pluff mud makes this seem like a walk in the park.”

      While the others guffawed, Cara twisted her mouth into a smirk. “Ha ha ha, very funny,” she replied. “Just for that I think I’ll add a few pounds for the next jaunt to the hammock.”

      His brows rose. “I think my dreamboat has already taken on a little extra cargo.”

      This set off another round of laughs from Toy and Flo as Cara sauntered up to slap his arms, already raised in mock self-defense. Toy watched the teasing banter between husband and wife and wondered what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a man. The kind where slapping could be playful rather than hurtful.

      “Save your energy. We’re far from done,” Flo called out, heading to the underbelly of the beach house’s raised porch.

      Primrose Cottage had endured years of salt air, blustery wind and blazing sun, and the old house was showing its age. It was an endless battle to keep the paint from peeling, the mold from peppering the wood, and any gravel on the driveway. The small area under the front porch was closed in on two sides by a wall of a wobbly, faded white wooden trellis weighed down with jasmine vines. This confined area was so stuffed, Toy could barely see the cement slab.

      “We’ll have to clean out this place if we aim to put this turtle here for the night,” said Flo. She surveyed the area and muttered, “And I thought I had a lot of stuff.”

      “It’s not all mine,” Toy said defensively. “Most of it was Miss Lovie’s and I don’t figure we should move it.”

      “Why not?” Flo replied. “She won’t miss it.”

      Toy looked dismayed at the comment but Flo only shrugged then moved a pink bicycle with training wheels and plastic streamers stemming from the handles. “If you ask me—and you didn’t—I’d say both the elder and the younger Lovies have accumulated a mountain of stuff.”

      “Okay, okay,” Cara called out as she surveyed the wall to wall clutter. “I admit, I’m not the best landlady,