.

her advanced years, Flo ran straight into the water, her tennis shoes still on.

      “Drag her out of the water,” Toy cried with urgency. “We’ve got company.”

      Flo looked over her shoulder. “God damn,” she muttered.

      Little Lovie ran into the surf, arms reaching for the turtle. “Let me help!”

      “Lovie, you get back on the beach this instant!” Toy ordered.

      “But I want to help!”

      “Do as your mama says,” Flo told her. “Sharks nibble hatchlings in ankle deep water and your toes are just the right size. Go on now, git.”

      Little Lovie scrambled out of the ocean.

      Flo grabbed hold of a side of the turtle’s shell. Her deeply tanned arms spoke of many years spent in the sun. “On the count of three…”

      With a heave-ho, they shoved the turtle up the final few feet to the edge of the beach. Out of the water, the full impact of the huge turtle’s weight was felt. It was like pushing a boulder and it took all they had to get the turtle to scrape sand till only the tips of the incoming tide caressed her rear flippers.

      The turtle remained motionless. Toy plopped down on the sand beside her and lifted her foot to check out her wound. She was shocked to see that the cut in her big toe was deep and bright red blood trickled in a steady flow. And it hurt like hell. It hit her how reckless she’d been to stay in the sea with a bleeding wound. Raising her gaze, she looked again out at the sea. The shark had already disappeared beneath the murky water. She started to laugh with relief.

      “What are you laughing at?” Flo asked. “Is that a cut you’ve got there?” She swooped down like a mother hen.

      “It’s nothing.”

      “I’ll be the judge of that. Those shells can be like razors. Let me see it.”

      “Really, Flo, I’m okay.”

      “Bring it here.” Flo bent and, grabbing hold of Toy’s foot, studied the toe closer. She clucked her tongue. Little Lovie hovered nearby, mesmerized. After a quick perusal, Flo released the foot and rose to a stand. “Put some antibiotic ointment on it and you’ll live.”

      Toy looked up at her daughter with a reassuring smile.

      “I can’t believe you went out there with a shark trailing you,” Flo said. “You know better.”

      Toy took the scolding with good nature. “I didn’t see it when I swam out and I wasn’t sure I was bleeding.” She snorted and added smugly, “But I got her in, didn’t I?”

      Florence Prescott usually had something upbeat to say about most things, but she looked at the turtle with a frown and shaking her head said, “I’m not sure it was worth the risk. This turtle looks barely alive. And she’s covered with gunk. I’ve buried strandings that looked better than this one.”

      “No, she’s beautiful. That gunk is merely leeches, algae and barnacles. We just have to get her someplace where we can clean her up.”

      Before they could discuss this further, their attention was caught by calls coming from up the beach. “Well, thank goodness the cavalry’s here,” Flo said. She stretched her arm overhead and waved, calling out, “Cara! Brett! Over here!”

      Toy turned toward the dunes and saw an attractive couple in khaki shorts and green Barrier Island Eco-Tour T-shirts. Toy’s spirits soared and she grinned from ear to ear as she lifted her arm in a wave.

      A tall, lean woman strode toward them in a long-legged, no-nonsense manner. Her glossy, dark hair whipped in the breeze and behind her smart, tortoise sunglasses, Toy knew Cara’s brown eyes were sparkling with excitement at the prospect of a live turtle on the beach.

      Behind her, Brett’s broad shoulders and height towered even over Cara. Though he wore the same T-shirt of the tour company they owned, on Brett the clothes were faded and worn, giving him the disheveled appearance of an island boy.

      Little Lovie yelped with excitement at seeing them and ran into Brett’s arms for a quick hoist high up in the air.

      “It’s a turtle, see!” she cried out.

      “I see it!” Brett’s blue eyes brightened against his weathered tan as he grinned wide and swung Little Lovie around, her legs flying behind her. Then he tucked her on his hip with a hug of affection.

      “What’ve we got?” Cara asked, walking directly to the turtle. She bent over the sea turtle to get a closer look.

      “Probably a nesting female,” Flo replied as she quickly moved to Cara’s side. “She’s covered with barnacles. And look, leeches too. Ugh, the horrid blood suckers are all over her.”

      Cara grimaced at the pitiful sight. “She must’ve been floating for weeks.”

      “Weeks? Longer than that,” Flo replied. “These poor floaters can’t dive to hunt and this old girl likely hasn’t eaten in months. Her neck is so thin…she’s all skin.” She clucked her tongue. “I don’t know if she’s going to make it.”

      “She’s not gone yet,” Toy said, joining them at the turtle’s side. She felt fiercely protective of the turtle she rescued. “I’ve been amazed at how resilient sea turtles can be. I’m not giving up on her.”

      “She’s certainly a big girl,” Brett said, drawing near with Little Lovie in his arms.

      “Let’s see how big she is.” Cara pulled a measuring tape out of her backpack and made quick work of measurements. She called out the numbers to Flo who scribbled them down in her notebook. Little Lovie scrambled out of Brett’s arms to hover closer, half curious, half repelled by the condition of the turtle.

      Toy tucked her fingertips into her back pockets. The early evening’s chill seemed to go straight through her wet clothes.

      “From tip to tip of the shell, I’ve got forty inches,” Cara called out. “I’m guessing she’s well over 200 pounds.”

      Flo slapped the sand from her hands. “Well, that’s that. I guess I’d better call it in to DuBose at the Department of Natural Resources to come get her.”

      “I could call the Aquarium,” Toy piped up.

      Cara checked her watch. “It’s after six o’clock. DuBose won’t be in her office.”

      “No, but there’s the DNR hotline number,” Flo replied. “Someone will come out.”

      “Tomorrow, most likely,” said Brett.

      “DNR doesn’t do rehab,” Cara said, zipping up her backpack. “What will they do with a live turtle?”

      Flo shrugged. “Do you have any better ideas?”

      “I could call the Aquarium.” Toy said again, a little louder.

      The two women turned their heads toward her in swift unison.

      “The Aquarium?” asked Flo with doubt. “What will they do? They don’t take in sick sea turtles.”

      “Well, actually, yes they—we do,” Toy replied. “At least, the Aquarium took two in before. A few years back. They didn’t do the rehabilitation, but they held the turtle until it could be moved to a vet. I don’t know…it’s just a thought,” she added hesitatingly.

      “Even so,” Cara replied. “No one will be at the Aquarium at this hour either. Why do the emergencies always happen after business hours? It’s like some unspoken law.”

      “But we can still call the Aquarium,” Toy persisted. “We always have someone on call.”

      “Really?” Cara asked, interested. “Then, I suppose that is a possibility to consider.”

      “The DNR still has to be notified,” Flo said with finality.