Beach House Memories (23 page)

So it was hard for Lovie to accept that Stratton could be unfaithful. He made her believe there was something wrong with
her
—she wasn’t pretty enough, sexy enough, or good enough in bed. Especially as she grew older, had children, and her muscles softened. He’d never said so in words, but he was disappointed that she didn’t want to try certain positions or use erotic toys that embarrassed her to even talk about, much less bring into her bed. She wished she had someone she could talk to about such things, but it was hardly like discussing a new recipe, was it?

For fifteen years, Lovie had looked the other way so as not to see what she didn’t want to see. Was this what some called turning the blind eye? Yes, most likely. Was it cowardly? Perhaps. Yet some days she felt that it took far more strength and courage to do just that, to keep the family going, than to raise a fuss.

So now, hours after Stratton had left, all Lovie mustered was a chilling, apathetic blend of anger and regret.

Later that night, the song of the insects swelled in chorus, a sweet, steady breeze blew in from the ocean, and the wine was chilled. It was a perfect evening for a heart-to-heart with her best friends. Yet Lovie found it hard to concentrate on Miranda’s difficulties with her current painting or Flo’s upcoming plans with Dr. Bingham Wolitzer. Eventually, the table grew quiet while Flo and Miranda exchanged worried glances.

“Okay, kiddo, spill the beans,” Flo told her. “What’s bothering you? Or are you going to make us get you drunk first?”

Lovie wanted to laugh but didn’t have the heart. With these two women, she could be honest and know that her words wouldn’t be broadcast around the island the following morning.

“You know that Stratton is going to Europe,” Lovie began, staring at her wine.

“Yeah. And Japan. He travels all the time now,” Flo said slowly.

“With his secretary.”

Flo’s eyes widened. “No, he is not!”

“Oh, yes he is. I found the tickets in his suitcase. I don’t think he meant to tell me, but there they were. So he blustered right through, going on and on about how he needed to bring her because he was forging new business and he had so many meetings to conduct, new people to meet, follow-ups, et cetera, et cetera. It all sounded plausible enough. Perfectly innocent.”

“But you don’t believe him.” This came from Miranda.

Lovie paused, considering her words. It was all still so fresh. And yet not. These suspicions were hardly new. How could she
explain all the doubts and feelings of shame that had whirled in her these past few hours?

“I’ve thought about it at length and . . .” She paused. “I choose to believe him,” she replied.

“You
choose
to believe him?” Flo shook her head in disbelief. “What the hell does that mean? How do you choose to believe or not? Mama, explain it to me, because I don’t get it.”

Miranda reached out and patted her daughter’s hand. “You’ve never been married.”

“As if that’d make a difference,” Flo sputtered. “And I can tell you right now if that’s what marriage is about, I don’t ever want to get married. Girl, if a man did that to me, I’d kick the old coot in the balls so hard he’d be singing soprano.”

“Flo!” Lovie exclaimed with a shocked chuckle.

“I mean it. Hell, Lovie, where’s your gumption? Your self-respect?”

“What choice do I have?” she cried, stung. “He’s my husband. The father of my children. I’m not going to leave him, so I might as well choose to believe him. I don’t want to know the truth.”

“So you can sugarcoat it.”

“He’d never do anything to embarrass me or the family. He cares for me too much.”

“He cares for his own reputation too much,” Flo fired back.

“Yes,” she admitted. “And his family. And his family name. And, I like to think, my reputation, too.” She sighed. “Oh, Flo, it is what it is. What choice do I have? Please, don’t badger me. Not tonight. I’m trying to hold on to what little self-respect he’s left me. To make the best of it.” She closed her eyes and took a long swallow from her wineglass, emptying it.

Miranda bided her time as the candle flickered between them. “You mean,” she said in a more even tone, “you won’t even talk to him about it?”

“Oh, I’ll talk to him,” Lovie said. “Of course I will. But not
now. Not this summer. He’s off to Europe.” She felt her eyes fill with tears and took a moment to tamp down the quick spurt of emotion. She looked out toward her old ally, the sea. The inky sky shadowed the vast ocean, but from the velvety blackness she heard the steady roll of the surf as a friend whispering
there, there
in a comforting rhythm.

“Do you want to know the truth?” Lovie said at length, turning her head to face Flo. Flo’s face and torso were barely visible in the light of the candle. The darkness made the talking easier. “At some level, I was glad to hear he’d decided to go to Japan. Because that meant he’d be gone longer. That sounds awful, doesn’t it? But it’s true. That was my first thought. I wouldn’t have to deal with him snipping at my heels all summer, complaining about my being gone so much, especially when I started going out to the nests at night, too. I can hear him now. ‘You’re going out
again
?’”

Flo chortled in the darkness.

“You know I’m right.”

Flo lifted her glass and sipped. “Yeah.”

“You said it first. I’m really free this summer. This project might mean nothing to him, but it means everything to me. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to do it right. Russell Bennett is a great teacher.”

“Even if he is a jerk,” Flo interjected.

Lovie huffed but ignored that comment. Flo was still angry that he hadn’t taught her how to move a nest yet. “Try to understand, Flo,” she said. “For me, it’s like being in graduate school and an internship all rolled into one. I’ll never have this chance again. And what’s more, Dr. Bennett respects my records, my work, and my ideas. This is more than a hobby to me. It’s a vocation. I’m proud of my work. I’m proud of
me
! Not because I’m Mrs. Stratton Rutledge, or Palmer and Cara’s mother, or Michael Simmons’s daughter. But because I’m Olivia Rutledge.” She laughed. “The Turtle Lady. This work is mine.”

Flo was silent a moment. Then she reached out to fill Lovie’s wineglass and handed it to her. She picked up her own glass.

“I have to say, I’ve never heard you talk like this before. I’ve never heard such conviction. Well, good for you. I’m proud of you, too, sugar.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you. And the best summer ever.”

Later that evening, as Lovie lay in her bed, she felt restless. The breeze stirred the curtains at the window, its salty scent luring her thoughts to the sea—and Russell. He had only been gone for a few days but she was surprised at the emptiness his absence had left in her life.

True, he was a taskmaster. Keeping records had become demanding. Russell wanted more information than she’d ever collected before—the measurement of tracks and description of any similarities like the scraping trail of a barnacle or the lopsided evidence of a missing flipper. He wanted a description of all the field signs, the moving of nests, recording the number of eggs, the success rate, and predation by ants, raccoons, crabs, and more. Yet even with all his demands, his occasional ornery comments, and his indefatigable energy—she missed him.

She reached over to the bedside stand for her sea turtle journal. Opening it, she began to write.

Sea Turtle Journal

July 10, 1974

Dr. Bennett demands that I act the expert I am. He expects the best out of me and pushes me to set higher goals and to believe in my ability to achieve them. This kind of mentorship is, I know, rare. So in the end, with all these records, the turtles have taught me to observe closely, to trust my instincts, and to pay attention to the smallest of details.

A few days later, Flo was beaming. She’d just moved her first nest, and her feet were barely touching the sand.

Lovie let Flo carry the bright red plastic bucket, which had somehow morphed into an honor. Last summer, Lovie had spotted the bucket on her porch. She’d figured that the light weight would make the bucket the handiest carry-all for the sticks, plastic tape, and other paraphernalia she needed for nests. Little did she know it would also be the official transportation for eggs.

Flo found the second set of turtle tracks, and this time mama turtle had laid her nest in a proper spot higher along the dunes. Flo was disappointed, but Lovie was glad they wouldn’t have to move this one. She preferred to let nature rule out whenever possible.

Once Lovie located the eggs, Flo marked the nest with Russell’s wire plastic flag. He preferred his own system for nest marking rather than the wooden stakes Lovie had used. They were color-coded for the month: blue flags for nests in June, yellow for July, and green for August. False crawls had red flags. As the summer progressed, they could walk the beach and know at a glance which nests were due using the color code. It was only early July, and already they’d marked twenty-eight nests. The rainbow of flags was cheery as they flapped in the wind.

Lovie measured the tracks, then sat on the dune to record everything in her journal. While she was bent over her notebook writing, she heard the faint roar of a plane’s engine. Her gaze shot up and she spied a small plane coming closer, flying low. Recognizing it, her heart leaped to her chest and she sprang to her feet.

“Russell’s back!” she cried in surprised delight as she spotted the familiar white Cessna approaching in the blue sky. She ran closer to the shoreline, waving her arms in a wide arc, splashing in the waves as she grinned wildly. She felt like her heart was soaring, too. “Russell!”

Flo ran up beside her, waving as well, joining her laughter, as the two cried out cheers of welcome. The plane flew low along the beach, then Russell tipped the wing in acknowledgment before the plane regained altitude and continued along the coast.

“He’s back!” Lovie exclaimed, catching her breath. She was totally caught up in the moment. She hadn’t allowed herself to think how much she’d missed him, but her joy had erupted without bidding. She stood watching the sky with her hand over her eyes like a visor until the plane was out of sight. Dropping her hand, she turned to see Flo eyeing her with a puzzled expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You seem pretty excited to see Russell come back,” she replied.

“Why, sure I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Are you getting involved? In a nonprofessional way, I mean?”

Lovie’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected that question this morning . . . or ever. “No,” she replied. “I didn’t even like him at first. You know that. But since then we’ve become good friends.”

“Friends, huh? Bing and I are friends, too. But I’d be lying if I said that’s all we are. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“You’re letting your lovesick imagination get away from you,” she replied. Then, “But what if I were?”

“That’s dangerous ground you’re treading there, missy. It’s one thing to work closely with someone, to admire him. To even be infatuated with him. But that’s where you need to leave it. Need I remind you he’s a married man?”

“No,” she said in a huff. “Need I remind you that I’m a married woman?”

Flo hesitated, deflating the tension. “No. I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

Neither spoke for a moment. “It’s funny,” Lovie said, “but
Russell said the same thing about you. He didn’t want you and Bing to get romantically involved.”

“Tell him to mind his own business,” Flo retorted.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” she said to Flo. “But you should take your own advice.”

“What?” Flo asked, aghast. “Are you having an affair?”

Lovie put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Oh, Flo, no! But I’m attracted to him, I can’t deny it. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all. There isn’t a woman on the team who doesn’t dream about Dr. Bennett.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s just I don’t think Dr. Bennett is dreaming about any of them. He’s dreaming about
you
.”

“Stop being ridiculous. We’re just friends. We spend a lot of time together.”

“Bing even noticed the way he looks at you.” She chortled. “Bing said Russell talks about you like you’re Rachel Carson and Emily Post combined.”

“Really?” Lovie felt a rush of mixed feelings heat her face.

Flo raised two fingers. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Girl Scout.”

“No,” Flo admitted, “but I’m your best friend. All joking aside, I remember we made that pinkie promise.” She raised her baby finger between them. “I’m here for you, forever.”

Lovie hooked her finger to Flo’s. “Forever.”

Eleven

J
uly brought the intense heat of the Southern summer. The ceiling fans at the beach house were whirring around the clock. The house was steamy by midday, so Lovie closed the shutters and blinds during the peak hours and served cold drinks in the shade of the covered porch. After a swim in the ocean, the ninety-degree heat didn’t feel too oppressive.