Swimming Lessons (28 page)

“I thought you were going dancing!” she said to Rafael, barely able to speak she was breathing so hard.

“I was,” he replied, not the least winded. “But then I thought about you sitting here by yourself, and about
beginner’s luck, and I decided I wanted to be here when you saw your first leatherback.”

“It’s not my first sea turtle,” she replied defensively. “I’ve seen hundreds of loggerheads.”

Her eyes were growing accustomed to the dark and even in the minimal light she could make out the smirk on Rafael’s face. “Those aren’t
real
turtles,” he replied. “Loggerheads are toy turtles compared to the leatherbacks.”

She was affronted by this and would have said something in defense of her beloved loggerheads, but the guide flashed his light on a trail of turtle tracks carved into the beach for them to see. Toy swallowed her words and did a double take. The tracks had to measure six feet across and looked like they were dug into the sand by a bulldozer.

Rafael looked at her, his smug grin saying
I told you so
.

The guide moved up the beach alone while the biologist clustered them together along the shore. He told them that the leatherback was just ahead and that they had to wait until another guide signaled that they could move forward. No one was allowed to approach until the turtle began digging.

Toy was grateful for the chance to catch her breath. The night was hot and humid, void of wind and already she was coated with a sheen of sweat. They didn’t wait long. The biologist waved his hand and whispered loudly, “Stay to the rear of the turtle, out of its line of vision.” As a group they quietly made their way up the dune to gather at the guide’s red light.

The beach was short and rather steep, perfect for nesting turtles. As Toy drew near, she heard the unmistak
able sound of a turtle’s flipper scraping the sand. The night was very black with a slender moon. Rafael turned to her and waved her closer. “Come up here,” he whispered. She drew closer and hunkered low, squinting in the darkness.

Nothing prepared her for what she saw. There before her, in the dim light of moon and stars, against the creamy, glistening sand, lay an enormous, prehistoric looking black hulk. Her mouth slipped open. The enormity of the leatherback hit her first.

Then it’s uniqueness. The leatherback was unlike any other species of turtle she had seen. Loggerheads, kemps, ridleys, greens or the hawksbills—all those turtles had a curved, hard shell. This gorgeous creature’s shell was leathery and long with vertical ridges that curved from the tip by the head to the point at the rear. Most different, however, was that beneath the curved black shell was a blubbery body, like that of a walrus.

She knelt beside Rafael in the cool sand and he reached over to hold her hand. Looking up, she saw awe and wonder on his face as well, despite his being a seasoned intern. She smiled, grateful to share this moment with a friend. She thought of the other faces she wished could be here to share this night—Cara, Flo, Emmi, and especially Lovie.

Shoulder to shoulder they watched as the five-foot-long, at least one-thousand-pound turtle used its rear flipper to scoop out a cupful of sand. Then the other flipper repeated the motion, one after the other, in an ancient ritual. Despite her enormous size and bulk, the flippers were beautifully boned, more like human hands than the flippers of loggerheads. They lent her a remarkably feminine grace as she dug.

When the nest was over two feet deep, she rested and the beach slipped once more into a deep island silence, broken only by the comforting, omnipresent rolling surf. Then the turtle began laying her perfectly round, white eggs. They glistened in the moonlight and landed silently into the soft sand. An intern came forward to collect each of the sixty-some eggs in a bag as they dropped.

Toy knew that these eggs were collected and put into a hatchery. The species was so endangered, each hatchling survival was critical. When she looked at the turtle’s head and saw the tears washing away the salt from her eyes, Toy wept her own salty tears for this gentle giant and her fragile offspring. Toy knew full well that she could be witnessing one of the final few remaining leatherbacks nesting on this Pacific beach.

Too soon, the guide signaled that it was time for them to leave. Toy was crushed, hoping she could watch the great sea turtle make her way back to the sea. She couldn’t imagine how magnificent this creature would look as she slipped under the wave. The guide waved insistently, and with a sigh, she quietly left along with her group, grateful for the chance to see the leatherback at all.

As they trooped back to their inn, she lifted her gaze from the town to an endlessly vast, black sky littered with brilliant pinpricks of starlight. She slowed pace, eyes to the sky, when in a sudden flash, she caught the streaking tail of a falling star. In the time of a gasp it was gone.

She laughed as her heart lifted and she felt a sudden joy thinking of her dearest friends on the turtle team. Were they out on the beach tonight, too? Did they see this same shooting star on the shore of another ocean, waiting
not for a leatherback to lay her nest, but for a nest of loggerheads to erupt with dozens of hatchlings? She felt sure they did.

She felt her loneliness dissipate like sea foam, and making a heartfelt wish, she sent it to her friends.

Darryl sat in the small bar section of a grill house on Shem Creek. The restaurant was still crowded, even at the late hour, but the only folks in the bar were himself and two pretty girls huddled at a table in the corner. One of them was crying her eyes out, causing raccoon-like black circles of mascara to ring her eyes. The crying blonde was leggy and lean with a body that made Darryl think the guy causing those tears had to be a fool. But it was the friend consoling her, a smaller, baby-faced girl with doe eyes that drew his gaze. She reminded him of Toy.

“Shit,” he murmured, feeling the slam of pain again. Lifting his hand, he signaled the bartender for another beer.

This would have to be his last one, he thought, figuring out the total in his head. He was near flat broke. If it wasn’t for that gig he had tomorrow night, he’d have to hit his mother for another job. Lord knew, she’d never simply lend him the money. The dust flew whenever that old lady pried open her pocketbook. When he’d come home she’d made him earn every penny she gave him. He had to paint her ratty picket fence that would have looked better if he’d just ripped it out. Then she had him fix the drywall in the front hall after her no-good, drunk boyfriend punched a hole through it after she’d kicked him out.

He brought the beer to his lips and took a long
swallow. Wiping his mouth, he felt a stab of despair. All that money he’d sweated to earn was just so he could take Toy and Little Lovie out for a nice time. He didn’t want them to know he was down on his luck. He’d tried real hard—never swore in front of them, watched his manners, polished his boots and sat and listened to Toy go on and on about those damned turtles.

And for what? She didn’t want nothing to do with him.

“Baby, I tried,” he muttered and grimaced as shame ripped through him. She wouldn’t even kiss him. He took another long tug from his bottle.

The background music was country and some guy was singing about life not being beautiful. He lifted his bottle. “You got that damn straight.” He cocked his ear and listened to the lyrics.

“Hell, I could’a wrote them lyrics,” he said in a surly voice to the bartender.

The bartender only nodded, his eyes on his towel as he dried a bar glass.

Darryl sneered and shook his head. Dumb kid was too young to know shit, he thought. He could teach him a thing or two about country rock. He’d played for some of the best country rock bands in the country. Hell, he had real talent. All he needed was one break. Just one fucking break. Hell, he thought, feeling a familiar fire in his belly. What was he doing wasting his time hanging around this nowhere town? After his gig he’d have a little money in his pocket and he was heading for Nashville. Now there
was a city! His lips curled as he brought the bottle to his lips. After tomorrow, he was outta here.

The pretty girls in the corner rose from the table and crossed the bar to the door. The tall girl had cleaned up her face and even though her eyes were puffy, she was damned sexy. But it was the smaller one Darryl’s eyes followed, mesmerized by the swinging of her sweet behind. She had that dark eyeliner around her pale blue eyes, making them look all smoky, the way Toy used to do.

He sneered and ripped his gaze away to his hands. She was probably a tease, too.

A low, slow burn began in his belly, the kind that he knew could grow into a simmering rage. He tilted his head and drew hard on the bottle, but it was empty. He slammed the bottle down on the bar, drawing the attention of the bartender. He was a big shouldered guy and he stopped drying the glass and narrowed his eyes in warning.

Darryl dug into his pocket for a couple of singles, laid them flat on the bar then pushed himself away. He’d sung at too many establishments just like this one and knew better than to stiff the bartender all because he was crying in his beer over some no-count girl.

O
n Saturday, Darryl pulled up along Palm Boulevard on the Isle of Palms and let the motor idle while he dug through his pockets for the address. This can’t be right, he thought, pulling out the wrinkled sheet of paper that Toy had given him. He lifted his sunglasses and read the address again, then looked again at the number on the mailbox.

“Well, whaddaya know,” he chuckled, looking at the modest, pink stucco house set back from Palm Boulevard. Behind it, Hamlin Creek was racing with the incoming tide.

This was what they called a doghouse coming up, though he knew any house on deep water these days was worth a world more than he’d likely ever dream of affording. He just figured the house of high and mighty Cara Rutledge would be one of them big mansions that was sprouting up all over the island. The kind that was manicured and uppity, like her.

As he walked up toward the front door, he felt uneasy about confronting Cara to pick up his daughter. He’d never actually met her, but from all the words he’d had about her with Toy, he had her fixed in his mind as a real
ballbreaker. Toy used to be intimidated by her and it was always
Cara said this and Cara said that
. He chuckled as he looked down at his feet. But what kind of tough lady had stone turtles for a front walkway?

He reached the front door and checked out the shiny brass turtle door knocker, the bright green topiary by the door and the shiny clean window glass. Nice and tidy. Must be marriage softened Cara Rutldege’s sharp edges, he thought. Then he recalled that she wasn’t a Rutledge any more. What the heck was that big guy’s name?

He smoothed back his hair, rolled his shoulders and rang the doorbell. It bothered him that he still felt so damn nervous at having to meet her. A moment later the door opened and there she was.

His first thought was that he had no idea how beautiful she was. The woman was a stunner. Not in a soft, kittenish way, like Toy, but in that sleek, glossy style that wasn’t really his type. He was as tall as she was, yet she had a way of making him feel she was looking down at him.

“Mr. Duggans?” Cara asked crisply.

“That’s my daddy’s name,” he replied. “You can call me Darryl.”

“Mr. Duggans will do. I have a list here of phone numbers you can call at any time. If Lovie doesn’t feel well, or if she wants to come home—anything at all—call me.” She handed him the typed list.

Another list. The damn thing was even numbered.

“I’ll be at work, but if Lovie wants to come home early, for any reason at all, I’ll be at that number.”

“She won’t be wanting to come home early.”

“But if she does?”

“She won’t,” he ground out, stuffing the envelope into his shirt pocket.

He watched her eyes narrow and her lips tighten, as if to hold in a torrent of words she was just itching to shout out at him. He waited, almost hoping she’d let loose. But to her credit she managed to rein in and put on a fake smile. He knew that face real well. It was the one the bar managers always put on right before they fired him.

“I’ll get Lovie” was all she said. Then, remembering her manners, asked, “Would you like to come in?”

“I’ll wait here.”

He just wanted to pick up his kid and get out of here. He stuck his hands in his back pockets and paced the cement stoop of the modest house. A straggly rose bush didn’t look like it was going to make it past another season. He didn’t wait long. The door opened again and Lovie rushed out to greet him with a heartfelt hug.

“Daddy!”

He was surprised by the surge of affection he felt for the little girl in the blue gingham dress and pigtails. She sure did make him feel righteous and proud. She was the sweetest thing in his life right now.

“Well, let’s be off,” he said with a smile.

“Wait,” Cara called out.

He halted and turned his head.

“I just wanted to confirm the pick-up at Patriot’s Point. At the boat dock. Four o’clock. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, dismissing her. “Four o’clock.”

Cara put her hand on her lower back and rubbed it absently. She looked down at Lovie and a smile sweeter than Darryl figured she could make appeared on her face.

“You have a good time, sweetie.”

“She will,” he said, then taking Lovie’s hand, led her away.

For all that she lived on a barrier island, Toy had never surfed before. She’d been too pregnant, too shy, too inhibited to ever try the sport, even though she’d secretly admired the bronzed and buff bodies of the other men and women her age as they rode a wave in. So when Rafael offered to teach her, she readily accepted.

The waves were even and easy but Toy couldn’t manage to stand up on the board. After an hour she felt beaten and tossed by the waves, she had saltwater up her nose, her eyes were stinging and sand was stuck in her teeth. She dragged the surfboard out from the water, ready to call it a day.

She was wearing the bikini that Elizabeth had given her, and over it, a tight fitting rash guard. She was so focused on remembering all the pointers that Rafael had given her that she was oblivious to the admiring glances she was getting from all the men that watched her.

“You’re too stiff,” Rafael told her as he trotted up to her side. “Like the board. Girl, you got to learn to relax.”

It irritated her that he wasn’t even winded while she could barely stand. “I’m trying,” she said, but her tone was anything but relaxed.

He laughed and lifted a lock of salt stiff hair from her brow. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to quit.”

“I’m not a quitter,” she snapped. Then she sighed and added, “But I am a realist. I’ve only got this one afternoon left. What’s the point?”

“Why does there have to be a point? I want you to get up on that board so when you get home to that little island you live on, you can get a surfboard and not be afraid to do it again.”

“Who has time for surfing, anyway?”

“Make time!
Pura Vida!
” he called out, quoting the Pure Life mantra of Costa Ricans. “All work and no play make Toy a very unhappy girl, right?”

He elicited a smile from her and she nodded. “But Rafael, I
am
trying. I just don’t get it.”

“Come with me,” he said, cajoling her back to the water. “No, put down your board. You can leave it there. Let’s try a new approach.”

He took her hand and they walked back to the rolling, white tipped surf. The water was warm but refreshing under the hot, tropical sun. He walked her waist deep into the wave.

“Okay now, put your arms straight out, like you’re flying,” he said. “Let the waves wash over you. Here comes one.”

Toy obediently stretched out her arms, held her breath and turned toward the wave. The wave smacked full in the front, crashing and shoving her over. She rose, sputtering.

“That’s how
not
to do it,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Try it again, only this time, turn your body…so.”

Toy scowled and shoved a mop of hair from her face. Then she stood and turned her hips sideways against the waves like his.

“Arms back out,” Rafael ordered. When she complied he moved behind her and slid his arms under hers. His dark tanned skin was a sharp contrast against her pale, sun-pinkened skin. She giggled and stepped away but he grabbed hold of her hips. She felt his fingers, slender but strong, holding her firmly in place. “Come on, girl. I’m trying to teach you.”

“Teach me what?” she asked over her shoulder, laughing.

He had the devil in his eyes but he grinned and replied, “How to move. How to keep balance. Heads up!”

Another wave came and lifted her again, but this time her angled body sliced through the wave. His hands held firm to her hips as she slid up and down against his body with the motion of the wave.

“See how that feels?” he asked by her ear. “Relax now. Here we go.”

Another wave came, and another, each time lifting her up, then lowering her in a gentle rhythm as Rafael held her steady at her hips.

“Let’s go a little closer to shore,” he told her. His fingers held hers at the knuckles and he led her to where the water only hit her thighs. “Now this time, querida, sway your body with the waves. Feel them. Close your eyes. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. When the wave comes, just let go and ride it. Ready? Here comes one…”

He held on to her hips again. Toy closed her eyes and relinquished herself to the wave. She felt the rush of water, the powerful tug at her body. She didn’t lift up this time in anticipation but allowed the water to push her hips up and to the side. It was a little frightening but Rafael’s hands held her firm.

“No worry, I’ve got you,” he said. “That was good. Feel how the water moves your hips? Put your arms out and let your hips flow with the wave. Again!”

This time she let her hips sway with the momentum, feeling the tug and pull, going with it rather than fighting it.

“Good!” Rafael said. “You got it!”

“How is this helping my surfing?”

“Surfing is about feeling the waves and having fun. Now let’s try the board again.”

They went back to the beach to grab the surf boards. Tired but determined, she followed him back out to the waves. Once more she lay belly down on the board and paddled. Rafael stayed close behind her, pushing her board because she was already so tired her arms were weak. Once they got past the breakers they stopped and sat on their boards, heads looking out toward the swells.

“There looks like some good waves coming.”

Toy saw a swell building. As it came at them she tightened up. “Let’s take it.”

“No, no, not this one. You have to wait for the right wave. See how that one closed out? You want to wait for one that peels. Patience, girl.”

She released her pent-up breath, and again watched the swells.

“Okay,” Rafael called to her. “This one is it! Get ready!”

“Ready!” Toy felt her adrenaline rush and turned her board to face the beach.

“Paddle!” Rafael shouted. He reached over to give her board a shove for that extra momentum. The board lunged forward in an exhilarating surge and in a splashy rush she realized that she’d caught the wave. She knew she was supposed to jump up, but wary of her balance she carefully put one foot up, then, holding her breath, the other. Up a little more, arms out… In one fluid move, she felt the wind at her face and an unutterable exhilaration. She was riding the wave!

It only lasted ten seconds, but it was a glorious, memorable, life altering ten seconds. When she reached the shore she was laughing from the sheer joy of it.

“You did it!” Rafael called out, running toward her. “I knew you could!”

“Thank you!” she cried out and ran to him, grinning ear to ear. Her self confidence was soaring. “I always wanted to but never thought I could!” They hugged and it was all about triumph and joy and heady success.

“Let’s do it again,” she exclaimed.

“No, crazy girl. You’re riding the adrenaline now. We like to call it quits after the best ride.”

“But I feel so euphoric, like I could ride forever.”

He nodded, grinning. “That’s the feeling you’ve got to hold on to.” He grabbed her board and carried it for her as they headed back to the Villa Baulas.

“I never knew that standing in the waves could help me surf,” she said, feeling as though her feet were not even touching sand.

“No one can be confident if all they do is worry and stress.” He laughed. “Besides, all that wave stuff? That wasn’t teaching you surfing.”

She stopped short and swung her head to glare at him. “What were you doing then?”

He offered her a cocky grin. “Teaching you how to dance. Tomorrow night we’re all going to Kiki’s to party. You, too. No more excuses. Ticos love to dance!”

The sky over Isle of Palms was overcast and the seas choppy. There was very little business at the Eco-tours so Cara didn’t feel guilty about closing up early. She rubbed her lower back. It had been aching all morning and she’d found a few spots of bright red blood on her panties. “It’s only some blood,” she told herself, trying to keep calm, reminding herself that the doctor said some minimal spotting was normal. It was nothing to get worked up about. She’d put her feet up on a chair all morning and it was probably sitting in that awkward
position that caused her backache. There was no point bothering Brett with telling him, she thought. But just to be on the safe side, she was going home early.

On the drive home, a dull, throbbing ache bloomed in her abdomen. Her mind blindly refused to accept that it felt like a menstrual cramp. She’d been sitting funny, that was all. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel and she accelerated, wanting to get home where she could lie flat on the bed. Then she’d feel better. The cramping would go away then.

The dull ache sharpened to pain as she climbed from the car. She put her palm to her abdomen and held her breath. Her mind was screaming,
no, no, no
as she walked knock-kneed to the house, scrambling for her keys with shaky fingers. The front walkway seemed so long and each step was labored. By the time she got the door open, she felt a terrifying leakage seep between her legs.

“Please, God,” she prayed. “Please let the baby be all right.” But as she sagged against the wall, slowly lowering herself to the floor, Cara knew there was no more hope for the precious life she was carrying. Closing her eyes tight, she felt her dreams fading away.

Brett had arrived home not long after and found her in a fetal position on the bathroom floor in a small pool of blood. She didn’t remember much about the trip to the hospital or the D&C they’d performed. By the time the hospital released her, the sky was darkening. She felt like an empty shell and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and pull the blanket over her head.

She cast a glance at Brett beside her, driving them home. In profile, his face was chalky and dark circles
framed his eyes. He hadn’t said more than a few pat phrases to her though he’d stayed by her side, held her hand, and dealt with all the paperwork. Neither of them had uttered one word of grief or comfort to the other. To others it appeared they were being stoic. Cara knew that it wasn’t courage but cowardliness that kept them mute. Neither could bear to give verbal witness to the fact that their baby, their last hope, had been lost in a sea of blood.