Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(101)
Palmer turned his head. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Mama . . .” he breathed.
Brother and sister stood together, hand in hand, lost in their own thoughts as slowly the ghost began to dissipate, gradually disappearing.
Palmer took a step forward, hand outreached. “Good-bye, Mama,” he said in a choked whisper. It was a farewell more than a decade in the making.
There followed a deep silence, eerie yet comforting. All that was left of the vision was the scent of jasmine. They each took a deep breath. Then Palmer turned to Cara. His eyes were filled with light.
“You can’t ever sell this place!”
Epilogue
“For, lo, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”
SONG OF SOLOMON 2:11-12 KING JAMES VERSION (KJV)
IT WAS A morning for second chances.
The Rutledge family had come together to support Cara’s first event for the South Carolina Aquarium. The summer was behind them and they faced a fall of change when all the world turned gold. Though the island’s beach season was over, word of the aquarium’s sea turtle release had brought hundreds of people to Front Beach on Isle of Palms. They were lined up on either side of an open swath of beach where the sea turtle would make her final crawl to the sea. Mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, news people with cameras—everyone was claiming a spot to see the turtle.
Palmer and Julia stood in the front beside Cooper, all wearing ISLAND TURTLE TEAM shirts. Palmer’s arm was around Julia. Cooper’s hair had grown out enough to cover his scalp. Most of all, he appeared relaxed near his parents, smiling behind his sunglasses.
Cara felt the excitement building in the group. This wasn’t just any sea turtle being released today. It was Big Girl. The press had ballyhooed the success of this turtle’s second chance at going home, and she’d become the darling of Charleston, her big block head on posters everywhere. In her heart, Cara had always known this was a special turtle.
A murmur rose up from the crowd as the aquarium’s van drove onto the beach. The TV cameramen trotted closer and the crowd inched forward. The turtle team volunteers in yellow shirts, including Flo and Emmi, rallied, keeping the spectators back with friendly reminders that they’d get a chance to see the turtle as she crawled past. Little children clapped their hands and jumped up and down in anticipation.
A small group gathered at the back of the truck. A man with a microphone was talking to Toy. Cara watched her expertly answer the questions and tell the story of Big Girl’s rescue and recovery. She was a natural on camera. Cara smiled, thinking Toy was wise to stay where she shone in her work.
Cara, too, was happy in her new position at the aquarium. She was here in an official capacity. She’d worked furiously putting out press materials and doing presentations, educating the public why this particular turtle was so meaningful to the rehabilitation effort.
When Toy finished her interview, she turned and gave the signal for the turtle to be lowered from the truck. The huge white crate was lifted to the ground by six strong men. She could only imagine how much heavier Big Girl was at nearly three hundred pounds than the juvenile turtles or Kemp’s ridleys that were usually released.
Toy waved a group of people to the front.
Little Lovie and Danny were shy and proud in equal measures as they stepped forward carrying signs. They looked adorable, and Toy beamed with pride. Danny’s sign had the turtle’s name written on it. Little Lovie’s gave her weight. Then Linnea stepped forward, beaming, wearing her T-shirt.
Cara laughed out loud at seeing her niece back from San Francisco and called her name. When she caught her eyes, Linnea pointed in a got-you signal. Beside her, Toy was laughing, pleased she’d managed to carry off her surprise.
“Okay, Big Girl,” Toy said. “It’s time to go home.”
Cara moved closer to the crate, not wanting to miss a moment of the release. This one was personal. There were grunts as the men lifted Big Girl from the crate and set her on the sand. Her throat bellowed as she lifted her head, smelling the sea. The crowd oohed at the first glimpse of her size. That’s a big one, she heard repeated in the crowd.
Cara watched Big Girl study her surroundings—people to the left and to the right. An open path to the sea straight ahead. Her heart skipped a beat as Big Girl made her first move forward on the sand after months in the tank.
“Go, Big Girl!” she shouted.
She was on her way. The children walked ahead of the turtle with their signs, all the way to the shoreline.
Big Girl knew what to do. This wasn’t her first rodeo, Cara thought. She was strong and healthy and headed for home. Her powerful flippers dug into the sand, one after the other, in a straight path to the shore. Linnea walked behind her with Toy, her honor guard. It was a privilege, and no two people deserved the honor more. As Big Girl passed she elicited gasps, and phone cameras rose into the sky as people saw the shark bite on her gorgeous, reddish-brown shell.
That’s right, Cara thought on seeing the reaction. This girl’s been through some tough times, taken a few knocks, but she’s moving forward, as steady and relentless as a tank. She’s going all the way home. That, she knew, was Big Girl’s most important lesson.
From time to time Big Girl paused, resting under the weight of her carapace. When she did, the ancient mariner lifted her head as though hearing the clarion call of the sea urging her home. Then she pushed forward again, flipper after flipper, scraping the sand on her long trek across the beach. When at last she reached the water’s edge, she paused one more time and let the gentle waves cascade over her, cooling her.