Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(30)
“A playdate sounds perfect.”
“Great. When? Tomorrow?”
“Are you always this pushy?”
“Only when it matters.”
Cara took a breath. “Let’s make it the day after tomorrow. Hope has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and she’ll be cranky after her shots.”
“Friday it is, then. I’ll put your name on the list as my guest for the nine o’clock ferry and meet you at the dock with the golf cart.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
For a moment, neither spoke. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say.
She turned away and called out, “Bye, then!”
He raised his hand in a wave. “See you.”
Pushing the stroller, Cara began the long trek across the playground to the parking lot. She knew if she turned to look back, she’d see David hawking her every step.
Chapter Eight
Her nest laid, the loggerhead makes the long trek back to the sea. She will never return to the nest. A reptile, the turtle follows the biological model called predator glut, overfeeding the predators so a few offspring survive, ensuring the species, too, survives. It is estimated only one in one thousand hatchlings will live to maturity.
CARA HAD ALWAYS believed the lowcountry showed itself best from the water. The Dewees Island ferry slowly motored down the narrow inlet from its dock on Isle of Palms, past impressive mansions with long docks that stretched out to the water and the Isle of Palms Marina with its fleet of Coastal Ecotours boats, small pleasure boats, and ocean-fit yachts.
Cara sat with Hope on her lap inside the ferry on a horseshoe-shaped, padded bench. Beside her was an older woman carrying an insulated bag of groceries and a bouquet of spring flowers, obviously an island resident. She chatted amiably with the captain. Across from her a man in an appliance repair uniform sat checking his phone, oblivious to the beauty outside his window. Two others in outdoor work clothes looked out the windows and seemed to be enjoying the change from reaching a job via highway traffic to a boat trip along the Intracoastal Waterway.
It was an exceptionally beautiful day. Once out of the no-wake zone, the captain opened the throttle, and the engines roared. The windows of the ferry were open, and salty breezes ruffled Cara’s hair and caressed her cheeks as the boat picked up speed. Hope’s eyes widened at the noise, but she sat quietly and stared out the window as they raced across the crystalline water. The ferry wound its way through the Intracoastal Waterway, banked on either side by lush, spiky grass that stretched out for acres. Cara spied a long line of pelicans flying so low in formation that they seemed to skim the tall grass. She caught sight of other birds as they flew over the salt marsh but only recognized the oystercatcher with its flashy black and white coloring and bright red bill. Heather, she knew, would be able to name them all and tell her a bit about each. Cara turned her gaze to the white ruffled wake of the boat, hoping she might catch sight of a dolphin riding the waves.
It felt like she was traveling to another world. What would it be like, she wondered, to cut myself off from the mainland and be accessible only by boat? She imagined life’s stresses would diminish. Or would new stressors be added? She could see Heather and Bo being perfectly suited to such a lifestyle. They appreciated a simpler life, apart from the crowds. Cara, on the other hand, was accustomed to the instant gratification of convenience. She’d lived much of her adult life in Chicago, where everything she needed was at her fingertips. Moving to Isle of Palms had been a significant slowing down for her. Could I go one step further and be connected to shops only by a boat ride? Could she raise a child there? Her thoughts turned to David. He was such a vibrant man, accustomed to fast-paced city living. How did he do it?
She’d have her answer soon, she thought as the boat slowed down. She turned to look out the window and saw they were approaching a small island. A long wooden dock led to a wide covered deck with a large green sign that read: DEWEES ISLAND, S.C. WELCOME.
The mighty engines lowered to a growl and a whiff of diesel permeated the cabin as the captain guided the boat into position beside the dock. Cara watched the deckhand toss ropes ashore, then nimbly jump from the boat to the dock to tie them to the pilings. Done, he jumped back aboard the boat to lower the landing platform. Around her the passengers were on their feet, queuing at the door. Cara joined them, grabbing her bag and firming her grip on Hope.
Cara felt a welcome, bracing gust of sea air that caused the ferry to rock. She grabbed hold of the railing as overhead a laughing gull cried out its mocking call. Cara’s mama used to call her a laughing gull when she was young because of her dark cap of hair and her loud voice. She chuckled at the memory and looked at Hope.
“What kind of bird are you?” she asked. Considering the child’s wide-eyed curiosity and quiet, observant manner, Cara said, “Not a gull, that’s for sure.” She kissed Hope’s forehead. “Something sweet. We’ll have to ask Aunt Heather for suggestions.”
She stepped out onto the long ramp from the boat to the dock, where a cluster of people waited. She immediately spotted one man whose salt-and-pepper head rose taller than the rest. He wore sunglasses and a pale-blue fishing shirt. And in his arms he carried a baby. He raised a bronzed arm in an arc of welcome and called her name. Two women near him turned toward the passengers, curious to see who he was calling. Perhaps they find him attractive too, she thought with a slight smile.