Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(58)
Linnea pulled and tugged, leaning back to add her body weight to the effort. Her arms strained so hard she thought they’d pop from their sockets. Even still, she knew the real effort was coming from John. His face was red, his muscles bulging, and his heels dug deep into the sand like a great beast of burden. The huge turtle scraped the sand as it slid uphill, victory gained by inches, until they pulled the massive creature the final few feet onto dry sand.
Linnea plopped down, gasping. “I’ll never watch a turtle drag her shell ashore without remembering this,” she said.
John was bent over, wiping his hands on his shorts. “That’s a big turtle,” he said again, sounding winded. She noticed he was missing a sandal, but he raised his hands before she could speak. “I’m not going back in there after it.”
“I have to call this in,” Linnea said, and scrambled to her feet. She wiped her hands on her shirt, then retrieved her phone from her bag and dialed Emmi’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Emmi, we’ve got a stranded turtle. A big one. And she’s alive!”
“Oh my God!” Emmi took a breath, and Linnea imagined her grabbing a pen and paper. “Where is she?”
Linnea passed on all the details. Emmi would call the Department of Natural Resources, which would contact the South Carolina Aquarium. All Linnea had to do now was wait for the cavalry and guard the turtle. She released a long sigh, feeling the tension slowly leave her body. This was a first for her. One for the books.
“Your mom’s coming,” she said to John as she walked back to the turtle’s side and crouched to inspect the damaged shell. A few large, crusty barnacles clung to the carapace, and smaller ones were scattered in a splay pattern. A jagged-edged half-circle had been chomped out of her carapace.
“Looks like a shark got a good bite out of her,” said John, joining her at the turtle’s side. “But she was lucky. She saved her rear flipper.”
It pained her to see it. “Poor mama,” Linnea said. “This turtle has survived unimaginable odds just to reach maturity. Then she traveled thousands of miles to return to this area to mate. She’s already crawled up these beaches a few times this season carrying that shell. Now she’s back.”
“How do you know it’s a female?”
“Because it has a short tail. But, also, a mature turtle near shore right now is probably a female with a body full of eggs to lay. What a waste. Damn shark. There’s plenty of fish out there. Why’d he have to pick on this mama going about her business?”
“A shark’s got to make a living too.”
“I hope they get here soon. She doesn’t look too good.”
“Turtles have been around for millions of years,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder for comfort. “They’ve got to be resilient.”
She leaned against him, feeling the warm water and gritty sand against her shoulder. “Thank you, John. I couldn’t have gotten her ashore without you.” She laughed shortly, remembering the weight. “No way.”
“We make a pretty good team.” He snorted. “Plus Mom will be thrilled I helped the turtle team. She’s been angling to get me to help on the team since I was a kid. I’ve successfully avoided it until now. And it’s all because of you.”
Linnea smiled and looked up at him, squinting in the sun.
Emmi came running around the bend of Breach Inlet, her red hair flying in the wind, a red bucket banging her hip. Not far behind her was Flo, walking swiftly for her age, her arms pumping the air. Linnea knew nothing would keep that old turtle lady from a live turtle on her beach.
Before long, a group of eight people from the SCDNR and the South Carolina Aquarium, all in branded T-shirts, converged around the turtle. Strandings were common along the coast, but the appearance of a mature sea turtle that was alive was cause for excitement. Michelle Pate, the head of the SCDNR turtle program, pulled out a measuring tape and bent over the turtle, calling out measurements to another on her team who wrote the information on a clipboard. They confirmed Linnea’s estimates, and she smiled each time someone new arrived and exclaimed, “What a big turtle!”
“Well, lookee here,” Michelle said, crouching over a flipper. “This turtle’s been tagged.” This caused a flurry of excitement as team members gathered around.
Toy Legare, who’d arrived with the aquarium crew, quietly drew near the limp turtle’s head. Linnea watched as she gently poured seawater from the red bucket over the turtle to keep her cool and hydrated. The turtle had been lying on the sand passive and unmoving. Toy crouched close, which was cumbersome with her pregnancy. When she knelt and lowered her head to peer at the turtle’s face, the creature moved a flipper and opened her eyes.
Toy looked into the turtle’s eyes, and a slow smile spread across her face. “I know you,” she said with wonder. Looking up, she called out, “It’s Big Girl!”
Emmi stepped closer, squinting at the turtle’s face.
“How can you tell?” she asked doubtfully. “They all look alike to me.”
“Oh no, they don’t,” said Toy, her eyes set on the turtle. “Each one has a different look, a different personality. Big Girl is special. I’d never forget her.”
“Well, we’ll know for sure when the tag numbers check out,” said Michelle, rising. “She is a big girl, I’ll give you that. And fast. The shark got only a small chunk. Her rear flipper is intact.” She looked to her team. “We’re done here,” she said as she stepped away from the turtle. “She’s all yours, Toy.”