Returning to Shore by Corinne Demas Page A

the water and it scrambled out of her grasp before she had quite let go. Without looking back once the turtle took off, swimming just as fast and gracefully as the turtle Clare had spotted on the other side of the cove. She was gone in an instant.
    â€œGood luck, Sweetheart!” cried Clare.

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    Clare helped Richard with the other two terrapins, and then she released them both into the bay. One was a male and the other was a female. The male was missing a back leg.
    â€œCould have been bitten off by something or gotten caught in netting or rope and then he gnawed it off himself.”
    â€œThat’s horrible,” said Clare.
    Richard shrugged. “It happens. If turtles get tangled on something underwater they can drown. If they’re desperate to get up to air they’ll do anything. And this guy looks as if he’s survived OK.”
    The female had been captured and marked before, #721. Later, back at the house, they went to Richard’s study. Richard pulled up a chair so Clare could sit next to him at the desk and they could look at the screen together. They entered all the information about Eleanor and the male terrapin. They checked out #721 and found she had been tagged six years before and captured again a year ago after laying eggs on Blackfish Island.
    â€œWhat happened to the nest?”
    Richard flipped to a new screen on his computer and scrolled down. “We marked it and put a cage protector on it, but it seems the eggs didn’t survive.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIn this case, probably beach grass,” he said. “The roots seek out moisture and nutrients and basically suck the eggs dry.”
    â€œYou’re kidding!” cried Clare.
    â€œNo,” said Richard. “The grass roots are as dangerous as any predator. That’s why we need those bare sandy places, those eroded dunes.”
    â€œWhat about Eleanor?” asked Clare. “She’s going to be laying her eggs soon. What about her nest?”
    â€œWe do whatever we can for every nest we can find,” said Richard. “That’s the best we can do.” He started shutting off his computer.
    Clare sat there for a moment watching the screen go dark. Then her eyes moved to the photograph in the frame behind it.
    â€œThat’s us, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing.
    Richard lifted the photo and set it closer to them on the desk. He nodded. “That was taken when you were here,” he said. “It was always a battle to get Vera to come. She called it ‘roughing it’—though we had hot water and indoor plumbing. Her idea of an island was Manhattan.”
    â€œWho took the picture?”
    â€œMy mother—your grandmother. She was always so happy to have us visit.”
    â€œI don’t remember her at all,” said Clare.
    â€œI’m sorry about that,” said Richard. “She would have loved to have known you the way you are now, all grown up.”
    â€œI don’t really think of myself as all grown up,” said Clare.
    Richard laughed. “You know something, I don’tthink of myself as all grown up, either. Especially now living in this house, where I’d spent so much time as a kid.”
    â€œDo you have other old photos?” asked Clare. “Photos from back then?”
    â€œI’m sure there are some old albums around,” said Richard. “I’ve never had occasion to dig them out, but I suppose it’s the right time for that, while you’re visiting, isn’t it?”
    Clare’s eye moved to the other photograph on the desk. She felt the wave of jealousy come over her as it had when she’d first seen it. She wanted to tip the frame so the photo would be facedown on the desk, so whatever kid it was who had been part of her father’s life when she had been exiled from it would be staring into the dark wood. But her curiosity was too strong. She reached for the photo and set it