Swimming Lessons by Mary Alice Monroe

her family’s beach house. She’d spent every summer there as a child and brought her children there after she was married. Her parents had left it to her when they retired to Florida. That small, white frame beach house with the tin roof had always been Emmi’s touchstone. Cara couldn’t imagine Emmi not hightailing it straight to her beach house to heal and regain her footing, especially now when she needed comfort the most.
    She patted the sofa beside her. “Talk to Mama.”
    Emmi came and flopped down beside her. She slunk deep into the cushions, resting her head back. When she spoke, it was like a confession.
    “I drove up and just sat in the driveway. The engine was off but I couldn’t get out. I just kept staring at it. And while I did, a million memories came flooding back. Oh, Cara, so many memories. There’s no part of that house I can look at and not think of Tom. I got my first kiss from Tom under the porch. I used to watch from the kitchen window as he walked up the porch stairs to pick me up for a date, his hair slicked back and a corsage in his hand. We made out on the front swing, made love for the first time in my room, groping on my twin bed.” She choked back a tear. “We brought our babies there every summer, fried Thanksgiving turkeys out back, and hung lights on the palms at Christmas. Every happy memory I have there is with Tom…”
    “Emmi…”
    “I can’t go back there. It’s too hard. He even took that away from me.” Her voice was bitter, laced with pain. “Now I hate my beach house.”
    Cara sighed heavily, fully realizing that it was going to be a long night. “Then you can stay here.”
    “Maybe just for a day or two. Until I get used to the whole idea.”
    “As long as you want or need.”
    “I’m fine,” Emmi said forcefully. “Really I am.”
    “Of course you are.”
    Cara rose, gathered the two wine glasses and brought them to the sink. Then she went to the fridge to rummage for the makings of dinner. Brett had brought some local shrimp home from the market. She took these out and laid them on the counter. Taking a shrimp knife from the drawer, she began peeling. A minute later, Emmi was standing beside her at the counter, peeling shrimp.
    They worked in the silence of old friends in a comfortable setting. Cara didn’t have any answers for Emmi, nor, she suspected, did Emmi expect them. Or even want them. Sometimes, the best thing to offer was simply safe shelter.
    Medical Log “Big Girl”
    May 28
    This turtle has major buoyancy problems. She’s so full of gas her tail end floats high, making it hard for her to dive to eat. Endoscopy scheduled. We continue to debride, scrape and scrub. After days in a freshwater bath, the barnacles all came off but left pockmarked scarring. The outer scutes are so heavily dotted it looks like Big Girl is wearing a crochet sweater. Turtle is so emaciated there is a big void where fat flesh should be.
    Even though she is underweight and dehydrated, she is the biggest rehab turtle I’ve ever worked with. Don’t worry, Big Girl. Those scars will heal! TS

6
    W hen the telephone rang, the room was filled with the metallic gray light of early dawn. Toy groaned and rolled to her stomach, dragging the pillow over her head. Who could be calling at this hour? Didn’t whoever that rude person was know today was Sunday, the blessed day of rest?
    Sleepily, she dragged her mind through possibilities. Favel said he would go to the Aquarium this morning to take care of Big Girl, and Irwin was covering the afternoon. She yawned lustily. She was so looking forward to sleeping late.
    When the answering machine clicked on, she tugged the pillow from her head to listen. She heard Flo’s strident voice on the machine.
    “Hey! We’ve got a nest! And it’s right smack in front of our houses. Toy! Are you there? Pick up. Pick up!”
    Toy threw the pillow aside as she lurched for the phone.
    “Hello? Flo? Hello?”
    But Flo had already hung up, no