doubt to call Cara. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Toy sat up and scratched her head while adrenaline cleared her thoughts. A nest… In front of the beach house…
They’re here! A smile dawned on her face. She hurrieddown the hall barefoot, tugging up the bottoms of her baggy cotton pajamas.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!”
“Go away,” Lovie whined, turning her back on Toy and burrowing under the covers. Kiwi, the calico cat sleeping beside her, raised her head. Her yellow eyes regarded Toy with disdain at being disturbed.
Toy knew bringing Little Lovie to the beach would slow her down, but she wanted her daughter to share this, to be part of something that was important to her, as it had been to her namesake.
“Lovie, there’s a turtle nest—right in front of our house!” She shook the lump under the blankets. “Come on, girl!”
Lovie pulled back the blankets, sending Kiwi leaping from the bed. “The nest is here? ” When Toy nodded, Lovie scrambled from under her blankets as fast as a ghost crab from its hole in the sand. Toy went to her drawer and pulled out shorts.
“I can dress myself!” Lovie snapped.
Little Lovie pitched a fit when Toy tried to pick clothes out for her so rather than deal with a tantrum, Toy just called out, “Meet you in a few!” and trotted down the hall. Excitement bubbled in her veins. She grabbed her running shorts, sniffed the green Turtle Team T-shirt and deeming it acceptable, slipped it over her head. She then pulled her unbrushed hair back into a ponytail. Over this, she slipped on the Turtle Team cap. They met at the screen door where they both slipped on sand crusted sandals. Little Lovie had her pink T-shirt on backward and her golden hair tumbled in a mass down her shoulders. Toy held back a smile but wisely said nothing. Miss Lovie once told her to “choose your battles.”
After a good push she got the wobbly screen door open. She’d have to fix that some day, she thought as she hurried to the old wicker basket on the porch. She found her long, thin, yellow metal probe stick and backpack. Just a week before, in anticipation of the season, she and Little Lovie had sat at the kitchen table and cleaned out the dusty green backpack of last season’s sand and grit and put new batteries in the flashlight.
She’d watched as Little Lovie carefully placed back all the turtle team tools: a red flashlight, a tape measure for measuring the tracks, orange tape, wooden shish kebob sticks for counting eggs, brochures for tourists, a magic marker and the lovely half shell that once was Olivia Rutledge’s and now was her prize possession. Miss Lovie’s probe stick and red bucket had gone to Cara, but Toy had purchased a red bucket of her own. In it were several thick wooden stakes and the bright orange federal signs that marked all nests.
“I think that’s it,” she said to Little Lovie, then had a sudden thought. “Wait one more minute.” She ran inside to the kitchen junk drawer and grabbed a cheap instamatic camera. She tossed it into her backpack and hoisted it on her shoulders. Then going back out, she took Little Lovie’s hand. “Let’s go!”
They followed the narrow beach path like hound dogs on the scent. The tangy, salty morning air led them around white dunes that had shifted and grown tall during the winter storms. Now the dunes were dotted with yellow primrose and beach grass, and pocked by the small holes of ghost crabs. Toy looked over her shoulder to see their footprints in the sand—hers large, Lovie’s small—side by side. Reaching the top of the dune, Toy paused, mouth open, her breath stolen by the sight.
The breadth of sand was aflame with the pink, orange and yellow light of dawn. Beyond, the vast blue ocean was glistening in the light, a rolling, breathing beast stretching out to meld with the horizon. She turned to look at her daughter. Little Lovie stood motionless, her blue eyes staring at the sunrise.
“I’m glad you brought me,”
They’re here! A smile dawned on her face. She hurrieddown the hall barefoot, tugging up the bottoms of her baggy cotton pajamas.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!”
“Go away,” Lovie whined, turning her back on Toy and burrowing under the covers. Kiwi, the calico cat sleeping beside her, raised her head. Her yellow eyes regarded Toy with disdain at being disturbed.
Toy knew bringing Little Lovie to the beach would slow her down, but she wanted her daughter to share this, to be part of something that was important to her, as it had been to her namesake.
“Lovie, there’s a turtle nest—right in front of our house!” She shook the lump under the blankets. “Come on, girl!”
Lovie pulled back the blankets, sending Kiwi leaping from the bed. “The nest is here? ” When Toy nodded, Lovie scrambled from under her blankets as fast as a ghost crab from its hole in the sand. Toy went to her drawer and pulled out shorts.
“I can dress myself!” Lovie snapped.
Little Lovie pitched a fit when Toy tried to pick clothes out for her so rather than deal with a tantrum, Toy just called out, “Meet you in a few!” and trotted down the hall. Excitement bubbled in her veins. She grabbed her running shorts, sniffed the green Turtle Team T-shirt and deeming it acceptable, slipped it over her head. She then pulled her unbrushed hair back into a ponytail. Over this, she slipped on the Turtle Team cap. They met at the screen door where they both slipped on sand crusted sandals. Little Lovie had her pink T-shirt on backward and her golden hair tumbled in a mass down her shoulders. Toy held back a smile but wisely said nothing. Miss Lovie once told her to “choose your battles.”
After a good push she got the wobbly screen door open. She’d have to fix that some day, she thought as she hurried to the old wicker basket on the porch. She found her long, thin, yellow metal probe stick and backpack. Just a week before, in anticipation of the season, she and Little Lovie had sat at the kitchen table and cleaned out the dusty green backpack of last season’s sand and grit and put new batteries in the flashlight.
She’d watched as Little Lovie carefully placed back all the turtle team tools: a red flashlight, a tape measure for measuring the tracks, orange tape, wooden shish kebob sticks for counting eggs, brochures for tourists, a magic marker and the lovely half shell that once was Olivia Rutledge’s and now was her prize possession. Miss Lovie’s probe stick and red bucket had gone to Cara, but Toy had purchased a red bucket of her own. In it were several thick wooden stakes and the bright orange federal signs that marked all nests.
“I think that’s it,” she said to Little Lovie, then had a sudden thought. “Wait one more minute.” She ran inside to the kitchen junk drawer and grabbed a cheap instamatic camera. She tossed it into her backpack and hoisted it on her shoulders. Then going back out, she took Little Lovie’s hand. “Let’s go!”
They followed the narrow beach path like hound dogs on the scent. The tangy, salty morning air led them around white dunes that had shifted and grown tall during the winter storms. Now the dunes were dotted with yellow primrose and beach grass, and pocked by the small holes of ghost crabs. Toy looked over her shoulder to see their footprints in the sand—hers large, Lovie’s small—side by side. Reaching the top of the dune, Toy paused, mouth open, her breath stolen by the sight.
The breadth of sand was aflame with the pink, orange and yellow light of dawn. Beyond, the vast blue ocean was glistening in the light, a rolling, breathing beast stretching out to meld with the horizon. She turned to look at her daughter. Little Lovie stood motionless, her blue eyes staring at the sunrise.
“I’m glad you brought me,”
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