Swimming Lessons Read online

  “I think that gives us a working plan,” Kevin said, summing up the meeting. “Jason, you’re going to beg, borrow and steal tanks and supplies and set up a makeshift turtle hospital in the basement. Kim, you’re to go to Shirley and line up volunteers for the hospital. Kate, you’re going to pursue additional funding. Ethan, you’re going to work with Toy to get the grant written.”

  He turned to Toy. “Toy, the hospital is your baby. Good luck.”

  The third floor deck overlooking the harbor was where the Aquarium staff could sit and chat, eat lunch, or take a break and just gaze out and watch the parade of pleasure boats, cruise liners and container ships cruise in and out of the harbor.

  Toy often came out here to eat lunch and just think. After the meeting she came here feeling as though she needed to hold on to the railing to keep herself steady. Huge cumulus clouds were rolling in along the horizon. The wind gusted, flipping the ends of her blonde hair. She reached up to gather the wild strands in her hands.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She startled and turned to see Ethan standing at the door.

  “No,” she replied, smoothing her hair. “I’d appreciate the company.”

  He closed the door and made his way toward her, his face expressionless.

  “Want to sit down?”

  “Okay.”

  They sat together on the wood bench, she clutching her knees, he stretching his long legs out before them. He pried open a bag of chips and silently offered her some. She took one. For a while they simply sat shoulder to shoulder staring out and munching chips watching ships pass through the harbor.

  “We are actually putting together a real turtle hospital,” she said, amazed.

  “Feeling a little overwhelmed?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Happy, thrilled, excited…but overwhelmed, too. Did you hear what Kevin said in there? The turtle hospital is my baby. Did he mean the whole hospital is in my care? As in, it’s my project?”

  “You’re the head honcho, the big boss. Aka, the one who gets the blame if something goes wrong.”

  “Oh, Lord.” She lowered her head to her palms, feeling sick. When she raised her head again, she took great gulps of fresh air. “I used to have this nightmare. In it I’d find out that I had this major exam to take, only I’m in a panic because I didn’t study for it.”

  “I know that dream.”

  “That’s how I feel now. When Kevin told me it was my baby, I was honored by his trust, but it really hit home. The responsibility of those turtles is mine.” She shook her head. “What about my fish gallery? I still have to take care of that, too. Ethan, I need some help! I don’t know, maybe I’m not up to the task.”

  “He wouldn’t have offered it to you if he didn’t believe you were. And for what it’s worth, I believe you are. And so does Jason.”

  She turned her head to look at him, half expecting to see teasing again in his eyes. She saw instead conviction shining in the dark brown and it took her breath away.

  “I’ll be there every step of the way,” he told her. “And you know Jason will be hovering, and so will Dr. Tom. Everyone will weigh in. We’re a team.”

  “A team, huh?” She helped herself to another chip. After a heavy sigh, she tossed the chip into her mouth. “Okay, then.”

  “Listen, about that grant.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get roped into that, too.”

  “You forget I volunteered.”

  “I know and thanks. Really. But I know you never figured one sick turtle would blossom into a whole hospital.”

  “That’s true, but I’m not surprised, either. The need is there. But about that grant…”

  “You’re backing out?”

  “Toy, let me finish.”

  “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “We’re both too busy here during the day to write a grant. I hate to say it, but we’ll have to find time to get together after work. I figure we’ll have to get together most every night for the next few weeks if we’re going to make the deadline.”

  She released a ragged sigh. “Ethan, I simply can’t take any more time away from my daughter. I see her little enough as it is. That’s where I draw the line.”

  He scratched his neck in thought. “How about if I drive over to your place? That way you won’t have to leave her while we work.”

  “You’d do that? Every night?”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  She turned to look at him, weighing her decision. At times his intensity and focus could be intimidating. At other times, like now, his whole demeanor softened and his sincerity pulsed in his dark, intelligent eyes. Ethan was not the kind of man to make such an offer without due consideration. It was, she had to agree, the best possible solution.

  “I suppose it would work,” she agreed with reluctance. “I could cook dinner for you.”

  “Don’t go to any extra trouble. I’ll just grab carryout.”

  “It’s no trouble, at least if you don’t mind my cooking. I make a mean macaroni and cheese.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll stick with carryout.”

  She bumped his shoulder in a companionable manner. “Hey, I can meet the challenge. A little shrimp, some grits…. Really, come for dinner. I have to cook anyway and it’s the least I can do if you have to hightail it all the way out to the island every evening.”

  “Tell me again which island you live on?”

  “Isle of Palms.”

  “Oh, right. In that beach house. Nice place to live.”

  “I love it. And you?”

  “John’s Island. Where else?”

  She chuckled, thinking of the pull of his large family. “I don’t believe you. I believe that you live right smack here at the Aquarium. You’ve got a bunk stashed in a closet somewhere, a change of clothes in one of the cubicles, and you shower and shave in the bathrooms. I figure that’s the only way you can get as much done in a day as you do.”

  “Busted,” he said. He crumpled the empty package of chips in his hands. “So, we’re set then?”

  “I guess so. I need at least one day to clean the house a bit before you come out,” she confessed.

  “Don’t go to any extra trouble for me. You’re busy enough already, remember? Besides, I won’t notice.”

  “That’s what men always say, but they always do notice a mess when it’s a girl’s house. Speaking of busy, you’re heading into the busy season with summer tourists. How are you going to manage the extra time to do this grant?”

  “I just take it day by day.”

  She smiled, liking that philosophy enormously.

  Ethan looked at his watch. “I’ve got to do The Show. I have a new diver in the big tank and want to see how he does.”

  “I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never actually watched the whole show.”

  “Come on, then, if you have a few minutes. You’ll love it.”

  The indigo gray walls and carpeting of the arena around the base of the Great Ocean Tank gave it a Jules Verne, undersea mood. He led her to an area of wood benches arranged like stadium seating. They sat behind a group of school children, youngsters with parents, and older tourists. All eyes were on the two story tank and the great sea of fish that passed before them. While they were waiting, Caretta, the loggerhead sea turtle, swam by with its long, elegant flippers stroking. Several children jumped to their feet, pointing and squealing. Toy chuckled, feeling certain that the master show-turtle knew the commotion it caused whenever he swam by the exhibit glass window.

  In contrast, the other star of the tank hushed the room when he glided by. The ten-foot Sand tiger shark’s black, fathomless eye saw all. There were other sharks in the tank, but the big one drew the most attention.

  Ethan stopped writing in his notebook to watch the great shark as it passed. She looked over and saw the fascination in his dark eyes, and the respect.

  “You worked with sharks in Costa Rica, didn’t you?” she asked him.

  “For
six years, with Randall Arauz. He knows more about sharks than anyone I’ve ever met. I was lucky to have him as my mentor.” He pointed to the row of boys and girls craning their necks and pointing to the big shark. “See how they all get a thrill to see the shark? That’s why the shark is such a big draw. He’s dangerous. Scary, like the bogeyman. All most people know of sharks is what they’ve seen from Jaws. I’m trying to change that, to teach them the truth about sharks. Most shark bites are cases of mistaken identity.”

  He paused to watch as the Sand tiger shark circled by again. “I’m not a fan of those folks who take tourists far out in the sea then stick them in steel cages. They chum the waters so the tourists can get a thrill of a close encounter. It’s not natural. Tell me how that’s any better than feeding the bears at Yosemite Park? Look what happened there. The bears learned to come close to the tourists and beg. Sharks are wicked smart. When we feed them in the tank we hit the wall three times and they come. Just like the bears in the parks, the sharks in the ocean will figure out that humans are feeding them—and they will come. It’s not a good scenario.”

  “They’ll start hunting us?”

  “Not hunt us, but mistakes will be made. It’s the sharks that are being hunted by us. To near extinction. Randall and I used to raid boats in Costa Rica and find hundreds of shark fins in the holds—some of them white, which is illegal.”

  “Why just the fins?”

  “Because the Black Market pays a premium for shark fins, and even though it’s illegal, the fishermen just cut off the fins and throw the rest of the shark back to sea so that they can make the weight limit at the dock. Each fin represents a dead shark. Thousands a year. We did our best with regulations, but money passes hands. It’s an old story.”

  In the tank two divers slowly descended to the foreground. Immediately schools of fish began to circle them, some of the fish poking them aggressively. The sharks, however, circled past, seemingly disinterested in the humans.

  “Well, aren’t sharks dangerous?” Toy asked. “I’d be nervous to go in that tank with them.”

  “Actually, the sharks are the least of our worries in there. They’re puppy dogs compared to some of the other fish. Sharks are predictable. They have defined habits and swim patterns. It’s my job to stay up on those behavior patterns. I go in the tank every day, just to check things out. But I’ve also got eighty-five regular divers who are watching and I depend on their observations. If any one of them notices a tight turn, or if a shark snaps at a food bucket, I pull that shark out of there.”

  “So, you’re responsible for the divers’ lives?”

  “And the lives of all the fish. I lost twenty fish last month to that big predator,” he said, pointing to the tiger shark. “They’re night feeders so I count the fish when I come in the morning. It’s natural for him, but a problem for me.”

  He pointed to a diver who was tossing food from a plastic bucket. While he fed the fish, the diver was speaking on a microphone to the audience, explaining what he was doing and describing the different fish as they approached him. Several large ones swam close, pushing their way to the food bucket.

  “That diver is more worried about being bit by one of those pork fish than a shark,” he said. “But there’s always a second diver in the tank, watching his back.”

  “What got you interested in sharks?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated with them. They’re ancient hunters. Perfect eating machines. We’ve got our share of sharks around South Carolina. You’d be surprised just how many. We used to pull them out of our nets all the time.” He smiled. “You had to be careful or you’d lose a finger.”

  “How did you end up in Costa Rica?”

  “I’d done some research there on plants, got involved with sharks. I taught diving on the side to the tourists to earn a little extra money. It was a nice life.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out who you are. After all, we’ll be working together.”

  “And what have you figured out?” His face was serious but his eyes were mirthful.

  “I can’t say yet. You’re hard to pin down.”

  “Precisely the way I like to keep it.” He clicked his pen, put it in his pocket and rose. “Well, the show’s over. I’ve got to talk to my diver.”

  “Thanks for inviting me to watch. I enjoyed it. Very much,” she said, rising to her feet. “And thanks for your help with the grant. I feel like that diver in there swimming with the sharks. You’ve got my back.”

  He tilted his head at that, amused. Then he lifted his hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow.”

  Ethan arrived promptly at seven o’clock. He’d declined dinner but accepted dessert. Toy got the feeling that he was trying to maintain a professional relationship, and that having dinner together—even with a five-year-old chaperone—might be crossing some imaginary line.

  They sat together at the kitchen table with coffee and a batch of iced, chocolate walnut brownies that Toy had made especially for him. Little Lovie was fascinated with this tall, dark-eyed man who came to their house. She joined the adults at the table with a book, some paper and a pencil, pretending that she was working, too. At times, she dropped her pencil and just sat with her chin in her palm staring at Ethan with her blue eyes intense, like the cat resting under her chair.

  Eventually, Ethan put down his pen and folded his hands on the table. He looked at Lovie with a serious expression. “Do I have ink on my nose or is my hair sticking out funny?”

  He’d meant it as a joke, but Little Love took the questions seriously. “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m just not used to a big man visiting in the house.”

  Toy put her head in her palm with a sigh.

  Ethan tried not to laugh. “No?”

  “Little Lovie…” Toy said in warning.

  “Only the repairman to fix the fridge when it was broken. Mama didn’t like him because he cost so much money.”

  “I see,” he replied, all seriousness.

  “And Brett, of course.”

  Ethan raised his brows. “Brett?”

  “He comes here all the time. Sometimes we go to his house, too. We love him,” she announced.

  “Lovie,” Toy said, her stern voice at war with her cheery smile.

  “But we do!” she exclaimed.

  A pregnant silence followed this pronouncement. Ethan nodded his head, then picked up his pencil and leaned back over the table. “We should get back to work.”

  For no one reason she could articulate, Toy felt the need to explain. “Brett is Cara’s husband. He’s like a father to Little Lovie and a big brother to me. She just adores him—we both do. We rent this house from them.”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, the pencil twiddling between his fingers. “I remember now. I met them when you brought Big Girl into the Aquarium.”

  “Right. Cara’s mother, Miss Lovie, is the older lady I told you about. She passed away five years ago. I used to work as a companion for Miss Lovie. That’s what first brought me to the beach house.”

  “Now the pieces are fitting together.”

  “Since we’ve lost the train of thought, do you mind if we take a short break? I need to put this little one to bed.”

  “Go right ahead. I’ll help myself to these brownies. The scent of chocolate has been driving me crazy.”

  “Please, help yourself. If I have any leftovers, I’ll be the one that eats them.”

  After Lovie was in her pajamas and brushed her teeth, Toy dimmed the lights in her room and tucked her into bed.

  “I like him,” Lovie volunteered. “He’s nice.”

  “You think so?”

  “Mmm-hmm. He likes you, too.”

  Toy couldn’t help but ask, “Oh, what makes you think so?”

  “He looks at you a lot.”

  Toy smiled in the darkness.

  “Are you going to get married?”r />
  “Don’t be silly. We’re just working together.”

  Lovie mulled that over in her mind. “But you could get married, right?”

  “Good night, honey.”

  “But if you do get married, will he be my daddy?”

  Toy reached out to stroke a hair from Lovie’s forehead. “Hush now. Good night.” Turning off the light, she gently closed the door.

  When she returned to the living room it was empty. She spotted Ethan on the rear porch. He was leaning against the porch railing staring out at the ocean. She paused, struck by the novelty of seeing a man on her porch. It was a pleasant sensation, unexpected and surprising. She pushed back her hair and opened the screen door. It creaked loudly on rusted hinges. Ethan turned his head and his expression was relaxed and welcoming.

  “I love the sound of the surf,” he said. She thought his voice carried the same deep resonance of the sea.

  “I do, too,” she said, letting the door slip shut. She crossed the porch to stand by his side and look out. The sea was quiet tonight. It rolled in soft waves that were barely visible in the dusky night. “I leave my windows open at night and the rhythm of the waves lulls me to sleep like a lullaby.”

  “Do you live alone here?” he asked.

  “Yes, just the two of us.”

  “What about Lovie’s father?” he asked, sounding cautious. “Is he still in the picture?”

  Equally cautious, she replied, “No. Actually, he never was in the picture. Darryl, that’s his name, is a musician. He plays country rock. The guitar. He’s pretty good, too. Time was he played at most of the local clubs, but he always dreamed of making it big.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the sultry, jasmine scented air. The emotions of that part of her history bellowed inside of her then waned, like the song of the insects singing in the night. Opening her eyes, she looked out into the darkness.

  “I was young and he was ambitious. He left right after Lovie was born and we’ve never seen him since.”

  He nodded in that easy manner of his yet he seemed pleased with her answer. He didn’t press with more questions.