Swimming Lessons Read online

  “They called you?”

  “Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad. The fishermen down there know me and that I work at the Aquarium. They wouldn’t know who else to call. So, boss, is it okay with you to bring the turtle in?”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me if it’s okay to bring another turtle into the Aquarium. Into your space?”

  She could almost hear the chuckle in his voice. “No. Jason has already given the okay. I’m asking you if you’re ready to take on another one.” He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t seem to be on this decision tree, or you’d know what my answer would be.”

  The prospect of a second turtle was exciting, but the fact that Jason and Ethan had given the okay was thrilling.

  “Yes, I do. And yes, I am. Bring it on in!”

  “All right, then. I’ve already rustled up another holding tank. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. Are you ready to go?”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “To get the turtle, of course. It isn’t going to crawl in on its own.”

  “I thought you said that the fishermen were bringing it in.”

  “To the fishery, yes. But not all the way here. They’re already doing us a favor by cutting their day short to bring the turtle to the dock.”

  “Oh, sure. Fine.” She looked at the food dish in her hand as her mind spun around all she had to get done. “I just have to feed Big Girl first, and clean out her tank.”

  “You feed. I’ll sweep.”

  His enthusiasm was contagious. The corners of her mouth lifted to a smile as she felt the tension of the early morning bubble to excitement.

  Cherry Point Seafood Company had been in business on Wadmalaw Island since the 1930s. It was a family business that once upon a time had transported passengers as well as seafood and local crops between the Sea Island plantations and Charleston. Back then, local folks could travel to Charleston by either water or horse, and most preferred a boat trip to a long, hot horse ride. Today, there were no more passengers. The long wooden structure with docks that stretched along Bohicket Creek was used strictly for commercial fisherman. It was home to the dozens of shrimp boats and fishing boats that brought in their daily catches.

  “Sure seems quiet today,” Ethan said, pulling the Aquarium’s white pick-up truck into the parking lot. The bed of gravel and shells crunched beneath the tires. He cut the engine and the truck shuddered to a halt.

  “Well, it is a holiday,” she said, looking out the window. “Likely most folks took the day off.” The fishery looked like a big, roughened wood shack. Along one side was a high loading dock fit for trucks, a smattering of heavy iron equipment, bales of rope, and farther down was the dock. She spied a burly man in jeans and white rubber boots leaning against a wood pillar, smoking.

  “Usually the place is jumping, just swarming with fishermen and shrimpers bringing their catch in to be weighed and packed.”

  “It’s not very big.”

  “Don’t let the size fool you. On a busy day in the season, thousands of dollars of fish go through these doors, packed in ice and shipped out to restaurants and markets all across the country. Used to be there were a number of fish houses in these parts, but this is the only one left. Sign of the times, I guess.”

  Ethan wasn’t dressed in his usual Aquarium uniform of khaki. On his day off he was slumming in olive green shorts, a stained white T-shirt and scuffed leather boots that had seen plenty of wear. His dark hair was an unruly mass and dark stubble coursed along his jawline. It occurred to her he looked right at home here on the docks.

  “I’ve never actually met shrimpers before,” she told him. “Should I be nervous?”

  Ethan appeared puzzled. “They’re just folks.”

  “Ethan, I’ve heard the stories,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “How they hate anyone connected with turtles. I’ve heard the names we’re called, too—turtle kissers, turtle Nazis…”

  His lips twitched but he only shrugged.

  “I know there’ve been some pretty strong words between the two camps over the years. I just want to know if I’m going to have my head served on a platter in there.”

  “That was before—sure, there were some, well, unfriendly feelings between some shrimpers and those folks who were demanding that the boats put those TEDS on their nets.” He scratched his neck and added wryly, “Time was, shrimpers called the Turtle Excluder Devices ‘Trawler Elimination Devices.’ Safe to say it was a touchy subject.”

  “To say the least.”

  “Hey, the bottom line is, those TEDS cost money.”

  “But it wasn’t about the money.”

  “It was to the shrimpers who had to put out money they didn’t have.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. But, what’s different now?”

  “Well, for starters they’ve got the TEDs on every net they own now. And, those turtle shooters work. Hey, they never wanted to hurt the turtles and I think that’s what riled them the most. They were painted as being bad guys when they were doing their best to make a living—a damned hard one—and not getting a break from anywhere.”

  “Why are you so defensive? You’re a turtle kisser, too, you know.”

  He laughed. “I am. But I see their side of the story, too.”

  She turned to look out over the fishery and sighed. “So, no one’s going to bite my head off out there today?”

  She felt his gaze sweep over her.

  “I think they’ll be enamored.”

  A short laugh escaped. “Enamored?”

  “Sure.” He reached across her legs to lift the door handle and open her door. “Some of these guys have been out on the sea for weeks. You look a sight better than a turtle.”

  She pushed open the door. “Thanks a lot.”

  She followed Ethan into the dim, narrow halls of the fish house. Behind glass windows in the large room, the rusting machines lay still. Here and there she’d spy rubber boots but no man to fill them. Only when they neared the office did she catch the scent of burnt coffee and hear the hum of voices, punctuated by a woman’s hearty laugh.

  When Ethan stepped into the small, wood paneled office, all talk stopped. Two middle aged, deeply tanned men—one weathered and tall, the other short and paunchy—leaned against a Formica counter covered with stacks of paper. Both wore white rubber boots over their jeans. Across from them, sitting at an ancient wood roll top desk was a sweet faced, robust woman of the same age in a blue floral dress and shiny black flats. They turned to face him, and like lightning, their faces lit up.

  “Lookee here! You son of a…sea horse,” the woman sputtered. “Where’ve you been?”

  She had to be at least sixty but she leaped up like a woman half her age to wrap soft, fleshy arms around Ethan in a bear hug.

  “Shame on you for making yourself so scarce. If I didn’t see you at church from time to time I’d think you’d gone off traveling again.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he replied, accepting the rebuff good naturedly. “But you knew I’d be coming home for your barbecue tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Your mama’s been cooking pies all week so you’d better be there.” The shorter of the men had eyes the color of sea glass and a thick gray beard that swaddled his cheeks like a wreath. He stepped forward to deliver a few good slaps on the back and mutter words of welcome.

  In contrast, the tall man in a worn but ironed flannel checked shirt straightened slowly to his full height. His once dark hair was now mostly gray and his tanned, weathered face had deep lines coursing across his brow, at the corners of his brown eyes and from dimple to chin. He didn’t smile but his dark eyes pulsed with emotion as he extended a callused hand.

  “Hello, Ethan.”

  She looked at Ethan and saw that he was looking at the man with the same intensity in his stormy brown eyes. And then it struck her how very much alike the two men looked.

  “Hello, Dad.” Ethan reached out to take the hand. They held tight for a mo
ment and the emotion in the room was palpable. Then the older man jerked his arm and drew his son into a quick, fierce embrace.

  In another minute, everyone was talking and coffee was served, hot and bitter and loaded with sugar. Toy hung back by the door, peeking in. It was a cozy space, as worn and well used as the fishery itself. The paneled walls were covered with small, black framed photographs of the fishery and shrimp boats that dated back fifty years or more. She tried not to eavesdrop but she caught that the other man was Ethan’s Uncle Will and the woman was his Aunt Martha and that Ethan was catching hell for missing church and not visiting his mother in the past few weeks.

  His father, Stuart, was quiet in comparison to his sister and her husband, but his affection for Ethan was nonetheless obvious, as was the pride shining in his dark eyes. It was clear to Toy that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the Legare family.

  Ethan, while never boisterous, was as relaxed as she’d ever seen him. He clearly enjoyed being with his family. Smiles came readily, as did the laughter.

  Then her name was called and she was brought into the room. Introductions were made and hands were shook. They couldn’t have been nicer or more welcoming and she pretended she didn’t see the suggestive eyebrow wriggling of Uncle Will to Ethan as he nodded her way. She ducked her head and took a swallow of her horrid coffee. There was a matchmaker in every crowd.

  She was spared more chit chat when a gruff looking man with a cap over greasy hair shuffled over to poke his head in through the doorway.

  “The Miss Peggy’s coming in!”

  “That’ll be us,” Stuart said and set down his coffee.

  Immediately they filed out of the cramped office into the fresh, salty air. Toy lagged behind. Ethan looked back over his shoulder and catching her eye, waved her closer. When she caught up, he bent close to speak softly in her ear.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it? No head chopping or bruises?”

  She turned to him “Why didn’t you tell me they were your family?”

  “And spoil all the fun? Nothing I love more than to drop the bomb that I come from a long line of shrimpers after listening to a tirade from a Turtle Nazi.”

  “I owe you one.”

  He replied with a look that, had it not been Ethan, she would have sworn was flirtatious.

  The long wooden dock was lined with tall cement pilings, and to these a line of boats, some seventy footers, some but twelve, were tied with thick, coiling rope. She read their names aloud as she walked by Carson Elizabeth, Explorer, Tina Maria, Captain Andy, Miss Charlotte, Miss Georgia.

  “Most of the fishing boats are named for women,” he explained. “Wives, daughters, mothers, sweethearts. It’s an old tradition, meant to bring good luck to the men while they are away at sea.”

  “Do you have a boat?”

  “Nothing big like these. Mine’s about eighteen feet and just for fun.”

  “And do you have a name for it?” she asked, shamelessly prying.

  “The Wanderlust.” He cast her a slanted glance.

  “Suits you,” she replied.

  Her attention was diverted by the sixty-two-foot Miss Peggy as it slipped into its watery square of real estate along the dock, growling and churning the waters. With the hanging nets on each side of the boat, she thought they looked like folded butterfly wings. The Miss Peggy was an old girl. White paint peeled from the wood and up close Toy could see the dread rust on metal. But she was still a graceful swimmer and slipped into her space as easily as a younger, smaller fishing boat.

  Two men in jeans and white rubber boots climbed out off the high boat to the dock far below as nimbly as ship rats. On board, a wiry, weathered woman with dark gray hair pulled back in a ponytail waved them off, calling out something in a heavy drawl that Toy couldn’t make out. While one of the men bent to tie the ropes, the other, a short, bald, barrel-chested man, came straight for Ethan and sucker punched him in the belly.

  Toy gasped as Ethan doubled over. Until she realized that he wasn’t grimacing in pain but laughter. The two men clung to each other, delivering velvet gloved punches like boxers in the ninth round while around them, the other men chortled, enjoying their antics.

  “Don’t mind them,” Stuart said to Toy with a good natured grin. “They been fools since they were boys.”

  Ethan slapped the other man’s back and turning, caught Toy gaping.

  “Toy, come over and meet Bigger. He’s the most conceited, ornery saltwater cowboy on the coast. He’s also my cousin. We went to school together when we were kids, or at least whenever Bigger showed up. Bigger, this is my colleague, Toy Sooner.”

  “Colleague is it?” he said with a thick drawl. Bigger lifted expensive black sunglasses to the top of his slightly sunburned bald head and gave her the once-over with eyes as bright a blue as a torch. She felt scalded and knew his mind was up to no good. What he saw seemed to please him, however, because he stuck out his meaty arm emblazoned with a tattoo and took her hand, squeezing tight.

  “What kind of a name is Toy?”

  “What kind of a name is Bigger?”

  Bigger turned toward Ethan, a smile pinching his lips. “She’ll do.”

  “Daddy!”

  A coltish young girl came running up the dock, all long legs and long black hair flying behind her like a mane. She leaped up to hurl herself upon Bigger, who grabbed her tight and gave her a whirl around the dock.

  In a more leisurely manner, a tiny woman with black hair and almond eyes strolled up the dock to join them. On her hip was a little boy, no more than a year, with hair as black as his mother’s. Bigger released his daughter and all bravado fled as, with something akin to reverence, he stepped forward to place a chaste kiss on his wife’s cheek. Their eyes met, his passionate, hers knowing. Toy read more love in that greeting than if Bigger’s wife had run like her daughter and hurled her tiny self into his powerful arms.

  Bigger took his son in his arms, pride beaming on his face, and turned to Toy.

  “This here’s my wife, Lao. This wild thing is my daughter Lily and this hunk o’ meat is my son, Bill Jr.” He looked at Ethan with bluster. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Shootin’ blanks… Look at me. I’ve got the Miss Peggy, a beautiful wife, two of the best children to roam God’s earth. When are you going to stop wandering and get you some of these?”

  “I don’t know, Bigger. There’s nothing like your family or the Miss Peggy, that’s for damn sure,” Ethan told him.

  “You bet your ass.”

  “Bill…” Lao said softly, frowning at his language.

  “Sorry.”

  “You’ve got a fine business sitting here just waiting for you,” Aunt Martha said to Ethan.

  Ethan cast a wary glance at his father. Stuart’s face remained taciturn.

  “We could use the help,” Uncle Will added. “Bigger likes the sea too much to stay in an office and my Jim, he wants no part of the business. Moved off to Atlanta to be some banker.” He said the last word like it tasted bitter in his mouth. “At least you didn’t do nothin’ like that.”

  “Ethan has a three-hundred-thousand-gallon fish tank to take care of right now,” Toy said, jumping into the fray. “One of the largest in the country. And hundreds of fish. I’d say that’s something.”

  All talk ceased and everyone looked at her like she’d spoken gibberish. All except Ethan. His eyes warmed as he looked at her.

  “You and me,” Bigger added, wrapping an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “We’ve got saltwater in our veins. At least you came back. I knew the tides would call you home.”

  “Daddy, where’s the turtle?” the girl asked, impatient with all this adult talk.

  Bigger hoisted his son and bent to face his daughter. “So that’s what you come for? The turtle? Not to see your daddy?”

  “But I gotta do a report for school,” she whined with pleading eyes.

  Lao laughed lightly and cupped her husband’s cheek. “You’re no match for a sea turtl
e. So where is it?”

  Bigger snorted and waved her over. “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s go get it. It’s not looking so good, though.” He looked back at Toy. “The faster you get her off our boat, the faster we can unload this shrimp.”

  “Yes, sir, captain.” Toy climbed up the wall of the shrimp boat, surprised by how high off the dock it rose. The deck of the Miss Peggy stretched long before her. At first, it was confusing, there was so much going on. There were winches, chains, cables and ropes. Nets hung full from the riggers.

  The wiry man she’d seen before stood at the nets and was busy cleaning out the small fish and crabs. He turned his head when she passed and asked in a gravely voice, “You here for the turtle?”

  “I am. Or,” she nodded toward Ethan, “we are.”

  “Come and git her, then. She ain’t lookin’ so good. Don’t wanna be blamed for killin’ no endangered turtle.”

  “Where is she?”

  He pointed a heavily tattooed arm toward the rear of the deck. Bigger led them there and lifted a canvas tarp. Under it, a juvenile loggerhead lay motionless.

  Toy hitched her breath, stunned at the serious crack that ran across the length of its shell. All business now, she swung her backpack off her shoulders and knelt beside it. The good news was the turtle was alive. The bad news was the gorgeous reddish brown shell was split near in two.

  “That’s a nasty crack,” she said in a flat tone.

  “Propeller slash?” Ethan asked.

  Toy measured the shell at three feet, noted it and a few other observations, then rose. “That’s no propeller slash.” She turned to Bigger. “What happened?”

  Bigger cast a wary glance at his daughter. “We were pulling in the big nets, same as we always do. Damned if this turtle didn’t fall right out of the net.”

  “You dropped the turtle?” Toy asked, shocked.

  “Hell, no. I didn’t drop it. It fell.”

  “Daddy, you would never hurt a sea turtle, would you?” Lily asked.

  Bigger’s face flushed and he shuffled his white boots. “No, I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t hurt no turtle. But folks like you,” he said to Toy “just can’t believe we care.”