C
HAPTER
20
“W
hat happened to your car?” David asked when he came in with the paper.
“Why? What's wrong with it?”
“There's a dent in the bumper.”
“There is?!” Birdie got up, frowning, and limped outside. She looked down at her car and then touched the yellow indentation in the bumper.
“It looks like you hit one of those yellow poles on the bike trail,” David said, following her outside.
Birdie swallowed, trying to remember the drive home from Sailor's the night before. She
had
gotten a little mixed up in her neighborhood when she left, but the bike trail was nowhere near there. After that, she vaguely remembered pulling into the driveway when she got home because David had left the outside lights on, and she remembered Bailey struggling to her feet to say hello. She also remembered drinking a large glass of water, but the actual drive from Wellfleet was a bit of a blur and she certainly didn't remember hitting anything.
“I don't know,” she said, sounding perplexed. She looked at David, but he just pressed his lips together.
“I did
not
have too much to drink,” she said defensively.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to,” she said angrily. “I know what you're thinking.”
“You don't know what I'm thinking.”
“Yes, I doâyou think I drink too much. I can see it in your eyesâit's like living with a judge. But I
don't
drink too much. You drink as much as I do, and every time you play golf, you have a drink at the clubhouse . . . and that's in the middle of the day. At least I wait till five o'clock.”
David stood silently, listening.
“You should've seen how much my father drank. When he was home, he sat in the dark living room with his damn Scotch and no one was allowed to bother him or turn on the TV. We had to tiptoe around him after dinner. You have no idea how hard it was. Thank goodness he was flying most of the time, and thank goodness my mom eventually arranged for us to go to prep school, because at least there, we were free from seeing the torment in his eyes.” She paused. “No one in my family was the same after Easton died.”
David slowly shook his head. “For the millionth time, Birdie, Easton's death was
not
your fault,” he said softly. “It wasn't anyone's fault.”
“Yes, it was,” Birdie said, tears springing to her eyes. “You weren't there. You wouldn't know.”
“It was an accident. Accidents happen. They're a part of life.”
Birdie clenched her fists in anguish. “Don't you understand? Because of me, our family was shattered. Because of me, there was no joy in our house. Any happiness we felt was always shadowed by loss and unimaginable grief. Easton was the only boy. He was my father's
only
son.”
David took a step toward her, but she put up her hands. “I don't want your comfort. I just want to be left alone.” He pressed his lips together and turned to walk back to the house. Birdie stared blindly at his back and then sank to the bottom step, covering her face with her hands. A moment later, she felt a warm body leaning against her. “Oh, Bay,” she said sadly. “How did you end up with such an awful mother?” Bailey wagged the tip of her tail and licked Birdie's salty cheeks, and Birdie wrapped her arms around her neck. “What would I do without you?” she whispered.
Oh, what a gift God made when He created dogs. She had lovedâand laid to restâso many sweet dogs in her lifetimeâeach with its own personality; each with its own way of bringing comfort; each with solemn, loving eyes that were filled with all the wisdom in the world; and each leaving a gaping hole in her heart when they died and making her vow to never get another, never set herself up for so much sadness again. But she always did.
Bailey stuffed her wet nose in Birdie's ear and Birdie laughed and thought of Willow, the big yellow Lab her family had had when she was growing up. Willow had loved to stuff her nose into their ears, too. She was supposed to be the whole family's dog, but they'd all known she loved Easton best, and when he didn't come home that night, she looked all over for him. She cried and cried and wouldn't settle down, but in the days that followed, it was Willow who nuzzled their ears and gave them solace.
P
AQRT
II
You will surely forget your trouble,
recalling it only as waters gone by.
Life will be brighter than noonday,
and darkness will become like morning.
Â
âJob 11:16â17
July 3, 1964
Â
“B
lack raspberry's good,” Piper said with an approving nod.
“It's not as good as chocolate,” Sailor said dejectedly.
Whitney put the ice cream in the freezer and noticed the frazzled look on his wife's face. “Uh-oh! How come you guys are all inside? Are you driving Mom crazy?”
“Nooo,” the younger three chorused innocently. Whitney looked at his wife for confirmation, but she just raised her eyebrows.
“We were just looking for more jars,” Piper explained.
“Actually, we were just going back outside,” Birdie corrected, motioning for her younger siblings to follow her.
“But I still need a jar!” Piper cried.
“I have one right here,” Easton reminded, taking the top off the jar in his arms. “Anyone want a pickle?” he asked, fishing out a sweet pickle and popping it in his mouth.
“I'll have one,” Piper and Sailor both said.
“Use a fork,” Martha scolded, picturing all the invisible microorganisms that had just jumped off her son's hand and were now swimming in the pickle juice.
Hugging the jar to his chest, Easton pulled open the silverware drawer, but at the same moment, Piper and Sailor both reached for it, and without the support of his other hand, it slipped and fell to the floor, spilling sticky pickle juice everywhere.
“That's it!” Martha exclaimed. “Out!”
“Out, guys,” Whitney repeated, ushering his children around the puddle and in the general direction of the door. Easton was the last in line, but as he reached the door, he picked up his mason jar and turned around. “I'm sorry, Mom,” he said, his eyes glistening. “I didn't mean to ...”
“I know you didn't,” Martha said, trying to regain her composure. “It's just that I have a lot to do....”
“You don't have to give me any presents.”
Martha's frown softened. “Well, that wouldn't be much of a birthday, would it?”
He shrugged. “C'mon, Willow,” and the yellow Lab took a few more quick swipes of the sweet puddle with her tongue, gulped down some pickles, and trotted after him, leaving a trail of muddyâand now stickyâpaw prints.
“I'll get this,” Martha said with a sigh, setting the empty batter bowl in the sink and reaching for an old towel. “You can get the broken glass.”
“I'll get this,” Whitney countered, taking the towel from her, “and the broken glass.”
“What I'd really like you to do is take them for a hikeâthey've been underfoot all afternoon and I still have the cake to frost and presents to wrap.”
Whitney nodded. “I'll get this, the broken glass,
and
I'll take them for a hike.”
“It'll be dark soon....”
“We have flashlights, and it won't be the first time we've gone for a hike at night.”
Martha sighed. “Okay, you can get this and the glass, but I'm doing the dishes.”
“Okay,” Whitney said with a smile. “I'll
let
you do the dishes.”
Ten minutes later, the kitchen floor was cleaner than it had been all week, the broken glass was swept up, Willow's paws were rinsed and dried, and the children were loaded in the station wagonâEaston in front, Sailor and Remy in back, and Piper and Birdie in the “way back,” looking out the back window.
“ 'Bye, Mom!” they chorused as their father pulled away.
Piper looked up and saw Willow peering through the screen door. “We forgot Willow!”
“She's not coming,” Birdie said.
“Why not?” Piper asked, dismayed by the injustice.
“Because Dad just cleaned her up,” Birdie explained.
“But she loves the beach.”
“Next time,” her sister assured.
Whitney turned on the radio, and when the girls heard the song that was playing, they begged their father to turn it up and crooned along with Gerry and the Pacemakers as they sang their melancholy hit song “Don't Let the Sun Catch You Crying.”
When the song ended, Whitney turned it down and looked over at Easton. “I didn't know you could sing,” he teased.
Easton blushed and looked out the window. The cool breeze felt good on his hot cheeks. “How come there're so many fireflies this year, Dad?”
“Because we had such a wet spring,” Whitney surmised. “Insects love wet, mild weather.”
“It's neat to see so manyâthe woods are full of 'em!”
“Lightning bugs are neat,” Whitney agreed, “but mosquitoes won't be.”
“Ugh! I hadn't thought of that,” Easton said. “That definitely won't be fun.”
Whitney pulled into the Nauset Light parking lot, and they all piled out and stood around the back of the car, dividing up the pails and flashlights. “I want to take a picture of you guys in front of the lighthouse,” Whitney said.
“Aww, do we have to?” Sailor moaned.
“Yes, we
have
to,” Whitney said.
As Easton waited for his sisters to sort through the pails, he watched the lighthouse scanning the darkening sky. Red . . . white . . . red . . . white. Rhythmically. Faithfully. Endlessly.
It never stops
, he thought.
It just keeps turning . . . on and on . . . forever!
“Ready, East?” Whitney said, interrupting his son's thoughts.
“Huh?” Easton turned, saw his dad holding out his pail, and realized his sisters were already walking across the parking lot. He nodded, took the pail, and trotted after them.
They stood together, in age order, jostling for position.
“Ready?” Whitney said, focusing the lens in the fading light.
“Wait!” Easton said, dropping his pail and throwing his arms around his sisters' shoulders. His sisters did the same, and as they laughingly pulled each other closer, Whitney snapped the shutter, capturing a sweet, carefree moment.
“Okay, no funny stuff this time,” he said, eyeing Sailorâwho'd made bunny ears behind Remy's head.
Sailor squinched her nose and stuck her tongue out at him.
“You won't like it when your face freezes that way, missy!” he teased.
“You won't like it when your face freezes that way, missy,” she mimicked, grinning at him.
“Okay, are you ready this time?”
They all nodded.
“Nice smiles . . . on three. One . . . two . . .”
They gave their dad their best smiles, and Whitney snapped the shutter again.
“Thank you for your cooperation!”
“You're welcome,” they shouted, happy to be free and laughing as they raced toward the stairs.
C
HAPTER
21
“O
h, my! She's beautiful!” Piper said as they pulled alongside the huge loggerhead turtle swimming in the sparkling blue water of Cape Cod Bay.
“She sure is,” Nat said, smiling as they slowed down to get a closer look. “I bet she weighs three hundred pounds.”
“How do you know it's a she?” Elias asked.
“Her tail,” Piper said, pointing to the turtle's tail trailing along in the water. “The male's is longer and more prominent.”
Elias frowned. “It looks like she's only using two of her flippers.” He leaned over the side, trying to see what was impeding her ability to swim. “I think she's caught on something.”
Nat leaned over the side, too, and saw a buoy bobbing under her belly, the line of which was wrapped around two of her flippers. “It looks like she may've been hit by a boat, too,” he said, pointing to a gash on her shell. He frowned. “I think we better bring her in.”
Piper frowned. “Do you think you can lift her?”
“If Elias takes one side,” he said, pulling a pair of gloves out from under the seat.
He found a second pair, handed them to him, and they both leaned over the side and grabbed onto her shell. It was slippery and covered with barnacles, and the old turtle, unhappy about being pulled into a boat, began working her flippers extra hard, trying to get free. Then, out of the blue, she stopped struggling, and they were able to pull her up into the boatâdragging the entangled buoy and line with her.
Nat surveyed the mess and shook his head. “Poor girl,” he murmured.
“How old do you think she is?” Elias asked.
“I bet she's at least thirty, maybe older,” Nat said, “and she's been hit more than once,” he added, lightly tracing the scars on her shell. He finished examining her and cut off as much of the line as he could, and then Piper soaked a beach towel in the water and laid the dripping towel over her shell and head. Elias poured a bucket of cool seawater over her, too, and Nat turned the launch around and headed back to the sanctuary while Piper radioed ahead to let them know they were bringing her in.
Twenty minutes later, the sanctuary was in full emergency mode as they loaded the big loggerhead onto a special cart and wheeled her into their small hospital. They immediately set to work freeing her from the rest of the line that was cutting into her skin and began administering fluids and nourishment. At the same time, Piper smoothed a gentle, healing balm onto her wounds. The old turtle didn't struggle but her solemn eyes watched their every moveâit was as if she knew they were trying to help her.
Later that afternoon, Piper suddenly remembered it was Friday, which meant they were supposed to be at Remy's that evening to celebrate Birdie's birthday. She looked around for Nat and saw him on the phone, and when she walked over, heard him making arrangements to bring the turtle to the Boston Aquarium for rehabâtheir facility was better equipped for big sea turtles in this much distress.
He hung up the phone and looked up. “What's up?” he asked quizzically.
“You're taking her tonight, aren't you?”
He nodded. “I don't think we should wait. Why? Do we have something going on?”
“It's fine,” Piper said, looking down at the turtle. “I think you should take her . . . but I can't go.”
“That's okay. I'll take Elias. Why can't you go?”
“We're supposed to go to Remy's for Birdie's birthday.”
“Oh, that's right! I forgot!” he said apologetically.
Piper sighed. “It's okay. I'm sure she'll understand,” though she knew her sister would be disappointed.
“Do you want me to get someone else to take her?”
Piper shook her head. “No, you take her.”
“Dad,” Elias said, coming into the room. “I filled up the truck. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, just a sec.” He looked back at Piper. “I'm sorry to mess things up.”
“Don't be sorry,” Piper said with a half smile. “This old lady needs you more than Birdie does. Take good care of her.” She knelt down next to the holding tank, looked into the turtle's solemn eyes, and stroked her smooth head. “We'll see you back here in a couple of weeks!”