S
omeone who hadn’t grown up here might find it scary to be walking on the beach at night. Not Georgia. She used a shielded flashlight through the dunes, but when she reached the flat expanse of sand, she switched it off. The nearly full moon traced a silvery path across the waves, so distinct that when she was a child, she’d imagined that if only she were brave enough, she could walk on it all the way to the horizon and beyond.
She knew better now, but that didn’t detract from the beauty. Miz Callie’s favorite psalm surfaced in her mind, like a dolphin breaking through the waves.
When I look at the Heavens, which Thou hast created, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained…
She tilted her head back to study the sweep of the stars. She felt small in the face of that vastness. Insignificant. And wasn’t that what the psalm went on to say?
What is man, that Thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that Thou visiteth him? Yet Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and crowned him with glory and honor.
The words created a space of peace in her heart, like the walk on the beach. The distance between Miz Callie’s
house and Matt’s place gave her time to think about what she would say to him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to think of much except those moments in the surf earlier.
Where had that instant wave of attraction come from? It was crazy. Neither of them wanted that. What was she supposed to do now—pretend it hadn’t happened?
The night, in its stillness, didn’t provide an answer, but the murmur of the surf soothed away the edge of her anxiety. She was worrying over nothing. Matt would be as eager to forget it as she was.
Crossing the dunes to Matt’s deck, she slipped on the shoes she’d been carrying and walked up the steps to find him waiting for her.
“I saw you coming down the beach.” He gestured to a chair, waited until she took it, and sat down next to her.
She perched on the edge of the chair, too aware of his nearness to relax.
Even in the dim light, she could see his eyebrows lift. “You look as if you’re ready to take flight. Is something wrong?” “No, not at all.” If she couldn’t convince herself, at least she could try convincing him. “Is Lindsay asleep?” “She conks out pretty quickly. I guess she wears herself
out running around on the beach all day.” “I remember that feeling.”
He’d spend most of his evenings alone, once Lindsay went to bed. That must be lonely.
“Well, to business.” He drained his iced-tea glass and set it on a wide plank of the deck. “We need a plan of action, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” Tension grabbed the back of her neck. “The trouble is—well, truthfully, I don’t see how this can succeed. I’m afraid Miz Callie will end up being hurt if she can’t clear Ned’s name. And if she goes ahead with her plans anyway…” She trailed off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he felt the same stress she did. “Will there really be that much bad feeling after all this time?”
She gave him a pitying look. “You don’t get it, do you? Charleston—old Charleston, anyway—is a close community for all its size. I don’t suppose anyone will start a petition against her plans, although that could happen. But people she’s known all her life will disapprove, even be angry about it.”
“Maybe she figures that won’t bother her.”
“Don’t kid yourself. She may say that she wants to live to please herself, but I know her. She’ll be lost if people turn against her. Lost.”
“You know her better than I do.” He paused, his face a study in line and shadow in the dim light. “But as her attorney, I have to follow her directions.”
She hadn’t known him long, but she sensed instinctively that he wouldn’t back away from his duty to a client. “Any ideas?”
“Miz Callie must have some reason for her belief in Edward Bodine’s innocence. You’re in the best position to find out what that is.”
“I guess so. I tried to find out what she remembers about his leaving, but it’s not much. Just finding Granddad crying because Ned had run away, leaving a note saying he wasn’t coming back, but that’s all she knows. Maybe it was all Granddad knew. After all, he was just a kid then, too.”
“If he left a note saying he was going, there was no question of accident or foul play, apparently.”
She blinked. “That hadn’t even occurred to me. But no, I suppose not. I can try to get her talking more about her memories. There might be something we can follow up on.”
He nodded. “Good. And there have to be records of Edward Bodine somewhere. I’ll start there, see what that tells us.”
“If there’s something else I can do…”
“There is,” he said, so promptly that it seemed he was waiting for the offer. He picked something up from the floor next to his chair, and she realized it was a long legal pad. “I just have too little information to search intelli-gently. That’s where you come in.”
She should not be annoyed that he was so quick to take charge. She shouldn’t, but she was.
She shoved the feeling down. Her grandmother was important now, not her. “What do you need me to find out?”
“Vital statistics, like birth date, parents’ names, addresses.” He ticked something off on the pad. “And anything you can get from your grandmother about how and when he disappeared. Why did people think he ran away?” His hand tightened into a fist. “It’s all just so amorphous. A story that’s more than sixty years old and not a single fact to support it.” “It’s about more than facts. There’s family loyalty and
trust involved, too.”
“I can’t investigate family loyalty.” His voice had gone dry, his hand tight on the arm of the chair. “Just get me some facts. Surely your grandmother remembers more than she’s told us so far.”
Was that just a normal lawyer’s reaction, his insistence on sticking to the facts? Or did she sense something deeper in his reaction to her comment about families?
“Miz Callie did say she’s started remembering more about that summer. Apparently she’d been talking with a friend from those days, reminiscing.”
“Who is the friend?” His question was quick, his pen poised over the legal pad. “Maybe we can interview him.”
“Her. And we can’t. She died.” She sounded as terse as he did.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached across the space between their chairs to touch her hand lightly.
Her skin tingled at his featherlight touch. She shoved her hair back from her face with her other hand, looking up at the stars again. They seemed very far away.
“It’s all right. I’m not personally upset about her death. I mean, I barely remember her. But her passing had a profound effect on my grandmother. That’s what convinced her she has to learn the truth about Ned.”
“I see.” His fingers brushed hers lightly, as if in silent empathy. “One other thing—what about talking to your family about Ned?”
She winced at the thought. “Miz Callie is right to put that off as long as possible.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Pleased?” Her voice rose in spite of herself and she half expected him to pull his hand away, but he didn’t. The warmth of his skin began to radiate through her. “You’ve seen how they reacted already. If they knew this… Trust me, you don’t want to see the Bodines in full crisis mode.”
“I think I could handle it.” He said the words mildly. But then, he wasn’t related to them.
“It would only make matters worse, and my dad’s generation won’t know any more than Miz Callie does.”
“All right. If you say so.” He seemed to become aware that he was still touching her hand. He grasped the legal pad instead. “We’ll work it out, somehow.”
“I hope so.” It was odd, talking to him this way, relying on him when she barely knew him. More than odd, to feel lonely because he was no longer touching her.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’ll try to get a bit
more information from your grandmother. Do you think there’s anyone else we might talk to about that summer?” She forced herself to concentrate. “I’ll try to find out.”
She rose, and Matt stood with her.
“Thanks.” He looked down at her, his gaze searching her face.
She sucked in a breath. “Good night, Matt.” She turned quickly, before he could answer, and hurried down the stairs, her skin still tingling from his touch.
Her mind still occupied with the conversation with Matt as she came back from her run the next morning, Georgia went up the steps to the deck and met her grandmother coming out. The floppy hat, oversized floral shirt and cutoffs were Miz Callie’s typical summer outfit. Her red plastic pail represented one of her most prized roles—that of an island turtle lady.
“Miz Callie, you’re not going out without breakfast, are you?” She glanced through the glass door, seeing only a coffee mug on the kitchen table.
Her grandmother slid a pair of pink-rimmed sunglasses on her face. “I had coffee. That’s all I need now. I’ll eat something when I get back from my patrol.”
“Why don’t you let me fix you some scrambled eggs first?” And talk to me while you’re eating. “Surely the turtles can wait that long.”
“Georgia Lee, I’ve been taking care of myself for a good long time, and I don’t intend to stop in the fore-seeable future.” She walked toward the stairs, the red pail swinging. “’Course, you could come along with me to look for nests.”
She was just as likely, or unlikely, to get something out of her grandmother on the beach as anywhere else. She followed her toward the beach.
“It’s early in the season, isn’t it? Have you found any nests so far?”
“Well, it’s May already.” Miz Callie set off along the dunes. “We haven’t found any on Sullivan’s Island yet, but they’ve spotted quite a few over at the national seashore. And two on Isle of Palms.”
There was the faintest thread of envy in her grandmother’s voice. She, like the rest of the turtle ladies, wanted to be the first one to spot the marks that showed a turtle had nested in the dunes, depositing her eighty or more eggs in the sand.
“Maybe today will be your lucky day,” she said. “For finding a nest, I mean.”
Miz Callie smiled as her gaze scanned the dunes. “I’d purely love that, to find a turtle nest with you. It’s been a long time—maybe since that summer before you went off to college.”
Georgia’s mind slid automatically away from the memory of that summer.
Don’t think about that. Remember other times, happier times.
She tilted her head back, loving the warmth of the sun on her face, the scent of the sea teasing her nose. “I’d forgotten how much I love this place.” The note of surprise in her voice caught her off guard.
“You always did, from the time you were a little bitty child.” Her grandmother slowed, as if she didn’t have quite enough breath for both walking and talking. “You should come more often. Why did you stop?”
Again her mind shied away from the memory she’d never shared with her grandmother. “I got older. Life got complicated.”
“It does. Believe me, I know. Are you so surprised that I want to simplify it now?”
“I guess not.” Except that this quest her grandmother
had embarked on was likely to provide plenty of complications. Didn’t she realize that? Maybe she did, and she just wanted the other parts of her life settled so she could save her strength for the battle over Ned’s name.
Miz Callie stopped, staring at the gentle ruffle of the waves. The tide was going out, leaving long, shallow tidal pools behind—a favorite playground for children. In an hour or two, they’d start appearing on the beach, little family parties of a mother or a set of grandparents laden down with chairs, umbrellas, maybe a cooler, ready for a few hours on the beach with the kids. The air would fill with the excited voices of the young.
“We fall into the rhythm of the ocean when we’re born here,” Miz Callie said softly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Maybe that’s why Bodines never really thrive away from the sea.”
Her grandmother had a point. Her brothers had followed the family tradition and gone into the Coast Guard. They couldn’t conceive of a life that didn’t involve the sea.
“We all love this place,” Georgia said. “But still…”
Miz Callie stiffened. She wasn’t reacting to Georgia’s words. In fact, it was doubtful that she’d even heard them. She stared, taking off her sunglasses and shielding her eyes with her hand. Georgia looked, too, scanning sand,
sea oats and morning glories for the telltale signs. “There!” Miz Callie pointed and scurried toward the
spot. “It might be a nest!”
She spotted it now—the tracks in the sand leading to the dunes, as if a small tractor had gone through. Georgia hurried after her grandmother, Miz Callie’s enthusiasm infectious. She was thirteen or fourteen again, running after her grandmother, sharing the thrill of being first to find a viable nest.
“She’s picked a good site.” Miz Callie lowered herself
to her knees next to a patch of disturbed sand. “Well above the high-tide line, thank goodness.”
If it hadn’t been, the volunteers would have taken on the risky task of moving the nest farther back. That would be the only chance the babies had of surviving. It was all coming back to her.
Georgia knelt beside her grandmother. “Are there eggs in it?” That was the crucial question. The mother could have been frightened away before she’d finished the job. “Only one way to find out.” Miz Callie took a long, thin stick from the pail. Slowly, her face intent, she inserted it
into the sand, probing delicately for the eggs.
Her grandmother’s expression touched Georgia’s heart. Miz Callie’s love for the sea creatures native to this coast went so deep. It was an act of faith for her, a part of her reverence for all that God had created.
Georgia made herself comfortable on the dune. This could take a while, and she knew better than to offer help. Miz Callie had never let any of the grandchildren touch the precious eggs. If the grandkids were lucky, they’d be roused from sleep some night and taken out on the beach. Huddled in blankets, they’d watch the babies struggle from the sand and make their run to the ocean.
Predators waited, ready to pounce on the hatchlings. The outer world could be a cruel place. Her mind flickered to Atlanta. If she’d known about the pain that waited for her there, would she still have gone?