friends—male and female. I suppose I’d simply accepted that I’d live my life single. Not a spinster…”
She turned her head, eyes blazing, “Isn’t that a horrid word? Spinster? It implies someone old and dried up. Unwanted.” She frowned and shivered with disgust. “Unmarried men are called bachelors. I like that word. It conjures up someone debonair, even sexy. Freedom. Men have bureaus called ‘bachelor chests.’ Can you imagine ever wanting a ‘spinster chest’? Women have ‘hope chests’, for hoping they’ll get married.” Her eyes flashed. “It’s a conspiracy. Don’t get me started on that. No,” she said in conclusion, “I never worried much about finding a husband.”
“I reckon I’ve always worried about it, but at the rate I’ve been working, I’ll never find a husband, either. And lately, I’m too tired to worry about it. So, I guess you and I are alike in that.” She sighed and, growing serious again at the mention of work, leaned back in the bench. She thought about Flo’s life, her unconscious decision to remain single, and her satisfaction—even pride—of that path. Toy had always assumed her primary role as a woman was to marry and have children.
Yet life had taken her down another path. She had, in fact, not married. She had a child and now a career. It was possible she might not ever marry. Her acceptance of that possibility thrust her career as a provider for herself and her child into primary importance. She had to depend on herself.
It was a daunting realization, one that kept her up at night shivering in fear that she’d fail in her career or make serious financial blunders and end up in trouble. This was the dark shadow Flo had spied behind her eyes this morning.
She sighed and began to open up. “I’m afraid, Flo. The other day when Dr. Tom was examining Big Girl, he used medical terms I didn’t know. I pretended I did, but in my notes I was madly writing the words down to look up later. Flo, I live in constant fear that my ignorance will be discovered and I’ll be found out for the fake I am.”
“Oh, Toy…” Flo said with a light laugh.
“Don’t laugh! I’m serious. You can be sure Ethan knew the terminology. He chatted so easily with Dr. Tom, like he was a doctor, too.”
“Well, of course he did. It makes sense, Toy. He has more experience. Isn’t he your supervisor?”
“That shouldn’t make any difference at all. I’m the one in charge of the turtle. But I’m always asking Ethan a question or having him double check most everything I do. I’m terrified of making a mistake. After all, this turtle’s life depends on me.” She wrung her hands. “But sooner or later I have to depend on my own abilities.”
“And you’ll know when that moment comes, my dear. Toy, I’ve been in that very same situation. Most of us have. When I started out as a social worker, the doctors came in and yammered on and on with their ten dollar words. I was shaking in my shoes, just like you are now. I felt downright stupid, completely out of my depth. But you know what happened?”
Toy shook her head. She’d been listening intently, not stirring in her seat.
“I studied hard, like you are now, and learned the words quicker than a hot knife through butter. Toy, every job has its own jargon, some more than others. But you’re young, you’re bright, you’re enthusiastic.” She smiled with great warmth. “You’ll catch on.”
Toy grasped this like a drowning woman. “I am studying every free minute, that’s for true. Why, the other night, poor Lovie fell asleep next to me on the sofa waiting on me to read to her. She looked so cute with her storybook tucked under her arm.” She sighed. “Of course, I felt guilty.”
“Guilt is part of motherhood, my dear,” Flo said archly. “Why would you think you’d be spared?”
Toy looked at Flo’s leathery, deeply lined face and her bright, spectacularly blue eyes. Ever since Miss Lovie had died, Flo had taken up the role of godmother to Toy and Little Lovie. Her advice, though often delivered with a velvet fist, was always heartfelt.
“You sure you don’t want that cup of coffee? Maybe a sweet roll?”
“No, thanks,” Toy, replied, rising. “I’ve really got to go. Thanks so much for listening. I truly do feel better.”
“Go on then and make good your escape. And don’t worry about that little ragamuffin. I got me one of those super squirters, too, and I’m dying to soak her good and proper. We’ll be so wild with our new toys, she won’t even notice you’re not here.”
What a pair, Toy thought but she walked with a lighter step to her car. With Flo’s fiery tongue and Little Lovie’s stubborn streak, they just might be good for one another.
Toy put down the ragtop of the Gold Bug and let her hair blow in the wind. The tide was high as she crossed the Ben Sawyer Bridge and the water of the Intracoastal Waterway reflected the brilliant blue, cloudless sky like a mirror. It was going to be a hot one, Toy thought. A lot of beachcombers were going to be happy and Brett’s boat business was going to go through the roof.
Toy glanced at her watch. It was already 7:30 a.m. on the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend. Traffic was blissfully light this early and she’d make good time. If she worked fast, she’d be home by lunch. Then she’d keep her promise and take Little Lovie to the beach. And this time, she thought as she tightened her hands on the wheel, she’d help build that sand castle.
Toy turned on the radio and hummed as she zoomed over the gleaming new Ravenel Bridge. She liked country music. Songs of unrequited love, broken dreams, fights in bars, life and death. Country music sometimes made her think of Darryl and how he used to sing to her the songs he’d written. She rarely thought of him anymore, and when she did, it was with detachment, like he was dead or from some other life, long ago.
Her future lay before her, she thought with a heady grin. Onward and Upward! Charleston loomed, its church spirals pointed heavenward. Traffic was light on East Bay Street and she make good time, parking in the empty lot just down the road from the Aquarium that would soon be another condominium. The city was changing along the waterfront at a pace that seemed faster than the one she walked as she made her way down the street.
Her Aquarium T-shirt was already beginning to cling to her skin by the time she entered the blast of air-conditioning inside. Her first stop was the compact, industrial food prep kitchen. Big Girl might be emaciated, but she was still a fussy eater. So far, she seemed to like squid best. Toy cut and weighed the squid and fish, thinking as she did so that trying to feed a thirtysome-year-old turtle wasn’t all that different than trying to feed a picky five-year-old child. Toy cleaned up her kitchen mess and brought the food to Big Girl.
“You’re here. Perfect!”
“Ethan?” She hurried toward his voice to find him cleaning Big Girl’s tank with a skimmer. “What’s happened? Is Big Girl okay?”
“She’s fine. I got a call about another turtle.”
“A turtle? Where?”
“At Cherry Point on Wadmalaw Island. The fishermen who found her are bringing her in to the fishery.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“They called me.”
“They called you?”
“Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad.
