leaned back against him. “It’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”
“Not at all.”
He slid his arms around her waist. They felt strong and secure, and closing her eyes, she caught the scent of the sea in his clothes. “I’d much rather sleep in our own bed, in our own house and have your arms around me.”
He bent and she felt his cheek against hers and his muscle move into a grin. “That sounds good to me.”
“Besides,” she said, straightening. “It’s been good for Toy to live here. She finds comfort in being surrounded by Mama’s things.”
“She loved her like a mother.”
“In a lot of ways, she was her mother, the mother Toy never had. Remember the way she cried at Mama’s funeral? Made me look like I didn’t care as much. I got some strange looks, I recall.”
“It’s not your way to cry.”
Cara wondered about that statement. It was the kind of thing people said about her and she used to believe it. Growing up, she’d worn her stoicism like armor against the slings and arrows of her father’s anger. It had served her well as an executive in an advertising firm in the chilly north. Yet, she found that iron armor heavy to bear here in the softer air of the islands.
“Still, it’s strange the way Toy doesn’t want to get rid of anything of Mama’s. I don’t think she’s changed a single thing in this house for the five years she’s lived here. Not so much as a book has been moved from its sacred spot. It’s like this house is a shrine to Mama’s memory.” She gave off a short laugh. “It would be annoying if she weren’t so darn sincere.”
“And insecure,” he replied.
“What do you mean? I think she’s doing great.”
“She is. But all the responsibility of raising Little Lovie falls squarely on her shoulders. Toy’s still pretty young and she doesn’t have a husband to help out. Or family to fall back on.”
“She has us.”
“That she does. But I’ll wager she still feels alone.”
Cara knew what it was like to live alone and not depend on anyone else for financial or emotional support. As empowering as it was, there were many lonely moments. Especially at night.
She looked around her old room—Little Lovie’s room now. The rest of the house may not have changed since her mother’s death, but Cara had insisted that this room be transformed from a grown-up’s guest room with paintings of marshes and surf to all pink and frills with prints of mermaids on the walls. The only piece of furniture that had remained was the black iron bed that she had slept in as a girl. She’d always thought that one day her own little girl would sleep in it. Cara looked at the little girl in the bed now, and felt deep in her heart that this was the child meant to sleep here.
“It scares me how much I love this child. I don’t want to be just some aunt in her life. Someone who sends her gifts on her birthday and on Christmas. I want to be someone special to her. The aunt she can talk to when she’s angry with her mother. The one who gives her advice when she has her first crush on a boy, or when she gets her first period, or gets drunk and needs a ride home. I want to be that someone who takes her to special places, to expand her horizons. You know…the fun aunt.”
“Honey, I’ve no doubt you can fill that bill.”
Cara set the book on the bedside table and leaned far over to place a kiss on the child’s forehead. She stayed a breath longer as she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of soap in Little Lovie’s hair.
When she moved aside, Brett took his turn. His shoulders dwarfed the small girl as he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Rising, he smoothed the blanket and put her favorite stuffed sea turtle beside her. Then, placing his hand on the small of his wife’s back, they walked softly from the room.
“I think God gives children that special smell to protect them,” he said, closing the door behind him. “It’s so sweet it melts you at the knees and you’d do anything for them.”
“She is pretty special,” Cara said.
“Our child will be special.”
Cara leaned back against him, feeling the weight of that statement heavy in her heart. They had tried so hard for five years to have a child. “Brett, I’m scared to get my hopes up again.”
“It’ll work this time.”
“It didn’t the last two times. Let’s face it, Mother Nature isn’t very kind to women in their forties trying to have babies.” She looked up and saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. “I just thought…” She sighed. “You know, that I’d be one of the lucky ones. I still fantasize that this time will be the one. You know, the third time is the charm.” She sighed and turned in his arms to face him. “Besides, we can’t afford to keep doing the in vitros.”
“Let me worry about that.”
She patted his chest. “It’s not just the money. I don’t know if I can handle another round emotionally. The doctors might be able to say the embryo isn’t a real baby yet, but for me, every time I lose one I feel that it is.” Her voice hitched as she rested her head against his chest. “It just hurts too much.”
“I know, I know,” he said softly against her ear. “But remember, we’re in this together. We’ll be fine. Our baby will be fine. You have to have faith.”
“I do,” she said softly as he squeezed her tight. “In us.”
3
Arising coastal sun sent piercing spears of light into Toy’s eyes. She blinked lazily twice, then jerked her head up.
Her first thought was of Big Girl.
Clarity washed the cobwebs from her mind as she recalled in a rush all that transpired the night before. She’d stayed with Big Girl until the wee hours of the morning. Cara had crept downstairs to take the second shift, bumping into the clunky wood lounge chair with a loud curse. Toy had been in a fitful sleep, dreaming again of the swimming sea turtle and tangled up in the sweltering sleeping bag. She’d dragged herself upstairs to her bed, stripping off her sweaty clothes and flopping naked onto blissfully cool sheets. Under the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan, she’d fallen instantly into a deep sleep.
She felt groggy, like she could sleep for another few hours, but she dutifully rubbed her eyes and kicked off the sheets. She rose slowly and padded in bare feet across the wood floor to the small, white tiled bathroom, eager for the rush of cool water and minty soap to wash away remnants of the steamy night. She emerged a short time later, refreshed and eager to see the turtle. She dressed quickly in her Aquarium uniform of khaki shorts and the gray polo shirt with the SC Aquarium emblem, pulled her damp hair up in a clip and tied her tennis shoes.
Morning light poured into the small living room from a row of three windows that offered a breathtaking view of grassy dune, palms, blue sky and thousands of acres of sparkling ocean. In front of these were an old down sofa and two enormous armchairs slip-covered in the cabbage rose pattern that Olivia Rutledge had loved. Between the chairs sat a round ottoman in the same fabric. It
