“It’s the first nest of the season!” another member exclaimed.
There were hugs of shared triumph and exclamations of how this was going to be the best year ever for South Carolina nests. It was decided that the nest was above the tide line so it would not be moved. A second woman in a turtle team shirt began covering the nest back up with sand. Heather’s attention was drawn to the large shell she used to dig. It cupped perfectly in her palm. Stepping closer, she watched as the team constructed a triangle of orange tape on wooden sticks and affixed an orange sign to mark the nest as federally protected. When that was done, the group of onlookers began to disperse.
Heather had turned to leave as well when she heard Cara’s name mentioned. She hesitated and, looking over her shoulder, saw that the turtle team was still clustered at the nest, talking.
“I still can’t believe it,” one woman said. “Such a shock. Poor Brett.”
“Poor Cara! She’s devastated.”
“Talk about shock. I thought she looked like Jackie at JFK’s funeral. That vacant stare.”
“I don’t imagine it’s sunk in yet. It was so sudden.”
“He was too young. It’s just too sad.”
“Has anyone seen Cara since the funeral?”
“I dropped off some food, but I didn’t see her. Emmi answered the door. She’s the only one Cara wants to see now.”
“And me,” the oldest woman in the group corrected.
Heather recognized the woman as her neighbor, the deeply tanned gardener with the bright white hair.
“Well, of course she’ll see you,” the woman hastily corrected herself. “Flo, she’ll always see you. You’re like a second mother to her.”
“And I worry about her like a mother,” Flo said sadly.
“Cara’s strong,” the woman offered in a comforting voice.
“On the outside,” Flo said. “On the inside, she’s tender. When her mama died, she was prepared for it and could grieve properly. But this . . .” Flo shook her head. “How does anyone prepare for news like that? He was too young.”
“Someone should stay with her.”
“Well, of course someone’s been staying with her,” Flo retorted. “Emmi’s been there since Brett died. But Cara wants her to leave. And you know Cara. She’ll get what she wants. I reckon there’s nothing more we can do other than keep bringing her food and checking in on her. She just needs time.”
Heather turned away, stunned by what she’d just heard. Cara’s husband had died? She couldn’t believe it. She’d just seen her a week ago! It was no wonder she hadn’t heard from her since.
“Can I help you?”
Heather turned swiftly at the voice. It was her neighbor, the woman with the white hair. The team members had packed up their gear and were heading out en masse.
“Oh. No, thanks,” she replied nervously. “I was just passing by and saw all the excitement, thought I’d stay and watch.”
“Your first turtle nest?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lucky to be here today. First nest of the season,” the woman said with pride. “Yes, sir, the season’s begun. And about damn time, too. Folly Beach already has two nests.” She wiped sand from her hand and offered it to Heather. “Hi, I’m Florence Prescott. One of the turtle team. Everyone just calls me Flo.”
Flo had to be about eighty years of age. Deep lines coursed through her leathery, tanned face, but one’s gaze was drawn to her eyes, blue and bright as a summer sky.
“I’m Heather,” she said with a swift smile. “Actually, I believe we’re neighbors. I’m renting the beach house next to yours. For the summer.”
Flo’s face lit up. “So you’re the young woman who’s moved into Lovie’s house? Well,” she said with pleasure as her eyes scrutinized Heather’s face, “I was hoping I’d meet you. Haven’t seen you puttering about outside. I would’ve brought you a pie to welcome you, but”—she shook her head—“it’s been a difficult week.”
Heather paused then asked, “I, uh . . . I didn’t mean to listen in, but . . . but did I hear y’all say Cara’s husband died? Cara Rutledge?”
Flo’s smile fell and she suddenly looked her age. “Yes. Lord, but that’s sad news.”
Heather lowered her head, feeling again the swift sadness the news brought. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“We all are. We’re still in shock, really.”
“What happened?”
The old woman shook her head sorrowfully. “A heart attack. He was out jogging and suddenly collapsed. Right in the street. He was dead before they reached the hospital. He couldn’t have gone too far. Someone in his neighborhood saw him fall down and ran out and called nine-one-one. The ambulance got there right quick, but . . .” Her voice trailed off. “They said he didn’t suffer. That’s something, I suppose.”
“Was he older than Cara?”
“No, same age. Just turned fifty. Cut off in his prime, he was.”
It was always sad to hear of a death, but the passing of someone so young seemed all the more tragic. “I-I’d like to send her something. Flowers or . . .” She shrugged. “Would that be all right?”
“I’m sure it would be,” Flo replied kindly. She looked over her shoulder, noting that all the other members of the team had left.
Heather smiled quickly, liking the older woman immensely. Kindness exuded from every pore, supported rather than dispelled by her forthright manner. Heather got the feeling that with Florence Prescott, one always knew where one stood.
“You headed back?” Flo asked Heather.
“Uh, yes,” she replied, flustered by the sudden question.
“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind. We’re headed to the same place.”
Heather took a breath and began talking to herself, listing reasons not to be anxious. She was meeting her neighbor. A nice woman she could call if she needed help or a cup of sugar.
As they began to walk, Flo spoke again. “I just have to ask. Do you have birds? When I’ve been out in my garden this past week, I could have sworn I heard the loveliest birdsong. I swanny, it’s like a chorus from heaven.”
A short laugh escaped Heather. She always felt relief talking about her canaries, a subject she knew so much about. “Yes, that would be my canaries.”
“Canaries! I should’ve known. Well, I’ll be. I haven’t seen a canary in”—she tossed up her hands—“I can’t remember how long.”
“I have three.”
“I’ll have to come by and see them,” Flo said. “With all this sad news, I could stand to hear some birdsong to cheer me up.”
Heather’s heart started racing at the thought of Flo just dropping by. “I—”
“Now, come along, dear,” Flo interrupted, striding off down the sand at a fast pace and leaving Heather nothing to do but follow in the older woman’s wake.
Chapter Nine
HEATHER HEARD THE sound of hammering as she and Flo neared the beach house. Coming up the beach path, she recognized the broad shoulders of Bo Stanton as he bent over the new stairs of the deck. She was surprised to see Bo back at work, since she hadn’t seen him since her first day at Primrose Cottage.