“Well, look here, next week we’re going back to the surgeon in Charleston. She’ll have new x-rays and we’ll have more information. Knowing him, he’ll say he can’t tell for sure until the cast comes off. And then there has to be rehab: squeezing tennis balls and so on, slowly building back the use of that wrist. She’s not the only one who’s been scouring the Internet for scaphoid stories, only I’m on the lookout for the positive outcomes. After we’ve been to the surgeon, we’ll see how her spirits are. If they’re tolerably hopeful, let’s let her complete her secret project. It’s possible, you know, things will take a turn for the better. Have you known any folks with addictions, Marcus?”
“Well, Mom didn’t drink. She wasn’t against it or anything, but she was too tired after work, and also wine and beer cost money. My best friend’s grandmother was a smoke addict. The longest she could go without lighting up was forty-two minutes. We timed it once. And our landlord in Forsterville had to attend an AA meeting every morning before he went to work so he wouldn’t fall off the wagon. And the man in Jewel who had hired Mom for his mountaintop joinery business just before it went bankrupt—he became a meth addict and the next time Mom saw him his teeth were all rotted and he kept picking at sores on his face. Oh, and Mom had this night school teacher in Forsterville she admired, he really cared about his students, but then he overdosed on something and died. She said if he had gotten the proper help in time he might still be alive. I never met him, this was before I was born. So I guess you could say that I’ve never been close to anyone who had an addiction. But what if Aunt Charlotte doesn’t get the proper help in time?”
“That’s not going to happen, now we’re on the case. There are places to go for treatment.”
“But she’d have to go away, wouldn’t she?”
“For a while, yes.”
“Then I’d have to go somewhere else, too. I’m a minor and I’m not allowed to live alone.”
“We can find someone to live with you, like Roberta Dumas lives with Coral Upchurch. But let’s wait to hear the surgeon’s opinion next week. My first wife liked to say that the only thing in life you could absolutely depend on was change. And sometimes these changes can be for the better.”
“But not always.”
“No, not always. I’m not denying that.”
XXXIII.
“Mystery solved,” Ed Bolton said, cheerfully hovering above Lachicotte and me as we sat on the boardwalk step, putting on our socks and shoes. He had dropped by in his World War II jeep for a routine check on our turtle clutch. “I recognized your sneakers, Marcus, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who belonged to the docksiders. Good to see you, Lachicotte.”
“Ed. How’s my favorite jeep?”
“A-OK thanks to you.”
“Still not sorry we replaced that tub?”
“Only thing I regret is that I didn’t capitulate a whole lot sooner. I was under some notion that the old rusty tub was what kept it authentic. Marcus, their temperature’s way up. Tonight may be their night.”
“But when I checked it earlier there was no change.”
“You remember how much earlier?”
It was before I did the laundry and unpacked the final box from Jewel. “Maybe three hours ago?”
“Even more auspicious. That means it’s risen fast. Listen, Marcus, would you be able to babysit this clutch, say, for the next hour until I can get some other volunteers here? If there’s any change in the sand just phone my beeper.”
“What kind of change?”
“The sand collapsing inward would be the first.”
“Does that mean they’re coming out?”
“No, they usually boil up within an hour or so after sunset, when the sand’s cooler. But it could mean they’re getting ready. Tonight would be favorable. Early crescent moonrise, tide coming in so they won’t have to race so far. You ever seen a boil, Lachicotte?”
“I never have. If I didn’t have to drive up to Sumter to let a customer test-drive an automobile, I’d love to stick around. As it is, I should have been on the road an hour ago. Marcus, we’ll be in touch.” Fixing me with a “you-know-what-I-mean” look, he hurried off, brushing his trousers as he went. It was because of our walk, I realized, that he was an hour late.
I told Ed Bolton that I would have to go back to the cottage and leave my aunt a note.
“You go on, Marcus. I’ll stay here till you come back and make calls to volunteers on my mobile. We should probably go ahead and set up the sound system and shovel the path. If I’m right, there’s a backup of hatchlings under there right now, waiting for the sand to cool. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“What’s a tub?”
“What? Oh, the jeep you mean. See the bottom frame that rides above the wheels? When it’s sitting by itself on the ground it looks like a tub. Lachicotte was after me for fifteen years to put in a new one. But I was afraid if I replaced it I’d lose my direct connection with the past. As it turns out, all I lost was a lot of rust.”
***
Dear Aunt Charlotte,
I will be down at the turtle clutch. Tonight may be the night! They usually come up after sunset as soon as the sand cools down. Chicken salad and cucumber salad in fridge, also a tomato from L’s garden that I cut up in wedges for you. Uncorked bottle in the usual place.
Marcus
I wondered if some subtle change in my behavior would give me away as having “told on” Aunt Charlotte the next time she laid eyes on me.
I left the note on the table. I had considered shoving it under her door in case she decided not to come out to eat. After all, I had said I would let her know if the turtles showed any sign of boiling up. But what if she were to see it as soon as I slipped it under? (“You can always knock, Marcus. You don’t have to go creeping around sliding notes under doors. What’s the guilty look for?”)
I had anticipated having the next hour all by myself with the turtles. Just me and the peaceful fading light and the wash of the ocean and a more or less empty beach. I was going to be the herald of the long-awaited event, the lone witness to that first little hole in the sand. I might even see a little head pop up, decide it was still too early, and disappear. And then the other volunteers would eventually gather in the cooling dusk, one or two at a time. In my scenario Ed Bolton would be the first to return. He would announce to each new arrival: “Marcus here’s been watching this nest like a hawk. As soon as he spotted that hatchling scout, he phoned my beeper and I was on my way. Marcus actually saw the little fellow poke his head up, look around, and go back to tell the others it wasn’t time yet!”