Chapter Twenty
All six sea turtle species found in U.S. waters or using U.S. beaches are designated as threatened or endangered under the Endangered Species Act. Endangered status means a species is considered in danger of extinction. Threatened means that a species is likely to become endangered. The ESA provides penalties for taking, harassing, or harming sea turtles and affords some protection for their habitat.
CARA LOOKED UP in the sky and saw the telltale thin, watery clouds stretching from the ocean toward the mainland. These were hurricane bands, and they looked like no other. To her, they resembled fingers reaching out in a menacing grasp, as though the storm were clawing its way inland. She felt an involuntary shudder and clasped her arms around herself.
David came up behind her and wrapped his long arms around her. Perspicacious as usual, she thought, and leaned back into his strength. She closed her eyes, relishing the safety she felt there, something she never thought she’d feel again.
“Don’t be nervous,” he told her. He leaned down and put his mouth by her face. She felt the faint scratch of stubble against her tender cheek. “The last shutter is in place. You’re all safe and secure.”
“Thank you,” she said with a weary exhale.
“Did I tell you how much I hate those aluminum shutters?”
“Twenty-two times,” she replied. “Once for every window.”
“You need to get roll-downs. Or replace your windows with hurricane glass. That’s what my house has. Makes hurricane season a breeze. Pun intended.”
“Oh, sure,” she replied, turning in his arms. “As soon as I win the lottery.” She looked over at her little house, all boarded up with the aluminum shutters at every window. It looked cold and dreary, not at all the welcoming beach house.
“I shouldn’t be so jittery,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “I’ve been through hurricanes all of my life. It’s part and parcel of living along the coast. Back in the day, we put plywood up on the windows.” She laughed. “If you think aluminum shutters are tough, try those. I still have slivers. I don’t remember my parents doing much for the house in Charleston. We may have moved furniture to the upper floors and taken mirrors off the wall, that kind of thing. Mostly we just hopped in the car and headed for the country. My daddy liked to say that’s what he had insurance for. For better or worse, Charleston’s endured a long history of hurricanes.”
“Maybe. But not a whole lot of Cat Fives.”
She sucked in her breath. “No,” she agreed. “The last big one was Hugo. And remember what that storm did.” She shuddered. “Every summer when the hurricane forecasts come out, we all shake our heads and say we’re due for another big one. It’s not if but when.” She looked at David, sought his understanding. “That kind of thinking takes its toll over time. The tension and fear . . .” She paused. “They slowly build up like a disease until, smack, one year hurricane season hits and you’re paralyzed and you realize that you have PTSD. That’s what I have. Really. Too many years of trauma from staying on this island and weathering storms.”
“Why did you stay and not evacuate?”
“Brett,” she answered succinctly. “He never left. Not ever for Category One hurricanes. He had his fleet of boats to take care of. That was his livelihood. They had to be battened down or moved to a different location. Every fall we lived listening to the weather reports round the clock. Even now, the TV is on, blaring the weather stations. The meteorologists all say the same thing over and over, but each time a bulletin is released we come running like it’s the first time we’ve heard it. I live in constant readiness to flee.”
“That’s how you’re supposed to feel. It’s not smart to get complacent.”
“Well, this time, I’m running,” she said emphatically. “I’ve got Hope to think about.”
“Right.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where are you headed?”
“To some hotel in Columbia. Emmi made the reservations. I’ve got it all written down inside.”
David put his hands on his hips. “Why go to a hotel? Come to my place in the mountains. It’s right outside of Asheville.”
Cara was taken aback. “You’ve never mentioned before that you have a house in Asheville.”
“It’s never come up till now.” Seeing her dubious reaction, he grinned and said, “For the sake of transparency, I have a house in Costa Rica, too. Look, it’s no big deal. Lots of folks from Charlotte have cabins in Asheville or a house near the lake. My wife loved the mountains, so we went there.” He rubbed his jaw. “I haven’t been in a while. I’m pretty content on Dewees. But Heather and Bo have gone up a few times this summer. She’s always loved it there, which is the main reason I hang on to it. They’re on their way now, as a matter of fact. With Rory.”
“That’s good. I’m glad they’ve left.” She rubbed her arms in anxiety. All this talk of evacuation was making her nervous.
“It’s a place you can go. Will you come? Bring Linnea, too.”
“But I’m supposed to meet Emmi and Flo.”
“Bring them, too.”
“Is there room for us all?”
“We’ll squeeze you in somehow. It’ll be better than a hotel.”
Cara put her fingertips to her forehead, gathering her thoughts. “Linnea is going home, so she won’t come. The family will go upstate to the hunting lodge. I was invited, of course, but . . .” She looked up and saw David standing like a mountain against the changing sky. He was offering her safe refuge.
And, she knew, so much more.
“Thank you. Yes. I’ll go with you.”
LINNEA WOKE WHEN her phone rang. She reached out to grab it, her first thought being not to awaken the baby. The house felt muggy, the air thick. She put the phone to her ear, noticing that the night was still black. Good news never came in the middle of the night.
“Hello?” Her voice was scratchy for lack of sleep.
“Linnea? It’s Mama.”
Linnea heard something in her mother’s voice that had her sitting bolt upright in the bed, clutching the phone. “What’s the matter, Mama?”
“It’s Cooper,” she said in a hoarse voice. Linnea heard the tears in it. “He’s in the hospital. MUSC.”
“What?” Linnea said on a breath. Her mind was spinning as fast as her heart rate. She envisioned a car accident. Broken glass. Blood. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Yes. No . . .” She choked back a cry. “It was an overdose.”
It took a few moments for Linnea to take that in. “I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t come yet. They won’t let you see him. He’s still in treatment. It could be hours yet.”
She had thoughts of coma and brain damage. “How bad is he?”
“We don’t know yet. Oh, Linnea . . .”
“I’m on my way.”
LINNEA DRESSED QUICKLY, then hurried down the dark hall to waken Cara. She roused with a start, immediately on alert.
“What?” she said with alarm. “Is it Hope?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Linnea’s voice was shaky as she told her the news. Cara bolted from the bed.
“I can dress quickly. Would you get Hope ready?”
“You don’t have to come to the hospital.”
“But of course I’m going to the hospital.” In typical fashion, Cara began making quick decisions as her hands dug through her drawer. “We’ll caravan to the hospital,” she told Linnea. “We’ll go on to evacuate afterward. It’s good the cars are already packed up. Let’s just close up here and leave now. I’ll call David later and let him know what we will do once . . .” She paused to find the right words. “Once we know the situation.”
“Cara, wait.”
Cara stopped and turned toward her, underwear in hand. Her face was puzzled.
“It could be hours before they’ll even let us see Cooper. You can’t wait in the hospital with Hope that long.” Cara opened her mouth to argue, but Linnea pushed on. “Second, the storm is coming. You need to get out.”
“There’s time.”
“Cara, don’t wait. Go back to sleep and leave in the morning with David, as planned.”
“I can’t just leave y’all for North Carolina. You’re my family.”
“Hope is your family. Your child.”
Cara took a step closer to Linnea and put her hands on her shoulders, looking her directly in the eyes. “Linnea, you and Cooper have been my children all your lives. A natural mother couldn’t love you more. I’m going.”
Linnea stepped into Cara’s arms. “A daughter couldn’t love her mother more.”
THE NIGHT WAS as dark as pitch and so humid Linnea could hardly catch her breath. Not the moon, not a beam of light from the stars, could penetrate the heavy cloud cover over the lowcountry. The house next door was dark. John and his mother had left for Columbia with Flo. She suddenly missed John and wished he were with her now. She felt terribly alone in her little car.
Linnea followed the tiny red brake lights of Cara’s car as she drove over the murky blackness of the Connector. It was eerie, like driving into nothingness. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and she counted the minutes.
The traffic was light at this hour and they made it to the hospital in good time. Though the parking lot was packed, many of the cars belonged to locals seeking high ground in case of flooding. Linnea circled the lot in search of a space, cursing. At last she found a spot that was debatably illegal, but she could just squeeze her Mini Cooper in.
She met Cara and Hope at the entrance. They raced through the halls to the emergency-room waiting area. The few people sitting in the chairs either looked sick or seemed to be waiting for news about someone who was sick. They sat with vacant stares or their heads resting in their palms.
Cara and Linnea went directly to the nurse sitting behind the wide, polished entrance desk, a heavyset woman with a cup of coffee by her side. When she glanced up, her cold eyes revealed that she had seen it all. She promptly directed them to a different waiting room. A security guard opened the door into a wide and long cream-colored hall branching off into a maze of other corridors. They walked in silence, their heels clicking on the polished floors. Linnea’s heart was pounding and she felt each step like she’d run a mile. At last they pushed through a set of heavy doors into a second waiting room. Linnea immediately spotted her mother and father sitting in chairs some distance from each other, neither one speaking, staring into space.
“Mama!” Linnea began running.
“Linnea!”
Linnea felt her mother’s arms around her and held her tight. “Mama,” she cried again. At last she could let the tears flow. “I’ve been so worried.” She took a step back and wiped her eyes. “How’s Cooper?”
“No further word. We’re just waiting.”
Across the room, Cara was talking to Palmer in hushed tones. When their eyes met, he held out his arms. Linnea ran into them. These were the arms she was accustomed to, warm and strong.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried.
Palmer released her and put his hands on his hips. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed with disbelief, like a man in shock. “This is so terrible. A drug overdose! My son . . .”
“How did he get to the hospital?” Cara asked. “Was he home?”
“No,” Julia spoke up. “His friends brought him in.”
Palmer screwed up his face and looked at Linnea. “Did you know he was using drugs?”
Linnea shifted her gaze to her mother. Julia stared back at her with a sunken, haunted expression. Linnea was filled with a sudden fury. She wanted to scream at her, I told you to watch him! But how could she blame her mother? What had she herself done to intervene?
Cara stepped in. “We all wondered if he was using drugs. I told you we were worried last time I saw you. And you brushed me off. Told me to go home.”
He stared back at her blankly, then his shoulders slumped and he put his hand to his forehead. “I didn’t believe you. Damnation. How could this happen to a family like ours?” he asked, anger seeping into his words. “How could Cooper do this to us?” Palmer paced the room, restless. He stopped before Linnea. “I can’t imagine you doing something like this. You’ve always been a good girl. A real comfort to us.”
“He didn’t do it to hurt the family,” Linnea cried. “He did it because he was hurting. He tried to tell you, Daddy. And you too, Mama.” She burst into tears. “But you didn’t listen.”
Palmer swung his head to pin Julia with his stare. “You knew about this?”
Julia, pale and drawn, had no will to fight. She just turned her back on him.
“Palmer, this isn’t the time for blame,” said Cara. “I’d say this was the time for prayer. Let’s all sit down and silently say our own prayers for Cooper.”
Palmer’s face sagged as if the wind had blown out of him. He nodded in agreement and walked with the stooped pace of an old man to an empty chair.
They sat in relative silence for another hour and a half. Linnea crossed her arms and leaned back in the remarkably uncomfortable chair. Hope was asleep in Cara’s arms. Julia had turned down the volume of the television in the waiting room so they could close their eyes.
At last a nurse came out to talk with them. Beside her was a man in blue scrubs who was so thin and young that Linnea couldn’t guess whether he was a resident or a physician. He was carrying a clipboard in one hand. His other hand he stretched out in greeting. Julia stepped forward to take his hand, followed by Palmer.
“I’m Dr. Foster, the resident on call tonight. You must be the Rutledges.”
Palmer cleared his throat. “Yes.”
Dr. Foster lowered his clipboard. “The good news is your son is doing well. He was admitted with opiates on board. We administered a shot of Narcan, which woke him up. He wasn’t very coherent. But he did say it wasn’t a suicide attempt.”
“Thank God,” Julia said.
“Of course it wasn’t a suicide attempt,” Palmer blustered, but his face had grown ashen at the suggestion.
“Has he been depressed?” asked Dr. Foster, pushing on. “Is there any family history of suicide or depression? Drug use?”
“No,” Palmer said with alacrity.
“Well, actually . . .” Linnea spoke up. She walked toward the doctor, avoiding looking at her parents. “I thought he seemed depressed. Not his usual self.”
The doctor wrote in the file, then looked up and asked Linnea, “And you are?”
“His sister.”
Understanding reflected in the doctor’s face.
“He wasn’t depressed,” Palmer repeated.
“He’s being stabilized now,” the doctor continued, unfazed by Palmer’s insistence. “Psychiatry is coming to see him. Whether they’ll decide to keep him or not, we don’t know yet.”
“Psychiatry?” asked Julia with alarm. “But you said it wasn’t a suicide attempt.”
“My son doesn’t need to go to a psych ward,” declared Palmer.
“Your son was in pretty bad shape when he arrived,” Dr. Foster said. “He wasn’t awake enough to get much information from him. He’ll stay here until he’s seen by Psychiatry and . . .” He paused and looked at Julia. “As soon as he is, he’ll be transferred to the psychiatric hospital.”
“But—” Palmer began, his face coloring.
“Palmer . . .” Cara said softly in warning.
“Mr. Rutledge,” Dr. Foster said with compassion, turning to address him. “Cooper is denying that this was a suicide attempt. But he could easily have killed himself. He doesn’t appreciate the gravity of that. The fact that he doesn’t concerns us. He needs to be observed for a while. He’ll also get some needed therapy.” He glanced briefly at Linnea. “His friends who brought him in also reported that he’d been depressed.”
Palmer didn’t speak.
“Can we see him?” Julia asked, stepping forward. “Please. We’ve been here all night.”
The doctor looked at the nurse and nodded. He spoke kindly to Julia. “He’s awake. He may not be terribly lucid. But yes. You can see him. For a short visit. The nurse will give you information about the psych hospital and visiting hours.” He raised the clipboard to his chest. “Okay then,” he said by way of conclusion. “I’m glad this was good news. There’ve been far too many cases of opiate overdoses brought in. Not all of them end up nearly so well.”
With a final nod, the doctor turned and hurried through the double doors.
The nurse was a short, slender woman with tight black curls. Small, but she gave off a vibe that you wouldn’t want to cross her.
“This way, please. I’ll bring you to your son.”
Julia hurried to grab her purse and sweater. Cara rose slowly so as not to wake the baby. Linnea followed her mother and father through the double doors and down a wide, brightly lit corridor with white and pale-blue flooring. Emergency room beds lined the walls, and around each were curtains that could be drawn shut when privacy was needed. A few were closed, and Linnea could hear soft voices emanating from behind. Men and women in blue scrubs with stethoscopes around their necks were all hard at work.
Their nurse stopped in front of one curtained cubicle in the middle of the room. It looked like so many others. Her stern expression slackened some.
“Right in here. As the doctor said, this can only be a short visit. We’re expecting the psych eval any moment.” She extended her arm, indicating they should go in.
Julia rushed to the side of the bed. Cooper’s eyes appeared sunken but they followed his mother, filling with tears.
“Cooper,” Julia said in a choked voice, grasping his hand. “My baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Cooper said, his voice thick and raspy. “I’m so sorry.”
Palmer stood at the end of the bed with Cara. Cooper looked over to him and cried, “I’m sorry.”
Palmer stared back at his son, working his mouth, but words didn’t come.
Linnea followed her mother to the side of the white plastic bed and leaned over the metal side rail. She let her gaze travel to her brother’s, and her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t recognize him. Cooper was rail thin; his dark eyes seemed huge in his face. But most shocking, his hair, his beautiful dark curls, had been shorn off like a sheep’s coat. His scalp was pale against the stubs of dark brown.
“They shaved your head,” she said sorrowfully, shaking her head.
Cooper looked at her drowsily. “Yeah. I’m a knob.”
Linnea tried to laugh, but it came out more of a choked sob.
Cooper’s face scrunched up, and it embarrassed her to see him cry. “I . . . I didn’t try to hurt myself,” he forced out. “I swear I didn’t.”
“I know, honey,” Julia said, wiping the tears from his face with a handkerchief. “Of course you didn’t.”
“What happened?” asked Palmer.
Cooper’s eyes darted to the bottom of the bed where his father stood. Linnea saw fear shift in his eyes.
“I don’t know. Sir.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You OD’d! You were doing drugs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Palmer, let’s not get into that now,” Julia said tersely, delivering Palmer a fierce look. If she were a tigress, she would have been snarling.
“This is going to be a problem,” Palmer told Cooper. “I did what I could about that DUI. But this . . .” He shook his head and gripped the metal railing of the bed. “Hell. This is the kind of thing that can get you bounced from the Citadel.”
“Daddy,” Linnea said sharply. She leaned over her brother toward her father, tears flooding her eyes. “Aren’t you listening? He doesn’t want to go there.”
“It’s okay, Lin,” Cooper said, reaching for her.
“Sure he does. Tell them, Cooper. Tell them you want to go back.”
Cooper held his sister’s hand and looked squarely at his father. “No,” he said in a steady voice. “I don’t. I’m not going back.”
Palmer leaned forward, staring into his son’s eyes. “What was that?”
Cara stepped into the argument. “Palmer, don’t.”
“I’m not going back,” Cooper said again, with a fierceness born of desperation and determination.
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Palmer stared hard at his son. He said in a gravelly voice, roughened by emotion, “I’m disappointed in you.”
Cooper’s eyes reflected his crushed spirit. His whole body seemed to go limp, and Linnea realized he’d been holding himself stiffly the whole time they were there. She stared at her father, equally crushed. At any time such cutting words would be horrible, but now, when Cooper was so fragile, they were plain cussed cruel.
“How could you say such a thing to sweet Cooper?” she cried.
Cara faced her brother with Hope in her arms. “I’m disappointed in you!” she told him. “And I know Mama would be, too.”
Palmer swung his head around and glared, shocked at her words. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away.