Chapter Three
Loggerheads have gorgeous reddish-brown carapaces and get their name from their massive heads and strong jaws that can crack hard-shelled creatures like conch, crab, clams, mussels, and sea urchins.
IT WAS STRANGE living back under her parents’ roof. For the last four years, Linnea had lived an independent life. She liked being able to do what she wanted, when she wanted. That freedom had been hard-won from her hovering parents, and she wasn’t willing to relinquish it.
Although, she thought with a glance around her room, it is a beautiful prison. Linnea was lying on her back, legs crossed, on her four-poster rice bed. Their house on Tradd Street was a historic gem. Her grandmother, Lovie, had restored it from near ruin back in the 1960s when she and her grandfather, Stratton, bought it. Lovie had returned the great house to its original state of elegance. She’d expanded the gardens, too, and to this day, the house was on the city’s garden tour schedule. When Linnea’s father inherited the house from his parents, her mother had upheld Lovie’s standards. Julia truly loved the house and had not only maintained it but also updated it with impeccable taste befitting the treasured family antiques. Her daddy was always complaining about the cost, but Linnea knew he was proud of the family home.
Linnea’s room had once been her aunt Cara’s. Her mother had redecorated it with gorgeous wallpaper covered with creamy white magnolias. She also had her own bathroom with vintage black-and-white linoleum that she’d begged her mother to keep. Cooper slept in his father’s childhood room down the long hallway with a guest room in between—which suited her just fine. The house was divided into “the upstairs” and “the downstairs.” Though never spoken, it was understood that the upstairs was spared her parents’ purview, since their master suite was on the main floor.
Linnea stretched out on her mattress, closing her eyes. Her head was still spinning and her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton after last night. The long string of graduation parties was continuing in Charleston as more of her high school friends returned home from colleges all across the country. Texts were blowing up her phone. She opened her eyes and checked her texts.
Dale back! Party at the Darling at 8
Going to the darling? Can I borrow your red Louboutins?
Leslie’s is on SI. Bring wine . . . lots of wine
She found the endless round of parties to be just a continuation of the college weekend binge drinking. Only it seemed to be a perpetual weekend. They were blending one into the other—lots of drinking, laughing, acting like high school students again. She could predict what the next round of parties would be. Dale’s would be a private dinner party for twelve in a private room in a restaurant thrown by his exuberant parents, who were thrilled he’d been accepted to med school. Then it was on to Jessica’s family beach house on Sullivan’s Island. The cottage would be crammed from porch to rafter.
Linnea had had way too much to drink at last night’s party. She usually wasn’t a heavy drinker, but last night, Darby Middleton had shown up. They’d been serious in high school and he’d been her escort to her debut at the St. Cecilia Ball. But their parents’ calculated efforts and not-so-subtle hints, like showing how beautiful her new monogram would be, helped split them up. They went their separate ways in college—he to Sewanee and she to USC. Last night, however, Darby had looked even more handsome than she remembered. Unfortunately, he ruined the impression by getting too handsy in a dark corner. She’d remembered him being a good kisser, but something was missing. As with the parties, Linnea had grown bored and pushed him away.
She and her girlfriends had ended up crashing on the spare beds of the beach house like a pile of puppies rather than risk driving home. She’d risen at the crack of dawn, drunk gallons of water, then made her way back to Charleston. Thankfully the iron gates didn’t squeak. She’d tiptoed into the house as quiet as a mouse, careful not to awaken her parents, then spent the day in her room, sleeping and drinking coconut water for hydration.
She put her arm over her eyes to quiet her throbbing temples. She was finished with these endless parties. She felt restless, but she wasn’t sure what her next step should be. She was a college graduate. She was supposed to be a grown-up ready to tackle a nine-to-five job, Monday through Friday. The trouble was, she couldn’t find a job in her field and she had no idea what to do without one. Should she seek an internship? But she’d done that, and it felt like just postponing her leap into the real world. Marriage was not even on the table, much to her mother’s despair. Maybe grad school? But she hadn’t a clue what area to focus on. She’d been searching for a job for months. Organizations wouldn’t hire her because she didn’t have experience, yet no one was giving her a job to get that experience. It was all such a merry-go-round and so very frustrating.
The dinner bell sounded. Linnea groaned. She hated that dinner bell. Her mother had brought back an enormous cowbell from Switzerland and thought it was a clever way to call the children to dinner. It might’ve been clever when Linnea was ten years old, but at twenty-two, it was insulting. She pushed herself up on her elbows. Her mother would bang that damn bell until she came running.
“Coming!” Linnea called out, then grimaced as pain ricocheted through her head. There wasn’t enough water and aspirin in the world to flush this hangover away. With an aggrieved sigh, she slid from her bed and walked into her bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, relishing the shock to her sluggish system. She stared back at her face, pale and wan, from behind the towel. She looked terrible. Her blue eyes were traitorously red-rimmed and puffy. She rummaged through her makeup drawer for eyedrops and a bit of brown shadow. Then she added blush to her cheeks and even applied lip gloss. Finally, she ran a brush through her blond hair and pulled it back with a clasp. She had to pass her mother’s radar. She slipped a green vintage sundress over her head and while she did up the front buttons slid her feet into sandals.
The bell rang again, more persistently this time. Linnea turned off the light, but instead of going directly downstairs, she took a detour to check on her brother. She raised her fist in the air to knock, then paused to sniff. There was no mistaking the scent of pot. She knocked once and swung open the door without waiting for a reply. In the darkened room her brother slept like the dead, snoring and stretched out on his belly, his feet hanging over the side of the mattress. Apparently, the dinner bell hadn’t registered through his haze. She crinkled her nose at the stench of stale alcohol.
“Cooper. Get up,” she said, wiggling his foot. “It’s dinnertime.”
He waved her away drunkenly. “Go away.”
“It reeks in here.”
No reply. She wiggled his foot again but only got a grunt for a response. At least he was alive. She drew closer and gave his shoulders a hard shake.
“Whaaat?”
“Get up. It’s dinnertime.”
“Don’ wann any,” he slurred.
“What time did you get in last night?”
“One,” he mumbled against his pillow.
“That’s not too late.”
“Afternoon.”
“What?” Linnea was stunned. “You stayed out all night?”
He only grunted in reply.
“Mama’s going to kill you.”
“She knows.”
Linnea felt frustration bubble in her veins. If she’d dared stay out all night in high school, she’d have been disowned.
“I went fishing.” Cooper turned to his side. His dark curls fell over his thick brows, covering his bloodshot eyes.
Linnea smirked. She knew fishing and hunting weekends at the lodge were nothing but excuses for the boys to go out to the country and drink themselves senseless. God help anyone fool enough to put a gun in their hands. She hated to think what would happen.
“Well, come on, then. You need some food in your stomach.”
He groaned and fell back on his stomach. “Can’t. Sick.”
Linnea looked around the darkened room. Clothes were strewn upon the floor, drawers were spilling over, and dirty dishes cluttered the desk. It smelled like a sty. A flicker of worry brought her closer to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Hey,” she asked in a gentler tone, “are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Look at me.”
“Go away.”
“I’m serious. Look at me.”
Cooper groaned again, more from annoyance, but he complied, raising himself up on his elbows and opening his eyes. He stared at her with bug-eyed exaggeration.
“See?”
Linnea peered into them and was satisfied the pupils were not dilated. “Okay,” she said, “but slow down on the drinking. You look like shit.”
He smiled lazily. “I love you too.”
She shoved him gently, smiling. “So,” she said, trying to start a conversation. “How are you? Really.”
Cooper pushed the thick curls from his face and shifted to sit back against the bed frame. “Okay,” he said on a long yawn. “Glad to be out of school. I need a break. Soccer was tough. Basketball was the bomb.”
Linnea knew sports were important to Cooper, so she feigned interest. “Go Cyclones. What college sports will you play?”
Cooper’s face darkened. “I don’t know. I was recruited by USC for soccer.”
“That’s great!”
He shrugged and picked a nail. “I’m going to the Citadel.”
“Oh, well then, go Bulldogs.”
“Yeah.”
He seemed despondent, but it could’ve just been the hangover. “Are you excited to begin college? Get out of the house?”
“No.” He snorted. “I’ll just be on the other side of town.”
“Yeah, but you’ll still be out.”
“I’ll be a knob.”
Linnea couldn’t help her outbreak of laughter. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth. That was the term for freshmen at the Citadel. He’d have his head shaved and live a military lifestyle. And the hazing of knobs was legendary. This was the first she’d heard that he’d chosen the Citadel. She’d been asking her brother about his college decision for months, but he’d been evasive.
“What made you decide on the Citadel?”
Cooper stared at his hands. “Dad decided.”
The humor fled. “Oh. But you agreed, right?”
“I did what I was told.”
“Oh, Coop,” she said.
Linnea studied her baby brother. He looked like the perfect jock and privileged boy, but he had a soft underbelly. Under his nonchalant façade, she knew he felt things intensely. And he avoided confrontations. Cooper was a team player, a trait that helped in sports and popularity, but took its toll in his personal life. Sometimes, though, like now, she wanted to give him a swift kick in the butt.
“It’s your life, Coop. You’re not a kid anymore. I mean, you’re the one going to college.”
“Not college. The military. I’m going to the Citadel.” He spat the name out with venom.
She stared at him. “You don’t want to go there?”
Cooper’s face flushed with anger. “No, I don’t want to go there!”
She was taken aback. Cooper was slow to anger. “Then why did you apply?”
“I didn’t choose it. Dad did! I wanted to go to USC and told him that. Even got some scholarship money for basketball.” He released a short laugh. “If you could go there, why couldn’t I?” He shook his head. “That’s when I got the long lecture about how Rutledge men go to the Citadel. How he went, and Granddad went, and how I damn well was going too.”
Linnea felt her blood boil. She’d thought she had it bad when she fought to go to a university out of the South. The battle had been fierce but Linnea didn’t give in and had enlisted Aunt Cara’s support. Cara always had a special influence over her father.
“Coop, you should’ve fought harder. Just tell Daddy you want to go somewhere else.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
“Why not? I told him. He had a hissy fit but he came around in the end.”
“You were always able to go toe-to-toe with him. I just . . .” He shrugged. “It’s not my style.”
“They would’ve come around.”
“You don’t get it.”
“Get what?” She heard the challenge in her voice.
“You think you have it so hard as a woman in the South. Try being the only son. My whole future is mapped out. I’ll graduate from the Citadel, get my MBA, and work for the family business. I’ll probably even live in this house for the rest of my life.”
“First of all, that’s ridiculous. We don’t live in colonial times. Secondly, boo-hoo for having to live in this house.”
Cooper just flopped back down on the mattress and put his arm over his head. “Whatever.”
“Hey, don’t shut me out. I’m on your side.”
He didn’t respond.
“Do you want me to talk to them?”
“It won’t do any good. He has his heart set on my going.”
“So what?”
Cooper swallowed hard. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“But—”
“Just let it drop, okay?”
She gritted her teeth when the bell clanged again.
Cooper snorted. “See?” he said, peeking out from under his arm. “Things don’t change.”
Linnea wanted to climb back into her own bed too. But she’d been trained to put on a starched smile and engage in chitchat for dinner. She feared Cooper was more right than she’d given him credit for. She rose and headed for the door but turned to deliver a parting shot.
“Look at you, ignoring the bell. You’re braver than you think.”
HER LONG, MANICURED hands lightly grazed the mahogany railing to steady herself as Linnea slowly made her way down the stairs, past the portraits of her Rutledge ancestors. The Rutledges were a proud family who were among the founders of the city. Her pedigree granted her entry into Charleston’s most exclusive societies. But she couldn’t help but feel the subtle pressure such a heritage placed on her shoulders. It was as if each pair of eyes down the staircase followed her every move. Linnea felt Cooper’s fatalism weigh her down. What young woman—or man?—wanted to be held hostage by antiquated rules?
Palmer was already seated in the rose-colored dining room when she entered. His pale blond head peppered with gray was visible over the Charleston Post and Courier.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said as she approached.
He lowered the paper and smiled. “Hi, baby. Where’ve you been all day?”
She kissed his offered cheek before sitting in the chair to his left. “In my room. Reading.”
“On a beautiful day like this?”
She glanced out the window to see a brilliant blue sky beyond the palm fronds. “It’s a good book.”
He laid his paper on the table and looked at her appraisingly. “Any luck with the job hunt?”
Linnea felt the throbbing in her temples intensify. She picked up her napkin and laid it across her lap, buying time. “Daddy, it’s only been a week.”
“Have you been looking?”
“Of course.”
He lifted his brows.
“I have been looking. Really. Even while I was back at USC. There just aren’t that many jobs out there for environmental studies majors. Especially for someone without experience. How am I supposed to get experience if no one will give me a starting position?” she asked and hated the whine in her voice.
Environmental studies was all she’d wanted to do, ever since she’d been christened a junior turtle lady by her grandmother Lovie and Aunt Cara. Linnea had done well enough in biology, chemistry, and geology. Her real interests, however, lay less in lab research than in policy and interpreting research findings for the public.
Her father leaned back in his chair. “Bring me up to speed, honey. Where’ve you been looking?”
She took a breath, trying to organize a coherent answer in her foggy brain. “Well, I’m checking for openings online every day. I’m looking in South Carolina, of course, but I’m extending my search to other states too.”
“Not too far, I hope.”
“Daddy, you can’t be on my case to get a job if you won’t let me look anywhere other than here. There’s a world outside of South Carolina, you know.”
“Not one that matters.”
She smirked and didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ve sent my résumé out to a lot of organizations.”
“Like who?”
She knew this terrier wasn’t going to drop the bone. She reached for her water and took a small sip. Resigned to continuing the discussion, she listed the usual suspects: “The Department of Natural Resources, U.S. Fish and Wildlife, the Audubon Society, Ducks Unlimited, the Coastal Conservation League . . .”
“You know you won’t make a dime working for a nonprofit.”
“Well, that’s not the most important thing I’m looking for in a job.”
“It should be.”
Linnea pinched her lips. Comments like that hit her viscerally. She wasn’t the type to sit back and take an insult, even a perceived one. How many toe-to-toe arguments had she had with her father over the past years in this very room? Linnea had known he’d never pay for a college out of the South. So they’d compromised. He’d conceded on her choice of major, and she’d conceded on the University of South Carolina. It had been an uneasy peace. But as far as her mother was concerned, the argument was moot. All that really mattered to Julia was that Linnea find herself a suitable husband, marry, and settle in Charleston.
Linnea picked up her salad fork and twirled the tips of the prongs into the white linen tablecloth. “I’ve also been researching companies that need an environmental consultant.”
“Well, that’s more like it,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He grabbed his cut-crystal tumbler and swirled the bourbon before taking a long sip. “Now, explain to me what that means, exactly.”
“Well,” she began, frustrated because she’d already explained this to him, “I would help a company assess how a development project might affect the water, soil, air, or wildlife in the area. They’re called environmental impact studies. There are lots of professional roles I could play.” She laid her fork on the table, neatly lining it up with the dinner fork. “You know, Daddy, I heard about that project you invested in. You know, the one in the Upper Peninsula?”
Palmer narrowed his eyes and swirled his drink. “What about it?”
“I didn’t realize how enormous the project is.”
“What’d you hear?”
“It’s running into some trouble with environmental issues. Which is exactly what I’m talking about. My job would be to explain the project’s positions to the public. To pave the way for better understanding. Maybe you could put in a good word for me. I’d love to get an entry position on their team.”
Palmer scowled as his face colored and shook his head. “They’ve got an army of so-called environmental consultants already, and I don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Wasting our money, from what I can tell. The damn project is still stalled.” He took a long swallow and finished the drink.
“What we need is a damn good lawyer.” He skewered her with a loaded gaze. “Maybe you could go to school for that, huh? We could use a good lawyer in the family.”
“Let Cooper do that.”
A flicker of frustration crossed his face. “I don’t know that he’s got the stuff to be a lawyer.” Her father set his glass on the table and looked around. “Speaking of the devil, where is that boy?”
“He’s upstairs in his room. He’s sick.”
“Sick? Or hungover?”
She shrugged and said nothing.
He looked up as his wife entered the room carrying a platter of roast beef. Their cook, Belinda, followed with a platter of vegetables.
“Julia, do you know our son is lying hungover in his room? Again?”
Julia set the beef in front of Palmer. “He’s just feeling poorly.”
“Uh-huh. For the third time this month.”
“Oh, it’s just graduation. You know boys,” she replied, taking the platter from Belinda and setting it on the table. “They have to sow their wild oats. You did the same at his age. And your daddy before you.” Julia looked pointedly at Linnea. “Look at you, sitting at the table while I serve. Go in the kitchen and fetch the red rice and beans.”
“Yes’m,” Linnea muttered, and rose too quickly, feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She clutched the back of her chair.
“What’s the matter with you?” Palmer asked, concerned. “You sick too? Hell, maybe Cooper isn’t hungover.”
Her mother looked at Linnea with accusation. “I do believe our daughter has the same sickness our son does.”
Palmer looked from Julia to Linnea. “What? Are you hungover?”
“I’m fine,” Linnea replied quickly. “I just got up too fast, is all.”
“Don’t you be lying to your father,” her mother said. “I happen to know you came tiptoeing back into the house in the wee hours of the morning. I hear everything.” She turned to Palmer. “Your darling daughter didn’t come home last night.”
Linnea’s blood chilled as she watched her father’s face pale. She cast a withering look at her mother. Thanks a lot.
Palmer tossed his napkin on the table. “You didn’t come home?” he bellowed. “Where the hell were you?”
Linnea unwittingly took a step back. “I was at Jessica Linton’s,” she said, trying her best not to sound rattled. “She had a party at their beach house. I just stayed over.”
“Were there boys at that party?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Daddy. I’m twenty-two. Of course there were boys. Or men, rather. What’s the big deal? They’re all nice guys I went to high school with. You know most of them. Everyone’s coming home after graduation and we’re all just glad to see each other again.” She looked at her mother. “Darby was there. I spent most of the time talking with him. We had a nice catch-up.”
Her mother’s eyes glittered, and Linnea saw with satisfaction she’d played the right card. That ought to quiet her for a moment, she thought.
Her father didn’t care that it was Darby Middleton of the Middletons. All he heard was there were men at the party.
“And you spent the night.” He said these words in a low, rumbling voice, which she found more frightening than his shouts.
“Not with the boys,” she said lightly to diffuse the tension. “With the girls. After everyone else left, a few of us decided to crash.” She counted off on her fingers: “Jessica, Lane, Delancey, Ashley, and me. It was, you know, like a sleepover.”
Her father seemed placated. “Nice girls . . .” he muttered, picking up his napkin.
Her mother clasped her hands. “Why didn’t you call to let us know where you were? Do you know how worried I was? I almost called the police.”
The truth was, no, she hadn’t thought of calling her parents; it had never crossed her mind. “I’m sorry I worried you,” she said, and meant it. “But I am twenty-two.”
“I don’t care how old you are!” her mother snapped back. “You’re an unmarried woman. Your reputation will be ruined if you stay out all night. This is a small town. Word gets out.”
“What about Cooper? He was gone all night. All weekend! And we all know he wasn’t fishing or hunting.”
“It’s different for boys,” her father said.
“That’s so nineteen-seventies,” she fired back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” her mother asked.
“It means you’re using the double standard you grew up with. But that’s not true anymore. I’m an adult. And I can drink legally.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Last night I drank too much. I admit it. It doesn’t happen often. I knew better than to get behind the wheel. It was a responsible decision,” she argued. “I thought you’d be proud of me for not driving.”
“I’m not happy you didn’t call,” her father said.
Linnea exhaled with relief. Her father’s tone told her he wasn’t angry.
“You shouldn’t worry your mother.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Promise me it won’t happen again,” her mother said in a calmer voice, trying to restore peace at her dinner table.
“I promise,” Linnea replied in a rote manner.
“Well, then,” her mother said. She took a breath, pulled out a chair, and slid elegantly into it. She made a show of smoothing her napkin on her lap. “I think we’re done with that conversation. Hardly suitable discussion for dinner. Let’s enjoy our meal.”
“Excuse me, please,” Linnea said, rising. She set her napkin on the table. “I really don’t feel well. I’ll be in my room.”
Hearing no arguments, she hurried back up the stairs, past the gauntlet of stern, disapproving looks from the portraits. Closing the door, she leaned against it.
She’d only been home a week and couldn’t wait to leave.