Chapter Eight
Her nest laid, the loggerhead makes the long trek back to the sea. She will never return to the nest. A reptile, the turtle follows the biological model called predator glut, overfeeding the predators so a few offspring survive, ensuring the species, too, survives. It is estimated only one in one thousand hatchlings will live to maturity.
CARA HAD ALWAYS believed the lowcountry showed itself best from the water. The Dewees Island ferry slowly motored down the narrow inlet from its dock on Isle of Palms, past impressive mansions with long docks that stretched out to the water and the Isle of Palms Marina with its fleet of Coastal Ecotours boats, small pleasure boats, and ocean-fit yachts.
Cara sat with Hope on her lap inside the ferry on a horseshoe-shaped, padded bench. Beside her was an older woman carrying an insulated bag of groceries and a bouquet of spring flowers, obviously an island resident. She chatted amiably with the captain. Across from her a man in an appliance repair uniform sat checking his phone, oblivious to the beauty outside his window. Two others in outdoor work clothes looked out the windows and seemed to be enjoying the change from reaching a job via highway traffic to a boat trip along the Intracoastal Waterway.
It was an exceptionally beautiful day. Once out of the no-wake zone, the captain opened the throttle, and the engines roared. The windows of the ferry were open, and salty breezes ruffled Cara’s hair and caressed her cheeks as the boat picked up speed. Hope’s eyes widened at the noise, but she sat quietly and stared out the window as they raced across the crystalline water. The ferry wound its way through the Intracoastal Waterway, banked on either side by lush, spiky grass that stretched out for acres. Cara spied a long line of pelicans flying so low in formation that they seemed to skim the tall grass. She caught sight of other birds as they flew over the salt marsh but only recognized the oystercatcher with its flashy black and white coloring and bright red bill. Heather, she knew, would be able to name them all and tell her a bit about each. Cara turned her gaze to the white ruffled wake of the boat, hoping she might catch sight of a dolphin riding the waves.
It felt like she was traveling to another world. What would it be like, she wondered, to cut myself off from the mainland and be accessible only by boat? She imagined life’s stresses would diminish. Or would new stressors be added? She could see Heather and Bo being perfectly suited to such a lifestyle. They appreciated a simpler life, apart from the crowds. Cara, on the other hand, was accustomed to the instant gratification of convenience. She’d lived much of her adult life in Chicago, where everything she needed was at her fingertips. Moving to Isle of Palms had been a significant slowing down for her. Could I go one step further and be connected to shops only by a boat ride? Could she raise a child there? Her thoughts turned to David. He was such a vibrant man, accustomed to fast-paced city living. How did he do it?
She’d have her answer soon, she thought as the boat slowed down. She turned to look out the window and saw they were approaching a small island. A long wooden dock led to a wide covered deck with a large green sign that read: DEWEES ISLAND, S.C. WELCOME.
The mighty engines lowered to a growl and a whiff of diesel permeated the cabin as the captain guided the boat into position beside the dock. Cara watched the deckhand toss ropes ashore, then nimbly jump from the boat to the dock to tie them to the pilings. Done, he jumped back aboard the boat to lower the landing platform. Around her the passengers were on their feet, queuing at the door. Cara joined them, grabbing her bag and firming her grip on Hope.
Cara felt a welcome, bracing gust of sea air that caused the ferry to rock. She grabbed hold of the railing as overhead a laughing gull cried out its mocking call. Cara’s mama used to call her a laughing gull when she was young because of her dark cap of hair and her loud voice. She chuckled at the memory and looked at Hope.
“What kind of bird are you?” she asked. Considering the child’s wide-eyed curiosity and quiet, observant manner, Cara said, “Not a gull, that’s for sure.” She kissed Hope’s forehead. “Something sweet. We’ll have to ask Aunt Heather for suggestions.”
She stepped out onto the long ramp from the boat to the dock, where a cluster of people waited. She immediately spotted one man whose salt-and-pepper head rose taller than the rest. He wore sunglasses and a pale-blue fishing shirt. And in his arms he carried a baby. He raised a bronzed arm in an arc of welcome and called her name. Two women near him turned toward the passengers, curious to see who he was calling. Perhaps they find him attractive too, she thought with a slight smile.
Cara smiled wide in acknowledgment. David walked around the two women and met her as she reached the top of the landing.
“David Wyatt,” Cara said warmly. “And Rory! How nice of you to meet us.”
“Of course. Have to teach my boy manners. Let me carry that,” he said, taking her bag with his free arm. “Your ride is right this way.” He guided her through the covered dock and past the two women, who scrutinized her with brazen curiosity.
“I think you have a few admirers,” she told him sotto voce.
David quickly looked over his shoulder. A bemused smile stretched across his tanned face. “Just neighbors,” he said.
Uh-huh, Cara thought, but didn’t press. She certainly understood the women’s attraction. David was a handsome man by any standard. But here on Dewees, clearly in his element, he was especially magnetic.
A long line of thirty or more golf carts was parked at the edge of the landing. How anyone could spot their own cart when they returned from the boat was beyond Cara. But David had no trouble leading them to a large navy double-seater with two car seats already strapped in.
“Your limo awaits you,” he said with a flourish.
“My . . . you went to a lot of trouble.”
“Golf carts are our main means of transportation here. We keep them charged and ready to go. It’s safer in the back, if you and Hope want to hop in. Rory and I will take you on the scenic route.”
After they were all strapped in, David slapped a black Panthers ball cap on his head.
“Panthers fan?” she asked.
He turned to look back over the seat. “Of course. You?”
She laughed. She wouldn’t know one team from the next. “I love ’em all,” she replied evasively.
“Spoken like someone who doesn’t watch football.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Did you bring a hat?”
“Forgot it.”
“Then you won’t mind wearing this one.” He reached down to pull a hat out of his bag and handed her a purple ball cap with an orange tiger logo. Looking at it, Cara felt her heart twinge. She knew this logo well. Brett had gone to Clemson.
“Go Tigers!” she exclaimed and put the hat on her head.
As she put on her sunglasses, David deftly backed the long cart out of the narrow parking spot, and they were on their way. Cara had been to Dewees many times, but each time she was struck anew by the island’s seemingly untouched beauty. Most of the houses were hidden behind a thick barrier of trees and shrubs, leaving a small footprint in the natural vegetation. Pine trees, tallow, and massive live oaks lined the roads, creating a ragged canopy of shade. Butterflies hovered over wildflowers, and birds sang in the trees. There was an abundance of wildlife, and Cara felt as though they were the only ones on the island. She understood exactly why shy Heather would love living here.
David slowed and pointed to the left as they passed a small lake. Birds of different sizes waded near the shoreline. She recognized the white egrets, then gasped with delight when she spotted the unmistakable rosy pink plumage of a few roseate spoonbills. Heather had told her about them, but she’d never seen the elusive bird . . . until now. They were like flamingos, with flat bills. Both elegant and comical. A beguiling combination, she thought, utterly charmed.
Thank you, she mouthed when he turned his head to meet her gaze. He smiled with satisfaction, turned toward the front once more, patted Rory, and then they were off. The little cart moved in its bumbling manner over ruts and small rocks in the dirt road. The second time he stopped, David stepped from the cart. He waved for Cara to get out as well, smiling.
“Come take a look.” When he saw her turn to Hope, he said, “Leave the children buckled up. It’s right over here. It’ll only take a minute.”
Cara was reluctant to leave Hope in the cart. Mosquitoes buzzed by. Cara was wearing thin jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, but Hope was in a summer dress and a sunbonnet. Cara reached into her bag and pulled out a light muslin blanket and covered the baby’s body. She checked on Rory—he had long sleeves and pants. Satisfied, she climbed from the cart. David reached out and took her hand, leading her only a few feet from the edge of the road. He slid his hand to her shoulder and guided her to stand in front of him, then pointed. Cara tried to adjust to the feelings racing through her with his body so close to hers. She followed the direction of his finger and saw a large pond just beyond the brush. Insects flittered in the steamy haze, and a few egrets waded along the mud banks. In the middle of the pond was a large floating dock. And in its center, resting like a log, was an alligator.
“It’s enormous!” Cara exclaimed with a short laugh.
“That’s Big Al,” David told her, pleased with her reaction. “He’s a celebrity on the island.”
“I’ve never seen one so big.”
“Not surprised. Seeing a big bull like that one is rare. Trouble is, since it’s legal to kill alligators in South Carolina, we’re losing our mature ones. That’s a surefire way to decimate a population, especially since this is an animal that takes a long time to mature and breed. That bull over there is at least thirty years old.”
“He’s lying like a statue out there. And those yellow-bellied sliders next to him don’t seem to mind him at all.”
“That’s because he’s digesting his food. As a reptile, he needs to regulate his digestive system. See how he keeps his mouth open? I used to think that was threatening until I learned it’s their way of regulating body temperature. Like a dog panting.”
Cara glanced at him. “You’ve become quite the encyclopedia.”
He chortled and scratched his ear. “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands,” he said with characteristic modesty. “I’ve always wanted to study this stuff but didn’t have the time.”
Cara looked over her shoulder to check on the children.
David noticed and took a step toward the cart. “We should get back. Only wanted to introduce you to Big Al. Alligators generally keep to themselves, but they wander. Al’s never threatened a resident,” he said, then paused. “But once I saw him walking toward the water with a whole raccoon dangling in his jaws. So it’s good to keep dogs leashed and children close. And don’t ever try to feed a gator. Not if you want to keep your arm.”
“Noted,” she said with an exaggerated shiver.
He laughed lightly and helped her into the cart.
“Time to get these cuties home,” David called out as he turned on the motor.
“Good idea.”
The cart was off again, bumping along the road. She turned her head to check on Hope when they bounced over a rut. She was proud her little girl only laughed.
They rounded the picturesque island to the ocean side. Along both sides of the dirt road, narrow driveways just wide enough for a golf cart were marked with wooden number signs and the names of the owners. The roads all disappeared into the brush. At last David turned off at one marked WYATT & STANTON. The drive meandered into a shadowy enclave of woods and over a small wooden bridge across a rivulet of water to a wide graveled courtyard. Before them loomed a tall house of dark wood and glass with levels that jutted off at angles. It seemed to be part of the forest surrounding it.
“I know this house!” Cara said, reaching forward across the seat to touch David’s shoulder. “This is the house Bo worked on a few years back. He created the porches and . . .” She paused to look over the property. “There! I knew it. That’s the tree house he built.”
She heard him softly chuckle. He stretched his long arm over the seat and removed his sunglasses to meet her gaze. “Yep, this is it.” He turned back to the house. “It’s a gem. How could I not buy it?”
“I can’t believe you got this house. However did you manage it?”
“The usual way,” he said with a modest shrug.
“Don’t be coy. How did you buy this particular house, and knowing how much it meant to Bo and Heather?”
“Pure luck,” David admitted. “I came here and started looking for a house. Judy Fairchild—do you remember her? She’s the real estate agent and mayor of the island. Wonderful lady. Anyway, she knew of one that might go on the market. She made a phone call, and as it happened, the owners were indeed considering selling. When it turned out to be this house, I knew it was fate. I didn’t fool around looking at other houses. I made a good offer, and they accepted.”
Cara studied him, liking him more. “Knowing that Bo and Heather loved the house.”
David shrugged again. “I loved it too. And the bonus was the owners were downsizing to move to a retirement community, so they sold it furnished. It was a turnkey move.”
“If I recall, the furniture was uniquely chosen for the house. And quite special.”
“True. They made sophisticated choices that suited me. In the end, we were pleased with the way it all turned out. I brought a few personal items from Charlotte, of course. But for the most part, it’s pretty much as you remember. Let’s go in.”
They disembarked, releasing the babies from their seats.
“There’s an elevator, if you want it,” David offered.
“I could use the exercise.”
“That’s how I feel. Especially with an extra twenty-five pounds in my arms. Who needs a gym when you carry weights around all day, right?”
“Right,” she agreed with a laugh. Babies in arms, they walked up the long flight of stairs. Cara paused at the two landings lined with planters along the way. Thankfully it was cool in the woods. All around her birds chirped and darted. A flash of blue made her heart jump. She hadn’t seen an indigo bunting in years. At the top, the massive, carved-wood front doors made a stunning statement, flanked by two stone planters filled with coleus and greenery.
Once inside, Cara turned around, mouth agape, enjoying the dramatically jutting ceilings and tall windows, which created the feeling of living among the trees. The décor was as she remembered, simple and spare. Her eyes widened at the George Nakashima chair in the foyer. Yes, it was very much the remarkable house she remembered.
David took her on a brief tour, moving through the halls and pointing out this and that in his rich, low voice. She thought how well the strong lines, the elegance, and the ageless quality of the house suited the man.
The sounds of canaries chirping caught her attention as he led her up to the second floor. “Aha! How are the canaries?”
“They love it here.”
“They must. It’s like living outdoors. Does she still have both birds?”
“More!” He laughed. “You know Heather. She’s passionate. Now she’s gotten into breeding them. We had babies last spring.” He rolled his eyes and began walking again. “I’ll let her show you the happy families later.” David stopped to ask her, “You wouldn’t want another bird, would you?”
Cara laughed and shook her head. “No, Moutarde is quite territorial. He’d get jealous.”
“Let us know if you change your mind—please.”
Cara laughed again, enjoying his acceptance of Heather’s passion for birds. She thought again what an intrinsically kind man he was. They reached an outdoor porch, and David opened the door. Cara sucked in her breath when she saw the long wooden walkway that extended from the porch to a small turret house nestled in the trees.
“Bo was so proud of this,” she said, appreciating the tree house’s design. “I still think it looks like something fairies might live in.”
“Most people say that it stirs the imagination.”
“What couldn’t the imagination create in a room like that? You know,” she said, remembering, “this is a telltale moment.”
“How so?”
“Bo built the turret house for the previous owners. But when we toured, we all shared what we’d use the room for if we lived here. Each answer was different.”
“What’d you want to do with the room?”
She thought back, seeing in her mind a gorgeous desk in the center of the room. “I wanted a desk. What an office it would make.”
He laughed. “Of course.”
“I wouldn’t mind going to work in there!” she said a bit defensively. “Bo wanted a bed.”
She caught his eye, and they exchanged a long, amused look.
“And Heather,” Cara continued, “wanted to put an easel in the room.”
“Shall we see?”
“I’ll bet you put a desk in it,” Cara said with a teasing glance.
“Come on, then.”
The turret house was the size of a garden cottage and built like a fortress. David turned at the door, and his gaze met hers.
“Want to take a guess?”
“No. Open it!”
He swung open the door with a swoosh. Inside the wood-walled room she saw that Heather’s wish had come true. Her easel was set up in the center of the room. Everywhere else—stacked against the walls, hanging on walls, piled in corners, and covering the floor—were canvases. Trees, water scenes, portraits of Rory, but most of them birds—shorebirds, wading birds, songbirds. Cara went to the easel and inhaled with amazement. Heather was in the process of painting a trio of roseate spoonbills. They clustered together in the water, their reflections shining back at them. The light in the feathers was ethereal. Cara stared at the painting for several minutes, taking in the beauty. But Hope’s wiggling to get down broke her concentration.
“She’s so talented,” Cara breathed.
“I think so. Then again, I’m her father.”
Cara studied the canvas on the easel. “The quality of light in her paintings . . .” She paused. “She’s growing. Getting better.”
“Yes,” he said with a father’s pride.
She looked up at David. “You say she’s having a show?”
“At the end of the summer. She’s working hard.”
“I’d better get in early with my bid.” She indicated the painting on the easel. “Will this one be for sale? I’m quite taken with it.”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“I will. But I don’t want her to give it to me. She’s too generous. I already have one of her pieces from the first stamp collection over my mantel. But if I can afford it, this one has my name on it. You know, my mama liked to collect the art of people she knew. She used to say that when she looked around the house at her paintings, she felt surrounded by friends.” Cara smiled. “I’ve always liked that. And as a result I’ve inherited some paintings that have gone way up in value over the years.”
Hope whined in her arms. “Oh no. She’s beginning that limp body thing that makes her dead weight. We’ve kept these two locked up for too long. Where can we let them run?”
David shifted Rory to his other side. “Follow me. I’ve planned adventures.”
The morning flew by with fun activities for the children. They spent a luxurious hour, just the four of them, on the deserted beach. The sun dazzled in a clear sky. Hope and Rory kicked their legs in glee while Cara and David dipped them in the ocean. They sat under the shade of an umbrella while the two toddlers endlessly poured sand from one container to another. After a bath and lunch back at the house, the babies fell asleep without a fuss.
“I’d offer you a glass of wine, but—”
“—we’re on baby duty,” she finished for him. She suddenly felt very tired. A glass of wine would have put her to sleep.
“I’ve got iced tea. Sweet or unsweetened?”
“Sweet. Thanks.”
She curled her long legs up onto the cushions of the long, ice-blue sofa in the great room, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She heard David’s footfalls, the opening of the fridge, the clinking of ice. A few minutes later she heard his voice beside her. Her eyes flew open.
“Oh, thank you.” She sat up and reached for the glass. It felt cool in her hand, and she took a bracing sip of the tea. “I needed that. I can’t remember the last time I played so hard,” she said with a light laugh.
“It’s times like these when I understand why people have kids young.”
“I’m going to start walking every day and lifting weights.”
David moved to sit in the pale-blue cushioned chair across from her. He took a long drink, and then asked, “So, how are you settling in?”
“Pretty well. I have to remind myself I’m not here for a few weeks’ vacation but forever.”
“I remember that feeling. Especially right after I retired from my practice. I felt guilty for sleeping in or reading the paper instead of rushing off to work.” He paused. “That feeling passes.”
She took another sip, then ventured the question that had been niggling at her. “Aren’t you a bit young to retire?”
David leaned back. “My law practice was a big part of my life, I admit. An important and challenging part. But it wasn’t all of my life. I have other business ventures. Investments. And I’ve taken on a few more.” He laughed lightly. “You met one of them.”
“Ah yes, Rory. He takes a considerable amount of your time.”
“He does for now. I’m enjoying the summer with him. But we have Miss Sara come three days a week. She’s Rory’s official nanny.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. “You don’t babysit every day?”
He shook his head. “Just two days a week. And that’s only when Heather needs me. A bit more now. I’m on board for this summer while she prepares for her show. And I enjoy it. I didn’t spend much time with Heather when she was growing up, even though she is my only child. I was building my career, always working. Most men in that stage of life are caught in that spiral,” he added, not by way of defense but as a matter of fact. “My wife, Leslie, was a stay-at-home mom. She did everything.” His face softened at the memory. “She was a wonderful wife and mother. Creative and full of heart. Heather was such a shy child. We didn’t understand she had an anxiety disorder. She had few friends and didn’t get invited to many parties, so Leslie would have these big birthday parties for Heather every year. Heather, of course, dreaded them.”
Cara sympathized with Heather’s reticence at parties. Not because she herself was shy—quite the opposite. Cara was strong-minded and never reticent about voicing her opinions, more because back in high school, she’d found the parties pointless. Cara had always been an academic. She’d excelled in business. And she’d found that she didn’t need many friends, just a few true-blue ones.
Cara sipped her tea, realizing that she and Leslie were polar opposites. If Leslie was David’s type, she thought, then she wasn’t. But then again, neither was his second wife.
“You must miss Leslie.”
“Of course. She’ll always be in my heart. As I’m sure Brett will be in yours.” He paused. “But I’ve had a long time to find peace and acceptance. Heather has too, at last.” He rose to get the pitcher from the table and topped off Cara’s glass. The ice clinked in the silence.
“Would she have liked this house, do you think?”
David straightened and paused, pitcher in hand, tilting his head in consideration. “I never thought about it,” he said. “I don’t know if she’d have left her house in Charlotte. She’d designed it, decorated it. It was traditional and comfortable. Lots of curtains and wallpaper. And she loved her gardens. . . .” He looked around at his modern house, lost in thought.
“I don’t think you could say Natalie was the domestic type.”
He barked out a short laugh. “No.” He shook his head ruefully. “No, she wasn’t.”
“Do you think you remarried too quickly?”
David brought the pitcher back to the table and sat in the chair, crossing his legs. He didn’t answer.
Cara looked at her glass. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
He placed his hands on his thighs. “No, it’s not that. I don’t know the answer,” he replied honestly.
“Natalie just seemed so different from how you describe Leslie.”
“She was.”
There followed a long silence.
“You see,” David began again, “you don’t pick up where you left off when your spouse dies. That’s the first thing you learn. Though,” he added, “learning that takes time and quite a few agonizing dates.” They both chuckled. “Anyone you date is going to be a different person, with his or her own likes, dislikes, strengths, flaws. It’s a different relationship. New. I started out looking for a clone of Leslie. It doesn’t take long to figure out it doesn’t work like that. With Natalie, there was a spark. She was very accomplished. Beautiful.” His lips slid into a rueful smile. “She flattered me.” He flipped his palms up. “Who knows?” he said with a shrug. He leaned back, grabbed his glass, and took a drink. “Apparently, I did marry too quickly.”
“I’m only curious because I’m struggling with the whole starting life over thing,” she told him. “Widowhood is such a limbo. Even the name is horrible. ‘Widow’—makes me think of a deadly spider. It’s been almost three years.” Saying it still gave her pause. There were days she had to think long and hard to recall what it felt like to be with Brett. On other days she still thought he was alive and expected him to walk into the room or make a comment.
“I’ve made a life for myself . . . without him. The old saying that life goes on isn’t just a cliché. Hope filled a huge hole in my heart. With her, I have purpose again.” She paused. “Being home, though, has flushed out a lot of memories that lay dormant. Little things spark a memory. They come from nowhere and catch me off guard.” She sighed. “But the pain isn’t as sharp. That means something, I suppose.”
“Sure it does,” he said gently. “Every step forward matters.”
She knew he wasn’t preaching, but speaking from experience. “I’ll remember that.”
Cara felt they’d both said more than they felt comfortable sharing and turned to another subject.
“So,” she said in an upbeat tone. “Now you live on Dewees Island. That’s quite a change. Do you ever feel isolated here, so far from other people?”
He shook his head. “I take the ferry in several times a week. I often go to Charleston. And I still travel quite a bit. Sometimes it feels like I don’t spend enough time here, enjoying the quiet.”
“And those other projects you’re involved in. Do they take up much of your time?”
“As much as I care to give,” David said. “I enjoy managing my investments. It’s rather like playing a game of chess. Both chess players and investors know that strategy is key. Each piece has a role to play. One has to look into the future and calculate the moves, the offense and defense.”
She raised a brow. “How’s the game going?”
“So far, I’m winning.”
Cara thought of David being able to make an offer on this house that the owners couldn’t refuse, of his early retirement, his support of Heather, his world travel, and realized his wealth had to be considerable.
“You’ll have to give me some tips,” she told him in a wry tone, adding, “Once I have money to invest.” She swirled the ice in her drink. “For now, I’m trying to build up my consult business. If you know of anyone, send them my way.”
It was a good place to end their conversation. They both turned their heads at the sound of a baby crying. They looked at each other and smiled reluctantly, and suddenly David no longer appeared a successful lawyer, but a younger, freer man.
A second cry echoed through the cavernous rooms.
“Back to work,” David said.
As they headed toward the bedroom to fetch the babies, Cara considered how much they had in common. She wasn’t the same person she’d been three years ago. Nor was he. They’d both lost partners. They’d both been alone, and now fate had designed that they both had a new baby in their lives.
Although this was a playdate for the children, she was surprised by how much they’d learned about each other.
And by how much she liked David Wyatt.