he Isle of Palms was graced with crisp, after-storm breezes. All day the sound of hammering and chain saws echoed throughout the neighborhoods. Cars cruised down the streets and the music of children’s laughter, birds chirping and dogs barking returned to the island.

But by evening, the island once again fell quiet. At the beach house, lanterns and candles glowed yellow in the twilight, lending coziness to the home after days of chaos. Toy had temporarily moved to Flo’s house. Her second story was spared the flood’s damage and everyone agreed it was much better for both baby and mother to sleep on dry beds. Brett had gone to determine the damage to his boat, but promised to return the following morning with more supplies. The sweet calico cat was the beach house’s only guest and she sat curled on the cushion of a wicker chair.

So it was just Cara and Lovie again, two Rutledge women sitting outside on the porch, on their rockers, enjoying a sunset as they had so many nights before. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. Their held hands eloquently expressed everything that needed to be communicated between them.

Cara looked over at her mother. Lovie appeared peaceful as she sat with a wistful expression on her face and stared out at the sea and the pristine stretch of beach that she loved so dearly. Cara saw her eyes dancing and knew that memories were more alive in her mother’s mind now than the present. She knew, too, that they called to her. The tug and pull was palpable and Cara clung to her mother’s hand.

“Mama, it’s getting chilly. Would you like to go in?”

Lovie shook her head. Just a small movement, and a slight squeeze of the hand, but Cara understood.

“I’ll go get you another blanket, then. I’ll be right back.”

“Caretta?” Her voice was raspy.

“Yes, Mama?”

“You’re a good girl.”

Cara closed her eyes tightly and took a small breath. “Thank you, Mama.”

She wasn’t gone long. Just enough time to walk into her mother’s room and pull a cotton blanket off her bed. Then a quick stop in the kitchen to grab another bottle of water. She turned off the radio. They’d both heard enough talk about the hurricane.

When she came back to the porch Cara instinctively knew something had changed. She stopped at the threshold, held the blanket close to her chest and stared. Her mother sat still in her chair. Her Bible had fallen to the floor.

Cara was aware of the details. The chip of paint on the tip of the rocker, a dime-size hole in the screen, a page of the Bible lifting in the wind, the delicate curve of her mother’s hand half-open in her lap. She walked slowly over to kneel at her mother’s side. Her hand was still warm. The breeze was tugging a yellowed, crumpled piece of paper from her fingers. Cara picked it up and held it under the golden light of the lantern. It was a letter, the fine script slanted and elegant.,!,!

My darling Olivia,

I don’t blame you in the least for not coming to meet me. I know better than most the complicated bonds that tie us to our responsibilities. Yes, I confess I had hoped that you would come. I waited at the beach house all night, masked by the dark like the thief I was, hoping against hope to steal you away.

I don’t doubt for a moment that you loved me. Love me still. But you have made your decision. As promised, I will respect it.

But if you should ever change your mind, or if circumstances occur where you should ever find your life untenable, I want you to have the freedom to leave—even if you should not choose to come to me.

You carry my love within you. A day will never dawn nor a sunset slip into the horizon when I will not think of you. I accept that the mind often dictates the heart. Yet I believe that the heart is the truer guide.

So, if in the course of time you should want to come to me, do not hesitate. Know that I will be waiting for you. You will always have my heart—my love.

Always,

Russell

Cara closed the letter and placed it in the crisp, thin pages of her mother’s Bible. Then, holding it close to her chest, she stood and looked out at the sea. A gray mist hovered over the water and from the harbor she heard the low, sonorous bellow of a foghorn, again and again, like the tolling of a bell.

“Go to him, Mama,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re free! Don’t worry anymore about us. We’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Toy. I’ll look out for Palmer. And I’ll pass the torch to Linnea and Cooper. Go! Don’t let anyone or anything stand in the way of your heart’s desire.”

Mourners overflowed the church for the funeral of Olivia Rutledge, known to everyone who loved her as Lovie. Her family tree was extensive. While only some of the family gathered yearly for family reunions, at funerals they showed up in force. Brett and Toy remained close to Cara’s side while Flo and Miranda sat with the rest of the Turtle Team. Emmi and Tom Peterson had flown in from Atlanta with their two sons. Generations of turtle volunteers, young and old, came to pay their respects to the woman who had worked so tirelessly for their benefit. There were also scores of friends who had known Olivia since school days, as well as families that had been connected to hers for many generations. Charleston could be a small town in this way.

After the funeral, Cara stood beside Julia at the rear of the church and accepted the condolences with sincerity. But she kept her eye on her brother. Palmer sat hunched over in the front pew, his eyes red and his face blotchy as he stared disbelievingly at the coffin. He looked like a man who’d just been hit by a bullet and hadn’t yet fallen.

He’d been this way since she’d called to tell him of their mother’s death. Expecting him to rant and rave about letting their mother get stuck on the island during the storm, she’d braced herself for scathing blame that she’d caused Lovie’s early death. Instead he’d been too stunned, bereft, shocked beyond speech.

As the last of the mourners left the church, Julia turned to Cara with panic in her eyes.

“Cara, I’m afraid he’ll make a scene at the interment. You’ve got to do something. He’s been crazy with grief. He’s frightening the children.”

“He wouldn’t be the first one to cry at a burial. And he hardly speaks to me.”

“You’re the only one he will speak to. He’s devastated, Cara. He’s your brother. He needs you. And I’ve simply got to get back to the house to prepare for the lunch. More food is arriving by the minute. I swear, I can feed the multitudes.”

Cara sighed but nodded her head. “All right, you go on with the children. I’ll go see what I can do.”

The scent of incense was heavy as she walked the long church aisle to her brother. The coffin had just been taken to the hearse for the final journey to the cemetery. Palmer, however, continued to stare at the vacant space between dozens of flower arrangements. Cara noted a gorgeous, expensive one that had been sent from her agency.

“Palmer?”

He didn’t move.

She put her hand on his shoulder. The wool felt hot and scratchy. “Palmer, it’s time to go. They’re waiting for us.”

Her brother took a long shuddering breath then rose slowly, like an old man. Julia had done her duty and seen to it that his black suit was clean and pressed but he looked disheveled nonetheless. His hair was tousled from running his hands through it and everything from his tie to his gaze seemed askew. When he turned toward her and looked into her face, his bloodshot eyes were those of the little boy who had sat on the stairs with her at night, clutching her tight as they listened in fear to their father’s yelling downstairs.

She opened her heart and her arms to him, as their mother had done. When he stepped into them and hugged her, weeping, all the cross words that had created a cold, hard wall between them melted away.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he cried, brokenhearted. “I didn’t get to tell her I loved her. I thought I had more time!”

At that moment Cara realized how truly lucky she had been. If she hadn’t responded to her mother’s letter, if she hadn’t sorted through those years of accumulation, she, too, would have been left to live with the regret that Palmer now suffered.

Gratitude gave her compassion and she began that day to reconcile the rift between them.

Only a small percentage of hatchlings will survive to maturity to repeat the nesting cycle. Research indicates the number of sea turtles worldwide are continuing to drop. Turtles have existed for millions of years. Only time will tell if the efforts of professionals and volunteers will protect the loggerheads from extinction.