He ordered a bottle of wine and tried not to dwell on Annie. He’d much rather think about how pretty Taylor looked that evening in one of the long, flowing skirts that she liked to wear now even when, unlike tonight, they had nowhere special to go. She also had a white orchid in her hair—the same one he’d picked earlier in the backyard—and had rested it between her breasts while she’d been napping. Naked. They’d made love again—the hundredth time in five days, or so it felt. Like him, she’d gone without someone to love far too long. But now the long drought was over for both of them. And life was pretty much perfect.
Was it wrong for him to be happy when his sister was miserable?
Chapter 19
Meghan was standing on the west side of Dike Bridge, the small footbridge that stretched across a channel that separated the lagoon from Poucha Pond. She lingered on the periphery, well behind a few dozen people.
Quickly parking the Jeep, Annie vaulted out and power-walked toward the gathering. “Mary Beth!” she called out.
Meghan turned. “Annie? You heard about the turtle?”
“I did,” she replied as she caught up with her. “And Simon is looking for you.”
Her face contorted. “He is?”
“He remembered about your interest in leatherbacks. If he had a rental car yet, he’d have gotten here first.”
“And brought his cameraman.”
“I guess.”
Meghan glanced toward the bridge, then back to Annie, and braced herself as if preparing to flee. “Is he on his way?”
“I have no idea.”
She looked back at the bridge. “The Trustees won’t let us cross to the beach until they’ve cordoned off where she is. They said she’s alive, but badly entangled. They want to free her without scaring her.” The Trustees of the Reservations were part of the state organization that oversaw much of the protected land and all that entailed.
“You want to see her?”
She nodded. “Sure. They really are fascinating creatures.”
“Agreed. And don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out for our friends. If they show up with a camera, I’ll make sure they aim elsewhere. Though I bet they already know that.”
“And we can take off if we need to?”
“Of course.”
Then one of the Trustees announced that it was okay to cross the bridge now. “Please stay outside the taped area,” he added. “We still don’t know how badly she’s hurt or how long it will take to free her.”
Annie and Meghan lagged behind the string of onlookers over Dike Bridge. As they crossed the portable walkway toward the beach, Annie frequently looked back, trying not to worry that Simon—crack journalist that he was—would figure out that Meghan was hiding her identity. And had a backstory that might be newsworthy.
As the boardwalk ended and they stepped onto the white sand, Annie knew that all this secrecy was exhausting. And unhealthy. She wondered if she should at least tell Meghan that she’d called Kevin and urged him to come home.
* * *
The turtle—“Let’s call her Tillie,” one of the thirty or so bystanders said—was entangled in what looked like plastic bubble wrap.
“She was spotted by the vigilant crew of a sailboat while she was thrashing in fairly deep water,” the US Coast Guard representative said. “They called the Center for Coastal Studies in Provincetown and relayed the coordinates. The Center provides training in rescuing sea mammals to a team at the natural resources department of the Wampanoag tribe. They’re out there in the rescue boat right now.” He pointed to a small craft about twenty yards from shore. A woman and a man leaned over one edge close to the turtle; another man balanced the boat. The trio was working in precision, while the struggling mammal flipped and flopped in quick splashes.
“She’s trying to free herself,” the representative continued. “She doesn’t understand that if she stayed still, she’d be free faster.” His words were wistful as if he were worried. Then he turned back to the group. “The sailors who called in the alert gave her a wide berth and circled the area until the rescue team arrived. For any of you boaters, please note that this was perfect protocol. Sea turtles are common around here at this time of year, and we all need to watch out for them.” He asked if there were questions, but the onlookers seemed immersed in the activity, waiting for Tillie to swim off and rejoin the others in herbale—a word Annie knew described a group of turtles, like amurderof crows or apodof seals, both of which she’d seen on Chappaquiddick.
As the leatherback continued to thrash, Annie wondered if Meghan had felt trapped while she’d been recuperating: a prisoner in her surroundings, at the mercy of strangers, not always aware of her circumstance but knowing that her world had been turned upside down.
“Sea turtles have existed well over a hundred million years,” Meghan whispered to Annie now. “Most don’t make it to adulthood, but if they do, imagine the perils they’ve had to endure: weather events and climate changes; prey like killer whales and some sharks. They’re the real survivors of life.”
Annie wondered if that explained a large part of her interest in them. “You’re a survivor, too,” she said. Then, with their eyes fixed on the rescue, Annie touched Meghan’s shoulder and said, “I called Kevin.”
Meghan didn’t move; she didn’t even blink.
