A line in the sand, p.2
A Line in the Sand, page 2
“I’m fine,” Max repeated. He’d already made enough of a spectacle of himself. The last thing he needed was to add sirens to the mix. He cleared his throat. “Are you okay, though? You look…” Beautiful. “Cold.”
“I’m just peachy.” She gave him a grim smile and wrapped her arms tighter around her torso, which was decorated with a sparkling assortment of strategically placed starfish, shells, and pearls.
Max did his best to look elsewhere.
The little spaniel yipped and came toward him with a full body wiggle. Max bent to scoop the dog into his arms. The tiny thing couldn’t have weighed more than six or seven pounds, but he could barely lift her. He felt himself sway a little on his feet. Almost drowning was exhausting.
He nodded at the mermaid. “I get it now. Her name is Ursula—from The Little Mermaid, right? Your name isn’t Ariel, is it?”
“It’s Molly,” Nibbles’s owner said before Molly herself could chime in.
Molly the mermaid. Cute. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Molly. Thanks for the rescue.”
Molly plucked Ursula from his grasp and hugged the puppy to her chest. “You’re welcome. But really, swimming isn’t allowed at the dog beach. The current is too strong out here.”
This was a dog beach. Well, that certainly explained a few things. “Noted. Although for the record, I wasn’t going for a swim. I saw something in the water—a caretta caretta.”
“A whatta whatta?” one of the older women asked.
“He means a sea turtle,” Molly said. “Specifically, a loggerhead.”
Max arched a brow.
Molly lifted her chin and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Highlights the color of pink cotton candy were mixed in with her mass of blonde waves. Tiny droplets of seawater starred her eyelashes. “That’s right, I know the scientific name for a loggerhead sea turtle. I’m not a cartoon character. Don’t let the costume fool you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Max said. After all, she’d very probably saved his life.
“There are loads of loggerheads at this beach. Try not to chase any more of them out to sea. Deal?”
Max nodded. “Deal.”
Loads of loggerheads? Now she really had his attention. He wanted to know more, but before he could utter another word, she scooted past him in the sort of quick, tiny steps that a mermaid tail necessitated. Ursula planted her little head on Molly’s shoulder and watched him as the little pup’s mistress carried her away.
Max stared after them until they became glittering silhouettes against the molten light of the setting sun. Then a throat cleared nearby and he turned to find every set of eyes on the dog beach, both human and canine alike, watching him with keen interest.
“Welcome to Turtle Beach.” The woman with the purple glasses flashed him a wink.
She aimed her walker toward the dunes, and the rest of the retirees followed. A white-haired man and a pug in matching Hawaiian shirts zipped past on a motorized scooter. The man waved, while the pug seemed to smile at Max with his goofy pug face.
Max just shook his head. He and his uncle were going to have a nice, long chat—sooner rather than later. Uncle Henry had some explaining to do.
Welcome to Turtle Beach, indeed.
Chapter 2
It wasn’t just the nuttiness of the dog beach encounter and Max’s near-drowning that had him rattled. Being back in Turtle Beach after so many years away somehow felt both familiar and surreal at the same time.
He climbed the steps of his uncle’s beach cottage—now Max’s oceanfront home—on shaky legs and plopped down onto a deck chair with a sigh. So far, the island was exactly the way he remembered it, from the rickety Salty Dog pier where Max had spent hours upon hours as a teenager fishing in the moonlight (catch and release, obviously) to the old-timey roller rink above the post office. Back when Max had summered on Turtle Beach, the floor of the small roller rink had been like a vinyl record album, worn with grooves from generations of summer skaters. How the place was still standing was a mystery he couldn’t begin to fathom.
Nostalgia had washed over him like a tidal wave the moment he’d crossed the bridge from the mainland and seen the familiar boardwalk and the park by the bay, lit with twinkle lights. The Turtle Beach library, the bookshop that doubled as a coffee bar, the ice cream parlor where as a kid he’d consumed his body weight in chocolate malts were all still there. Aside from fresh paint jobs, the mom-and-pop local businesses looked exactly the same, as did Turtle Beach’s modest downtown area on Seashell Drive. Max could hardly believe his eyes.
Where were the improvements his uncle had mentioned? In their phone calls over the past few months, Uncle Henry had made it sound as if Turtle Beach had been on the verge of becoming the next Outer Banks or Myrtle Beach. He’d known his uncle had been exaggerating, but the last thing Max had expected was to find the island looking like it had been lovingly preserved in a time capsule for the past twelve years.
Everything was going to be fine, though. Max hadn’t given up a perfectly good job, home, and life in Baltimore because he thought he’d be moving to a booming beach metropolis. This was about more than that. It was about something he hadn’t given much thought to in quite a while—family.
And the turtles, obviously.
Max could make a meaningful difference here. He hoped so, anyway. His uncle had assured him that he could.
He also told you that Turtle Beach had a Starbucks now. And a Krispy Kreme.
Right. So far, there wasn’t a cup of Pike Place roast or a glazed donut in sight. The only visible difference between the modern-day version of Turtle Beach and the one Max remembered was the booming canine population. Why so many dogs? They even had their own private beach.
That was definitely new. As was the mermaid.
Max yawned. With the move and the drive down from the D.C. area in a rental car, he’d barely slept a wink in the past twenty-four hours. Everything that had just happened at the beach seemed like a fever dream—one he didn’t care to repeat anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter. What Max needed most was sleep. He’d deal with his uncle, his mess of moving boxes, and the aquarium in the morning.
A sliver of moon hung high in the twilight sky, bathing the ocean with silvery light. Stars were already visible, glittering like diamonds against soft velvet. Max stood and leaned against the deck’s railing, taking it all in.
How had he stayed away from the Carolina coast for so long? And why?
The fact that he had no substantive answers to those questions made his gut churn. After college and graduate school, he’d just gotten so caught up in his career that one year turned into two, two into three, and so on. But this was where it had all started—right here on this tiny, precious island. And just like sea turtles always returned to their birthplace to lay their eggs, Max had found his way back to where he belonged.
Did he belong, though? The jury was still out on that. Nearly drowning before he’d unpacked a single moving box or set eyes on his uncle didn’t seem like a good sign.
Max sighed and raked a hand through his hair, salty and damp from his impromptu swim. It was too late for regrets. The deed was done. Surely things would seem more normal in the morning. What he needed most right now was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
He turned to open the sliding glass door and step inside the weathered beach house, but just as he grabbed hold of the door handle, his gaze snagged on a flash of white in his periphery. Max squinted in the semi-darkness and realized it was a dog. Not just any dog—the dog.
“Ursula?” Max said.
The little spaniel’s tail waved back and forth. She was standing on the deck of the beach cottage situated right next door, watching Max through the white lattice trim of his neighbor’s deck.
It had to be the same dog, right? What were the odds of an island the size of Turtle Beach having two of those fancy toy-sized spaniels?
Max snorted. As dog-crazy as this place was, there was no telling. He walked toward the railing, hoping to get a better look, but the little dog turned away and trotted through the open French doors of the other beach cottage and disappeared.
Max told himself he didn’t care one way or another if he lived next door to Ursula, but that night he dreamt he was underwater again. Sea foam and kelp danced around him as he tried to follow a bale of sea turtles, their flippers moving through the eerie darkness like graceful angels’ wings. Beside him, just beyond his reach, was a mermaid. Her long hair danced in the water, obscuring her face. Max couldn’t tell whether or not she was the mermaid. His mermaid. She seemed to grow fainter and fainter the closer he got to her, until he finally woke up in a cold sweat.
Max chugged a cup of black coffee from his uncle’s ancient percolator and tried to shake off the dream. He was losing it. For starters, sea turtles rarely if ever swam in groups. And mermaids were definitely not real, recent events notwithstanding.
He threw on a pair of khakis and a light blue oxford shirt, grabbed the keys to his uncle’s Jeep, and headed down the steps of the deck toward the gravel driveway, more than ready for a face-to-face with Henry. The automobile was old enough to be considered vintage, with a stick shift that required serious elbow grease. After stalling out a few times as he backed out onto the street, Max snuck a glance at the cottage next door and saw the Cavalier King Charles pup watching him from an upstairs window. Max wrestled the Jeep into first gear and looked away.
Mere minutes later, he knocked on the door of Uncle Henry’s new residence at the Turtle Beach Senior Center. Henry’s room was located just off the main lobby, where Max had passed a group of retirees who’d seemed to be gathering for some sort of exercise class. The shivering Chihuahua from the dog beach was nestled inside the basket of one of their walkers. Why did Max feel like he was being stalked by random canines?
“Max!” Uncle Henry looked him up and down as he swung the door open. He was exactly how Max remembered him—powder-white hair, eyes full of laughter, and a face weathered from a lifetime of island living.
The only thing missing was the scent of Captain Black cherry pipe tobacco. Henry had given up smoking a while back, but the sweet, aromatic scent had burrowed into the pine wood paneling of the beach cottage years ago. The absence of it here in Henry’s new home was startling to Max.
As was the sight of a turquoise yoga mat rolled up and tucked beneath his uncle’s arm.
“You made it. Good. Good.” Henry nodded. “I’m glad you stopped by, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to visit. Class starts in just a few minutes.”
Uncle Henry stepped into the hallway, shut the door behind him, and began hustling toward the lobby.
Max blinked. What the…
“Wait.” He chased after his uncle. “Where are you going?”
“Yoga,” Henry said without missing a beat.
“Yoga.” Max felt himself frown. “You do yoga now?”
“Five days a week. It’s very refreshing,” Henry said, as if a reclusive eighty-year-old scientist suddenly taking up group yoga classes was the most normal thing in the world.
“That’s…um, great, actually.” So much to unpack here, but first things first. “Look, we need to talk.”
Henry glanced at him, but kept walking. “You got into the house okay, didn’t you? The key was right where I left it?”
Max nodded. “Underneath the conch shell on the upper deck of the porch, the same place where you always hid it when I was a kid. Ace security. It’s a good thing this island isn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. Getting into the house wasn’t a problem at all.”
“Good,” Henry said as they rounded the corner into the foyer.
Max looked around at the room where he’d played bingo every Tuesday night of the summer visits when he was a kid. Now it was filled with rows of colorful yoga mats stretched from one wall to the other. A black-and-white spotted Dalmatian trotted from mat to mat, greeting the elderly yogis with a wagging tail, because of course.
Max sighed. “Uncle Henry, what exactly is going on here?”
Henry unspooled his yoga mat and flapped it onto the tile floor with a thwack. “I told you already—yoga.”
“Good morning, everyone. Are we ready to get started?” The instructor, a woman who looked much closer to Max’s age than Henry’s, stood at the front of the room in leggings covered in a pink cupcake print. The Dalmatian romped in circles around her as she glanced around the class. Her gaze settled on Max and she paused. “Oh good, we have a guest.”
Max shook his head. “No, I’m just here visiting my—”
“The more the merrier. Extra mats are over there.” She pointed to a stack of yoga mats beside what looked like an official parking area for ambulatory devices. “Let’s begin with pretzel pose.”
Pretzel pose? Was that Sanskrit? Max wholeheartedly doubted it.
“Uncle Henry, I…”
“You heard her.” Henry shrugged. “If you’re staying, go get a mat. A little yoga would probably do you some good.”
He could not be serious.
Oh, but he was. Uncle Henry sat down and proceeded to close his eyes and take deep breaths while Max stood there trying to process what was happening.
“Fine,” he finally said, planting his hands on his knees and bending over to whisper-scream at his uncle. “But I’ll be back tonight right after the aquarium closes, and we’re going to talk.”
Uncle Henry popped one eye open. “Sorry, no can do. Tonight is trivia night here at the senior center.”
“Seriously?” Max arched a brow. “And I suppose you’re busy tomorrow, too. What’s on Tuesday’s agenda? Pilates? Book club?”
“Don’t be silly. Tomorrow night is bingo. You should know that.” Henry frowned at him in a very non-Zen, non-yoga-ish sort of way.
Max sighed. He knew all about bingo night. Anyone who’d ever set foot on Turtle Beach did. It had simply slipped his mind for a second, what with the near-drowning and his uncle’s total transformation into a different person.
“Hi, there. I’m Violet.” The yoga instructor and her Dalmatian were suddenly standing right beside Max. Now that he got a look at the dog up close, Max realized her collar had tiny cupcakes printed all over it, just like Violet’s leggings. “It looks like you’re staying, so here.”
She shoved a yoga mat at him, and Max had no choice but to take it.
“Okay, then,” he muttered as he kicked off his shoes.
If this was the only way he was going to get some actual face time with his uncle, then so be it. Max situated the mat beside Henry’s and plopped down into a pretzel shape.
“You lied,” Max said under his breath, just loud enough for his uncle to hear him.
“About what?”
“Okay, everyone. Let’s transition into rearview mirror pose,” Violet called from the head of the class.
Rearview mirror? What kind of nutty yoga class was this?
The seniors all twisted to look over their right shoulder, so Max did the same. He took advantage of the posture to glare at his uncle.
“About everything,” Max hissed. “There’s no Starbucks, and there’s no Krispy Kreme.”
“Sure there are…just over the bridge in Wilmington.” Henry cleared his throat and swiveled his gaze to peer over the opposite shoulder.
Max did the same. Maybe yoga wasn’t a half bad idea. He was beginning to feel like his head might explode. “Wilmington is almost an hour away, Uncle Henry. You told me the island had changed. You made it sound like—”
“Like what?” Henry said, at last meeting Max’s gaze head-on. “Like someplace important enough for you to visit?”
Ouch.
Max swallowed. He knew better than to issue a denial when his behavior over the past twelve years spoke for itself.
Then Violet’s teacher voice rang out, mercifully breaking the tense silence that had just fallen between Max and his uncle. “Looking good, everyone. Let’s move into secretly-checking-your-phone pose.”
Henry and the other seniors all brought their hands into prayer-like positions and shifted their gazes downward. Max had to hand it to Violet. As bizarre as these pose names were, they were spot-on.
“I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere,” Max said quietly. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. He’d tendered his resignation. Someone else was already sitting behind his desk at the National Aquarium—and more to the point, there was a new name etched on the aquarium director’s door, and it wasn’t Max’s. That ship had sailed. Where else would he go? “You may as well tell me the rest. Is there anything else I should know?”
Violet called out another pose—downward facing Dalmatian. Henry shifted forward and shot Max an upside-down glance.
“There might be one little thing,” he said.
Max pressed his hands into his mat, lifted his hips, and took a deep breath. Whatever it is, you can handle it. It can’t be that bad. “And what might that be?”
“It’s the aquarium,” Henry said.
Max’s heart pounded hard in his chest.
Not the aquarium. Anything but the aquarium.
“Henry, I love overpriced coffee and donuts as much as the next person, but the false promises of big city conveniences like Starbucks and Krispy Kreme aren’t what convinced me to leave my life in Baltimore and start over here. You founded the Turtle Beach Aquarium nearly a decade ago and have served as the director since its inception. When you told me you were ready to step down, you insisted I was the only person who could step into your shoes.”
Max had been reeling from being passed over for the promotion at the National Aquarium, and his uncle’s offer had felt like fate stepping in to set everything right.
Why not take over Uncle Henry’s job? There was something poetic about coming back to the island, back to the beach where he’d learned to love everything about marine life. Like a loggerhead finding its way home. Caretta caretta.
