Read Returning to Shore for Free Online

Clare noticed how similar their hands were—the same shape, the same curve of their thumbs. Vera had long slenderhands, an octave and a note, but Clare’s hands were squarer, her fingers shorter—she could barely reach an octave. Even though her father’s hands were bigger and his nails were rough, her hands had been formed from the same mold. It had never occurred to Clare before that hands could reveal a connection between them, that hands could matter that way.
    Soon the dishwasher was empty, and the counter was stacked with rolls of paper towels, paper napkins, paper plates. Richard reached for the cereal bowl and set it in on the top rack of the dishwasher.
    â€œWhy don’t we give this thing a test run now,” he said. “It worked for the last tenants, but it’s been a while.” He put in detergent and started up the dishwasher. There wasn’t anything to watch, but they both stood there, looking at the dishwasher, listening to the water rushing in, invisible behind the white door. Clare wondered if they would continue standing there for the entire cycle.
    â€œI guess it works,” said Richard, finally. “I’m going out now to finish my rounds of the island. Do you want to come with me?”
    â€œI guess so,” said Clare.
    â€œYour mother instructed me to remind you to put on sunscreen,” said Richard. “If you don’t have any, there’s some in the bathroom.”
    â€œOh, I have plenty,” said Clare. “She packed me enough to last the next three summers.”
    â€œI’m not surprised,” said Richard. He smiled, but only slightly.
    â€œAre we going to be going swimming?” asked Clare.
    â€œIt’s low tide now,” said Richard. He sounded as if she should know this. “No swimming. But if you want to go this afternoon, I could show you where people swim.”
    Clare wondered if that meant he expected her to go off swimming on her own. She couldn’t imagine Vera would be very happy about that.
    â€œOK,” she said.
    There was a path that ran from the house down to the marsh. Clare followed behind Richard. It wasn’t a path anyone had designed, it was just a sandy, worn path. At Tertio’s house in the country—now Vera’s house, too—all the paths were part of the landscaping design. They were carpeted with wood chips, freshlyapplied on a regular basis by the landscaping service. Nobody ever made a path just by going someplace.
    ***
    The tide was so low it was hard to imagine the sea had ever covered what now looked like part of the land. You could tell where it had been, though, because it had left behind a band of seaweed when it had receded. Richard walked quickly, and seemed to expect Clare to keep up. Far out in the marsh Clare saw the arched wooden bridge. It seemed to connect nothing with nothing. When they came around the bay side of the island Richard slowed his pace. There were boats at anchor, lying on their sides. They looked sad somehow, like beached whales dying on the flats. Richard was scanning the beach in both directions.
    â€œAre you looking for something?” Clare asked.
    Richard stopped and turned to her. For a moment she wondered if he had forgotten she was there.
    â€œTerrapin tracks,” he said. “This is the season when the females come up on shore to deposit their eggs. I’m trying to locate the nests, and put a cage over each one to protect it from predators: foxes, skunks, coyotes.”
    Clare kept her eyes on him while he spoke and tried to think of a question to show she was interested. “Do you catch the turtle in the cage?” she asked.
    Richard smiled, as if he’d never thought of this possibility before. “No, the turtle just lays her eggs, buries them in the sand. Then she goes back to the sea. The eggs are on their own.”
    â€œIf the eggs are buried, how do the foxes know they’re there?” asked