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Clare.
    â€œThey’ve got great noses,” said Richard, and he tapped his own, which was long and sunburned.
    â€œWhat happens when the eggs hatch? How does the mother turtle get back to the babies if they’re all in a cage?”
    â€œGood question,” said Richard, and Clare brightened. It wasn’t like she was really interested in the turtles—after all, they were just turtles—but she wanted Richard to feel she was interested. She wanted him to talk with her. “Once the female terrapin has laid the eggs, she’s done,” said Richard. “She returns to the bay. When the eggs hatch in September, the hatchlings have to make their way on their own up over the dune, and to the marsh.”
    â€œAnd the male turtles?”
    â€œThey never come up on shore at all. Their part is done once they’ve fertilized the eggs.”
    If she knew him better, Clare might have asked if that’s the way it had been with him. But as soon as she thought of it for a minute, she knew, she would not have been able to say anything. It was too weird. God—just thinking about it now made her so embarrassed she could not even look at him. But if he had made any connection in his mind to the subject, he didn’t let on. He had started walking again. There were big houses along the dunes. They were set up high for the view, and had long, wooden stairways down to the beach.
    Richard noticed her looking at them. “People build those monstrosities too close to the edge of the dune, and then—then,” he repeated, his voice rising, “they want to build a revetment.”
    â€œWhat’s a revetment?”
    â€œA wall to keep the dune from eroding. The problem is, it destroys the natural geologic progression; dunes were meant to erode. If you put up a wall, the sea steals the sand from somewhere else.” Richard shook his head. “Those people. They want to put in lawns.Terrapins can’t nest in lawns. They drive their SUVs at top speed along the dirt roads. They don’t see a terrapin, let alone a hatchling.” He took in his breath and let it out slowly, as if he had practiced this breathing technique. “You see what I’m up against, Clare?” he asked. He sounded resigned now, tired out.
    â€œI guess,” said Clare, but he wasn’t really looking at her. He was already walking fast down the beach. He was looking intently at the sand in front of him. Once again, he seemed to have forgotten she was there.
    They had gone three-quarters of the way around the island, past the houses on the dunes, when they came across the tracks. They didn’t look like much of anything to Clare—she would have walked right over them if she was on her own, but Richard spotted them from a distance and sprinted towards them.
    â€œHere we are,” he said. He was excited now. He bent close to the ground, like a dog sniffing a trail, and scrambled up towards the dunes. Then he sank to his knees, dug around a bit, and sat back.
    â€œToo late,” he said evenly.
    Clare came up beside him.
    â€œThis is what a predated nest looks like,” he said.There wasn’t much to see. A few scraps of leathery-looking shell.
    â€œThat’s what happens when you go away,” said Richard. He stood up slowly, brushing the sand from his hands. “With a species so fragile like this, every nest counts, every egg counts.”
    Clare could feel her eyes filling up, and she turned her face away from him. He’d probably think it was the turtles she was crying about.
    But he didn’t. “I’m sorry, Clare,” he said. “I’m not blaming you. I’m blaming myself.”
    She turned to him quickly. She didn’t care if he saw her crying now. “Maybe you shouldn’t have left them, then,” she said.
    He stared at her.
    She’d blurted that out quickly and there was no going back now. “Just so you know,” she