Harper paid the cab fare as thunder rumbled overhead.
“That storm is moving in fast,” the cabdriver said, handing her back the change.
“Yes.” She took the receipt. “Thanks.” Harper climbed from the cab and stood for a moment tasting the sweet moisture that always filled the air moments before a storm broke. She let her shoulders lower for the first time since she’d been away and just stood with her arms hanging at her sides, closed her eyes, and let the lowcountry breezes wash over her.
It had been a soul-wrenching ten days in New York. Her mother, in a fit of fury, had thrown Harper’s clothing from her closet onto the floor. She’d ransacked her jewelry box and taken back any of the pieces that she’d given her.
Harper felt a drop of cold rain on her face and her eyes opened. From where she stood in the driveway, she saw the quaint white wooden cottage with its red front door under the arched cupola and the wide welcoming stairs. Though thunder rumbled overhead, Sea Breeze appeared nestled safely between ancient oaks, the boughs of which seemed to cradle the house like the gnarled fingers of some ancient guardian. Harper imagined them beckoning her to come inside, where soft golden light flowed from the windows, inviting her in from the storm.
Harper swayed on her feet as drops of rain splattered, cold and wet. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She let the rain wash away the dust of the city, the grime of travel, and the stench of disillusionment. As she stood and stared at Sea Breeze, she felt the ice she’d formed around her heart begin to crack. She could almost hear the crackle as it splintered and melted to form tears that overflowed from her eyes and mingled with rain.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The windshield wipers clicked at a steady rhythm as Blake and Carson headed back across the rivers, this time over the bridges in Blake’s jeep. It had been a long, full day and Carson was exhausted, but exhilarated, too. Skimming the waterways in a boat, she’d felt like a visitor in the dolphins’ world. The estuaries were their kingdom, where their families thrived. Blake had explained how a single pod could extend for miles and how they communicated by sonar across long distances and called to each other through a language of whistles and clicks. The resident dolphins were also intricately connected by elaborate social rituals.
All this made her wonder about one dolphin in particular and why she would part from her dolphin community to befriend a lonely human.
“I’m curious about something,” she said, turning in the front seat to look from the road to Blake. The interior was dimly lit by the lights on the dashboard. “What about the dolphins that come close to humans? To the boats or docks. What makes them seek out human company?” She was glad he was driving so he couldn’t meet her gaze, fearful that he’d read more into her question.
Blake groaned and shook his head. “Don’t get me started.”
“I’m just wondering,” she said, persisting. “Is it normal for some dolphins to be friendlier than others?”
“If you can call it friendly. I call it begging. Dolphins aren’t different than most other animals. If someone offers them food, they’ll take the easy way out. When it happens over and over, they learn to beg for a living and lose their fear of humans. Think of the bears at Yosemite. It’s no different here. They can become full-time moochers.”
“Is it so bad to feed them? Even a little bit?”
He swung his head from the wheel and she saw fury flash in his eyes. “Yes, it’s bad,” he said with heat. He turned back to the road. “Feeding wild dolphins disrupts their social groups, which threatens their ability to survive in the wild. You saw those mothers with their young calves today?”
Carson nodded. It was a tender sight she’d never forget.
“They were teaching their young how to forage and hunt. If they beg, their calves grow up as beggars and never learn those skills. How well do you think they’ll fare on a diet of hot dogs, pretzels, cookies, and candy? The calves won’t survive. Not only that, going near the boats and docks puts the dolphins in danger of getting hurt by propellers, or entangled with fishing hooks and line. It’s damned dangerous for the dolphins and heartless of the humans.”
Carson didn’t respond.
Blake tapped his fingers on the wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get so hot under the collar.”
“It’s okay . . . It’s just, I don’t think the people who feed the dolphins mean to hurt them.”
“Maybe not. They think they’re being kind. ‘Just this one little bit.’ ” His face hardened. “We put signs up all over the place stating in bold letters, ‘Do Not Feed the Dolphins.’ We have educational pamphlets, ads on TV explaining how it hurts the dolphins. But if one person thinks it’s okay if she does it, add that to a thousand others and you get the picture of how much feeding is going on.”
“Right,” Carson said, feeling deeply uncomfortable and not wanting to discuss this any longer.
Blake took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked at her. “I see the other side of the picture,” he said in a calmer tone. “I have to necropsy the dolphins that wash ashore. The calves are dying at an alarming rate. Maybe if we put those pictures out, people would see just how those ‘treats’ are hurting them. No, Carson, feeding dolphins is not kind. It’s self-indulgent. Selfish. People are thinking of themselves, not the dolphin.”
Carson shrank back in her seat, silenced. She was one of those people. While she didn’t feed Delphine, she looked the other way if Nate tossed her a fish that he’d caught. She saw in her mind’s eye Delphine swimming gracefully in the water, the picture of health. Blake made her wonder if, in fact, Delphine was healthy. Was Carson drawing her away from her pod? Was Delphine becoming one of the dolphins increasingly dependent on human interaction and handouts from the dock?
“You look tired,” Blake said, glancing at her.
“I am tired,” she admitted. She felt flat, like a balloon that had deflated.
Blake turned on the radio and they listened to music the remaining distance to Sea Breeze. When Blake pulled into the drive the rain had dissipated to a soft drizzle.
“Would you like to go out again?” he asked.
“Sure,” she replied. “When will you go next?”
“Next month.”