Page 56 of The Gallagher Place
And then they saw it: a massive, hideous snapping turtle pulling itself through the mud.
Long ago, Tom Gallagher had warned them about snapping turtles. He had joked that they ought to be careful while swimming in the Bend—a snapper might swim up and bite off their little white toes. Marlowe had been scared at the time, but Nate had dismissed the stories of country children with missing fingers.
“Look at it.” Henry turned toward the girls, keeping one eye on the snapper. “He’s enormous.”
His size was notable; the brown shell alone was over a foot wide, far bigger than any turtle Marlowe had ever seen before. And just as the stories claimed, his jaw was large and lethal. His spiked tail was leaving a line in the mud as the snapper dragged himself out of the water.
But it was his age that struck Marlowe most. She couldn’t say how she could tell the snapping turtle was old, but she somehow knew that this one was ancient. It was something in the way he moved, as if every push of his clawed front legs required tremendous effort.
The snapper didn’t look at them. He was done. Done with biting off toes and gulping down frogs. He was done with life.
Nate inched closer, and the snapper swung his head toward him, not to attack, but as if in some sort of obligatory gesture of toughness.
When it was clear that the snapping turtle was in no state to do any harm, Nate reached out and skimmed his hand over the shell and spiked tail.
“Don’t,” Marlowe said.
“Don’t worry, he’s too old to bite,” Nate said.
“We should just leave it alone.” Marlowe stepped backward. “To die.”
Henry, emboldened by the fact that Nate had touched the turtle and suffered no consequences, bent down and wrapped his hand around the snapper’s thick ash-colored tail. This the snapper could not abide. He turned and opened his gaping maw, making a strange, wheezing groan that sounded so much like an old man that it sent a frisson of panic through Marlowe’s gut.
Henry wheeled backward, his foot slipping in the mud. He held tight to the one thing he could, the snapper’s tail, as he crashed into the shallow water with a resounding splash, dragging the snapper in after him. Nora let out a cry when the snapper’s soft belly caught on a stone that ripped into his flesh.
Henry released the tail, clambering through the reedy water, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to get away from the turtle.
It was Nora who reached out and grabbed Henry’s hand and hauled him to his feet. Nora who didn’t let go of his hand as Henryleaned against her shoulder, dripping swamp water down onto her shirt. Marlowe frowned in annoyance over her brother’s antics. Henry had injured the turtle, and he was getting too old to cling like a baby to Nora for comfort.
Nate’s eyes were fixed on the snapper, which was lying still, half in and half out of the water. Bright red blood oozed from beneath his body. He didn’t strain; he just blinked up at the children, as if to ask,What have you done?
“Henry, you idiot.” Nate’s words were sharp, but no one disagreed. It was clear they were watching the turtle suck in his last heavy breath.
“I’m sorry.” It sounded like Henry might cry, but his eyes were hollow and dry.
“It—it was dying anyway.” Nora sounded only half convinced by her words.
Marlowe glared at Nate. “Why did you have to touch it? It could have died in peace.”
They slipped away then, as quietly as they could. As if they didn’t want the other creatures to hear what they had done.
They walked back through the trees, Henry’s sopping-wet clothing making a squelching noise with his every step. Each of them exhaled as they approached the edge of the swamp and saw their stone wall up ahead, the pale green and gentle grasses of the Flats stretching beyond it.
“You’re gonna have to check yourself for leeches, you know.” Nora shook her head and smiled up at Henry. “I bet you’re covered.”
Henry made a sound of disgust and tore off his shirt to inspect himself. “I’m jumping in the Bend to wash off this muck,” he said and took off jogging across the Flats.
They all followed, suddenly eager for a swim, a new adventure to erase the one they’d just had.
Henry ran straight into the river’s crystal clear water, splashing it into the air as if trying to resurrect the levity of the day. Nate waded in after him, letting the water inch higher and higher. He was quiet, and Marlowe wondered if he was thinking that this could be the last swim of the summer. He’d return to the city the day after tomorrow to finish packing for college.
Marlowe lifted off her shirt and discarded her shorts. She and Nora wore their simple one-piece bathing suits underneath their clothes in the summer. One way or another, they always wound up swimming.
Nora shouted at Nate to pass her the rope. She let out a little squeal as she swung out and let go where it was deepest, her arms outstretched above her head.
For a moment, Marlowe stood still, watching the three of them. Nora and Henry twirled around each other like otters, their limbs flashing and rippling beneath the water. Nora dove beneath the surface, and a few seconds later Nate shouted and laughed as she grabbed his ankle, yanking him under. Nora popped up next to him.
They should have buried that snapping turtle, Marlowe thought. They shouldn’t have just left him there to die in agony. They should have dug a hole and covered him with the mud he had lived in his whole life.
