Chapter 17
Artemis
“The most beautiful mosaics are made from broken pieces.”
—Eloisa Hobby
This was how she died.
Drowned by Wicked Martha in the Old Turtles Grotto.
Okay, perhaps she was being a tad overly dramatic, because even though the old sea turtle in question locked a death grip on Artie’s sock, they were in shallow water. Still, the whole thing was trippy.
She believed the old ladies at the quilting table were joking about the reptile. She never once considered they were serious about a giant sea turtle who stole left-side socks.
In hindsight, she should have shown more respect.
Yeah, smart girl. That’s what you get for taking off on your own without permission.
Okay, mistakes were made, point taken, but dissing herself wouldn’t solve a thing. Time to fight back.
This thieving sea turtle would rue the night she ever cast the side-eye at Artemis Kathleen Boudreaux’s left sock.
With her right foot, Artie kicked as hard as she could, whacking Wicked Martha’s thick shell. “Let go, ya bitch.”
Wicked Martha dove deeper, swimming at an astounding clip.
“I swear, I’m gonna make turtle soup out of you,” Artie warned and tried her best to jerk away.
Who knew a giant sea turtle could be so strong and fast? How had turtles gotten such a slow-paced, plodding reputation?
She slipped on the wet rocks, staggered, fell, and her head went underwater.
Yikes!
Hey, if she could kick out of her shoe, she could let Martha have her sock and swim away.
As if channeling a live-action movie hero, Artie jammed her right foot directly under Martha’s chin and then caught the back of her left Doc Martens with the toe of her right shoe.
Score!
She kicked off her left shoe and felt it float away on the current. Wicked Martha peeled off Artie’s sock and swam to open water.
Good riddance.
Freed at last, she paddled back to shore.
Wicked Martha swam to the top, just a few yards away, Artie’s left sock dangling from her mouth like a soggy cigarette.
With her adrenaline spent, Artie’s limbs went limp as overcooked noodles, and it was all she could do to drag herself back to shore. At last, the tip of her bare foot touched dry land. Like a badass, Artie army-crawled to the sand. She rolled over on her back and stared at the stars, heaving.
She survived.
That’s when she heard the slow, echoing clap of applause. Huh? She had an audience.
Artie turned her head and saw Orion approaching.
“Well, that was some kind of entrance.” Orion grinned and squatted on the ground beside her. “Are you always such a show-off, Boudreaux?”
Artie lugged herself to a sitting position, dripping wet and shivering in the moonlight, relieved beyond measure to see Orion.
“Hey, you.”
Tsking with her tongue, Orion wrestled out of her windbreaker and settled it around Artie’s shoulders. The jacket smelled of the girl, her fragrance an intriguing mix of sea spray, caramel, and starlight.
“Thanks.” Artie slid her arms through the windbreaker. “I’m freezing.”
“You’re welcome. I see you met Wicked Martha.”
“I thought I was gonna drown.” Artie drew her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I didn’t believe Wicked Martha was real.”
“And now?” Orion lowered herself to her butt on the beach next to Artie.
Artie planted her bare left foot in the sand and hummed a few bars of the old Monkees’ song “I’m a Believer.”
Orion threw back her head and let out a cackling laugh.
Goose bumps fled up Artie’s arm, and she shivered again. “What’s so funny?”
“Look in my windbreaker pocket.”
Artie stuck her hand in the pocket and pulled out an ancient iPod that did nothing but play the music already loaded on it.
“Tunes,” Orion said. “Turn it on.”
Artie started the device and the opening notes of “I’m a Believer” spilled into the night. “How is this song on your playlist?”
“Serendipity,” Orion said and started singing the lyrics. The girl had a magnificent voice. Orion hopped up, dancing and snapping her fingers in time to the music. “C’mon, girl. Get up. Dance with me. You’re alive!”
Compelled, Artie jumped up, jigging alongside Orion. They danced wildly, kicking up sand.
Next on Orion’s playlist came Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.”
“You’re a Swiftie?” Artie gasped. “Me too!”
Orion pulled her chin back, gave Artie the side-eye, and waggled her head. “Who isn’t?”
Giggling, they jumped around in time to the music, moving in perfect unison. It was kind of amazing, actually. Like they’d known each other for years.
They kept dancing, bebopping through Orion’s playlist without stopping, jamming from “I’m Alive” to “Can’t Stop the Feeling” to “Try Everything.” Every song was positive and upbeat.
As Shakira invited them to try everything, Artie and Orion collapsed on the sand beside each other, spent and breathless, holding their aching sides. As they got their breath back, giggling, they turned toward each other. This was so much more therapeutic than sitting in a freaking counselor’s office with Mom whining about her feelings.
“I thought Wicked Martha was gonna kill me,” Artie confessed.
Orion sobered. “Me too. You went right under. Glub, glub.”
“Martha didn’t scare me,” Artie said. “Well, not much. I just kept thinking, damn, I’m gonna die without ever getting kissed.”
Orion’s eyebrows shot up. “No one ever kissed you?”
“Nope.” Artie met Orion’s steady gaze. “Not even a peck on the cheek. Except from my parents, brother, and grandmother.”
“Well, Wicked Martha didn’t kill you, so now you have plenty of time.”
“Has anyone ever kissed you?” Artie asked.
Orion grinned. “No. I was the one doing the kissing.”
“Oh my,” Artie whispered. “I’ll try that when the right one comes along.”
“Don’t rush. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.” Orion rolled onto her back and stared up at the night sky, and Artie followed suit. Her new friend pointed at the stars. “Look, there’s my namesake.”
“Do you know the story of Artemis and Orion?” Artie asked.
“Duh.” Orion raised her arms, interlaced her fingers, and cupped the back of her head in her palms. She crossed her legs at the ankles. “Why do you think I invited you to come beachcombing with me? Art-te-miss.”
“So we can hunt seashells and driftwood together like Greek goddesses?” Artie asked.
“Artemis was the goddess. Orion was a mere mortal.”
“But Orion was more gorgeous than any god.”
“Yeah, fat lot of good that did him.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird that my name is Artemis, and yours is Orion?”
“No weirder than if your name was Amanda and mine was Ophelia.”
“But there’s no precedent for Amanda and Ophelia. Artemis and Orion are legendary and branded in the stars.” Artie waved her hand at the sky. “I mean, what are the odds of us ever meeting? I mean, both our names are unusual.”
Orion replied, “Unusual maybe, but I’m not getting any ‘Twilight Zone’ vibes unless you tell me your brother’s name is Apollo. If that’s the case, then I’m bouncing before I have to battle a giant scorpion.”
“No.” Artie laughed. “His name is Beck.”
“Whew.” Orion pantomimed wiping sweat from her brow. “My scorpion-battling skills are a little rusty.”
“Still, our names feel sort of Alice-in-Wonderland nonsensical, don’t you think?”
“Meh, it’s Hobby Island. Nonsensical things happen here all the time. Part of the landscape.”
“The Greek myths were pretty nonsensical, anyway.” Artie wrinkled her nose at the Scorpius constellation on the opposite side of the sky from hunter Orion. Orion’s Belt wasn’t visible in the Texas night sky in the summer, but Artie knew where it was. Goddess Artemis had flung the scorpion into the sky as far from her beloved as the heavens allowed. “I mean, seriously, giant scorpions. How did they come up with that stuff?”
“Dunno.” Orion jumped to her feet and stuck out her hand to help Artie up. “C’mon, Hopalong, the tide is out. Let’s go hunting.”
“While we’re at it, I need to find my backpack.” Artie hobbled beside Orion, her gait thrown off from having lost one shoe. “I tossed it on the sand above the Old Turtles Grotto because it was knocking me off-balance as I climbed the rocks.”
“Good thing you did. If you’d been wearing the pack when Wicked Martha attacked, it might have drowned you.” Orion put a hand to her throat and made drowning noises. “Gurgle, gurgle.”
“Oh, wait, look, my shoe!” Artie skip-hopped down the beach to retrieve her Doc Martens that had washed ashore. She poured the water out and stuck it on; the sole was filled with sand, the wet leather sticking to Artie’s skin and making it difficult to get her foot into the shoe. The inside was yucky, but at least she didn’t have to hobble back to Crafters’ Corner half barefooted. “Okay, let’s go.”
Orion led the way over a dune and guided her to where she left two woven baskets. She handed one to Artie. “For our treasures.”
“First help me find my backpack,” Artie said. “I think it’s near here somewhere.”
It took a few minutes to locate her backpack in the sea oats.
“Wanna power bar?” Artie offered, pulling two bars from the backpack.
“Sure. We might as well have a snack and let the tide go all the way out. The lower the tide, the better the harvest,” Orion said, as if they were about to pluck garden vegetables.
After they finished eating, Artie strapped on her backpack. Carrying their woven baskets, she and Orion picked their way through the sea oats down to the Old Turtles Grotto. Artie kept an eye out for Wicked Martha. Mad respect for the old leatherback.
“Martha won’t be here during low tide,” Orion said, reading Artie’s mind. “You can stop worrying.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Lots of things drift up at the cave’s mouth.” Orion tiptoed over the mossy rocks Artie had slipped on earlier. The rocks glistened under the moonlight, no longer submerged in water. “The cave sucks things in.”
“Do your parents know you spend your nights beachcombing?” Artie asked, following Orion over the rocks. The mouth to the Old Turtles Grotto beckoned them.
“My mom died when I was born,” Orion said. “It’s just me and my dad.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” Orion tossed over her shoulder. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“I just meant I hated that happened to you.”
“Bad stuff happens to everyone,” Orion said. “Part of life. What matters is that you don’t let the shitty stuff define you.”
“What about your dad? He doesn’t mind you’re all alone out here in the middle of the night?”
“I’m not alone.” Orion turned and grinned at Artie. “You’re with me.”
“What about the rest of the time?”
“Dad works until ten most nights, and in the summer, when there’s no school, he doesn’t mind how late I stay out. Hobby Island is as safe as it gets. Plus, we have walkie-talkies. I can contact him anytime I need him. He encourages my independence.”
“Wow, I wish your dad would tell that to my mom.”
“She keeps the apron strings tied pretty tight, huh?”
“She tries.” Artie laughed.
“Hmm. I’m guessing she doesn’t know you’re out here right now.”
Artie shook her head.
Orion hopped to the sand and started picking up plastic bottles and throwing them in her basket.
“You keep the plastic bottles?”
“Sure, I can use them to make art. And even if I don’t have a use for them, I’m a beach steward. How do you think the beaches on Hobby Island stay so pristine?”
“Because you clean them?”
“Yep.” Orion tossed a crushed plastic Pepsi bottle into Artie’s basket. “And now you do too.”
They worked cleaning up the beach, slowly making their way to the cave and chatting as they went.
They discussed their favorite movies, podcasts, video games, and books.
They talked about pets they’d owned, and vacations they’d taken.
They discussed sports and politics and everything under the moon, from their periods to their grades to their hopes for the future.
Neither one of them wanted to go to college, both having an entrepreneurial spirit.
“Ooh look!” Orion surged for the cave entrance, her tracks leaving deep footprints in the wet sand. “Creepy dolls!”
“What?” Balancing her basket on her hip, Artie traipsed after her new friend.
Orion crouched, sorting through clumps of debris at the cave’s mouth. Artie came to peer over her shoulder. Pulling away seaweed, Orion exposed the face of a toddler-size plastic baby doll, her big blue eyes wide open, her once blond curly hair matted with barnacles. Someone had scribbled on her cheeks in green marker.
Looking at the doll, Artie felt a tug of sadness. A child once loved this toy. How had she gotten discarded?
“Hey! Score! Ariel!” Orion handed the large baby doll to Artie and picked up a Little Mermaid figurine caught in a piece of fishing net. “Wow, she’s in decent shape. I’ll be able to clean her up and sell her at my market.” Orion knocked a big clump of sand off the Little Mermaid and put her in the basket.
“What’s that?” Artie gestured toward a porcelain face peeping from the cave. The doll looked old.
“Dope!” Orion leaned over to pick up Artie’s find. “Oh, it’s just a face. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Can I see it?” Artie held out her palm and Orion settled the matte bisque doll face into her hand. It was old, weathered, and yet held a haunting beauty.
Looking at the face, Artie caught her breath, suddenly filled with overwhelming sadness. “You’ve found dolls like this before?”
“Yeah, fairly often. Several times a month.”
“How do they get here?”
“Like most of the trash that washes up on Texas barrier islands. It’s caused by a loop current that runs from the Yucatán Peninsula to Florida and swirls rubbish to the Texas Gulf Coast.”
“But why so many dolls?”
Orion shrugged, that laid-back gesture of hers intriguing Artie. “My guess is kids leave ’em on the beach, and they get swept out to sea when the tide comes up.”
“What do you do with them?”
“I keep the ones that are salvable like Ariel here, clean them up, and resell them. The rest, like the one you’re holding and old scribble girl there . . .” She nodded at the baby doll. “I toss out if I can’t recycle them.”
“You’ve got more like this?” Artie held up the bisque face.
“Sure, back at our place.”
“Would you mind if I take the ones you won’t use?”
“You’re welcome to them,” Orion said. “But why do you want them?”
Artie met her new friend’s gaze. “Where you see creepy dolls, I see art.”
“Dope! Can’t wait to see what you make with them.”
The bob of headlights appeared on the beach to the east, and they turned to see one of the Hobby Island golf carts barreling toward them.
Orion and Artie exchanged glances.
“Who’s coming?” Artie squinted.
“Dunno. Do you suppose your mom discovered you missing and called the Coast Guard?” Orion asked.
Artie’s stomach sank. Knowing her mother, it was a definite possibility.
The golf cart bumped over sand dunes, going far faster than Artie knew golf cars could travel. The clouds shifted, and moonlight shone through, revealing the driver was alone in the cart.
The headlights washed over them, and the driver tooted the ridiculously high-pitched horn.
Dot pulled to a stop beside them, the golf cart tires spinning up sand. “Artie,” she said. “Hop in. I’ve fallen down on my auntie duties, and I’ve got to get you back to the Nestled Inn before your mother realizes you’re missing.”