Page 71 of Tamed to Be Messy

Hannah crinkles her nose in thought. “No, not really. The things I love most about physical therapy is seeing my patients get back to normal. It’s pretty rewarding.”

“I can imagine.”

She stops and tilts her head. “What does saving someone feel like?”

Didn’t expect her to ask me a question like that. I inhale as I think about how to express my answer. “The moment we realize someone’s in trouble, we jump into action. Instinct and training take over. But afterward comes this kind of rush—the reality of what could have happened if we weren’t there. Then, knowing we kept that from happening.”

Her eyes lock with mine as she entwines her hand into mine. “That’s pretty amazing, what you do. You know that, right?”

I shrug but say nothing—don’t know what to say, honestly. Her admiration makes me feel uncomfortable and appreciated all at once.

We’ve reached the first nest, so I crouch down for a closer look. The light is waning, but I can see enough to judge this nest still has time.

Hannah crouches next to me. “Wouldn’t a flashlight help?”

“No, that confuses the turtles, so we’re careful not to use even our phones out here.”

When we stand, I clasp her hand, which earns me another smile. I lead Hannah to the next nest, but before we get close, I spot several baby turtles struggling along in the sand.

She spots them, too. “Are they hatching?”

There’s that wonder in her voice again.

“Yep.” I turn my back to shield the light of my phone and send a text to our Turtle Patrol group conversation, letting the other volunteers know which nest is hatching.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting the other volunteers know we have a nest hatching, so they’re on alert if it gets intense.”

“Intense?” She frowns as she glances toward the nest.

“It can get pretty crazy when you have hundreds of baby turtles migrating down the beach.”

“Hundreds?” Her voice squeaks.

“We’re only looking for the ones that are struggling.” I take her hand again and lead her in a wide arc to the side of the nest. Several turtles dig their way out, their little flippers flailing as they battle the sand.

Hannah leans against me, clutching my arm. “Can’t we help them?”

“Not unless we see some going the wrong way or if they’re stuck. If we don’t let them find their own way, they won’t imprint on the beach and come back to nest.”

“Oh, wow. But they make it to the water, right?”

“Most do, barring predators like raccoons or birds.”

She scans the area around us as if to search for any threats. “But once they’re in the ocean, they’re safe, right?”

I shake my head and look down at her. “No, just different predators to face.”

Brows drawn together, she shifts her focus back to the nest. “That’s so sad.”

The soft breeze tugs a curl into her face. I brush it away from her eyes. “Hannah, that’s just how it works.”

She shivers, so I pull her closer and wrap my arm around her. “You need a blanket.”

Before we retrieve her afghan, more turtles pour out of the nest, as in, a lot of little wiggly bodies struggling to find the ocean. I send another text to the group. Two volunteers reply, saying their zones are stable and will come to ours to help keep watch.

Turns out, there are two nests hatching in my zone, which keeps all of us on the move through most of the night. I collected a few stragglers in our bucket to bring to the shoreline. Hannah loved getting to handle a few of the babies, and I loved watching her sheer delight in the experience.

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