Turtle Logic

By Dana Kester-McCabe

What do a conventional 21st century nurse and a Jazz Age heiress have in common? It turns out there is a lot.

Nancy Carver unexpectedly finds herself retired and alone in a new town when the Covid-19 Pandemic hits. She forms a lockdown support bubble with a few of her new neighbors. During weekly Sunday brunches, the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonshell Productions
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218095741

Dana Kester-McCabe

Dana Kester-McCabe is the author of The Delmarva School of Art, a book celebrating creativity on the Delmarva Peninsula. She served as host, executive producer, writer, and photographer for the Delmarva Almanac, a local online culture magazine and a radio show on NPR stations WSCL and WSDL in Salisbury, Maryland. Dana is also an artist with over forty years of creative experience in graphic design, media production, and painting. A lifelong active member of the Religious Society of Friends (the Quakers), and the mother of two grown children, she lives with her husband on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

As always, I thank my family and friends for their support. Thank you also to Maureen McNeill for providing excellent editing services.

Foreword

This book is a work of fiction. The main character is an homage to a childhood friend who, though no longer with us, still inspires me. The events in this story bear no resemblance to her actual life. Those who knew her may however recognize some aspects of her represented herein.

Some of the other characters in this book were inspired by historical figures whose stories are not necessarily well known to the general public. Their fascinating real-life experiences have been used as a jumping off point for the tale I wanted to tell. Their names have been changed so that I would be free to take complete artistic and dramatic license. No judgmental commentary is intended about them or their relatives.

This story is in honor of caregivers everywhere who carry on their noble work regardless of what is happening in their own lives.

Dana Kester-McCabe

Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

A Surreal Confluence

Advance & Retreat

Bubba-Lucks

Jazz Age Delinquents

A Little Espionage Among Friends

Good Fences

Pandemic Blues

The Cold War At Home

A Couple Of Turtles

Afterword

About The Author

A Surreal Confluence

Nancy Carver turned on the string of tiny white fairy lights, stood back and looked at the four-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree perched on a wrought iron plant stand. It was delightfully weird looking, with its collection of troll dolls staring blankly out into space. Among just a few other, more ordinary ornaments, there were twenty-five naked dolls in various sizes.

Their open-armed, stubby bodies, psychedelic-colored hair tufts, and pop eyes made them look like smiling demented cherubs. Each had a sparkly homemade pipe cleaner harness with a hook in the back to attach them each to a tree branch. The two nearest the top had angelic wings which Nancy fashioned from the pipe cleaners and some shiny opalescent white cloth she bought at a craft store. One had chartreuse hair, the other purple. Both sported sparkly pipe cleaner haloes. They looked perfectly ludicrous.

One for Calista and one for Jean Pierre, Nancy thought.

Her play-list, set to Holiday Novelty Songs, was playing Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer. Nancy picked up her phone to take a selfie, thinking about how perversely perfect that song was this year. 2019 had been a blur of dismay and absurdity. She framed herself in front of the tree, checking to make sure her shoulder length, wiry gray mane was not blocking either of the troll angels. Satisfied with the picture, she posted it on social media with the caption: Jean Pierre and Calista - trolling along together in heaven wishing us all a Merry Christmas.

For Nancy there was no other way to celebrate her first holiday season in the townhouse she had moved to just a few months ago. She was determined to bring some humor back into her life after having been unexpectedly forced to downsize last year.

Nancy had drastically purged most vestiges of her former life except for some books, a handful of framed photos, and a few other mementos including the box of trolls, which was a treasure trove over fifty years old and too precious to part with. They brought back a lifetime of happy memories, from the joy of getting the dolls throughout her childhood, to playing with them with her daughter when she was little. Once Calista had grown up Nancy had trotted them out to add the Nativity and other holiday decorations, much to Jean Pierre’s chagrin. Their silly weirdness was a running joke between mother and daughter. Making them into Christmas tree ornaments somehow felt comforting after the ordeal she had recently endured which could only be described as a surreal confluence of 21st Century clichés.

It all began when Polly Applebee, a middle-aged woman, reacted badly to the remarks of another middle-aged woman at a Walmart parking lot in a Philadelphia suburb. Mariel Tanager had simply asked Polly why she had left her dog unattended in her car. The small Jack Russell terrier had been barking incessantly while its owner shopped. Apparently insulted by the confrontation, Polly accused Mariel of trying to break into her car. She began cursing at Mariel while calling the police. Meanwhile, Mariel, also on the line with 911, live-streamed the vitriolic exchange on social media. In the following weeks both women, but Polly in particular, were vilified. She received death threats from across the world. Animal control authorities confiscated her dog. She lost her job, and she was drummed out of her church.

What did all of that have to do with Nancy Carver? It would have merely been another unfortunate but now all-too-common news story of irrational rage, except for what happened a month later. On an icy February morning, Polly Applebee was recognized by a disturbed man while they were both driving on the Blue Route, one of the busiest arteries around Philadelphia. Judd Munroe had suffered years of mental instability. In this particular moment, he spotted Polly as she edged past him in the stalled traffic. His fury at the reports of Polly’s mistreatment of her dog completely overtook his reason.

The pack of vehicles around them began to pick up speed and Judd began tailgating her, then ramming Polly’s car with his, until finally they collided with such force that they caused a huge pile up. The roads were slick on that section of the Blue Route. Polly’s car went into a tailspin, then ping-ponged across four lanes, crashing into cars and guard rails. A garbage truck swerved to avoid the chain reaction of crashing cars, then skidded out of control, flipping over the median into oncoming traffic. Trash spewed across the highway and exploded into a spectacular fire ball.

Nancy’s thirty-five-year-old daughter Calista was patiently sitting in stalled traffic on her way to her job as a paralegal in Center City. Sheryl Crowe’s song Every Day Is A Winding Road was playing on her car radio when the trash truck landed on her small economy car like a gargantuan comic book villain crushing a puny robot. In one horrible split second, Calista Beauvoir was no longer with us.

Polly Applebee, Judd Munroe and Stan Pulaski, the garbage truck driver, were also taken from this life on that fateful morning. More than a dozen other vehicles were wrecked or damaged, causing multiple injuries. A thousand people were stuck amidst the carnage on the Blue Route for four bitterly cold hours. It took authorities until early that evening to track down Nancy Carver and her husband Jean Pierre Beauvoir to inform them of their daughter’s demise. The couple had just sat down to dinner when a Pennsylvania State Police trooper arrived at their door.

Jean Pierre was a sweet, gentle man in his early sixties. He was short and plump, with conservatively trimmed white hair and a neat, matching goatee. He was an accountant who led a quiet, simple life. The meal that night had begun with mixed good news.

Guess what! Aunt Serena’s townhouse is officially ours. The paper work on our offer went through today. The finances ended up being a little tighter than… Well, we aren’t going to be able to maintain both places at the same time so we need to get this one on the market sooner than we had planned…

The doorbell rang, interrupting him. Nancy got up to answer the door and called out to Jean Pierre when the officer asked if he could speak to Calista Beauvoir’s parents.

Jean, Jean Pierre…

As soon as Jean Pierre appeared in the hallway the officer began speaking.

I’m very sorry to tell you that your daughter was in a traffic incident this morning. Her car was hit by another vehicle that crossed the median into oncoming traffic on the Blue Route and she was, I’m sorry to say, killed.

As if in a nightmare Nancy heard herself cry out NO!

She turned to reach out to Jean Pierre who was collapsing behind her. The news was so shocking to him that right there in the entry hall his heart gave out. He fell to the floor clutching his chest. His face was frozen in shocked, blue dismay. The State Trooper tried to give him CPR while a dazed Nancy called 911. It was no use. In another horrible split second, Jean Pierre, too, was no longer with us.

The death of one’s only child and spouse all in one day would have been a terrible yet ordinary trauma - if there can be such a thing. But the next few months tested Nancy in ways she could never have imagined. Her life seemed to spin out of control while she watched helplessly.

In a sort of trance, she made the final arrangements for her family: a joint funeral with a reception, the cremation and spreading of their ashes in the surf down at the Delaware beach where they had often vacationed. Friends and relatives in attendance all told her how much they admired her stoicism. She had been so strong and calm, not once crying in front of them. Nancy never laid blame for the bizarre turn of events. She always replied to their commiserations with some aphorism or another.

God doesn’t give us anything we’re not strong enough to handle.

I was lucky to have had such a good life with Jean Pierre and Calista. I’m just concentrating on that.

Into every life some rain must fall. I’m just weathering the storm.

Privately, she wept for hours at a time. Sometimes she wandered around the house looking at the family pictures. Sometimes she sat staring into space unable to do anything at all. In her lucid moments, Nancy numbly sorted out the legalities of Jean Pierre and Calista’s estates with the help of Molly Schuman, the attorney who was handling their recent real estate transaction.

These were not terribly complicated affairs but nonetheless required filling out all sorts of tedious forms. In Jean Pierre’s briefcase Nancy found the contract for the townhouse they had decided to buy in Chancery, Delaware. Luckily the settlement date was still three months away. The paperwork was tucked inside an oversized greeting card with a beach scene on it.

Dear Nancy,

Here’s to the beginning of our golden years!

Love always,

Jean Pierre

Nancy was told that the contract was binding and that, unless she wanted to lose a great deal of money from their deposit, she was locked into the deal. Now she needed to sell her house. The whole idea of it felt impossible, yet she did not have the brain power to even try to find out if the extenuating circumstances would have provided alternatives. It somehow felt completely logical that her next steps would be to go through with the plan as if Jean Pierre was still there.

What compounded her anger and grief was the fact that she had to deal with being under siege by the news media at the same time. Beginning the day after Calista’s accident they began waiting outside her house pleading with her to share her reactions to the terrible events. They wanted to know what she thought of the people who caused the tragic accident. Did she hold the media responsible? Was she going to sue Twitter?

She had to turn her phone off altogether and wade through countless daily messages to find the few she actually wanted to hear. She avoided looking at her Facebook page, which she had quickly made unavailable to anyone one but friends. A few of those with good intentions kept her grieving wound open, constantly asking how she was doing.

Three different people succumbed to some insistent journalist who used the platform to ask if they could be put in contact with her. Nancy unfriended all three of them without responding. She reported this on her timeline and warned that she would do the same to anyone else who did likewise.

The entire debacle had become a cause célèbre. Debate raged across the entire media universe about who was at fault for the collateral death and suffering of the garbage truck driver Stan Pulaski, Calista, Jean Pierre, and a growing number of injured crash victims. Polly Applebee was the most favored bad guy, followed by the social media companies who were blamed for ginning up the vitriol of the public.

Nancy read enough news to learn that Mariel Tanager, the woman who had taken Polly to task for mistreating her dog, was mortified by all that had happened from the very beginning. Mariel deeply regretted posting the video for all the damage it had caused. The press had been hounding her, as well. When she started getting death threats, she quit all of her social media accounts and left her home, leaving no forwarding address, to hide from the madness.

Then came the law firm Calista had worked for. They saw this quagmire as a unique opportunity. Haley, Hanson, and Associates invited anyone even remotely associated with the tragedy to join in a class action suit against Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, and Reddit. Those corporations had deep pockets to plunder. This was a potential Supreme Court case. The law firm demanded that a precedent be set concerning media liability.

In reality, they were not crusading idealists. They believed that targeting the biggest social media companies could provide them with an endless source of lucrative litigation for decades to come. How many people’s lives were being ruined by the runaway hate campaigns of cancel culture and reactionary boycotts? Countless murders, suicides, or mental collapses could be attributed to viral social media doxing which had set off the human equivalent of a plague of communication locusts. The revenue possibilities stemming from this litigation seemed to have no limit for ambitious lawyers. It was the latest trend in ambulance chasing.

When senior partner Jerome Haley visited Nancy personally to pitch the class action suit, she knew she was in the presence of a first-class hustler. She wondered what Calista’s work experience had been like and wished she had asked her more questions about it. Haley tried to convince her that the only sort of justice she could expect for Calista’s wrongful death was this suit. He maintained that it would force these terrible companies into much needed reform. After the third visit and many phone calls from Jerome Haley, Nancy succumbed. She agreed to let him assist her at least until she decided whether to retain the firm’s services.

Despite assurances that she would not have to personally appear before the media, within days Haley pressured her to go out onto her porch in front of a scrum of reporters. Haley insisted they would not go away until she faced them and answered their questions. Nancy was so tired of the press harassment she capitulated.

Nancy had virtually no experience in public speaking. Her brother Darryl offered to fly in from Boston to serve as her spokesperson. Nancy thought that would only increase her pain. She didn’t want the added humiliation of being too weak to fend for herself. She politely declined. On the appointed day she stepped out into the crisp morning air, squinting from the bright winter sun in her eyes. She read prepared remarks to a gathering of about fifteen reporters standing at the foot of her steps. Jerome Haley stood at her side directing traffic.

Step back please, Haley shouted to the small crowd. Please let her speak. Ms. Carver will now read a statement. Quiet, please!

Trying not to let her emotions get the best of her, Nancy read what she had herself written.

"Thank you for coming today. My name is Nancy Carver. I am the wife of Jean Pierre Beauvoir and the mother of Calista Beauvoir who both died as a result of a terrible crash on Route 476 outside of Philadelphia, one month ago today.

"First, I would like to express my condolences to the families of the others who also died in that terrible accident. My heart goes out to them, and to all the other people who were affected by what happened on the Blue Route that morning.

"Those events, which led to the passing of my daughter and my husband, are already well known to you. I do not have any additional information about them. I have not yet decided exactly what, if any, legal action I will take.

I do not seek public attention. I would like to be left alone. This is all that I have to say. I am not going to answer any questions at this time. Please respect my right to grieve in private. Do not try to contact me directly or indirectly. Don’t call me. Don’t text or email me. Don’t bother my family, friends, or coworkers. Thank you for listening.

Nancy pulled away and retreated into her house while reporters shouted questions at her. Haley followed her, yelling to the crowd.

Ms. Carver has nothing further to say today. Thank you for coming. That’s all. Thank you. Thank you very much…

Once inside, he tried to encourage her.

You did great. Your statement was very strong. Next, we have to decide on a high-profile interview where you’ll get to lay out your case in a calmer setting. I’m thinking maybe 60 Minutes or one of the morning shows.

60 Minutes? Nancy interrupted. I don’t think so. I told you I didn’t want to do media appearances.

Now, now, I know things are still very raw. But we have to strike while the iron is hot. You’ve had the greatest loss of all the victims. Your appearances are very important to this case.

Look, this is not how I want to spend my time, dealing with a bunch of jackals every day. I’ve said all that is necessary. Besides, I don’t think you really need me. You should be able to make a case in court on the merits alone.

Only in the movies, my dear. Frankly, the law is all about the theater of emotions. We’re talking about taking this case all the way to the Supreme Court. We have to keep this at a fever pitch until we get there or we’ll lose public support. And believe you me, you cannot win a case in front of the Supreme Court without public support. The Nine like to think they are impartial but they live in the real world. They watch the news. They look at social media like the rest of us. By the way, I’ve added Mariel Tanager’s name to the defendants’ list.

You mean the plaintiffs, don’t you? You’re not going to sue Mariel Tanager, are you?

"Well, it is unlikely that she would have the sort of assets that would make any real difference, but this entire fiasco was her fault. Hers, and the social media platforms that broadcast her video."

Nancy could not believe what she was hearing. "Whoa. Wait a minute. She was just defending herself and that poor little dog. I don’t want to sue her."

Look, the social media companies will just blame her anyway. The only way we can win this case, the only way we can make them pay, is if she is a part of the suit. Haley’s voice had a patient tone that barely masked his patronizing attitude. Ms. Carver, you really need to leave all those details to the professionals. I know what I’m talking about. Besides, these people have got to learn they can’t pick a fight on social media, ruining somebody’s life without being called to account for it. Ms. Tanager is responsible for what happened, as much as anybody.

That’s ridiculous. Nancy said through clenched teeth. You have no way of knowing what was in her mind. This is just what people do now. When something happens, they get out their phones and start recording. They do it for all kinds of reasons.

Look, it’s very sweet of you to stick up for her, but you have to put your needs, and the needs of the other victims first.

With full throated rage Nancy reacted.

"Look, this is not what I want. This is getting more and more convoluted. I don’t want any part of this. I know enough about class action lawsuits to know that this could take years. Right now, I don’t think I can take another day of this. I don’t want this to be my life. Even if I did decide to put my name on the suit, I’m not doing any more media appearances. I can’t let you trot me out every day, like some pitiful freak. I just can’t take it."

"Ms. Carver you will have to sign a contract stipulating that you will participate in these media events if you want to go forward. You’ll have to do your part if you want results. We’ve already done a great deal of work for you, basically on spec. We can’t do this out of the goodness of our hearts. We haven’t asked you for a penny so far but you will owe us…"

You approached me. I didn’t ask you to do any work on my behalf. I haven’t paid you a retainer or signed anything. I’ve told you all along I was not sure if I wanted to commit to any…

Look lady, it’s a little late for you to pull out now. You could find yourself in a great deal of legal and financial jeopardy. Besides, what would Calista say if she knew you weren’t doing everything you could to get justice for her death?

Now Nancy had had enough. That’s it. I’m done talking to you. Get out of my house. Get the fuck out now.

Startled, Jerome Haley knew he had gone too far too soon. "It’s gonna be alright, Ms. Carver. Don’t you worry. Everything will settle down. You’ll get used to these appearances and before you know it, these companies will pay for what happened to Calista and they won’t be allowed to let anything like it happen ever again."

Nancy glared at the man and pointed at the door, wondering what sort of violence she could get away with committing against this prick. Recognizing that Nancy was not to be reasoned with at this particular moment, Haley gathered his satchel and made an obsequious retreat.

I’ll call on you in a few days when you’ve had a chance to think this over more calmly.

Nancy was a little afraid of what she would do if he did visit her again. She wanted to make all of this stop. She had to get Jerome Haley and the press to leave her alone.

Nancy called her three brothers and a handful of close friends. She asked them each what they would do. Their answers ran the gamut from Go on vacation for a few months and hide out till the storm dies down, to Fight like hell! Take down those corrupt bastards. They deserve everything they get. She was surprised how many people she talked to about this believed it was the fault of either far left or far right political factions.

During the last election cycle the country seemed to have divided into unwavering angry tribes. The last thing Nancy wanted to do was to join the fray. She had always hated bullying of any kind and it did not sit well with her that she could become culpable in ginning up conflict.

She did feel someone should be held responsible for the controversy spinning so wildly out of control that it led to the horrific road rage incident which took the lives of several people. The idea that Calista and Jean Pierre, who were completely innocent in this mess, should die because of it and no one was accountable, was maddening.

She thought, There must be some way to sue the social media companies without naming Mariel Tanager.

Nancy decided to call the lawyer who handled her real estate issues and get her advice. Though this area of law was not her field of expertise, Molly Shuman, agreed to serve as her intermediary with Haley, Hanson and Associates until she could help her find proper counsel. Per Nancy’s instructions she notified them by certified letter that they should only contact Nancy through Molly’s office.

Over the next month Molly helped Nancy vet law firms that specialized in media liability. It took time to find one who would agree to the stipulation that their suit would be narrowly focused on the way the social media platforms’ algorithms promoted negative responses to the story. Nancy’s goal was less about a financial payout and more about getting these companies to change the way they did business. Eventually they hired a man named Wallace Howard of Braxton, Williams, & Reynard, to handle the case. Once this arrangement was made public, they were contacted by some of the other victims of the crash who were also turned off by Haley, Hanson and Associates’ approach. 

Nancy endured a few angry phone messages from Jerome Haley, then never heard directly from him again. After that, the suit proceeded quietly behind the scenes. In the meantime, she focused on the imminent settlement of the retirement home she and Jean Pierre had purchased and on preparing her home for sale.

Retiring from nursing had always been the plan. Just the same, Nancy felt reluctant about going to her boss to say she was ready to take the retirement package the hospital had routinely offered her and anyone else over the age of fifty.

When Nancy arrived at the hospital, she fully intended to make arrangements to go back to work. Her plan was to rent a small apartment nearby. Once the house sold and she owned the town house, she planned to lease it out until she was ready to retire. During the overlap period money would be tight, but continuing to work for at least another year, she thought, would give her some stability in light of all the upheaval in her life. That day when Nancy got out of her car in the staff parking lot, she was suddenly surrounded by reporters. She could not imagine how they knew she would be there.

Nancy! Nancy! How much are you suing Facebook for?!

Ms. Carver! Can you answer some questions?

Nancy, are you going back to work?

Nancy, what’s your reaction to the statement yesterday from the CEO of…?!

Nancy!

Ms. Carver!

Nancy ran into the building. Once inside she called security and asked them to intervene. Before she could go on to her appointment with human resources, the hospital director appeared and invited her to his office. There he informed her that she should not come back to work until the press frenzy died down.

Not knowing when that would happen and feeling ambushed, Nancy resigned on the spot then reminded him of the three weeks of vacation time she still had. Before she knew it, she had signed the necessary papers and collected a packet of information about how her retirement benefits would work.

Nancy then went up to the ward where she had worked for the last twenty years and collected a few personal things from her desk. There wasn’t much there, as she shared that space with people on other shifts. She took a coffee mug, a few pictures, and a small, potted aloe vera plant. She went to her small locker to retrieve a sweater, a pair of running shoes, and a few personal hygiene products.

As she prepared to leave, Nancy looked around wistfully at this place that had been such an important part of her life for so long. The people from her shift would not be there for a few more hours. She knew the morning crew only casually. They were too busy to stop and talk to her. It felt like another random blow to her battered life. No clear hand dealt it. It was just another consequence of that awful chain of events.

At 65, Nancy had more than earned her retirement after a nursing career that had spanned forty years. She had mentally prepared for this long ago. She knew she would miss her friends at work. She had even imagined the bittersweet closure of being sent off with a nice party. That was not to be. Her coworkers would simply get a memo announcing her replacement. The relationship with her work community would die as suddenly as her husband and her daughter had.

Nancy rationalized being relieved that she had not been able to say goodbye to everyone. It would have been like going through Jean Pierre and Calista’s funeral all over again. The cumulative pity was something she didn’t want to face, no matter how much she loved these people. If one more person looked at her with that expression of discomfort and told her how sorry they were…

So, Nancy made her exit without saying goodbye to her treasured colleagues. She returned to her car with a security guard by her side. There were still a few reporters hanging around who began to approach her. Nancy felt her anger rising again.

"Get the hell away from me! I’ve lost my job because of you stupid… Get away! Get the fuck away from me, right now!"

As the security guard started to intervene on her behalf, Nancy angrily threw the potted plant past him. It landed at the feet of one of the reporters. Nancy quickly got in her car and sped away.

After the incident at the hospital the press finally eased off. The HR paperwork having already been turned in, there was sadly no going back at this point. Nancy had no choice but to throw herself into the work of moving. She engaged a real estate agent and began the process of selling, giving or throwing away all but the bare essentials. Her home was in reasonably good shape. It was in a cozy, diverse suburban neighborhood convenient to the city and decent schools. The listing attracted buyers right away.

She began the work of downsizing in a daze. Surveying all the tchotchkes decorating various shelves around her house she wondered what she should keep. It was strange trying to sort out what to leave behind, what to hold onto. There was so much stuff they hadn’t used in ages. Nancy wondered why they had kept it all. It was over forty years’ accumulation.

As she waded through things, she eventually stopped trying to assign any logic to it. In the end, it became about what she had the energy to pack, what would fit in the box in front of her, or anything she thought would not make her cry every time she looked at it.

Just about everything is something someone gave to us. What should I get rid of? Whose gift isn’t worthy of keeping? Some of these things are things that would have been passed on to my grandchildren if I had any. It feels like I am trying to get rid of the evidence that Jean Pierre and Calista existed, she told her friend Delaney on the phone.

Before long, Nancy was moving into a two-bedroom townhouse in a vacation community near the Delaware beaches. All the houses on her cul-de-sac were light gray, with white trim. In each front yard, small azalea bushes lined the walkway from the driveway to the front door and a single maple tree sat right in the middle of each patch of trim green lawn.

Inside, Nancy’s townhouse had an open floorplan with a combination living room and kitchen-dining area. The master bedroom suite and laundry were on the first floor. There was a small sitting area and one bedroom on the second floor. A powder room, a porch which opened to a fenced courtyard, and single car garage completed the efficient design.

The floors were all wood parquet, except for sand-colored ceramic tile in the kitchen, laundry, and bathrooms. All the walls in the townhouse had been painted antique white, the color realtors had chosen to make the place look bigger and brighter. Nancy didn’t hate it. She might have