The Sky Beneath Her(13)

“I know the house. It’s been empty for years. Doesn’t surprise me they’re going to sell. The big clean is the first step toward letting go. Kind of like moving out after a divorce.”

Kaitlin had never liked Dave. She’d met us once in a Norfolk bar. “Regarding the divorce,” I said, “Dave was good for me for a long time. He helped me when I was lost. He wasn’t bad or evil. I was just tired of him steering my ship. And he’d grown tired of my resentment.”

“Resentment?”

“I blamed him for my choices.”

She made a face. “Sounds like someone has had more therapy.”

“I’ve been trying. So don’t bust on Dave.”

“Did I say anything bad about Dave?”

“‘Land shark.’ ‘Land walker.’ ‘Predator on pavement.’”

She laughed. “That was a long time ago.”

“We just weren’t good for each other.”

“Message received.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Are you glad to be back? I could never work for someone else.”

“The benefits are nice.”

“Don’t be sucked in by goodies like that. A healthy life and sunshine are our best defense.”

“What about catastrophic injuries and illness?” Her mother’s treatments had strained their insurance. And I’d become the worst-case-scenario disaster symbol after Mom died.

A brow rising, she grinned. “If it’s that bad, money is the least of your worries.”

Kaitlin had never worried. Life was easy and cool if you only relaxed. Law of attraction was her jam. I hadn’t been around when her mother was ill, but I could imagine her always finding the positive in each day. If you can see it, it’ll happen, according to Kaitlin.

But when her mother died, Kaitlin had been with her. She could visit her mother’s grave.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

“I need more cleaning supplies, but I’ll get more tomorrow. I’ve got to get to work.”

“I’m here to help, as promised.” She was letting me stay with her at her apartment upstairs from the surf shack, so I could at least help for the next two weeks.

She grinned. “I woke up yesterday morning asking the universe how I was going to get it all done. And then you texted.”

“You have excellent karma.”

She laughed. “That’s how it works. Put good into the world, and it comes back.”

“How many cleaning jobs today?” I asked.

“We have a big one this afternoon.”

“I thought there weren’t checkouts on Tuesdays.”

“They are every day these days. With Airbnbs, people rent for a day, a night, and some still a week.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t look so grim.”

“And the surf shop? Who watches this place while you’re cleaning?”

“I close for a few hours. No camps on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I clean in the mornings because of the afternoon surf camps.”

“You must be doing pretty well.”

She crossed her fingers. “Not quite breakeven, but it’s getting there.”

“Good. Nice to have a steady income.”

After Mom died, I’d developed a fear of poverty. A counselor, Dr. Miller, had reminded me that—news flash—fear didn’t stop us from dying or losing money. I’d pointed out that people starved to death and drowned daily. Beyond exercising reasonable caution, he’d warned, giving in to fear was unnecessary and indulgent. His no-nonsense advice had not helped initially, but it had slowly diluted some of my fears. Several months ago, Dr. Miller had questioned my inertia. I’d quit therapy.

“Money doesn’t make you happy,” Kaitlin said.

“It helps.”

Kaitlin arched a brow. “You look like you just bit a lemon.”

A smile broke over my face. “My resting sour face.”

She laughed. “Surf and sun will fix that. Life is too short to worry, Tula.”

But not too short to scrub toilets, push a vacuum, or wipe down kitchen counters.

“Want to see the van?”

“Van?”

“Our rolling cleaning machine.”

“Sure.”

We walked out the back door to the lot, which faced small rental homes and an old green van. Imprinted on the side was a magnetic sign that read MERmaids. More waves and fish tails splashed in the background.

“That’s your mom’s van,” I said. “And it’s the same color.”

“Still runs great. More or less. She drips a little oil, so I carry extra. Had a friend repaint it for me.”

“It’s the same color.”

“Fewer colors are cheaper.” She combed fingers through her hair. “Hard to believe you’re here.”

“I don’t believe it either. It wouldn’t take much to talk me out of all this.”

“But you won’t, because you know I’d come after you.”

“I did consider that.”

“Smart woman.”

“Where’s our first job?”

“A duplex in Nags Head. It needs to be cleaned after a family reunion. The renter arrives this afternoon.”