The Sky Beneath Her(17)

I raised my phone and took several pictures. I texted them to my therapist. Look at me now. We hadn’t spoken in months, but I felt as if I owed him something in the way of an apology.

“I’m sitting by the ocean,” I said. “That’s good enough for right now.”

“It wasn’t enough for the Tula I know.”

“That Tula died seven years ago.”

“No, she’s sitting right here.”

That Tula never would have married a controlling guy, taken a job in a cubicle, wedged her feet into sensible shoes, or collected Ann Taylor office wear on sale. That Tula had been like Kaitlin: tanned skin, sun-streaked hair, and shorts and flip-flops.

“And why did Mr. Brooks pick you?” she asked.

“My history isn’t a secret, and I guess Mr. Brooks figured it would be of interest to me.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you started reading it?” When I didn’t respond, she added, “It’s a sign from the universe.”

“A sign?”

“The ocean wants you to settle the past. Which you must do before you can move forward.”

Kaitlin’s phone dinged with a text. “Speaking of the past, you forgot to leave towels in the cottage.”

That was a problem with an easy fix. “Give me the address. I’ll drop them off.”

Years of therapy faded as I thought about those yellowed pages. I’d been skimming the surface of my issues while sitting on the gray couch in my therapist’s office. But I knew the undercurrents ran deeper than the day my mother had vanished.





Chapter Five


Sigrid





Monday, April 20, 1942, 3:00 p.m.


Four days until the Oceanus is torpedoed


William tucked in his shirt and then zipped up his pants. He fastened his belt and walked toward the long mirror and reached for one of the red ties he favored. He tied a tight knot and then shrugged on his jacket.

“I’m starving,” he said.

I raised my gaze, avoiding eye contact with him as I climbed out of the bunk, naked and covered in his scent, and slid on a silk robe. “The lunch hour has ended, but I’m sure someone will feed you.”

“Join me.”

I sauntered toward him, the drape of my gown gaping open. “Darling, I’m not the least bit presentable.”

He cupped my breast. I knew William better than he knew himself. He was wondering if it would be hard to let me go when we arrived in New York City. As much as he wanted to tuck me in an apartment, his wealthy wife would likely take offense. “You look fine. Put on one of your frocks.”

“I need a bath and a few hours of quiet before I dress for dinner. I want to make you proud.”

He touched my messy hair. He’d been gripping those strands fifteen minutes ago as he’d shoved inside me. His lovemaking was always hurried and vaguely unsatisfying, but that didn’t stop me from moaning and faking an orgasm. “How hard can it be to fix a few flyaway hairs.”

“Easier to start over than to repair.” My practiced expression always conveyed ease.

“Suit yourself.” He took in the round curve of my breasts bracketed by silk. “Stay in the room. It’s not safe to move about the ship alone.”

“I will.”

He kissed me on the forehead, left the room, and locked the door with the one key. He’d done this routinely ever since we left Vienna. Safer for me to stay put, he’d always reasoned. But I knew he didn’t trust me. I had contacts all over Europe, and if I turned against him . . .

He had also taken to securing his papers and telegrams in the room’s safe. I could crack almost any lock and had many times. Save for removing my identity papers, I’d left his other items alone. He wouldn’t rest easy until his gold in the ship’s hull was safely unloaded and locked in his city town house’s safe.

Ever since his last business deal in Vienna in late November, he’d grown more paranoid. Some had openly accused him of being a double spy, which I believed was true. William had no country allegiance and sold his services to the highest bidder.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Vienna. In Vienna we’d lived like royalty. He’d traded secrets with my help and used my connections to enter the highest German and Austrian circles. I was as well known in the backstreets as I was the wealthiest ballrooms.

But I’d learned firsthand how the Germans treated suspected spies or independent women. I’d been arrested and held by the gestapo for five days in late November. The time was grueling and harsh.

But I had struck a deal with my interrogators that included leading William out of Vienna. I was practical enough to know I needed him right now. Not money, not jewels, but something far more personal. Still, despite my precarious position, I’d demanded a price of William.

We’d left Vienna with his gold last December on a boat owned by my distant cousin, who knew the waterways better than anyone. From Budapest, we’d sailed to Portugal, where we boarded another ship traveling to Port of Spain. William never questioned our route, grateful to be clear of the Germans and police.

I’d hated to leave my silk dresses, art, and jewelry behind, but in the end, I had no choice. Since my arrest, I had my own agenda, and if I didn’t fulfill it, the gold and the United States wouldn’t matter.