The Sky Beneath Her(21)

“It was for Mom. She said it could be her big payday.”

“Do you really believe that? She’d never dived for treasure before.”

Mom’s shift toward money was an odd change, but I hadn’t questioned her. “She was then.”

“Not me. I just want to see the wreck. It’ll help me make peace with it all. And I’m making a film.”

He had a YouTube channel with over a million followers. His videos received hundreds of thousands of views, proof that people liked his adventures. Monetization of the channel had to pay a few bills. I’d watched his channel over the years when I’d had too much to drink or was feeling nostalgic.

“You found a way to drive up those clicks?”

“No one is going to get rich off these dives.”

I shook my head, wondering why I was getting into this with him. “Mom was so far in debt when she died. She thought the gold would solve all her problems.” I was a minor, so no one had told me how deep the debt ran until after she’d died. I wasn’t held responsible for her bills, but she’d left nothing behind of value.

Absently, I fingered the coin and sea-glass necklace. “All I inherited from Mom was PTSD and an irrational fear of the ocean.”

“You used to love it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was great until it wasn’t. Life goes on.” I took a step back. I thought I could return to the beach and clean out that house without any emotional consequences. But I found myself swimming in deep waters. No amount of steady breathing or meditation would fix what was churning inside me.

“I didn’t mean to blindside you,” Nathan said. “But I’m glad you heard about the dives from me.”

“I appreciate that.” The muscles in my chest pulled, making a deep breath hard. It had been a while since I’d had a full-blown panic attack. And I didn’t want to have one in front of Nathan. Please, just give me a little dignity. Let me walk away without breaking down. “Call Kaitlin if you need any supplies or are having trouble with the house.”

“Everything is great.” He held up the towels slightly as if to prove his statement.

“Terrific.”

I turned and walked toward my car. I didn’t look back, because I knew his expression remained a mixture of sadness and expectation.

With each step, my muscles twisted tighter. My breathing grew more deliberate. Being this close to the ocean and now Nathan was testing all my therapist’s positive mantras.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Behind the wheel of the car, I started the engine and backed out of the driveway toward the beach road. A horn blared and a car zoomed past me. I slammed on the brakes and gripped the wheel, triple-checked the road, and pulled out. My vision was narrow, and tension rippled over my body. I drove to the surf shop at thirty miles an hour, fearful I’d implode.

When I pulled into the parking lot, the building was dark. Good. Everyone was gone. I hefted my suitcase and climbed the back staircase.

The evening air was warm and the breeze gentle. When I reached the second floor, I could see over the cottages to the beach road by the ocean. My stomach tumbled. The damn water was everywhere.

Kaitlin’s apartment upstairs had two bedrooms, with a central living room and kitchen. The couch was long, its olive green tweed obscured by several brightly colored quilts. The coffee table was a reclaimed door, filled with shells covered in a polymer. Surfing magazines were strewn across the table. Four colorful, scratched, and well-used surfboards hung from hooks on the walls. Kaitlin adored surfing.

My purse dropped to the grass-colored carpet, and I sat on the sofa. Dipping my head back, I stared at the ceiling, painted with waves. I drew in a partial breath. And then another and another. Finally, the pressure eased. My muscles still ached, but they no longer cramped.

I fished my phone from my pocket and found the few images I had of Mom and me. In all the pictures, we were standing by a body of water. The South Pacific. The Mediterranean Sea. The Black Sea. Tanned bodies. Swimsuits. Scuba gear.

There were no baby pictures of me. Mom had said she’d taken a few with an old camera but had lost track of them over our many moves. The reality was she’d been working long hours when I was little, and collecting memories was an afterthought.

The first picture of me was on my sixth birthday. It was taken in Fiji. Mom and I were diving an Australian freighter wreck called the David J. Magnus. Mom had just argued with another dive instructor over air tanks, and tension edged her smile. The next image was taken five years later. We were off the coast of Italy. Mom was a paid guide, and we were diving a Roman ship that had sunk two thousand years ago. By eleven I was working on the dive boat, helping the customers with their gear. And the last photo was here on the Outer Banks. We hadn’t dived the Oceanus yet, but we’d boated out to the dive spot. The water was calm and the sky a crystal blue. Mom had slung her arm around me, and we were laughing. Nathan had taken the picture.

Our years together boiled down to a few captured moments, my necklace, and the ocean. Why hadn’t either Mom or I tried harder to record our lives more?

“We were a sad little duo, you and I.”

Maybe Mom’s detachment had been what had driven Dad off. My talent for distance had tanked my marriage.

The door opened to Kaitlin with a couple of bags of groceries. “How did it go?”