The Sky Beneath Her(36)

Many guys at the law firm wouldn’t admit they didn’t have money. Most were spread thin and relied on credit cards for their expensive watches and suits.

But not Nathan. He had never lived large or beyond his financial means. His reputation as a diver was more important to him. I remembered him saying once that life was what it was. Good times came with leaner ones. No sense pretending otherwise.

Kaitlin walked up to the table and sat across from Nathan. “I thought we might see you here. How did the dive go?”

“All the students had some experience, so it wasn’t bad. Didn’t lose anyone. No injuries. So, all good.”

“How do you find your students?” I asked.

“Just like your mom used to. I let the local hotels know I’m coming and offer to partner with them. I also let everyone know I’m giving wreck tours. Not everyone says yes to my services, but enough do so I can pay the bills and fund the real interesting dives.”

“You sound like Mom,” I said. “She never worried. Said ‘Brink’s trucks don’t follow hearses.’”

Again, that easy, cool smile. “She was a wise woman in many ways.”

And in others, not so smart. She’d had a temper, and when someone questioned her diving skills, she always stood her ground, ready to burn bridges to make a point.

“So, you’re a traveling teacher and documentary filmmaker?” I asked.

“That about sums it up.”

“Weren’t you in the Caribbean?” Kaitlin asked.

“Over the winter.”

“You look thinner in person,” she said.

He was so fit, it made me feel five pounds heavier than this morning.

Nathan laughed. “I get my share of comments online about my weight. Too many holiday desserts and someone comments.”

“They do not,” I said.

“The cyber-world is harsh, Tula,” he said.

Kaitlin set her beer down. “When do you dive the Oceanus?”

“First dive is this Friday morning. You both are invited to come. I can always use the extra hand with the divers.”

“I’ve got paperwork,” Kaitlin said.

“And I have an old house to clear out,” I said.

“Come on, Tula, you should come,” he coaxed. “You can reacquaint yourself with the ocean.”

My palms sweat a little. “I don’t think so.”

“Your fears can’t be that bad,” he said easily.

“Believe me, they are.”

“We could work on that. Practice makes perfect.” The words sounded genuine, inviting.

I pictured the murky waters offshore and the shadows of a wreck coming into view. A dull dread, always with me, sharpened. “Right.”





Chapter Twelve


Tula





Wednesday, June 10, 2026, 7:15 p.m.


While Kaitlin taught her mini-camp, I packed up the few items I’d taken out of my bag last night and loaded it into my car. I stopped at a local grocery store and picked up eggs, bread, cheese, tea, coffee, and peanut butter. I also grabbed toilet paper, jasmine soap, and shampoo.

The drive to the flattop house took thirty minutes because traffic was heavy. The tourists who’d dined at the southern end of the Outer Banks were headed north back to their rentals.

I parked on the aggregate driveway in front of the house and sat in my car staring at the low roof, the fading color, and the neatly trimmed shrubs surrounded by a bed of small rocks. With no aqua lawn chairs, bright planters, or flags, this house, though neat and in good shape, could easily have been missed by a passerby. This house wasn’t looking for attention.

Juggling my suitcase and grocery bags, I walked to the front door. The old key slid into the lock and easily turned this time.

Inside the house, I flipped on the lights and locked the front door behind me. The sounds of crashing waves drifted through closed doors and windows. The ocean never settled, and it always made its presence known.

I’m still here.

I set my groceries on the kitchen counter, then put the cold items in the small refrigerator and the staples in the cabinet. Unable to resist, I walked out the back door and climbed the stairs to the sandbank’s perch. Plumes of sea oats on the dunes wafted back and forth. A few people still lingered on the beach, walking along the waterline as the waves rolled in and out. The air was warm but not oppressively hot, and the sky was a vivid blue. My sheets, dried by the salt air, snapped on the clothesline. This really was one of the prettiest places on the planet.

“Stop being so beautiful,” I grumbled. “I’m never going to love you again.”

As I turned back toward the house, I imagined laughter rumbling under the waves. You will love me again.

I unpacked my bag, placing my clothes in the simple dresser I’d wiped out earlier. I returned to the clothesline and retrieved the clean sheets and towels, now dry and crisp. I pressed the sheets to my face, inhaling the sunshine.

After remaking the bed, I stocked my soaps in the small bathroom, outfitted with a tub and shower, and placed the toilet paper on the roll. Twisting a stainless handle, I turned on the hot spray.

I stripped and stepped inside. The water pulsed against my upturned face, flooding my body and washing away the day’s salt, grime, and stress. The scent of jasmine floated around me. When the water turned cool, I shut off the tap and toweled off. I dressed in clean shorts and an oversize T-shirt.