The Sky Beneath Her(5)

A summer at the beach. Nice, but the rental prices were too high for me. Maybe I could bunk with my high school friend Kaitlin, who was still there.

And then, “You can stay at the house, but it’s likely a dusty mess. Or, if you have friends, stay with them. I’d like the job done by mid-September. You’ll receive your regular salary, benefits, and an allowance for food and gas.”

He pushed the manila envelope toward me. “That’s the first portion of the manuscript.”

“Where’s the rest?”

“In the house, I presume. I couldn’t find it. I’m not sure why it was divided into sections.”

“Have you read it?”

“No.”

I didn’t reach for the folder. “I haven’t been back in seven years. It’s not a good place for me.”

“Don’t prejudge. This might be the kind of project that launches you on a new start.”

I’d wished for a change, and here it was. “Do you want weekly reports?”

“Not necessary.” A smile teased the edges of his lips. “If this offer doesn’t appeal, you can go back to writing briefs in your cubicle.”

I’d longed to be untethered. To move on. And here was the chance. I pulled the folder toward me. It felt heavier than I’d imagined. This was the last outcome I’d imagined. Ever. The coin felt warm against my chest. And still, I said, “Okay. I’ll do it. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” He rose, signaling this meeting was over. “Pick up the house key from my assistant.”

I stood and extended a clammy hand, which he easily accepted. “You really don’t want anything from the house?”

“It’s served its purpose. Feel free to keep what you want.”

“Okay.” I turned and walked toward the door and then paused. This was all too out of the blue and odd for me not to question Mr. Brooks’s motive. “Did you know my mother?”

Still standing, he stared at me. “Only by reputation. She was quite the diver, from what I hear.”

“Yes.” Diving and the ocean had been her life.

“But we never met.”

“Okay.”

“Best of luck to you, Tula.”

“Thank you.”

When I exited his office, the folder tucked under my arm, Mr. Brooks’s assistant stood by her desk waiting for me. “Miss Cassidy. Will you be accepting the house key?”

“I will.”

“Excellent.” She moved to her desk and snatched up an old metal key. She handed it to me.

It felt heavy in my hands. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have a digital lock.”

“The locks are excellent, and the doors and windows are old but sound. Mr. Brooks saw no reason to change anything if it was working.”

“Do I need to check in with you?”

“At the end of the summer. No need before then.”

I’d lived on tight deadlines for nearly seven years. And now to have one that extended all summer felt freeing and unsettling. “Okay. I’ll be in touch then.”

She handed me a credit card. “This is to cover your incidentals.”

“But I’m still getting my paycheck, right?”

“You will. But you never know with old houses. Expenses come up.”

I hesitated. “Why me?”

“I’m sure Mr. Brooks explained.”

“Kind of.”

She smiled. “Mr. Brooks never says what he doesn’t mean.”

“He didn’t say a lot.”

“But enough.”

“I suppose.”

I left the woman and crossed to the elevator. I pressed the button. The doors opened. I stepped inside, gripping the key and envelope as the elevator closed on the executive suites.

The ride down seemed much faster, and before I knew it, I was in my cubicle. I grabbed my purse out of my bottom drawer. I reached past the fake plant and the “Girl Boss” mug to the picture of Mom and me.

Nan appeared. She didn’t like drama. She liked clean, tidy breaks and airtight briefs delivered on time. Shipshape was kind of my superpower. Life on boats had required it.

And I’d faced enough real turmoil to put this moment in perspective. No tears or outraged tirades for a job or failed marriage. I picked up the photo and mug, and then I set the mug back down. “Okay.”

Some of the tension faded from her face. “What about the mug and plant?”

“Keep them.”

I fished my ID out of my wallet and handed it to her.

“I’m told you’re to keep it. Your job will be waiting if you decide to return.”

“Right. Thank you.” I angled around Nan.

“Take care of yourself, Tula.”

I left the building, suddenly feeling slightly panicked to leave it behind. Over time, even cages offer some comfort. I crossed the parking lot to my car, which I’d bought with the donation monies seven years ago.

Sliding into the hot front seat, I looked up at the impenetrable glass building, which reflected the morning light winking on the water behind me. I allowed the heat to sink into my bones and then reached for my phone. I knew only one person on the Outer Banks. Kaitlin Stewart. I’d met Kaitlin during my brief months attending First Flight High School. We’d become friends.