The Sky Beneath Her(55)

The divers were quiet as they followed me and the cooler down the pier. The Intrepid was a midsize boat outfitted with a small cabin and a dive platform. She looked sturdy. If Nathan handled his dives like Mom had, this was a short-term rental.

“Load your gear on the boat,” I said.

I looked at the cooler, too heavy for me to lift.

“You need a hand?” The question came from a tall guy with dark hair. “Tony Spagnolo.”

“Tula Cassidy. If you could put the cooler on the boat, that would be great. I’ll grab the tanks.”

“Will do.”

I jogged back to the gate and hefted two tanks. Several times, I paused and readjusted my grip. I half walked and half waddled down the dock toward the Intrepid as the other divers assembled on the boat. When I arrived, I was winded, my arm muscles strained.

A couple of the divers frowned at me, and I sensed my weak arms and very pale skin didn’t foster much confidence.

Nathan easily set two tanks beside me. He leaned closer and whispered, “There was a time when two tanks would’ve been nothing for you.”

And I’d have been wearing a bikini and tank top. My skin would have been as tan as my muscles were toned. “Older and fatter.”

“Not fatter.” His gaze lingered over my body. “The curves are very nice.”

A touch of heat warmed my face. “Thanks, I guess.”

Nathan easily loaded the tanks before jogging back to grab the remaining gear.

I braced one foot on the dock and the other on the boat. The ocean slipped and rolled. It had been seven years since I’d been on the water. The ocean splashed my ankles. I was trapped between land and sea.

I drew in a breath and hauled my second leg onto the boat. I took several giant steps, struggling to stay balanced.

Steady hands grabbed my shoulders. I turned to see Tony’s even white teeth flash. “Okay there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Getting my sea legs back.”

A half smile tugged his lips. “You know how to dive?”

I tugged the hem of my T-shirt down. “I used to back in the day. Just helping on the boat today.” I turned toward the dock as Nathan set down the last two tanks and several bags of gear. My back strained as I lifted the tanks and wobbled them to the corner of the boat.

It was going to be a long day.

Nathan jumped on the boat, his feet firm in the spot where they’d landed. He introduced me as his first mate and encouraged anyone with questions to ask me if they couldn’t get him. I wanted to correct him but kept quiet. He had everyone in the group introduce themselves.

Beyond Tony, a tall Italian guy from New Jersey, there was Jeff, a lean, late-fifties guy who was a contractor from Virginia Beach. Another diver, Rick, was tall and slim and had red skin that looked a little burned. He was a lawyer from Northern Virginia. And finally, Martha, mid-thirties, a super-fit teacher, also from Northern Virginia.

Minutes later, Nathan started up the boat and backed it out of the slot. The boat veered out of the harbor, past a collection of leisure and fishing boats toward the Atlantic.

The Oceanus was less than three miles due east of the Brooks house, and it wasn’t in deep water. It had been struck by the torpedo near the Virginia–North Carolina border, near Carova Beach. The ship had listed badly and taken on water after the strike and boiler explosion. But she hadn’t sunk right away. After the vessel had been abandoned, it drifted for a day, burning and smoking. Residents called it the “ghost ship” at the time. Finally, the vessel lodged on a sandbar, where a storm and large waves washed over her and filled the rest of her hull with water. She’d finally sunk in the spot where she’d rested for almost eighty years.

As the boat skimmed along the ocean, I tugged on a ball cap and wiped sunscreen on my skin. It had been so long since I’d been in the sun, and I was guaranteed to be lobster red within an hour.

Martha already had streaks of zinc oxide lotion on her face. Tony looked jazzed, Jeff and Rick slightly reserved.

“Head count four,” I said. “Five with you.”

“That’s correct,” Nathan confirmed.

I moved to the side of the boat and watched as we headed northeast. Toward the west, the Outer Banks were little more than a very distant thin strip of sand. Finally, the land vanished. When we arrived at the dive site, Nathan dropped anchor and cut the engines.

The waters lapped against the boat’s hull as the four divers began to haul on their gear. Nathan suited up quickly, his movements sharp and crisp.

Staring into the calm waters, I couldn’t see the wreck, but I knew she lay quietly on her side below us. I remembered that one of her stacks had cracked and fallen into the silt, and her side still bore the gaping circular gash. Anticipation and worry rushed me.

Nathan walked from diver to diver and asked each to check their air and gauges. “I know you all have dived before, but the safety lecture is a must.”

As he ran through the instructions, some divers listened more closely than others. Generally, the newest to diving were often the best students. Those who had experience under their belts could be the most reckless. As the saying went, a little bit of knowledge was dangerous.

“Feel free to shoot questions to Tula,” Nathan said. “She’ll be manning the boat while we’re down under.”

The divers still seemed skeptical of the pale creature struggling to regrow her sea legs. I tried to appear stoic and confident, but no one looked convinced.