The Sky Beneath Her(77)

No one was at the front desk. I crossed and rang the counter bell.

Seconds later, Lynn appeared. “Back for the rest of your order?”

I pulled a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. I ran down the list for her.

“Got it all boxed up. Wait here.”

She vanished into a back room and then appeared seconds later with two cardboard boxes loaded with supplies. “Here you go.”

“Great.” I reached for the first box.

The woman studied me over half-glasses. “You need to settle the bill?”

“Bill? I thought Kaitlin had an account.”

“She’s behind.”

“How much?”

She laid the statement on the counter. Kaitlin was a grand in the hole. “Can I give this to her, and she can pay you with her card?”

“Her card was maxed as of last week. That’s why she took a partial order the other day.” She tugged the supplies back. “When you get the money, I’ll have this for you.”

I was not hiking back across the bridge empty handed. Kaitlin could settle with me when I saw her. I pulled out my credit card and watched as she swiped it. My phone dinged with a text alerting me to the charge.

Lynn handed me a printed receipt.

I folded it in half, creasing the edge. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. See you in a month?”

“Sure.” I swiped a box off the counter, and Lynn helped me load the other box into my car. Behind the wheel, I turned on the AC, headed back toward the water. I dialed Kaitlin’s number.

“Hey,” she said. “You survived the dive.”

“And now heading back from the mainland. I picked up your supplies like I promised.”

“And Lynn let you have them?”

“After she swiped my credit card.”

“Sorry about that.”

“What’s going on? I thought you had more work than you know what to do with?”

“I do. The price of all the supplies has doubled, but I haven’t raised my rates.”

“This is bigger than rising prices.”

She sighed. “It cost me a fortune to set up the surf shop. And that business has been slow.”

“How slow?” I crested the bridge and saw the ocean in the distance.

“If we can make it to the surf competitions in August and pick up just a few more students, we might see our way clear.”

“And if you don’t?”

“It’ll work itself out.”

“That’s where the money is going, isn’t it? You’ve been traveling to surf.”

“I racked up a few bills over the winter in Australia. I’ve been trying to pay them off. I’m moving money around like a juggler. I owe a few vendors.”

“How many?”

“Three or four.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand, give or take.”

The number was large for a business with a low overhead. “All that went to surfing?”

“Basically.”

“How late are these invoices?”

“Sixty to ninety days.” She shoved out a sigh. “I’m not a numbers person.”

“Neither am I, but I’m an expert at fooling myself. And I’ve grown skilled at spotting people who do the same.”

“What’s that mean?”

I slowed as a light up ahead turned red. I didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone. “I’ll be at your house in ten minutes. Where are you?”

“I’m in Hatteras.”

The barrier island town was sixty miles south of her surf shop. “Why?”

“Trying to scramble up some surf business. I might hold a clinic down here for the tourists.”

A horn honked behind me, and I realized the light had turned green. I punched the gas.

“Look, I got to go,” Kaitlin said. “About to pitch to a resort general manager.”

Before I could say anything else, she hung up. I drove the last few miles and took a left toward the beach road. I parked outside the closed surf shop, punched the security code in the back door, and hauled the boxes of supplies to the back room storage closet.

Back in my car, I drove north toward Southern Shores. I admired Kaitlin for chasing her dream. Dreams came with rewards. But they also exacted a toll. My mother had chased hers, and it had cost her.

But not living life also came with a million different invisible sacrifices.

By the time I pushed through the front door of the flattop house, my body was covered in salty sweat. I stripped and jumped in the shower. The cool water felt good on my skin, and it was nice to wash my flat hair.

Out of the shower, I toweled off and changed into clean shorts and a T-shirt. I made a peanut butter sandwich, grabbed the manuscript, and then retreated to the living room couch. I spent an hour on the manuscript.

My phone rang. I recognized the number. “This is Tula?”

“This is Sharon Morrison. I’m with Morrison’s Auction House. You left me a voicemail message.”

“That’s right. Thank you for your call. I have a houseful of furniture.”

“Doug tells me you’re closing the Brooks house.”

“I am.”

“I’d love to see what you have.”