The Sky Beneath Her(84)

My own flare of desire left me feeling helpless. “Hey.”

“Come on inside.” He stepped aside. “I’ve been out shooting B-roll today.”

Now very aware of the salty sweat coating my skin, I said, “I should’ve showered before I came. I’ve been cleaning the Brooks house.”

“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got water and soda.”

“A soda would be amazing.”

“Done.”

I followed him into the small galley kitchen. The appliances and countertops were as clean as I’d left them days ago. It looked like he’d barely lived here.

He popped the tops off the sodas and handed me one. I took a long sip before I reached into my purse and pulled out a large envelope filled with the documents I’d found. I laid them out on the countertop.

He set his untouched soda aside, wiped his hands on his shirt, and reached for the first: an Austrian passport. He carefully thumbed through the pages. “That’s Atticus Brooks.”

“They’re all identity papers for Dr. Atticus Brooks. Different names but the same photograph. They were hidden under the floorboards of his office.”

“Wow. Good for him. Looks like he was more dangerous than most realized.”

I gulped soda, recognizing I’d drunk almost half. “Yeah. I guess he was one of those guys who secretly made a difference.”

Nathan watched me take another sip. “You’re going after that soda. Everything all right?”

“I also saw Mr. Green today. The reporter who wrote about Mom several times before she vanished.” Heat rose in my cheeks.

He leaned against the counter, folding muscled arms across his chest. “And?”

“He said Mom was sick when she dove that last time. She was dying.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Did he give specifics?”

“This reporter said it was cancer that would cause dementia. I can’t picture Mom dying in a hospital hooked up to machines.” I swallowed. “Did you know she was sick?”

“I knew she got headaches. When I asked her, she said it was allergies.” He sighed. “But there were days that she seemed slow. And she took pills, which I assumed were for the allergies.”

“You never told me.”

“Every time I asked her, she’d insisted she was fine. You remember how your mom was. She hated anyone fussing over her.”

“But I was her daughter. And she never said a word to me.”

“I’m not surprised. She wanted to protect you. She wasn’t the cookie-baking kind of mother, but she loved you very much.”

I dug in my purse and removed the letter I’d found. “My mother wrote to Dr. Brooks about two months before she came back to the Outer Banks.” My hand shook a little as I held out the envelope postmarked Athens, Greece. “She told him we were coming to the Outer Banks. She didn’t know who else to reach out to. She said her father had always told her to call Dr. Atticus Brooks if she ever needed help.”

A frown furrowed Nathan’s forehead.

Frustration chewed at me. “The reporter said Mom took care of her mother while she was dying. Then she changed her name to Cassidy and left. She asked Dr. Brooks to look out for me. Why didn’t she tell me anything about my past? It’s one thing to protect me, but another to hide such key information.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

“She didn’t.”

“If your mother’s illness was terminal, she made the only choice she could.”

“But why not tell me?” My tone sharpened. Under all my anger and frustration was a deep sadness. My mother hadn’t trusted me with the truth.

“Could you see your mother hooked up to machines and bedridden?”

“No. It would’ve been torture.” And I’d never have wished that fate on her. I swiped away a tear. “Even if you’d been on the boat that day, she’d have found a way not to surface.”

Anguish deepened the lines on his face. He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. The embrace was the intimate connection of two people who’d shared the same loss. I leaned into him.

He was stable, solid, and in this moment my safe harbor from turbulent emotions. The past melted away, like the sun slipping below the horizon. I’d felt this once before, when I’d married Dave. I’d thought I’d found my sanctuary. But living Dave’s life had grown oppressive.

I never wanted to resent Nathan. I pulled free. “I’m sorry. I’m getting weird.”

He studied my face and traced my jaw with his calloused finger. His voice was raspy when he spoke. “Not weird at all.”

Even as his gaze softened, I was mentally putting space between us. “Thanks for hearing me out. I just needed to talk to someone who knew her.” I reached for my purse.

He stood back, confused. “You don’t have to go. We can talk more.”

I realized I cared for Nathan deeply. “No, I’m out of words. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’m always here for you, Tula.”

But once this storm in my life had passed, would I want him here for me? “Thanks.”





Chapter Thirty-Five


Tula