Chapter Four Tula
Chapter Four
Tula
Norfolk, Virginia
I wanted to sleep in. I didn’t want to face cleaning out vacation rentals or an old house or think about how I’d gotten here. A silent current had pulled me, like an untethered boat, out to sea, and now here I was, lost.
I’d slept like shit. I rolled over every hour, checking the red numbers on my ex-husband’s digital clock.
Everything about this room, from the heavy wood furniture to the dark walls, was Dave’s.
Beyond my clothes in the closet, there wasn’t much of me in this house.
There never had been. I’d woven myself into Dave’s world and lost mine.
But even after seven years on dry land, I could still stuff my worldly belongings into a large garbage bag.
Over the last year, it had been hard to wake up most days. My alarms would blare several times before I’d finally rouse myself and notice the empty side of the bed. At first, panic had swamped me, but now I felt nothing.
My mother had always been good about locking down her emotions. And my ex-husband had accused me many times of being cold and distant. I’d tried to assure him I was not like that. But now I realized, maybe I was. Good. I was done feeling anxious or needing a hero.
Out of bed, I stumbled into the bathroom.
I turned on the shower tap and stepped inside.
I stood under the water, letting it run over my face and body for a good half hour.
Only when the hot water ran cold did I shut off the tap.
I toweled off, coiled my damp hair into a bun, and dressed in a T-shirt and my largest shorts.
In the kitchen, I made a strong cup of coffee.
Because I wasn’t rushed, I scrambled the last few eggs in the fridge and toasted the only slice of bread.
Breakfast was usually coffee to go and candy from the office vending machines, which had packed an extra ten pounds on me the last year.
I set my dirty plate and mug in the sink.
I reached for the dish soap and then decided Dave could wash his own plates.
I stuffed all my clothes and belongings into a trash bag and shoved it in the back of my car.
I looked back at the town house, which I’d once seen as a safe harbor.
Through no fault of its own or Dave’s, this world had grown too tight.
I tossed the keys inside onto the parquet floor and closed the front door behind me.
Behind the wheel, I backed out of the driveway and followed Lynnhaven Parkway toward I-64 south and finally took Route 168, which led me over the state line into North Carolina.
I hadn’t been back here in seven years, but it was amazing how much most of it really hadn’t changed. Sure, there were a few new housing developments, but the old fruit stands, dive restaurants, and water park remained.
Kaitlin had said there were more tourists and cars on the road, but as promised, the traffic on a Tuesday morning was light.
At the final bend, I caught sight of the Wright Memorial Bridge and the waters of Currituck Sound. The sky was a vivid blue, but the whitecapped waters were choppy.
Hesitation rushed my body. I eased up on the accelerator. Not a full-on stop. But for a second I was tempted to turn around. This long strip of land was the dividing line between my past and present.
Pressing on the gas, I focused on the bridge ahead of me.
I didn’t look at the water on my left or right.
I gripped the wheel as the wind whipped sideways across the bridge.
I crested the bridge’s peak and locked my gaze on the land on the other side.
When I rolled onto solid land, my hold on the steering wheel eased.
I passed the country club, fast-food shops, and the grocery store before I took a right toward the south on the bypass. Five miles later, I cut over on a small side street toward the beach road.
After a few blocks, I pulled into Kaitlin’s surf shop parking lot.
The building was a two-story cinder block building painted aqua with the silhouetted figure of a woman riding a surfboard.
Kaitlin had opened the shop two years ago and now balanced a cleaning crew and the surf business. I wondered if she ever slept.
I sat in my car, absorbing the simple fact I was back on the Outer Banks.
Three women moved toward the surf shop’s front door.
All were young and fit and wore cutoff shorts and tank tops that hugged perfect bodies.
Their long hair swished in ponytails as they laughed.
I’d been that kind of girl in high school.
Worries might have landed on my shoulders, but the slightest breeze brushed them aside.
In those days, my size-four life was diving and surfing.
When I’d met Kaitlin in high school, she was a local surfing star.
Her big plan had been to take the world surfing circuit by storm.
And then, two months after I’d left, her mother died from a fast-growing cancer.
Kaitlin put aside her dreams and took over the cleaning business so her mother’s longtime employees would have work and she could pay her rent.
The surf shop had stayed slammed its first two summers, and in the falls, when the water turned cold, Kaitlin did whatever upgrades the shop needed. And then she’d returned to the international competition circuit. She’d yet to grab a major sponsor.
When I was landlocked, I’d often watch her videos on YouTube. Her body skimmed effortlessly along the massive waves as if she and the ocean were one. I was in awe. And jealous. Once, I’d had no fear of the ocean. The water and I had been simpatico. Mom had called me a mermaid.
Now I resembled a beached whale. The dry air had withered my lungs and turned me brittle.
I grabbed my purse, locked the car, and headed into the shop. Kaitlin was behind the counter, ringing up a set of fins for a young gal and her mother. A glance toward the door, and her smile shifted from Hello! to Look what the cat finally dragged in.
I waved and pretended to look at purple-and-yellow T-shirts sporting a surfboard cutting into a wave.
I remembered when Kaitlin had sketched out the design for this logo.
It was shortly before my mother died. I’d loved her business idea and had even pictured myself working with her.
How could I live without the water? But I’d cobbled together another way.
And now I could barely cross a bridge over the water without sweating.
The customers left, and Kaitlin came toward me.
Her body remained as lean and tanned as it had been seven years ago.
Her blond hair had been bleached white by the sun, and she’d plaited her long tresses into thick braids.
She’d added a crescent-shaped tattoo to her right bicep.
A few slight crow’s-feet feathered from the corners of her eyes.
We both wore our lives on our bodies. She looked free and satisfied with hers. I was rudderless and adrift.
Kaitlin wrapped her arms around me, swaddling me in strong arms and the scents of suntan lotion and CBD oil. “You made it. I wasn’t so sure you’d cross the bridge.”
My anxiety drained a fraction. “I can’t believe it either. But I said I’d be here, so here I am.”
She held me at arm’s length, studying my pale skin and toneless muscles. “I’m glad you’re out of that office. And that marriage. Neither was healthy. Both robbed your soul of energy.”
Kaitlin was a big fan of life force theories. She was convinced if she was away from the ocean too long, she’d wither and die. I hadn’t expired, but I felt as delicate as old paper. “I still have the job. The firm sent me down here to clean out the Brooks house. It’s a flattop in Southern Shores.”
“I know the house. It’s been empty for years. Doesn’t surprise me they’re going to sell. The big clean is the first step toward letting go. Kind of like moving out after a divorce.”
Kaitlin had never liked Dave. She’d met us once in a Norfolk bar. “Regarding the divorce,” I said, “Dave was good for me for a long time. He helped me when I was lost. He wasn’t bad or evil. I was just tired of him steering my ship. And he’d grown tired of my resentment.”
“Resentment?”
“I blamed him for my choices.”
She made a face. “Sounds like someone has had more therapy.”
“I’ve been trying. So don’t bust on Dave.”
“Did I say anything bad about Dave?”
“‘Land shark.’ ‘Land walker.’ ‘Predator on pavement.’”
She laughed. “That was a long time ago.”
“We just weren’t good for each other.”
“Message received.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Are you glad to be back? I could never work for someone else.”
“The benefits are nice.”
“Don’t be sucked in by goodies like that. A healthy life and sunshine are our best defense.”
“What about catastrophic injuries and illness?” Her mother’s treatments had strained their insurance. And I’d become the worst-case-scenario disaster symbol after Mom died.
A brow rising, she grinned. “If it’s that bad, money is the least of your worries.”
Kaitlin had never worried. Life was easy and cool if you only relaxed. Law of attraction was her jam. I hadn’t been around when her mother was ill, but I could imagine her always finding the positive in each day. If you can see it, it’ll happen, according to Kaitlin.
But when her mother died, Kaitlin had been with her. She could visit her mother’s grave.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“I need more cleaning supplies, but I’ll get more tomorrow. I’ve got to get to work.”
“I’m here to help, as promised.” She was letting me stay with her at her apartment upstairs from the surf shack, so I could at least help for the next two weeks.
She grinned. “I woke up yesterday morning asking the universe how I was going to get it all done. And then you texted.”
“You have excellent karma.”
She laughed. “That’s how it works. Put good into the world, and it comes back.”
“How many cleaning jobs today?” I asked.
“We have a big one this afternoon.”