Chapter Eight Tula
Chapter Eight
Tula
I’d lain in bed last night at first staring at the waves painted on the ceiling.
Sleeping under the ocean might be dreamy for some, but for me it was overpowering.
I’d finally closed my eyes, and conjured fields of wheat and rolling mountains filled with clean, crisp air.
Living in the mountains had always been on the top of my bucket list, but I’d lasted two weeks in the Blue Ridge Mountains before moving back to Norfolk.
Like it or not, I remained chained to the coast. Couldn’t live with it or without it.
When my alarm went off, I woke to the steady beat of crashing waves and the smell of coffee.
I blinked. The coffee made sense, but not the waves.
In my nightmares, the surf was always louder and angrier.
But these breakers were soft and steady, as if to say they’d been here a long time and would remain well after we’d all passed.
I closed my eyes and convinced myself that I wasn’t at the beach. Dave and I were still good, and solid predictable days were what I wanted. We were planning to build our mountain cabin. I wasn’t unsettled or yearning for something that remained out of reach.
And then my brain cleared. And I remembered.
Groaning, I sat up and swung my feet over the side of the twin bed.
I found the small restroom, which had a sink, toilet, vanity, and shower all within centimeters of each other.
The closet-sized bathroom triggered a few flashbacks.
How many times had I blown the breakers on a sailing ship with my hair dryer or tripped over the toilet coming out of the shower?
Living on a boat sounded like a dream for many, but it came with challenges.
I showered quickly in the small space. Shaving my legs was a balancing act, with one foot planted on the plastic wall and my butt shoved against the other side of the narrow stall.
The floor was wet when I stepped out and reached for a dark blue towel. I dried my hair and returned to my room so I’d have the space to dress. I chose cutoff jeans, a blue T-shirt, and flip-flops.
I moved through the small apartment toward the kitchen.
I found Kaitlin standing at the counter, sipping coffee as she stared out the back window.
Without a word, I grabbed an “OBX” mug and the carafe from a beige Mr. Coffee that had been in her mother’s kitchen.
I envied this relic. I had only a necklace and a few pictures to connect me to my mother.
“What’s on the docket for today?” I asked.
She remained still for a moment, and I thought she hadn’t heard me. Then she turned. “Chaos. But that’s par for the course.”
“Define ‘chaos.’”
“Six Airbnbs need to be flipped by three. Mini-camp at six this evening.”
“I’m not helping with the surf camp, correct?”
“No, but as soon as you finish that coffee, we ride. We need to grab cleaning supplies and then hit the first property at nine a.m.”
“Where?”
“They’re all north of Duck.”
“We get ahead of the traffic.” The two-lane road that wound through Duck spent most of the summer in a state of gridlock. I added, “After we’re finished, I want to stop by the house in Southern Shores. I can drive if you don’t have the time to stop.”
“No, I should have a little time. It’s on the way back to Nags Head.”
“Can I take my coffee with me?”
“Sure. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“You didn’t eat much.”
“I’ll grab a candy bar or chips at some point.”
She cringed. “That kind of eating is going to kill you.”
“Dave said that a lot. And I’m still standing.” And ten or, realistically, twenty pounds heavier.
She grabbed a granola bar and handed it to me. “What’s the land shark up to these days?”
“I believe he’s prepping for an ultramarathon in Wisconsin.
Maybe an Ironman, I think. Whatever, it’s a ridiculous amount of time running.
” Dave was addicted to working out. There wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t either preparing for a ride, racing, or recovering from an injury or muscle strain.
I’d been his support team for several years.
I never liked the races, but he loved them, and I was on Team Dave.
“I never said I’m sorry about the divorce. I know you wanted the marriage to work.”
“Lesson learned. No one can be your anchor, no matter how hard you wish it.” I’d thought living with a land lover who worshiped solid ground would provide the distance I needed from the ocean.
But the longer I stayed away, the more miserable I became.
And still, I hadn’t quit the cubicle job, because I was afraid to be totally untethered.
“We’ve all had lessons like that.”
I summoned a bright smile. “Can we focus on scrubbing toilets? I’m kind of jazzed about that.”
Kaitlin laughed. “Your wish is my desire.”
Cross-body purse slung over my shoulder and coffee in hand, I followed her through the dimly lit living room. “How did you find this place?”
“The former owner ran a bait-and-tackle shop. I heard he was retiring, and I came to see him. We hit it off immediately, and he priced this place so I could afford it.”
“That was nice.”
“Beyond kind. He loved the idea that I surfed.”
“How’s it working for you?”
“Location’s great and the monthly payment manageable, but being a property owner is more of a commitment than I realized.”
Whitewashed beams, blond wood floors, and light blue walls gave the space a magical feeling.
The secondhand cargo furniture found on the side of the road had been painted all shades of blues and whites, along with the coffee table, covered in shells and polyurethane coating.
The surfing art covered walls in need of a paint job.
Air-conditioning strained against the late-spring heat, and the windows looked like they couldn’t stand up to a nor’easter’s winds and rain.
This building promised years of evening and weekend work. It could be cool—one day. But I didn’t plan to be here that long.
“There are times I want to sell,” Kaitlin said. “I have this desire to travel the world with my board. A free spirit, you know? I’ve always been stuck here.”
“Why don’t you sell? There’s nothing really holding you here.”
“I’ve worked hard to build all this. And my mother would roll over in her grave if I gave up the cleaning business.”
“Honey, your mother has passed. You got to live your own life.”
“I envy you sometimes. You’ve always been able to distance yourself. You never get too attached emotionally, if you know what I mean.”
“Not exactly a superpower.”
“I wish I was more like the old you.”
I did too sometimes. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Kaitlin sighed. “Right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” There was a slight hitch in my throat when I spoke. “I read some of the manuscript last night. Slow going. Some of the type has faded.”
“And?”
“Talk of spirits and magical coins among the passengers. Dr. Brooks mentioned he wished for a long life. He got it.”
“Never underestimate magic. This is a magical place. Some say we live on the edge separating the living and dead.”
“Mom used to toss some of her coffee into the ocean each morning before she dove. She said it was for the ocean gods.”
I couldn’t remember if Mom had poured any coffee into the water that last day.
“She also wore that coin on a cord around her neck, like you do now.”
“She left it behind that final dive.”
“I remember.” She hesitated, not voicing what I’d feared. That Mom knew she wasn’t coming back. “Where did she get it?”
“She said her dad gave it to her.” All I knew about my grandfather was that he served in the merchant marines and was at sea for most of his life.
“Do you ever take it off?”
I fingered the coin and crystal. Dave had often asked me to take off the necklace when we had a formal event for his work, but I never did. “No.”
“A good luck talisman.”
“Maybe.”
Outside, we crossed to the van. I slid into the front, clicked my seat belt. The morning heat had already warmed the seats. The pine scent of cleaning supplies wafted around the cab. I rolled down my window, hoping not to asphyxiate in the next thirty minutes.
As the van rolled over the bridge, Kaitlin mused, “Amazing what you learn about people when you clean up after them.” Her van window was open, too, and a cool breeze wafted through the cab.
We were driving across the bridge to the mainland to pick up supplies at Currituck Cleaners.
Many of the people who made daily life possible—plumbers, electricians, police, even teachers—didn’t live on the Outer Banks.
Housing on OBX was tricky. The houses were either too expensive or in need of so much repair that it would take a decade and hundreds of thousands of dollars to bring them into this century.
Kaitlin had gotten lucky when she’d bought the former bait store.
I gripped the armrest on the van’s door and arrowed my gaze forward, avoiding the sight of the sound’s choppy waters. High winds made the bridge sway slightly, and I was certain the waters mocked me.
“You haven’t asked me about the secrets I’ve discovered while cleaning houses,” Kaitlin said.
“Not interested.”
“Everyone wants to hear a little dirt.”
She was trying to distract me from the lapping sound beneath the bridge. “You gossip about your clients?”
“Never. But now I have you.”
“I’m not sure I need more dirt in my life.” We crested the top of the bridge and glided down toward the mainland road.
Her sunglasses tossed back my reflection when she looked back at me. “Are you sure?”
“My dysfunctional life is at capacity. I’m not sure how much more I can handle.”
“Your life is tame compared to some.”
Did that make me feel better? Misery always craved a little company. “I really don’t want to know.”