Chapter Eight Tula #2
“Excellent. You just passed a test.” She shifted in her seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“I never share what I see in any of these homes, but a few employees of mine have. I fired them. You’re going to see some stuff.
And I’ll stay in business longer if you only tell me what you see. ”
“People talked about me when I lived here, and it wasn’t fun to be the girl whose mother was lost at sea. The long lingering stares and whispers weren’t fun. No matter how hard I worked at being normal, I was always That Girl.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe, but people still love a tragic tale. It makes them feel better about their lives.”
Mariah Cassidy had become larger than life after her disappearance. She became super smart, well traveled, funny, kind, and brave.
Everyone, including me, edited out the bad stuff: dangling questions, run-on flaws, and meandering choices that had led nowhere.
I stopped thinking about the times she’d drunk too much or taken off for days, leaving me to fend for my ten-year-old self with the ship’s cook, a salty sailor named Madge, or hotel staff.
There were times when we packed our suitcases and left at night because she didn’t have rent money.
Dying dramatically had cleaned up a lot of issues.
And these days, I only pictured the woman with a fit body, muscled arms, and a laugh that always lightened my mood.
And it was kind of a relief. Ever since my separation from Dave, I’d caught myself asking Mom for advice.
And sometimes I thought maybe she’d reached from the beyond and offered me sage counsel.
Don’t open another bottle of wine, and avoid the local dive bar for a hookup.
My therapist said that Mom and I were a lot alike.
We both were prone to emotional distance.
And Mom could no sooner let go of her wrecks than I could abandon my sixty-hour workweeks.
We clung to what helped us avoid the messy moments families or loved ones required of us.
Fixation was our hiding place, but it chipped at our tethers to the real world.
Kaitlin crossed onto the mainland, and my fingers eased on the armrest. I flexed the stiff joints. “You’re not a tragic tale,” she said. “Be positive.”
A misshapen smile strained my facial muscles.
She cringed. “Stop, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m trying to be positive. Smiles are optimistic, right?”
Wind flicked the edges of her blond hair around her face. “Oh, they are, but that smirk reminds me of the Joker or Loki.”
For the first time in months, maybe years, something broke loose inside me. Ice cracked and floated down a frozen river. “It’s not that bad.”
My tone had softened, and she knew she had breached the armor. “A cartoon evil mastermind would be jealous.”
“Fine. It was a little forced.” Coiled anxiety unfurled a bit more, and a genuine grin flickered.
“But now it’s not. And that’s progress. You’re going to find living at the beach to be good for you.”
“Or it’s going to kill me.”
“Maybe. But you’ll survive.”
“Survive dying?”
“You know what I mean.”
Five more miles down the road, Kaitlin pulled into the parking lot of a one-story warehouse building that appeared to house several businesses. Pool supplies in A-1, lawn service in B-2, and cleaning supplies in C-3.
In C-3, we were greeted by a heavy pine scent that conjured up images of bottles of liquid gold. The floor glistened, and the countertops were wiped clean. Behind the counter was a slim woman with dark hair. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a sober expression.
“Hey, Lynn,” Kaitlin said. “Ready to pick up my order.”
Lynn’s expression tightened. “We just finished boxing up a partial order. You ready for the season?”
That question got asked a lot this time of year.
“The season” meant higher prices, more traffic on the roads, and crowded beaches and stores.
The prime twelve weeks of summer were the gold rush for most down here.
This was the make-or-break time, because as soon as the tourists left, life and revenue reduced to a crawl.
“I’m ready,” Kaitlin said. “We have a packed schedule, which is a good thing. Last two years have been great.”
“Good and bad, I guess. Can’t enjoy warm empty beaches if you don’t have money.”
Kaitlin jabbed a thumb toward me. “This is my friend Tula Cassidy. She’s back on OBX and is helping me clean for a couple of weeks.”
“Your friend?” Lynn hesitated as she mentally flipped through memories. “That’s right. Tula used to live here. Your mother was lost at sea.”
In high school, this bold mention of my mother’s death would have sent me scrambling from the room. I would have refused to cry, but bottled emotions would have festered and stewed until late at night, when tears finally fell. Now the old wound was covered in scar tissue.
“That’s me,” I said.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Lynn said. “We all felt so bad for you.”
My story had been a cautionary tale for everyone on the Outer Banks.
You could live close to the ocean, and though it was stunningly breathtaking at times, it could also consume you or someone you loved.
I reminded everyone of that dark fact. After Mom vanished, and before she became a saint, many questioned her judgment regarding currents, the potentially looming storm, and Mother Nature’s wrath.
Even as volunteers searched for her body, many whispered that Mariah Cassidy thought her long-standing relationship with the ocean exempted her from danger.
They righteously stated that the ocean did not care about backstories, reasons, or excuses.
It did its thing. It was up to us to heed the warnings.
Her loss had reignited interest in the Oceanus.
Some divers hoped to find the mythic gold.
And even years later, others wondered morbidly if they could find Mariah Cassidy’s body.
A few posted videos on YouTube about their adventures.
I’d watched one, and it had triggered a full-blown panic attack.
I hadn’t seen an Oceanus video in over six years.
Thankfully, no one had found Mom or the gold. The ocean had decided to keep them both.
“Thank you,” I said to Lynn, returning to the present.
“Are you here all summer?” she asked.
“I’m cleaning out a house for the owners. Been in the family for decades. I’m not sure how long it will take.”
“Where’s the house?”
“Southern Shores.”
Lynn nodded. “Must be the Brooks house.”
Small-town living. “That’s right.”
“It’s been empty for several years,” Lynn said. “You think they’ll sell?”
“No idea. My job is to clean it out.”
“If you need supplies, you know where to find me,” Lynn said.
“Will do.”
“Being back here doesn’t bother you?” she asked.
I had to hand it to Lynn. She served her questions right to my face. “Check back in a few weeks. I’ll let you know.”
Lynn nodded and waved us behind the counter. “Come get your supplies.”
She led us through a maze of boxes and bottles of all kinds of containers filled with pink and blue cleaning solutions. She stopped at two marked “Kaitlin.”
“Help yourself, ladies. Your order is light, but come back later in the week for more.”
Kaitlin nodded thoughtfully before lifting the bigger of the two boxes. “Okay. Text me when it arrives.”
Lynn handed Kaitlin an invoice.
Kaitlin didn’t scan the bill. “I’ll take care of this right away.”
“Good,” Lynn said.
I hefted one of the containers, straining a little as I adjusted my grip. Back muscles tensing, I followed Kaitlin, who easily balanced her box on a hiked knee and opened the door. She held it for me. I followed.
She raised the van’s back hatch and dumped her box next to a vacuum cleaner and several mops. She took mine. I shook out my fingers, recharging the circulation.
“When did you get so strong?” I asked.
“When did you get so weak?” she countered.
I swam laps a few times a week, but lately I’d found reasons not to go. I didn’t think the lack of exercise had caught up. “It’s been a slow and sloppy slide down the hill.”
She laughed. “Time to climb back to the mountaintop.” Inside the car, the engine rumbled. “Now we need to stop by the repair shop. Otto is fixing two of my vacuum cleaners.”
Of course, the prep work made sense. But I had pictured just showing up with a mop, a bucket, and a vacuum cleaner. “A bigger production than grabbing a few cleaning items at the grocery store.”
“You’d be amazed what happens before that. And then there’s the paperwork. Billing. Taxes. Insurance.”
We stopped at another warehouse office three miles east of Lynn’s.
We grabbed the two vacuums and another invoice.
By the time we headed back across the bridge, the wind had kicked up more.
The clouds had grown plump with rain. I blinked and drew in a breath.
As my therapist advised, I imagined standing in a large field surrounded by solid mountains. Grass. Hard dirt. Clear skies.
As I reached for tranquility, a crack of thunder yanked it further away. Breathe in. Breathe out.
The strain banding my body didn’t ease, so I switched to my therapist’s plan B. Face the demon head on.
I grabbed the first question that came to mind. “Has anyone dived the Oceanus recently?”
Kaitlin looked surprised. “Why do you ask that?”
“Just wondering.” My heart beat faster, and sweat dampened my palms.
“There is the occasional recreational diver who talks about the Oceanus, but it’s not a regular spot. A few wrecks are closer to shore.” She tapped the steering wheel with a ringed finger. “I dove the Oceanus a few years ago.”
“Why?”
“Curious. I thought I might see something that I could share with you.”
“Like Mom floating around?” My fear voiced itself without me thinking it sounded angry.
She shook her head. “That was my biggest fear. I thought maybe I’d find a few trinkets or something tangible to give you.”
“Did you find anything?”
The car rolled over the bridge and onto the Outer Banks. A few fat raindrops hit the windshield. “A few things.”
“Like what?”
“An ivory comb. A coin. And a wineglass that never broke.”
I touched the coin around my neck. “And you never told me.”
“You didn’t want anything to do with this place. And you seemed happy. No reason to stir up the past.”
The past’s silty bottom never settled so the waters could clear.
“Do you still have those items?”
“I never took them. The Oceanus is within three miles of shore, so it’s illegal.”
“Did you take pictures?”
“I did. They’re on my computer. I’ll show you when we get back to my place.”
“You look nervous.”
“Not like I saw a ghost or anything. But I did get a bad feeling when I picked up the coin.” Nervous laughter bubbled.
“It was like that the day when I approached the Oceanus. Felt as if we were swimming into a graveyard and the spirits weren’t happy to be disturbed. I’d feared a life force would attach to me and follow me home. Maybe one did. Mystics in other cultures believe spirits can travel via water.”
Kaitlin looked a little paler. “Don’t say that. I don’t need a ghost. Got enough on my plate.”
I shrugged. “Open ocean water freaks me out. But ghosts don’t move the needle on my fear meter.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, they’re dead. What can they do? Throw a vase or creak across a floor? Make a spooky sound?” I grinned. “Heard any weird sounds lately?”
“Don’t say that!”
My smile broadened. Since the first day she’d welcomed me to her lunch table in high school, we’d teased each other a lot. “They can do a lot of damage. Never underestimate them.”
“Shut up!”
I laughed. “Come and get us, ghosts!”