Chapter Twenty-Five Tula
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tula
Nathan had not tried to kiss me, and when he dropped me off at the Brooks house, I hesitated. We sat in the silence before I said, “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I wasn’t sure what the date had meant. “I haven’t had such a good time in years.”
“Same.”
Out of the vehicle, I fished the heavy key from my pocket, hurried to the front door, and unlocked it. Flipping on the light, I looked back at Nathan’s truck. He waved and then backed out onto the road. The truck soon vanished around a curve.
I closed the door behind me and stood in the silence. The dust danced and swirled in the light leaking through gaps between the blinds and windows.
I unlocked the back door and walked out onto the deck and moved toward the dune stairs. The ocean breeze was still warm and the stars burned bright in the night sky. I inhaled, listening as the ocean rolled up onto the sand. In the spray and sliding waters, a faint whisper rose above the churn.
How could you not love me?
The waters on the horizon were smooth and the air soft. Days like this convinced almost anyone that beach living was the way to go. On days like this, the ocean was benevolent. It spoke so softly no one saw the big stick clutched behind its back.
Anxiety should have been tightening my chest. I should have been afraid. But I wasn’t. The pull of this kind version of the monster was seductive.
I turned back toward the house. I stepped out of the fading light into the house, which was now catching moonlight.
Next week would be my last helping Kaitlin, and though I enjoyed her company, I was ready to move on to something else. I didn’t know what that was, but I was headed in the right direction.
As tempted as I was to return to the manuscript, I felt an obligation to give this house my time.
After changing out of my dress, I spent a good hour boxing up the books in the middle of the living room.
Once they were sealed and the sheets and towels in large trash bags, I turned my attention back to Dr. Brooks’s papers.
I hefted a box onto the large desk in the office and found several images of Dr. Brooks.
In the first, he was on the back porch of this house, smiling up from a newspaper as if he was happy to humor the photographer.
In many of the pictures he was surrounded by books, magazines, and newspapers.
A man of letters. A doctor of sorts who had been based in Norfolk, but who’d escaped to this house whenever he could.
I wondered who’d taken the pictures. Maybe the woman in the photographs?
I pulled the yellowed newspaper clipping that covered a local hit-and-run accident that had occurred on the beach road in Nags Head in the sixties.
A driver had struck and killed a man who’d been trying to cross the busy road on a moonless night.
The driver had not stopped, and at the time of the reporting, the crime wasn’t solved.
I smoothed out the article and dug through the layers of images. As I excavated deeper, I found more pictures from the fifties and sixties of the doctor and the lovely woman. She smiled in all the pictures, but her face was always slightly turned and her gaze glancing away from the lens.
I put all the pictures in a “keep” box and went about cleaning.
I moved to the kitchen and began packing the cabinets, filled with stoneware dishes.
Like the man, the dishes were simple, functional, and easily forgotten.
I wrapped them all in paper and boxed them up.
Next the drawers. Again, all carefully organized.
There was no clutter, no disorganization.
My cell rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local. “This is Tula.”
“This is Lex Green. I know I’m calling late. But I heard from Doug tonight that you were asking about me. I’d have called sooner, but I left my cell at home.”
Communication in small towns was efficient. “Mr. Green. Thanks for calling. I was planning to contact you. You know I’m Mariah Cassidy’s daughter, right?”
“I do. Are you up in Southern Shores?” His voice had the scruffy edge of an older man.
“I am. Hard at work cleaning out the Brooks house.”
“How did you get that job?”
“My firm sent me down here to get it cleaned out so it could be sold.”
“Great property. So much history.”
Questions bubbled. “Would you have time to meet for coffee? You wrote several articles about my mother, and it would be nice to talk to someone who knew her.”
“Sure. But I didn’t know her that well. We only met a few times before she dove the Oceanus. I liked your mother.”
Piecing together why Mom had wanted to return here and dive the wreck was becoming all important to me. “Where would you like to meet?”
“I’m in Manteo. I don’t get up to Southern Shores that much anymore. My eyes aren’t great, so I stay close to home.”
“I’m happy to come to you. What time works for you?”
“Tuesday?”
“Sure.” I mentally ran through that morning’s cleaning schedule. “Middle of the day?”
“Let’s say noon.”
“Perfect.”
He rattled off his address as I scribbled it on a piece of paper. “I’ll unpack my notes and see if there’s anything that might be of interest.”
“That would be great.”
“Anything in particular you want to know?”
“Why did the Oceanus spark Mom’s interest?”
“That’s easy. Her grandmother, your great-grandmother, Margaret, was on the ship.”