Chapter Thirty-Four Tula
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tula
The sun was high in the sky as I drove north to the flattop house. Heavy traffic slowed the trip, and when I pulled into the driveway, I was exhausted.
Tomorrow the auctioneer would arrive, and we’d discuss the sale of Dr. Brooks’s furniture. Unraveling the house’s story had led me to my mother’s truth. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?”
The question was becoming as repetitive as it was annoying. I unlocked the front door, flipped on the light, and stepped into the living room that now smelled faintly of pine cleaner.
I made my way back to the office and grabbed a box of files and sifted through the papers. Maybe Dr. Brooks had a few more answers for me about Mom.
This box was filled with articles about more shipwrecks off the Outer Banks.
I’d never met Dr. Brooks, but I’d heard over and over that he was precise and careful.
And yet he’d saved maritime articles that dated back decades.
If he was the Dr. Brooks in the manuscript, I could only suppose surviving the Oceanus’ wreck had connected him not only to my great-grandmother but also to anyone else who’d endured a sinking ship.
It took three hours before I’d sifted through all the old papers and shredded them. Several times the machine jammed with too much paper. I dragged the bags of chopped-up paper out to the recycling bin.
“Was this job another way to take care of me?” I asked.
I grabbed a broom and swept out the office.
I hauled the desk to the side and pulled up the small area rug.
Dust kicked up, and I was coughing when I noticed what looked like the seam of a small door in the floor.
I set the broom aside, knelt down, and rapped my knuckles against the floor.
The space underneath sounded hollow. Was this a door?
I pushed on it, and when it didn’t budge, I stomped on it. It creaked.
From the kitchen I found a dull old butter knife and returned to the office. I ran the edge along the joint, digging out what looked like years’ worth of dirt. The floorboard began to loosen. I tunneled deeper until the edges had freed.
I pried open the wood until I could get my fingers under one end. When the lid popped off, I set it aside. I grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight and searched the space.
Inside was a small box. Feeling a bit like Pandora, I remembered all my mother’s cautions about finding trouble in the past. Was it best to leave history alone?
Maybe.
Carefully, I opened the lid.
Inside were old documents: passports, travel visas, and maps. There was also a set of tarot cards bound with twine that reminded me of the ones Dr. Brooks had used to entertain the Oceanus passengers.
The cards were well worn and had a slight greasy feel, as if they’d been handled countless times.
I shifted my focus to the documents. The four passports were from four different countries: the United States, Great Britain, France, and Austria.
The credentials dated back to the 1930s, and they all had stamps from dozens of countries.
However, the black-and-white identity photos were all of a younger version of Dr. Brooks.
The ordinary man who was easily overlooked and could blend in with anyone had traveled under multiple identities. “Dr. Brooks, you were a spy.”
I searched the entire opening. I was about to declare it empty when I felt a small envelope tucked in the corner. I immediately recognized my mother’s handwriting. The letter had been posted from Greece two months before we’d returned to the States.
My heartbeat pulsed in my head as I shut off the flashlight on my phone. I removed the letter from the envelope. Mom’s handwriting, which had always been so precise and clear, looked shaky. I blinked back tears. As I read the letter, I grew sadder and angrier.
I texted Nathan.
Me: Can I come over? Interesting find at the flattop house.
Nathan: What?
Me: I need to show you.
Nathan: I’ll be home in an hour.
I arrived at Nathan’s rented condo forty-five minutes later and was relieved to see his truck was already parked out front. I hurried to his unit and knocked on the door.
Footsteps sounded, and seconds later the door opened to Nathan. His hair was wet and slicked back, and the soft scent of fresh soap drifted around him. His gaze skimmed over me. Appreciation flashed as quickly as it vanished.
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.”