Chapter Thirty-Eight Tula
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Tula
Mornings were awkward. And I’d never done them well.
Before I opened my eyes, I listened to Nathan breathe quietly beside me. Last night had been great. Too great. And if I’d learned anything, good things always ended.
He rolled onto his back. “Stay.”
“It’s a busy day. I’m meeting the auctioneer at the house.”
He faced me. His dark hair was messy from my fingers clutching fistfuls when things had really gotten rolling. His crooked smile made me sorry good things didn’t last. “Do you need help?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
“You need open water practice before we can dive the Oceanus.”
“When do you think we can dive the wreck?”
He traced a strand of hair from my eyes. “If all goes well, a few days.”
It would be easy to be with Nathan. “Great.”
I raised the coverlet and swung my leg over the side of the bed.
Carefully, I picked up my pants and shirt.
As I pulled them both on, he rose and walked toward me, unmindful that he was naked.
He cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me on the lips.
“I have two charters today, and I won’t be back until after sunset.
” It would take him time to chat up his clients, unload his tanks, and clean the boat.
He wouldn’t be back here until close to nine.
“I’ll catch up with you soon. The rest of the week is going to be crazy.”
He laid his hands on my shoulders. “Sounds like you’re trying to avoid me. Is it the dive or me?”
“Both, I think. I might need a few days to process.”
“I thought what happened was pretty great.”
“It was. Just unexpected.”
“I get it.” The patience in his voice made him so much more appealing. It would have been easier if he weren’t such a nice guy.
“Last night was great. But . . .”
“You think it’s all going to go sideways.”
“I’m worried that I’m attaching to you out of fear. I did that with Dave, and it wasn’t good for him or me.”
“I’m not asking you to live my life.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“This really is a me thing. I don’t trust myself not to grab the first anchor when life gets difficult.”
He pulled me into a hug, and despite myself, I relaxed into his arms. He smelled of sunshine and his own musk. After he’d moved away seven years ago, he’d left one of his shirts behind. I’d slept in it for at least a year. “We can figure this out,” he said.
I wasn’t so sure. “Okay. For now, I just need a little time.”
“I’ll text you for our next dive date.”
“Terrific.” Either way, I was going to dive the Oceanus, and there was no other diver I trusted more than Nathan. I pulled out of his embrace, kissed him again, and then left.
When I slid into my car, I found him standing in his doorway, wearing shorts but shirtless. He looked a little sad, as if he faced another problem he couldn’t fix.
I started the engine and backed out of my spot.
The wheels were rolling, but I felt a little like I was on autopilot.
At a stoplight, I leaned against my steering wheel, wondering why I’d let our relationship go to such a different level.
Any other guy, and I would’ve appreciated the night and left with no lingering emotional strands.
But Nathan was kind, and I’d always known I could rely on him.
He’d never ask me to live a life that wasn’t mine.
And yet, I feared loving him more than I feared the ocean now.
A horn honked, and I looked in the mirror and saw an SUV behind me. I pressed the accelerator and drove back to the flattop house.
When I walked through the front door, light from the morning sun leaked through the shutters facing the ocean.
I showered and took time to dry my hair and apply a little makeup.
I set up the percolator. I leaned against the countertop, my head in my hands as it gurgled.
When the coffee was finally ready, I poured a large cup and made a peanut butter sandwich.
I was halfway through the coffee and sandwich when my phone dinged with a text from Kaitlin.
Kaitlin: What’s up?
Me: Just gearing up for the day.
Kaitlin: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get like that last night. I really will pay you back.
Me: It’s really not about the money.
Kaitlin: It is for me.
I sighed and sat down in the living room. I get it. Hard to need help.
Kaitlin: I’m the solid one. The practical one.
Me: I know. And I love you for that.
Kaitlin: The surf shop is going to work.
Me: And I’ll get back to diving. Life is short. Do what we love, right?
A truck rumbled into the driveway, and I looked out to see Morrison’s Auction House on its front door panel.
Me: Got to go. Time to sell some furniture.
Kaitlin: See you soon.
Me: Definitely.
I slid the phone into my back pocket, walked to the front door, and opened it to a woman in her early sixties. She had dark brown hair and bright red lipstick.
Her expression radiated curiosity when she saw me. “Tula?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of research on this house since you contacted me. I have to say, I’m excited to see what you have.”
“Please come inside. I have coffee.”
“No, thank you.” She grinned. “I’ve already had a few too many cups.”
“I’m often guilty of the same.” I motioned her inside.
She entered, and immediately her gaze scanned the room. I could almost hear a calculator adding up the prices for a house full of mid-century modern furniture. Clearly fascinated, she appeared to be holding back her need to explore. “May I look around?”
“Of course.”
Sharon scanned the stack of books in the living room and then moved to an upholstered solid-wood chair. “Do you know much about this style of furniture?”
“Mid-century modern. I’ve been reading up on it.”
“What about the house?”
“I know a little about it. Not much as far as construction.”
She walked toward a solid-walnut sideboard.
“These homes were built by Frank Stick. He was an artist and developer who optioned the land in Southern Shores in the late 1940s. He oversaw drawing the plotlines, the installation of roads, and the building of the first houses. They were designed to look like cottages he’d seen in Florida.
This house was one of the first he’d built. ”
“I don’t see many Florida influences in the house. But the theme of the art is very nautical.”
“I did some research. I found a picture of Mr. Stick and Dr. Brooks.” She reached into her large purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten image.
Curious to see Dr. Brooks, I crossed to her.
The black-and-white picture was of two men standing in front of this house shortly after it had been constructed.
The builder was a tall, thin man with a vivid grin.
Dr. Brooks’s face was in profile, but I noted his expression was neutral.
Beyond the passports I’d found in the floor, I hadn’t seen any good pictures of Dr. Brooks except the ones with the mystery woman.
“Hard to find pictures of Dr. Brooks,” she said. “I was curious about him, but there’s not much written about him.”
“I think he was very private.” I reached for my phone and opened to the images of Dr. Brooks and the brunette. “Do you know who she might be?”
Ms. Morrison studied the picture, enlarging the woman’s face. “I’ve never seen her before. You should check at the history center in Manteo.”
“I will.” I accepted the phone back and tucked it into my pocket.
“He was more involved in the community toward the end of his life. But for many years he kept to himself. I hear he wasn’t down here a lot.”
Dr. Brooks had come and gone like the tide. He’d drifted into Gertrude’s life and into mine. “That’s what I could gather.”
She crossed to a stack of boxes. “What are these?”
“His books.”
“I’ll take these two,” she said.
“Great.”
“Why is the family selling?”
“His great-nephew is ready to let the property go.”
“So, this will go on the market soon?”
“I assume so. My job is to clean out the house and get it ready to sell. I don’t know what Mr. Brooks’s plans are.”
“It’s a shame. I’d have kept this place intact. I’d have sold the furniture with the house. There’s a market for this period.”
“I agree. I like the house just as it is. But selling is not my call. Would you like the grand tour?”
“Yes, I sure would.”
We walked from room to room, cataloguing the contents.
When we entered Dr. Brooks’s office, I stared at the simple cherry desk and chair.
Mr. Brooks had said I could keep whatever I wanted from the house, and originally, I’d had no plans to keep anything.
The desk was tempting, but I’d have no use for it wherever I was going.
I sensed I was going to be traveling light. But I’d keep all the photographs.
“I think this house is ready for more people,” I said. I wasn’t sure what had made me the authority, but the house felt lonely. It needed life, activity.
“I’ll take everything you want to sell.”
“Seriously?”
“I can sell it all. Mid-century modern is hot now, and anything to do with Frank Stick is very collectable. I already have buyers for the house.”
“Great. I’ll put you in contact with Mr. Brooks.”
“I can have my movers here next Monday.”
And just like that, my life here was ending again. “Can you send me a contract?”
“Of course, I’ll email it to you as soon as I get to the office.”
“Terrific.”
Ms. Morrison’s wide smile was infectious. “I’m so glad you called. I’ll take very good care of Dr. Brooks’s estate.”
I’d never met the guy, but he’d looked out for me. He’d given me a place to land when I was lost. And I’d do the same for him. “Thank you.”