Chapter Forty Tula
Chapter Forty
Tula
Nathan and I had practiced diving yesterday. The first dive was close to the Nags Head shore, and that first dip was far more unsettling than the steady waters of the pool.
The second dive in the afternoon was farther out to sea. No wrecks to explore, but we swam past sandbars, fish, and shells. Each time, the ocean was on its best behavior. But it was a mischievous child waiting for its chance to throw a wave.
And today, we were diving to the Oceanus with several of Nathan’s other clients. Nervous chatter swirled among the divers. They were excited and ready to jump.
“All right, folks,” Nathan said. “Let’s do this.”
I’d hoped today would be different. My skills had come back to me on the practice dives, and my muscle memory had jumped to life. Intellectually I knew I could do this. Fourth time is the charm, right? But fear still hummed like a low growl.
I waited as the other divers took large steps into the water. One by one, they vanished under the surface. Finally, it was just Nathan and me on the boat. While he kept a keen eye on the others, he remained by my side.
We hadn’t spoken about the other night or the future. Our arrangement had been professional and all business.
“Jump or dive, Tula,” he said.
I’d played the water game when I was a kid. And Nathan and I had often repeated the phrase when we were diving on one of Mom’s tours.
Either way, I had to decide. “You mean ‘Jump or run,’ right?”
“You’ve got this,” he said.
You know me. Stop being so afraid, the water teased.
I didn’t, but I settled my mask on my face, making sure the connection was tight. I inched to the edge of the dive platform, and before I could think too much, I leaped into the water. The cold waters swirled around me, the small waves buoying me up and giving me a moment to collect my thoughts.
I checked the straps on my tanks and checked my regulator. The waters remained calm and beckoned me forward.
I will behave. I promise.
Nathan watched me closely as he stood perched on the edge of the platform. He tossed me a thumbs-up, and I held up mine. He slid into the water as if he were strolling down the beach. As my heart slammed my chest, I found my bearings and then tipped forward and dove below the surface.
Under the water, he was at my side again. He studied me, searching for a sign that I should be pulled out of the water. But I was dealing with the water. We were getting reacquainted.
I followed him deeper, breathing slowly and swimming toward the wreck, masked by darkness. Nathan had told me over and over to return to the boat if I had any issues. The boat’s hull rocked gently on the surface.
Kicking my flippers hard, I pushed deeper, farther away from the sun and air. Schools of silver fish with black stripes swam around me. A tiger shark drifted past, casting side-eye in my direction.
I again looked back up, catching faint hints of light, now as distant as the sun and stars.
If I continued down, my ascent would have to be slow and steady. No panicking and swimming wildly back to the boat. Spooked or not, I’d have to stay in control or risk the bends.
Shifting my focus back to the ocean floor, I kicked. The other divers moved easily, without fear. I followed. And just like that, after seven years of nightmares and old regrets, the Oceanus came into view.
Just like Bob’s video, she lay on her side, her belly gashed with the fatal wound. Her metal hull was covered in barnacles, now a feeding ground for thousands of tiny fish. The death of this ship and the people aboard had created a new life for these creatures.
My mother would have been pleased that this underwater haven was thriving. She’d always felt more connected to the underwater world than she had to life on the surface or even me.
Welcome.
The whisper drifted around me like a current. I closed my eyes and savored the buoyancy I hadn’t enjoyed in years. On land, my limbs always felt heavy and uncertain. But this felt right. Yes, the danger still existed, but it was forgotten in the wake of a glorious peace.
I swam closer to the Oceanus. And as the distance narrowed, fragments of the debris field—broken plates, bits of metal, a bottle—came into view.
My fingers skimmed over a remarkably intact dinner plate. Once, divers had collected these trinkets and displayed them in dive shops, on mantels, or in museums. But scavenging was now illegal. I was fine with that. What the sea had taken, it deserved to keep.
My gloved fingers skimmed the ship’s metal surface, rough with barnacles.
I thought about Dr. Brooks, the DuPonts, Gertrude, Kevin Riggs, Captain Stoddard, and even Sigrid and William.
They’d all set to sea on her, hopeful for a new life in the United States.
And they’d all felt the jolt of the torpedo and experienced the solid ship under their feet rock and then tilt.
I thought once I was here, I’d feel closer to Mom, but I couldn’t feel her. If she was here, the ocean had completely absorbed her.
Swimming along the wreck’s starboard side, I passed portholes coated in sea salt, algae, and muck, as if the Oceanus had drawn a curtain closed on the past.
As I moved toward the bow, I swam by the gash in the side. For years this submerged hull had sailed through my nightmares. It had instilled fear in me and kept me away from the ocean.
But now, I could see it was nothing more than a lifeless artifact. It wasn’t good or evil. It was metal and bone that had no power over me.
I lost track of time as I moved around the large guns and toward the center section. Disinterested fish swam past me, sliding in front but always out of reach.
This is for you, Mom. I hope you’re at peace.
A tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Nathan. He was motioning his thumb topside. Time to go. Time to leave the Oceanus behind.
I nodded. As I turned, my necklace floated and tapped me under the chin. The sea glass had been with me every day since I’d bought it in that little shop. It was my final, almost-birthday gift from Mom. And the coin had joined it days later.
The current tugged at the coin and glass. It would have floated toward the wreck if not tethered by the cord around my neck.
Do you want it?
The ocean tugged.
I unfastened the cord and let the crystal and coin dangle. The undercurrents strengthened and churned around them. It was the last I had of my mother. The last tether.
My fingers opened, and the crystal and coin slid free, floating around my open palm before the duo fell like a creature finally free from captivity. The stream caught it. Fish circled around the pair in quick tight loops.
The water dragged the crystal willingly toward the gash in the Oceanus’ side. It vanished into the darkness.
I hesitated another moment before making my way slowly to the surface.