A CRY FROM THE DEEP (3 page)

She could feel a headache coming on. “What about Geoff? Didn’t he do that dive off the coast of India a few months ago? His photos were splashed everywhere.”

“So you are keeping up with what’s going on.”

She laughed. “Okay, I admit it, a bit.”

“Geoff won’t work with Hennesey. Not after the run-in they had a few years back.”

She’d forgotten about that. Geoff had told her about it when she ran into him shortly after she gave up diving. Both men had gotten drunk and words were exchanged over the photos Geoff had taken. Soon after, his camera was stolen. Privately, Geoff blamed Hennesey for the theft, as the camera contained pictures of the salvager in possession of undocumented Egyptian artifacts. In the end, his story was buried because he couldn’t come up with any proof to take Hennesey to court.

Frank was talking again. “What’s nicer than New York in the springtime? Cherry blossoms in Central Park. C’mon, Catherine. It’ll be like old times.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Look, I’d love to help you out, but I’ve got acres of lavender here. As it is, I’m going to have a hell of a time getting the lavender harvested—”

“I’m sure you can find somebody to manage it for you,” said Frank. “It’s only for three weeks.”

“More like seven. I’ll need at least four just to get comfortable in the water again.” Catherine scanned her shots on the wall. For the most part, the work had been like a drug. One high after the other, each one building on the last. It was ecstasy finding that angle, that exotic sea life that no one else could capture like she could. Frank was right. She knew how to find the magic.

“Frank, even if I could find someone to take care of the farm, I don’t know if Richard can help out with Alex. I don’t know if it’s a good time for him.”

Alex had printed
PLEASE
on a piece of paper and was now waving it in front of her mother. That child never gave up. When Catherine pushed the paper away, Alex made a face. This time, Catherine made one back, and then immediately regretted stooping to her daughter’s level.

“You don’t have to decide now. Take your time. Get back to me in a few days.”

She laughed. “That’s called taking your time? That’s exactly why I left the city.”

After she hung up, she collapsed on the sofa. Alex threw her knitting down and jumped around the room squealing, “We’re going to Disney World, we’re going to Disney World.”

“Alex, I didn’t say we’d go. I said, I’d think about it. And for your information, if I knew you wanted to go so much, I would have planned a trip to Disneyland in Paris a long time ago.”

“It’s not the same,” Alex whined. “It’s mostly in French.”

“So, you speak French.”

“I know, but I have to think too much.”

“Right,” said Catherine, biting her lip. “We don’t even know if Papa will be home. He could be at a conference on the other side of the country. And besides, I don’t know if I can find someone to look after the farm.”

None of the answers she gave Alex were the true ones. She could make it work if she wanted to. The truth was, she had nothing more to prove. There were tons of people in the world who hadn’t taken half the risks she had. She just wouldn’t go, and that’s all there was to it.

~~~

Shortly after Catherine and Alex had finished eating dinner, the phone rang again. This time it was Richard. She should have known Frank left no stone unturned. Still, he had no business calling her ex-husband.

Catherine let Alex talk to her father first. While Alex gushed about Disney World, Catherine gathered her thoughts. She hated asking Richard for anything. He was a brilliant shrink and could unravel her easily with a few choice words. At least, they were now civil to one another. He’d forgiven her for taking their daughter thousands of miles away to make a fresh start. She had to promise him open and easy access, which she had no problem giving and would have even if he hadn’t asked. She would never keep Alex away from her father. Well, that was the problem from the beginning of their marriage. He could never figure out what made her tick.

When she handed over the phone, Alex’s smile couldn’t have been wider.

Richard’s husky voice was encouraging. “I think you should do it, Catherine. I’ll work something out with my mother. Between the two of us, Alex will be fine.”

“Richard, I haven’t decided yet.”

“If it’s the farm you’re worried about, I’m sure you’re capable of finding someone to take over in your absence.”

She paused. It wasn’t like him to refer to her as capable. “Okay, supposing I could find someone, what about Alex’s schooling?”

“There’s tons of choices here in New York.”

“Since when? Last time I checked, you had to line up before the kids started walking to even get into the system.”

Catherine could hear him grunt. He’d forgotten how they’d put Alex’s name on the list for all the good private schools after her first birthday. Anyone could get into public school, but they hadn’t wanted that for Alex, not after reading about metal detectors in the front entrances.

As if he could read her mind, he said, “Well, I’m sure we can figure out something. If we can’t get her into a reputable private school, I’ll hire someone to do home schooling. It’s near the end of the year anyway. And then there’s summer, and if your assignment goes beyond that, it should still be okay. Not much happens at the beginning of a new grade.”

Why was he pushing her? Sure, he’d see Alex, but maybe there was more.
He’d resisted the break-up. Maybe he hoped they’d get back together. But as quickly as she thought that, she dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t risk another rejection. It wasn’t in him.

Richard was right about Alex, though. She was reading well for her age, and her comprehension was way above norm. She wasn’t thought of as precocious for nothing.

By the time Richard got through talking, Catherine was convinced she should at least meet with Hennesey. It wasn’t like she was committing to the dive. Besides, New York was beautiful in the spring and she hadn’t been there in three years. Alex had gone back—a couple of times with a nanny—but Catherine had been content to put the metropolis behind her.

With Alex bouncing off the walls, it was well after ten before she got to sleep and Catherine found time for herself. She poured a glass of red wine and looked out the window at her fields, with its silvery-green leaves shimmering in the moonlight. Damn Frank, anyway. She’d thought she was through with all that seduction, the pull of the unknown. She’d been settled, and yet here she was, vacillating.

What would be more fantastic than finding another Spanish galleon? What underwater photographer wouldn’t want to be a part of that? But it was also about making sure Hennesey respected the ocean that served up the relics he craved. Not that she’d have any say, but he’d be on the alert knowing there was a camera around to document any potential crime.

The fact that divers like Hennesey were still out there, unmonitored, was enough to get her riled up. How many mornings had she stewed after reading about another sensitive habitat destroyed by greedy scavengers? These underwater thieves acted as if they owned not only the booty but also the place where it was found. What was so infuriating was that no government had the will or the power to put a stop to these raiders. One way to bring attention was through photos. Pictures had always been stronger than words. That was something she could do.

She went to bed, her mind swimming with all that’d happened: Frank’s appealing invitation and Richard’s unexpected cooperation. But thinking about donning her scuba gear again and jumping into the ocean’s depths re-awakened the terror she thought she’d laid to rest. By the time she closed her eyes, Catherine had convinced herself Alex would accept not going, if there was absolutely nobody to take over running the farm.

~~~

The following day, Catherine picked Alex up from school for their monthly shopping trip to Aix-en-Provence. Normally, she loved driving down the Cours Mirabeau, a plane tree boulevard lined with brasseries
and tourist magasins. But today, it was tense. She couldn’t avoid seeing her daughter’s pouting face in her rear-view mirror.

“Alex, I’d love to take you to Disney World, but I just can’t leave the farm. You know your papa sends money for half your care, but it’s not enough. Selling lavender soaps and sachets helps me stay independent.”

“What’s independent?”

“It means standing on your own. Being able to take care of yourself.”

“Huh.” Alex paused and then said, “Grandma says you’re stubborn.” Richard’s mother called regularly from New York, making her a successful long-distance grandmother.

“That’s not a bad thing.” Even though she believed that, she couldn’t help but feel annoyed that her ex-mother-in-law had interfered once again. “We all are in some way.”

“Whatever,” said Alex, sulking even more.

Catherine sighed. The main avenue was congested; tourist season had begun. She spotted two backpackers consulting a map. She’d been one of them once. She’d overcome her fears from childhood and had developed a daring nature. Even her brother was impressed. He told everyone nothing scared his sister. Nothing until the day she stared death in the face while diving. Sure, there’d been close calls before—tangled tubes, failed oxygen tanks, and a narrow escape from a ravenous shark—but nothing like the last one. Just thinking about it made her shiver.

She stopped at a light near the Cezanne museum and looked out her side window. A young woman, seated in a café, snapped a photo of an older woman smoking a cigar several chairs over. The subject with the cigar looked striking with her severe black pageboy and bold red and white striped T-shirt. She seemed to be waiting for someone. A lover? Was it a he or a she? That was another thing Catherine loved about France. Anything went, and no one seemed to give a damn.

She returned her attention to the young woman with a camera. Her face seemed to be lit from within. Although Catherine loved country living, she had to admit her own inner light had grown dim the past few years. Would diving again ignite that missing spark? What was the worst thing that could happen? She could die. But how likely was that?
She was wiser now, and like people always said, forewarned was forearmed.

“Mama, it’s a green light.”

Startled, Catherine jerked the car forward. For the rest of the day, she battled the choices in her mind. Alex had no such problem. She planned which doll and treasures to bring on the trip, even though Catherine had to remind her that no one had replied to the ad she’d placed.

With Alex continuing to pack and repack her suitcase, Catherine felt as if something was pulling her, even though she hadn’t made up her mind. And as if to prove there was some force outside her control, she received a call the next day from one of her neighbors up the road. Mr. Loutit had seen her ad in the local paper, and coincidentally, he said, he had a Canadian relative who wanted to rent a farm for several months or more. His cousin called it farm sitting, like house sitting. Apparently, after reading
My Year in Provence
, she’d been looking for a chance to come over with her two sons and rent a mas for the season. He further said she was an avid gardener and had some familiarity with lavender plants, having grown them herself on Vancouver Island in British Columbia.

When Catherine hesitated, he added, “I will be here to manage and supervise. Don’t worry, your harvest will be merveilleux. I will see to it.”

Alex, of course, was over the moon. She couldn’t stop jumping around.

With all the cards falling into place, Catherine called Frank. She emphasized that though she was agreeing to see Hennesey in Florida, her commitment to the project was still uncertain. It all depended on whether she could regain her comfort in the water.

With Frank’s reply—
I’m happy you haven’t closed the door
—echoing in her mind, she ran back into Aix-en-Provence, updated her camera equipment, and prayed she wasn’t making another mistake. At least, she told herself, Alex would get a chance to see her father, whom she hadn’t seen in three months. Richard had been so good about flying over four times a year that Catherine, in all conscience, saw this as her chance to reciprocate. Up until now, she’d always had some excuse for not going. She didn’t have the money or the crops needed tending or Alex was sick. There was always something.

Leaving the countryside a few weeks later wasn’t as traumatic as she’d expected. Mr. Loutit’s cousin, Marie, was excited about caring for Catherine’s plants and said, “I’ll treat them as if they’re my own babies.” She offered to email with updates and, surprisingly, agreed to a flexible stay. Catherine told her she’d return in the fall to put her plants to bed for the winter—if she took the assignment—and if she didn’t, she’d be back by the end of June. Even with the earliest return, Marie would have at least a month and a half of a true Provence experience
.

Mr. Loutit gave Catherine and Alex a lift to the train station. With the cottage receding in the distance, Catherine left wondering what she was getting herself into.