The Things I Do For You (15 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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“We can. We can eat all of it.” For a moment Bailey wondered if he would segue into something sexual, work his lips and tongue down her body. She remembered the thrill of first becoming sexual with him. Raging hormones and stolen moments, and his fingers slipping into her panties, always to find her completely flooded. Now there was usually a tube at the side of the bed. When did everything change? When did they start to need pharmaceuticals to aid in their lovemaking?
Instead of slipping his fingers into her, Brad sat up, eyes bright. He was excited all right, just not the good kind. Ah, the honeymoon stage. The beginning. In love with a lighthouse. How long would it last this time?
When the coffee shop opened, they’d stayed up round the clock. Partly out of excitement, but mostly, Bailey suspected, because of the staggering amount of espresso shots coursing through their young bodies. They’d talked about everything that night. Their customers, the décor, their espresso-making techniques. Brad swore he was going to learn to make a little heart in the foam. He never did. Was this the same thing, was it going to follow the same high, then crash into abject failure? Only here, they were childless and quickly approaching middle age.
“Escaped con or not, Harold still had some valid insights. I’d like to keep this place Zen,” Brad said.
“I love you,” Bailey said. “But we’re still getting furniture, television, and the Internet.”
“Furniture, okay,” Brad said. “Please. No television, and the Internet only for us. For emergencies.”
“But sometimes I just like to zone out and watch TV,” Bailey said.
“I know. But you’ll get used to it. Wouldn’t you rather tune into life? Sunsets, and wildlife, and speedboat chases?”
“What about Matt Lauer? You know I can’t start the day without Matt Lauer.”
“Let’s just go without it for a while,” Brad said. “You’ll see.”
“What happened to ‘everything in moderation’?” Bailey said.
“It still applies,” Brad said. “But can’t we just give it a try?”
“Speaking of moderation,” Bailey said. “Tell me about the auction again.”
“Why?”
“Because I missed out on it and I want to feel a part of it.” She snuggled up to Brad. “What was your opening bid?”
She was testing him, and it probably wasn’t a very wifely thing to do, but she had to see whether or not he was going to confess. He didn’t. He claimed the bid started at a hundred thousand and he only went up by increments of ten thousand. A heaviness hit Bailey square in the center of her chest. Despite his restlessness and lack of good business sense, her husband, Brad Jordan, had always been honest to a fault. And now, after seeing the light, he was apparently a liar.
“I can’t believe the price was so high,” Bailey said. “Comparative properties all sold for much, much less. Under three hundred thousand, most of them.”
“They probably needed a lot more work,” Brad said.
“More work than this?” Bailey said. “Unless we cater exclusively to escaped cons, we can’t even have guests here with the current state of things.”
“This is why we need to sell the Jag and the condo,” Brad said. She wanted to pummel him. She wasn’t selling the condo. Especially not when he was lying to her.
“Brad. Captain Jack told me the bid started at one hundred thousand dollars and you—he called you a ‘committee,’ by the way—immediately upped it to half a million dollars.”
“Oh,” Brad said.
Bailey sat up. The air mattress tilted and squealed. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
“What else is there to say?”
“Oh, gee, I don’t know. How about, ‘That’s ludicrous, Bailey. Why in the world would I do something that stupid’!” She hadn’t meant to escalate so quickly, but in addition to a compulsion to throw things, she always did have a lead-foot mouth.
“We had to get it, okay? I couldn’t risk losing it.”
“But you’re supposed to wait. Bid in increments. Maybe it would have sold for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”
“No. You should’ve seen Captain Jack. He wanted it, Bailey.”
“He won’t even come inside.”
“I’m telling you—I may have moved it along quicker, but this lighthouse was going to go for this price anyway.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Bailey, I’m telling you. I know in my gut. If you had just been there. I just had this overwhelming feeling—”
“There was a suicide on the third floor!”
“What?” Brad stood up and looked to the ceiling, where Bailey pointed.
“In the very room we can’t get into.” They’d tried everything short of breaking down the door. The next plan of action was to call a locksmith. Bailey was surprised Brad hadn’t torn into it already, but he’d promised to wait for her.
“Somebody killed themself up there?”
“Edga Penwell. She was the late keeper’s wife. She hanged herself.”
“And you know this how?”
“Captain Jack—”
Brad threw his arms up. “Captain Jack. I should have known. He could be making it all up. I saw the look in his eye—he was going to buy it. I had to beat him to it.”
“Brad!” Bailey put her hands over her face. She was so tired. Brad put his arm around her shoulders.
“I got a good deal. Sorry.
We
got a really good deal.”
“In this case, feel free to use the ‘I.’ Because if I’d been there—” She stopped. They were exhausted and upset. And quickly approaching lines which if crossed could become forever tangled.
“If you’d been there, what?”
“We wouldn’t have gone over two hundred and fifty.”
“Then we wouldn’t be here now.”
“You don’t know that.”
Bailey got up and fetched her purse from the fireplace mantel. She flicked on the light and rummaged in her purse until she found the obituary. She held it out to Brad.
“What is it?”
“Read it.”
Brad sighed, but finally complied. He had to hold it farther away from his eyes than she’d ever noticed before. It wouldn’t be long before they were both buying reading glasses. How could they be ready for reading glasses but not babies? He put the article down, then looked toward the ceiling again.
“Kind of weird, right? That we can’t get into that floor?” Bailey said.
“There must be a lot of energy up there,” Brad said. “Energy that needs to be released.” Bailey had a lot of energy that needed to be released too, but she kept her mouth shut about that.
“Wonder how much an exorcist goes for these days,” she said. Brad stood up, came close to Bailey, and took her hands in his.
“I know it hasn’t been easy,” Brad said. “But I swear, Bails. This is where we belong. Right here, right now. We’re needed here. I feel it.” He squeezed her hand.
“Um. What do you mean—we’re needed here?”
“It’s going to sound crazy.”
“Crazy as in—we’re supposed to help Edga cross over?” She’d hit the bull’s-eye. She could tell by the look on his face. The only reason she didn’t lose it was the gentle reminder to herself that a good ghost story might be good for business. But if Brad thought she was using his life mission to make a profit, it would lead to another argument. She was way too tired to argue.
Brad must have been thinking along the same lines, for instead of continuing the conversation, he swept her into his arms and began to dance with her.
“All right, Fred Astaire,” Bailey said, slightly pulling away. “It’s a little late for dancing.”
“It’s never too late for dancing,” Brad said. “Or cake. Or to try and find your true purpose in life.” As if there had been music playing that just stopped, the pair stopped dancing. Brad lifted her chin with his fingers. “It’s not too late for you either.”
Bailey jerked away. “What do you mean by that?”
“You need to follow your passion.”
“Instead of just following you from whim to whim?” She didn’t mean to say it. But that was the problem with mouths sometimes. They spat things out that couldn’t be taken back. And it wasn’t like it was a secret.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I was happy. We were making fantastic money!”
“Fantastic money, yes. Happy? Are you kidding me?”
“I liked my job. I liked Manhattan. I wanted us to live there and have babies.”
“Life is fleeting, Bailey. If we had a baby now . . .” He stopped talking. The one thought she wanted him to finish.
“What? Tell me?”
“You’d throw yourself into motherhood like you’ve thrown yourself into everything else. I’m just afraid—you’d lose yourself.”
“So now it’s my fault you don’t want to have a baby?”
Brad’s voice took on a serious, quiet tone. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“I keep telling you, but you won’t listen.”
“There’s no rush for children, Bails.”
“Tell that to my biological clock.” Brad got that grin on his face, the one that showed his dimples and made his eyes light up, the one that was impossible to resist. He leaned down to her stomach and poked around.
“Is this where your clock is?”
“Lower,” Bailey said.
Brad laughed. He grabbed her around the waist and nuzzled his mouth into her belly button. “We have plenty of time,” he yelled into her stomach. “Stop ticking!” Bailey put her hand on top of his head and nudged his head down lower. Finally, her husband got the hint. And this time when they fell back into the saggy air mattress, it wasn’t to sleep. When they were finished, Brad rolled over and was asleep and snoring within minutes. Bailey, on the other hand, was wide awake. Mostly because she’d made a decision. She’d list the condo in the morning. Her place was, and always would be, right beside this man.
Chapter 15
W
inter on the Hudson River was wild, and beautiful, and completely frozen. Floating snow cones, or ice floes as they were officially called, littered the river bobbing along at a fast clip, as if on a race. Bailey liked to watch them float by, at first down by the water’s edge; then when frostbite threatened her fingers and toes, she’d watch them from the windows inside the house.
The icy fingers of winter also played upon the grass and the rocky path along the river, and the pier, making walking treacherous. The sides of the tower were so slick that when the sun shone upon it, it looked as if it were made of glass. Jagged icicles dangled like weapons underneath the tower’s iron deck. With the exception of ice-breaking tugs, boats were fewer and farther between, and on stormy days and high tides no one could navigate the stretch of land between their house and the boat dock. When snow fell, it was a devastatingly beautiful but lonely wonderland. Bailey took as many pictures as she could, hoping at least one would capture its pristine grace, its place in history, its power. A few days after the first snowfall, when mud threatened to ruin the wonderland, Bailey and Brad made a snowman in the yard. It was a brief moment of fun, a rest from shoveling and salting and building fires.
It was thanks to Bailey that the fireplace was now working beautifully. The first attempt at using it resulted in a disaster. The main room immediately filled with clouds of black smoke. Luckily, Brad had a fire extinguisher on hand. It would take days to clean the soot off the walls, and floors, and themselves. Brad was so frustrated, he looked as if he were going to cry. So Bailey pretended not to be bothered, and instead talked him into taking a shower together, in their new upstairs bathroom. It helped lighten the mood—that is, until Brad didn’t want to make love in the shower because they didn’t have a condom. They argued and she finished the shower early, declaring that Brad could be the one to clean the soot from the tub, and the floor, and the towels. Then she turned her attention back to the fireplace.
Bailey was on a mission. She declared the fireplace her project and refused to let Brad in on the repairs. She paid the buyers of their condo an undisclosed price to take back her custom-made mantel, and hired an expert to fix the fireplace before attaching the new mantel.
It turned out to yield quite a surprise. Bailey assumed the black smoke was due to a problem with the flue. She couldn’t have been more wrong. The chimney sweep discovered something was blocking the chimney. He crouched in the fireplace, gazing up. With his face obscured, he waved her over with one hand.
“Fifty years,” he said. “Never seen anything like this.” Bailey hurried over, knelt beside him, and looked up. His flashlight illuminated a large crate blocking the chimney.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“It’s up there on some kind of hoist,” the chimney guy said. “Whatever it is, it must be heavy.”
Bailey smiled to herself as she replayed the memory. What an adventure that turned out to be. Lucky for her, Brad was way too busy in the tower, and the yard, and on the dock to notice what was going on inside the house. Had he been there when they lowered it, and she opened it, she never would have been able to hold on to this delicious surprise. And it was great timing; she was able to use the crane Brad had hired to repair some of the stones in the tower wall to lift the surprise up into the Crow’s Nest. At first she simply threw a blanket over it, and Brad didn’t notice a thing. Then she purchased an industrial cabinet to store and lock it. It even took him a couple of days to notice that. When he did, thanks to his secretive, locked journals, Bailey was able to placate him.
“It’s a locked cabinet,” she said when he finally asked about it. “For my personal things.” He just looked at her.
“It’s taking up a lot of space,” he said.
“And yet it took you two days to notice it.”
Brad ignored the comment. “There’s not much space up there to begin with.”
“I need it.”
“What’s in it?”
“Personal and private things,” she said. “Just like your diaries.”
“Journals.” But he let it drop with a shake of his head and a joke about knowing where to look for the bodies if any of their guests disappeared. Since then, Bailey had visited the cabinet every time she needed to remind herself that this was an adventure worth having. It became a hobby that kept her busy, and somewhat sane. The biggest challenge was carving out time when Brad wasn’t in the Crow’s Nest. She could tell he was a little resentful, as if he assumed he could claim the perch as his own, but he wisely began to let her have her own time up in the nest. It was hard to keep her mouth shut—she normally wasn’t very good at keeping secrets, but this one was well worth it.
She was saving it until they’d been in business for a full year. A date that was unknown since they weren’t officially open for business yet. Of course, she wondered why the crate had been hoisted into the fireplace, but since Trevor’s journals didn’t yield anything other than weather patterns and wildlife spottings, she feared they’d never know. For once she was happy that Brad was so out of it, so distracted; otherwise, she might never have been able to pull it off.
And to top it off, once the obstruction was removed, the chimney sweep did a magnificent job restoring the fireplace. Now that the mantel from her childhood home was in place, she felt a little bit more as if she belonged here. But even so, unless you were sitting directly in front of the fire, the keeper’s house was steeped in a deep chill. Bailey felt as if she could never get warm, and worried that guests would shun them in the winter. Brad assured her they would work on the heating system, but to Bailey it was just another thing to add to a mounting To Do list. The holidays passed without much recognition. They couldn’t host a Thanksgiving dinner without appliances, and although they had several invitations back in the city, Brad didn’t want to stop any of his projects. Since even the contractors wouldn’t work in this winter wonderland, Brad was trying to start with DIY projects. Bailey was horrified that this included putting down a new kitchen floor. Did he really know how to do that? She certainly didn’t. And it took them a while to agree on which tiles they wanted. Bailey still wanted a slate floor, Brad wanted a cheap one. Their weekends were filled with trips to the local hardware store, arguing over floor samples.
Finally, one of the managers offered them a discount on the slate tiles that had caught Bailey’s eye. He was probably just trying to get the arguing couple out of his store. Brad used the opportunity to buy appliances at a discount as well. The dishwasher turned out to be black because it was on clearance, and so they had to get a black stove to match. Bailey really wanted a stainless steel refrigerator but Brad pointed out that you couldn’t stick magnets on it and he wanted to get plastic letter magnets so guests could leave messages on the fridge. So they ended up with a black refrigerator as well, although Bailey wasn’t a complete pushover because she talked him into getting the little white magnets with typed words, insisting it would look classier. Later, even that was a decision she would come to regret.
Because maybe the colorful plastic letter magnets would have been a subliminal reminder to Brad that they needed children to go along with them. Regardless, little by little, they compromised. Bailey and Brad had Thanksgiving dinner in town, at a nice family restaurant. The people they met were polite, but not what Bailey would call friendly. Especially when they heard they were running the lighthouse. They would start out all chatty and smiling, and the minute anyone found out who they were, their demeanor would immediately shift, and they seemed to almost regard Bailey and Brad with suspicion. Was it because of the suicide? Or the auction? Had others wanted the lighthouse for themselves? Bailey spent quite a bit of time pondering the possibilities, but Brad told her she was being paranoid.
Since he thought that was being paranoid, Bailey started keeping other little things to herself. Besides being drafty and constantly damp, Bailey often heard strange noises in the house, especially late at night. She was glad they were sleeping in the tower room, because quite frankly, being in the house after dark spooked her. Maybe it was just the thought of what had happened in the attic. Several nights when she was staying up later than usual and thus still in the house, she thought she heard footsteps from above. It was impossible to mistake the sound; now that they’d ripped the carpets up, the floorboards creaked when walked upon. Brad told her it was the wind. It was true, the sound of the wind certainly did whistle through the house most nights, but Bailey could distinguish between the two.
One night she swore she heard music playing. It was a melodic tinkling sound, like a child’s music box. She’d been too afraid to check it out herself, so she fetched Brad from his post at the Crow’s Nest. But when they got back to the main house, the music had stopped. They checked out every room, including the attic, which, once they got a locksmith to open the door, turned out to be a large but otherwise unremarkable space. Except for a few boxes with some clothing and books that Bailey assumed had belonged to Trevor and Edga, there was no apparent reason for the room to be locked, certainly nothing of value. Something about the space gave Bailey the creeps, but it was probably just because she couldn’t stand up there without imagining Edga hanging from the rafters. Once they cleaned it out, Bailey avoided going up there. And there was certainly plenty of other things to keep her busy.
The kitchen floor was only halfway done, and their new shower was cold and the water pressure was weak, especially with the pipes freezing every other day, and Bailey was dying to get their furniture from the condo in the house, but they had to store it because there was no use putting down furniture when you still had to put in new floors and sand and stain old ones. Brad convinced Bailey that she could put the flooring in the small bathroom herself. Soon there were two of them on their hands and knees grouting tile with the how-to book by their side. She’d been resistant at first, but she had to admit she felt a tremendous sense of pride when it was done. Even if Brad did have to tweak a few tiles after she was done. Next they were on to putting up crown molding and painting. With each project, their bank account took a nosedive. The third bathroom and outdoor repair work would have to wait until the spring when the contractors agreed to start.
Captain Jack recommended several workers, and Brad booked them all on the spot. They agreed to start in March. Bailey continued to wonder what they had gotten themselves into. The only thing that kept her going, besides having so much to do every day that she was literally too tired to think, was watching Brad. Little by little he seemed to be coming back to her, speaking less and less of seeing the light. Although it could have something to do with his online support group. He was still spending a lot of time chatting with them. Maybe Brad was still talking about it the same amount, just not to her. For that, she was grateful. She wondered where they would spend Christmas. Her sister Meg was going through trauma with Thomas, Bailey’s nephew. Both Joyce (her niece), and Thomas were teenagers now. Meg complained about them constantly, but always with an undercurrent of fierce love. She was worried Thomas was keeping secrets from her. Meg suspected he had problems with some other boys at school, at least that was the rumor as reported by Joyce, but so far Thomas had refused to talk to her about it. Bailey wondered if he got that from his father. Meg’s husband was the type who always seemed to be holding back. It was a constant reminder to Bailey that no matter what crazy things she’d had to endure for Brad, they’d always been 100 percent honest with each other.
Bailey really wanted her family to come visit them, but besides the deep freeze, it just wasn’t fair to ask anyone to stay in the middle of a project. Everywhere you turned there were tools, and dust, and something ripped up yet still sitting in the middle of the floor. Lately the electricity had been wonky too. Lights would suddenly flicker or blow out completely. Bailey couldn’t believe that she’d gone through an entire package of lightbulbs for the main house in just a month. They would have to hire an electrician to get to the bottom of it. And if that didn’t work, then they were going to have to hire a priest.
 
Keeper’s Log
Brad
 
Bailey is what I call a Full Moon kind of woman. Passionate and unpredictable. I’m trying as hard as I can to make progress on the house, because I can tell that all of these projects are getting to her. She was so proud of that bathroom floor that I just couldn’t tell her I had to sneak out in the middle of the night to redo it. Yesterday she cried because she was tired of seeing a screwdriver on the kitchen counter. I wish I could fast-forward to the summer when our new cabinets and countertop are in the kitchen, as well as a dining table filled with witty, conversing guests. I found a gorgeous old Spanish wood dining table at the antique store in town. It seats twelve. The matching chairs all have purple velvet cushions. The color of royalty. What a great metaphor—the way we intend on treating all of our honored guests. I’ve already bought it and as soon as the kitchen floor is done, I’ll arrange for Captain Jack to bring it over on the ferry. I think Bails is going to love it. It was bad timing to move in the winter all right, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. If we can just get through this, everything will be so easy in comparison.
 
Every day I wake up convinced this will be the day I tell Bailey everything. I don’t know how habitual liars do it. It’s stressful keeping secrets. Of course, I should be used to that by now, shouldn’t I? There are other times when I think the kindest thing is to say nothing at all. Why should someone else pay for the mistakes I’ve made? When will I learn to just tell the truth from the beginning? The more time goes by, the harder it is. Especially now, with all the work we’re doing on this place. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful here. Peaceful. At night the river is deep black, and when the light sweeps over her, it’s a sight almost as gorgeous as my wife. I had forgotten how powerful bodies of water can be, how deeply meditative. I love to sit up in the tower with Bailey and watch the light sweep over the depths of the Hudson. I think she’s starting to see it too, I think she’s starting to come around. We are truly the keepers of the light. Soon, Christmas will be here. Imagine telling her now? I just can’t. Besides, that particular truth is nothing more than a technicality. Or am I just justifying? Who knows. I just need to let Bailey fall a little bit more in love with the place, which probably won’t happen until we thaw out, and then, I swear, I’ll tell her everything. Well, almost everything.

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