by Mary Carter
Bailey whipped out her marker and advanced toward the calendar on the wall. But just when she was poised to strike, the sight before her stopped her dead. It wasn’t the same calendar. Gone were the foggy landscape and barren boxes. Instead, this one featured bustling European cities. The current month boasted Amsterdam.
This calendar was filled with little notes. Poker night. Poker night. Poker night. One night she shook it up and played bridge.
“Are you okay?”
“Olivia played poker,” Bailey said.
“I know,” Jesse said. “Cool.”
“You don’t understand,” Bailey said. “I never knew. I’ve never seen this calendar before.”
Jesse nodded absentmindedly and pushed her teacup far, far away. “At least she had a life, right?” Jesse said.
“Right,” Bailey said, hoping she sounded convincing.
“All that money,” Jesse said, looking around. “And she lived here.” Bailey had been thinking the same thing. Olivia had been loaded, and still chose to rent this humble abode. It was so depressing. Yet beautiful, in a strange way. Few people had such restraint and would’ve blown the money in seconds. Take Brad, for example. Regardless, there had to be a balance in life. Olivia could have spent some of it on herself. She could have taken a cruise or flown off to Paris. Maybe, if she had, they wouldn’t be saddled with a lighthouse right now.
Jesse took her teacup to the sink. The clattering startled Bailey out of her thoughts. “He really said ‘keeper of the light’?” Jesse said.
“He did. Keeper of the light.” Bailey felt guilty talking about her husband behind his back like this, but Jesse was one of the few women she’d met in her lifetime that she could talk to about anything. Besides, she needed someone to guide her through this maze of insanity Brad had thrust upon them.
“I could never leave Manhattan,” Jesse said. “Couldn’t trade this island for another. Isn’t it sad? Without gunshots, and stabbings, and really stupid self-inflicted wounds, I don’t know who I’d be.”
Bailey laughed. “It just means you’re doing what you love. What you’re meant to do.” Could Bailey say the same thing? She tried it in her head. Without showing condos, and filling out closing paperwork, and scouting the next listing, I don’t know who I’d be. It wasn’t true. For Aunt Faye definitely, but not for Bailey. But that was just because she was new at it. She liked the job, and she was good at it, and it was great money. That much she did know.
Without Brad, I don’t know who I’d be. That one rang true. Even through all the craziness.
“Or,” Jesse said, holding up her index fingers, “it means I’m a freak of nature.”
“That too,” Bailey said. “I don’t want to go,” she said suddenly. “I don’t want to live in a lighthouse.”
“Oh, honey,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry.”
“I might have been able to warm up to Maine or Rhode Island,” Bailey mused. “California. Scotland.”
“Ooh, Scotland would be nice,” Jesse interrupted. “I might leave freakville for Scotland.”
“Right? But what do I get? Upstate New York. He wants us to give up Manhattan for upstate New York?”
“Bummer,” Jesse said. “But you have to go.”
“What?” Bailey said. She expected Jesse of all people to want her to stay, convince her that Brad was making a terrible decision and she shouldn’t put up with it. Wouldn’t she miss her?
“Being single in New York sucks the big one, ” Jesse said. “It’s Clown Down times twelve. My last blind date met me at Subway. The sandwich shop, not the train. He had one of those punch cards for a free sub.” Bailey laughed. “That’s not the worst part,” Jesse continued. “He didn’t have enough punches for a free sub yet. So he only paid for his own sub, then asked them to stamp his card for my sub too.” Bailey couldn’t help it, she was in hysterics. Jesse joined in the laughter, and within a few seconds, the two of them were shrieking like banshees.
“He should’ve lost you at ‘Let’s meet at Subway,’ ” Bailey said. It felt good to laugh until she cried. What a relief after all the stress of late. She almost hated to think of Jesse finding the one, because she would miss all these hideous dating stories. Thank God Jesse loved her job as a nurse.
“Do you think you could come over to the apartment sometime and, I don’t know, casually check Brad out for brain damage?” Bailey asked.
“I’m afraid that’s outside my realm of expertise. But if you let that cutie-pie walk out of your life, then I’m going to check you out for brain damage.”
“But I love it here. I love my job. I love the guys who flirt with me at the pizza place and know I want eggplant and olives on my slice without even asking. I love that you can even get eggplant on pizza here. I love that you can order toilet paper from the deli at two a.m. and I love that the waitress in Mexicano’s knows never, ever to remove the chip basket until it’s empty.”
“She had to learn that the hard way,” Jesse said.
“And I’m sorry. I know I’m not helping my fellow man like you are, but I love real estate. And I think I have a flair for it. It was my candle, and my romantic pictures, and my sales pitch that sold that penthouse to the Fairytalers.”
“I know. But, Bails. You don’t really want to turn out like your aunt Faye, do you?”
“What’s wrong with my aunt Faye? She’s one of the most successful women I know.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like her. But don’t you think she’s just a little bit obsessed? She can’t even walk into a restaurant without calculating the square footage and table with the best view. And I’ve seen how she hits up your husband. She would give her eyeteeth to have what you have.”
“I know. But I’ve spent my whole life giving in to Brad. It’s my turn. We were finally somewhat happy. Settled. I want a baby. He’s taking it all away from me, using his NDE as an excuse to completely uproot our life.”
“I’m dying to hear the details,” Jesse said. She’d been slowly sliding down in her chair, but now she was leaning forward eagerly. “I love hearing about near-death experiences.”
“You and everybody else.” Bailey tried to keep her voice light and humorous, but she was aware of it cracking. “He floated above his body, saw—this incredible light, I guess—and since then, he’s just not been the same.” Love like he’s never felt before. Bailey couldn’t bring herself to say that part.
“Thus the keeper of the light,” Jesse mused.
“Thus,” Bailey confirmed. “But if he’s the keeper, who am I? The prisoner?”
“NDEs are very common,” Jesse said. “I hear about that kind of thing a lot. Believe me, if you had a drainpipe piercing your chest—don’t ask—you’d be seeing bright lights too.”
“I’m sure. But do they all run out and buy lighthouses?”
“Isn’t it better than him running off to casinos or strip clubs?”
“I’ll have to think about that one.”
“Once I had this terminal patient, an elderly man who looked right at the ceiling and said, ‘It’s so beautiful.’ I swear, I still get chills.”
“I do too—and I think it’s great that Brad saw a light. And he wanted to go into it—but then he remembered me. He said he came back for me.”
Jesse put her hand over her heart. “That’s so romantic.”
“I know, I know,” Bailey said. “I felt the same way.”
“But,” Jesse said.
“But then he starts talking about how he didn’t see Olivia in the light, and how he’s worried she’s still earthbound, and now he goes around talking to her and driving her urn places like he’s starring in Driving Miss Dead-Daisy. Is it just me, or should I be a little freaked out here?”
Jesse didn’t answer. She was laughing. “Driving Miss Dead Daisy,” she said.
“Stop laughing,” Bailey said, laughing herself. “That urn is starting to really get on my nerves.”
“He’ll let her go sooner or later,” Jesse said. �
�Definitely wouldn’t make it a deal breaker. But if you’re still on the fence about your relationship, then take him to Subway and see if he pays for your foot-long.”
“You ordered a foot-long?”
“So he could get two punches.”
Chapter 9
C’est Moi was one of the best French restaurants in the city. Located in affluent Brooklyn Heights, it was just off the promenade, a walkway along the East River with stunning views of the Manhattan skyline. Now, this was where Bailey would love to buy a condo. Imagine looking at the glittering city every night from your balcony while sipping a glass of wine.
Despite its reputation, Bailey had never been to C’est Moi. Prices started at about six hundred dollars a person. Bailey didn’t think she’d spend that much on one meal even if she ever did become extremely wealthy, but from the sounds of it, the Fairytalers were regulars. How quickly life could change. She and Brad were now driving a Jag and eating at C’est Moi. Not that she was able to just let go and enjoy it. It was all slipping away. Once they moved into the lighthouse, this would all be a distant memory, a sliver of the life they once had. They came early and walked the promenade hand in hand. Bailey’s new blue silk dress made her feel feminine and pretty, and she’d even had what was left of her nails filed and applied a clear polish. The silver coyote ring was back on her finger—there was only so much she was willing to change for their new friends. To his credit, Brad was no longer complaining about the double date. Bailey wondered if he had a clue as to the prices of the restaurant. Probably not, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. She had a feeling the Fairytalers would treat. Bailey and Brad would balk, of course, as was customary, then the Fairytalers would insist and slip the waitress their credit card before Brad could even see the bill. Or maybe they just had a running tab. Either way, on the off chance that Bailey and Brad did have to pay their half, they could always sell the Jag.
The restaurant was on the top floor of the tallest building in Brooklyn Heights, and the table offered front row seats of the skyline. The décor was sleek and understated, allowing the food and the view to reign supreme. The seats were so soft you could sink into them. Champagne was brought to the table the second they sat down, along with little plates of appetizers. Crab-stuffed mushrooms, caviar, and pâté. The Fairytalers had a definite standing order.
“Isn’t this the cutest,” Allissa said after they toasted.
“It’s stunning,” Bailey said. Seriously. The cutest? The little Mexican restaurant near them where the salt shakers wore sombreros was the cutest.
“I’ll betcha you appreciate everything so much more now,” Allissa said to Brad.
“I do,” Brad said. He leaned forward in his chair, and his voice rose in excitement. “Every day is this incredible gift.”
“Wow,” Allissa said.
“But the best part is—I’m not afraid of the end anymore either.”
“As in—death?” Greg said.
“They should find a new name for it,” Brad said. “Death is not it. We do not die.”
“Look at this view,” Bailey said. Seriously. Wasn’t there a law against talking about death at dinner?
“Do you believe in life after death, Bailey?” Greg asked her. It was as if he knew she’d been trying to change the subject, but he preferred to stir things up.
“We’ve always considered ourselves agnostics,” Bailey said with a quick glance at Brad. “We just don’t know what’s out there.” A collage of memories rose to Bailey’s mind, conversations she and young Brad had with all the religious folks they’d met during their travels over the years. Always someone, somewhere shoving a brochure at them with pictures of people’s faces contorted in rapture or hell, sometimes it was hard to tell which. Acting as if they had all of life’s answers, as if everyone else were doomed. Brad and Bailey always listened politely, but held firm in the knowledge that when it came to the existential questions like where did we come from and what happens after we die, they took comfort in the fact that they just didn’t know.
“I do,” Brad said. “I know.”
Bailey wanted to kick him under the table. Her husband was like a rescued kidnapped victim still being loyal to his captors. But fighting at the dinner table in front of their new friends was definitely not kosher. Bailey turned to Greg. “And you?” she asked. “What do you believe?”
Greg also glanced at Brad before answering. “Nothing,” he said, throwing out his arms and sloshing a bit of champagne. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”
Allissa threw both hands over her ears and shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no,” she said.
Brad leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “It’s not the end,” he told her. Bailey suddenly wished it was the end. She wouldn’t mind if the building they were in tumbled into the river. She only hoped there would be a few seconds of something before the big nothing just so she could take one last look at Brad and say, “I told you so.” She was feeling so stubborn that she’d actually rather eternity be an endless sea of nothing than listen to his sudden assurances of something. He looked like her husband, he smelled like her husband, and he smiled like her husband. But sometimes, when he opened his mouth and spoke, he just wasn’t her husband.
And it left Bailey feeling like she had a tiny hole inside her, slowly ripping her apart, or maybe they had a tiny hole between them, the identity you create when you’re a couple, there was a tiny hole in them, and it was slowly ripping them apart. In less dramatic terms, it felt like she was back in gym class and he wasn’t picking her for his team anymore. They used to roll their eyes at each other or play footsies under the table whenever someone started remotely preaching. But his foot was nowhere near hers, she could tell from how he was sitting, leaning away from her, and she longed for it. She longed for his foot to play with hers under the table in solidarity. Since it wasn’t, it made her want to take her foot and give him a good kick in the shins. A waiter arrived and Greg ordered for all of them. Bailey didn’t care, as long as they kept the champagne coming.
“Tell them your news,” Bailey said.
“Our news,” Brad said. A tiny bit of relief flooded Bailey. He’d said “our.” Maybe their “them” was still intact after all.
“Oh my God,” Allissa said. “Are you preggers?” Bailey felt her heart catch. Brad put his hands up.
“Definitely not,” he said with a laugh. “Can you imagine?” Bailey focused on the breadbasket. She wanted to throw it at Brad’s head. She bit the side of her mouth. She couldn’t believe he’d just said it. That tone. As if it would be the worst thing in the world, as if it would ruin his new zest for life. Definitely not. Can you imagine? For the first time in her life, Bailey understood why monkeys threw their feces.
“Not yet,” Bailey said. “But we’re working on it.” There. Take that. “But first we have a little lighthouse to deal with.” From the look on Brad’s face, the word “little” definitely hit its mark. She wouldn’t feel guilty; he knew how much she wanted a baby. Definitely not. Since when was it so definite?
“A lighthouse?” Greg said. Brad, who seemed to still be stewing over the word “little,” didn’t say a word. So Bailey filled them in, trying to impart the news with the neutrality of a journalist, sticking to just the facts. Allissa reacted like a cheerleader. She squealed. She clapped her hands. She leaned forward and stared at Brad as if he were the only man in the room.
“You bought her a lighthouse!” She playfully hit Greg. “Greg’s only bought me jewelry, and trips, and shoes, and clothes, and cars.”
“He didn’t buy it for me,” Bailey said. He bought it behind my back. Big difference.
“I bought it for us,” Brad said.
“It’s so symbolic!” Allissa cried. Bailey was surprised Allissa even knew the word “symbolic.” She felt as if she were back in the book group. If only Jesse were here to commiserate with. Funny, she used to commiserate with Brad. But that was before his angelic take on everything.
“Has anyone read Clown Down?” Bailey said, hoping someone would pick up on her sarcasm. But nobody did. Allissa and Brad continued chatting about the lighthouse.
“I take it a lighthouse wasn’t your first choice,” Greg said, once again addressing Bailey.
“Well,” Bailey said. She tried to sound upbeat. “I like the idea of having a getaway. Like a vacation lighthouse. I’m just not so sure about a bed-and-breakfast. I think we should ease into it. Keep our condo as our main residence—”
“No, no, no,” Allissa said. “Not if you’re starting a business. You have to throw yourselves into it body and soul.” Bailey suddenly wanted to throw her. And who cared about the soul, just tossing her skinny body across the room would suffice.
“Exactly,” Brad said.
“Like we say in the model biz, every calorie counts!” Allissa grinned and Brad grinned and Bailey was saved by the arrival of dinner. Bailey dug into her meal with gusto. She would make every calorie count all right! She would stuff herself until it hurt, anything to take her mind off this hideous evening. Allissa, she noticed, sniffed everything, but ingested next to nothing.
“We’re going to come,” Allissa said. “We’re going to stay at your lighthouse.”
“Really?” Bailey said. From the way they were throwing money around tonight, it was the best idea she’d heard so far.
“Totally,” Allissa said. “And we know so many people, don’t we, Greggy?”
“Can’t argue with that,” Greg said.
“We’re going to totally pimp your lighthouse,” Allissa said.
“Classy,” Bailey said. Another look from Brad. Wasn’t he the one who said how phony the rich behaved? Why was she getting all the looks?