by Mary Carter
“I can’t believe you’re able to eat,” Angel said. She was looking at Vera. Vera’s fork froze by her mouth.
“What do you mean?” Vera asked.
“Angel,” Sheila said like a mother warning a child.
“What?” Angel said. “I don’t mean because of her weight”—Vera audibly gasped. Angel continued as if she didn’t hear her—“but because she totally ate her way through the entire kitchen in her sleep!”
Stricken, Vera’s head swiveled around the table. One by one, heads ducked into their plates. Angel was the only one who continued to stare, unabashed, at Vera. “I did not,” Vera said slowly. “Everything was locked. All the food was locked,” she repeated when nobody said anything.
“Yeah,” Angel said. “Even that didn’t stop you.” Angel laughed and looked around the table for support. “Did I say something wrong?” Angel said. “I didn’t mean to—I just think if you’re going to get up in the middle of the night, pick seven locks, and eat half a bag of flour, raw bacon, eggs, and raw soup from the can, then at least you’d better have a sense of humor about it, you know?”
Vera’s fork dropped to her plate with a clatter.
“There’s no such thing as raw soup,” Ray said. “It’s just soup. Either hot soup or cold soup. Still soup.”
“Okay, whatever,” Angel said. “Half a bag of flour, raw eggs—I can say raw eggs, right? And cold soup from the can. Happy now?” Ray glared at Angel and then looked at Kimmy as if he wanted her to do something about it. Kimmy’s eyes filled with tears and she stuck her face as close to her plate as she could.
“I ate all that?” Vera whispered. She stood and grabbed her stomach.
“We don’t know for sure,” Bailey said. “Maybe you just—opened things up.”
“And ate them,” Angel said. “Opened things up and ate them.”
“Maybe it was someone else,” Sheila said. She gave her husband a look. He didn’t notice it, just happily continued to shovel food into his mouth. He was humming too, something Bailey found disconcerting. It was hard to concentrate on what everyone was saying and try and figure out what tune was playing on his jukebox-for-one. She was pretty sure it was “You Can Leave Your Hat On.”
“Someone else?” Vera shrieked. “Like who?” She continued to swivel her head. “Who?”
“You sound like an owl,” Daniel said. “Hoo, hoo. Hoo, hoo!”
Vera pointed her fork at Daniel’s face. “Could have been that dog of yours.”
“Could’ve been,” Daniel said happily. “He’ll eat anything.”
“Can he pick locks too?” Angel said. Daniel stopped and dramatically looked to the ceiling with his fork hovering in the air while he thought about it.
“No,” Daniel said in a thunderous voice. He waved his fork like an orchestra conductor. “He can not pick locks. No thumbs.” He looked at Vera as if to say, “Back to you.”
“I can’t pick locks either,” Vera said. “At least I don’t think I can.”
“I’ve heard about sleepwalkers having all sorts of secret talents,” Sheila said. From the tone of her voice, she was very excited to share this news. She was practically bouncing in her seat. “Things they can do when they’re doing their zombie thing that they can’t do when they’re awake.”
“Zombie?” Vera said. “Did you just call me a zombie?” Bailey couldn’t believe it either. Thank God she wasn’t the one who said it.
“Maybe,” Sheila continued, “we should put a paint set and paper by your bed tonight. You could be like one of those monkeys who can paint. You never know.”
“She’d probably eat them,” Ray said.
“Ray,” Kimmy whispered. “Don’t.”
“Are you calling me a monkey now?” Vera shouted. “Which is it, Sheila? Am I a monkey or a zombie?”
“A talented zombie,” Sheila said. “My God. Why does everyone blow past my compliments and go straight for the negative?”
Bailey glanced at Kimmy. She was practically vibrating in her seat. She was pushing food around but she hadn’t taken a bite. “Is everything okay?” Bailey asked her. Kimmy looked up, eyes brimming with tears.
“I don’t eat eggs. Or bacon. Or sugar. Or flour.”
“Bet Vera wishes she could say the same thing,” Chris said. Sheila elbowed him. He went back to eating and humming.
“Oh,” Bailey said. “Would you like oatmeal and fruit?”
“We don’t have oatmeal and fruit,” Brad said.
“I’m just trying to establish a baseline,” Bailey said.
“I’d love oatmeal and fruit,” Kimmy said.
“Great,” Bailey said. “Next time I’ll make sure to have it.” Vera pushed away from the table, still clutching her stomach. “I feel sick,” she said. When nobody responded, Vera said it again at ten times the volume. “I feel sick!”
“You were fine a minute ago,” Sheila said. “Sit down. It’s psychosomatic.”
“Or just psycho,” Angel said.
Vera cried out, “I have a disease. How dare you make fun of me!”
Angel flinched. All of her, that is, except her boobs, which remained in exactly the same perky spot. “It’s a joke! My God, can’t you people take a joke? In Egyptian times they would have hidden all the food in a tomb.” She leaned forward and whispered, “You’d probably get lost and die looking for it. Even if you could pick locks.”
“I don’t pick locks,” Vera cried. “I’ve never picked a lock in my life. Who did it? Who opened the locks?” Heads began swiveling around the table, taking each other in. Vera pointed to Chris. “Did you come in for a midnight snack?”
“How would we get the key?” Chris said. “We don’t pick locks either.”
“Personally, I suspect Tree,” Daniel said cheerfully. He snuck the dog a scrap and patted his head. “He’s my furry, lock-picking spy.”
Vera looked at Bailey. “I trusted you,” she said. “I trusted you with the key.”
“My wife is innocent,” Brad said. He put his arm around Bailey and gave her a nervous pat. Bailey looked at him. He gave her one of his fake smiles.
“Oh my God,” Bailey said. “You think I just left the key lying around, don’t you?”
“It’s no big deal,” Brad said. “Sometimes you’re a little . . . you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Bailey, relax. Creative. You’re a creative soul and sometimes, you know, you’re a little forgetful.”
“Oh, really? Well, at least I don’t forget the important things.”
“Right,” Brad said. He gave Bailey a quick peck on the cheek. “You are wonderful,” he added nervously.
“Like, say—if I died and went into the light.” The table immediately fell silent. Even Chris stopped humming. Stricken, Brad looked at Bailey. “I certainly wouldn’t forget who I was. Whom I loved. I certainly wouldn’t forget you.”
“He didn’t forget you,” Ray said. “He just cared about his shoes more.”
“You told her?” Brad said. He pushed himself away from the table and stood as if he were in a bar about to start a brawl.
“That’s what you’re going to take from this,” Bailey said. “I find out I’m worthless and you want to fight him for telling me?”
Brad turned to Bailey. He reached out as if to touch her, but then thought better of it. “Worthless?” he whispered. “How could you think that?”
“You said,” Bailey said. Her voice was starting to waver. She was going to cry. “You came back for me.”
“Bailey,” Brad said. “Bailey, Bailey, Bailey.”
“Which was it?” Bailey demanded. “Me or the shoes?” Brad didn’t answer, but he did sit back down beside her.
“This is like a fucked-up version of Cinderella,” Ray said.
“I think I need to see a doctor,” Vera said. “What if I swallowed something poisonous?”
“You’d be dead by now,” Daniel said.
“If I were you, I wo
uld sue,” Chris said.
“Excuse me?” Bailey said.
“She warned you about her condition. She trusted you with the key,” Chris said matter-of-factly.
“Exactly,” Vera said. She pointed at Chris. “What he said.”
“I did exactly what you asked,” Bailey said. “I locked everything. The key is probably still right by my bed where I left it.” She felt Brad’s hand land on top of hers under the table. He gave it a little squeeze. He was trying to tell her to calm down. He was worried she was going to start throwing things. What if she just threw the salt and pepper shakers? That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
“I think I’m sweating,” Vera said. “I’m sweating but also slightly chilled. Is it just me?”
“Oh, just go outside and walk it off,” Daniel said.
“If you do die,” Sheila said, “we’ll totally try to contact you.”
“A walk is an excellent idea,” Brad said. “Bailey, would you like to take a walk with me?”
“No,” Bailey said. “But make sure you take your shoes.” Brad hung his head. Bailey felt a rush of guilt and a desire to comfort him. She reminded herself that it was his blatant lies that got them here. “Maybe Vera would like to go for a walk,” Bailey said. “Maybe all of you would like to go for a walk.” Before I tip this entire table upside down or launch every object on it at your heads. Vera looked ready to veer into another monologue about her impending death.
“Some joint we own here,” Angel said.
Brad abruptly stood. “Everyone,” Brad said. “Please join me in a walk. Please.”
“We?” Bailey said. “Some joint we own here?”
“Angel’s right,” Sheila said. “All this negativity won’t be good for business.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Bailey said.
“I have to agree too,” Kimmy whispered. “We don’t want to make our guests feel uncomfortable.”
“We?” Bailey said. “Why are all of you saying ‘we’?”
“Seriously, people,” Brad said. “I need everyone on the committee outside right now.”
“She has a point,” Daniel said. “We’re in this for the long haul. We need to put the lighthouse ahead of our differences.”
Bailey felt a ripple of dread wash over her. Brad looked as if he had just been shot.
“Bailey,” Brad said. “There’s uh—something—”
Bailey screeched back from the table and stood. “We?” Bailey said again.
“Oh my God,” Kimmy said. “She doesn’t know.”
“Brad?” Bailey said. She was afraid to say more.
“Oh, honey,” Vera said. “It’s okay. We’re your family now. One big happy family.” She reached over as if to grab Bailey and crush her in a bear hug. After seeing the look on Bailey’s face, she shrank back. Bailey opened and closed, and opened and closed her mouth like a baby bird. There were just no words. She was even too numb to throw anything.
“Bailey,” Brad said. “I’d like you to meet the board.”
“The board,” Bailey repeated. It came out as an eerie whisper.
“Olivia’s Lighthouse Conservation Society,” Kimmy said in the loudest voice she’d used so far.
“We all own equal shares in the lighthouse,” Daniel said. “Except for Tree. He’s like you. The keeper’s companion.”
“No,” Bailey said. “Uh-uh. No.”
“Daniel was joking,” Brad said.
“Oh, thank God,” Bailey said. They got her good. She thought she was going to faint there for a minute.
“You’re not just a companion. You’re a partner too,” Brad explained.
“Yes,” Angel said. “And we’re your partners in crime!”
“Um. It’s not uh, legal, for individuals to run a lighthouse,” Brad said. He laughed nervously. “It has to be owned and run by a nonprofit conservancy group.”
“Otherwise the light has to be decommissioned,” Daniel said.
“And I couldn’t let that happen,” Brad said. “I had to save her—I mean him—you know?”
“No,” Bailey said. “I see your mouth moving. But I have no idea what you’re saying.” Maybe she had died too. Maybe they were all dead. Maybe it was like that Nicole Kidman movie where they were all dead only they didn’t know it. It was comforting. If she was already dead, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about killing them all with her bare hands.
“Captain Jack was going to buy this place and shut down the light!” Brad was out of his seat again and talking fast, as if his mouth could outrun the trouble he was in.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bailey said.
“Don’t worry,” Brad said. “You and I are officially the keepers. We can never be fired.”
“Fired,” Bailey said. She was afraid if she stopped repeating everything he said, she would self-destruct.
“We are the keepers of this lighthouse,” Brad said. “You and I.”
“And we’re the board,” Angel said. “Who owns it.” Everyone glared at Angel. She shrugged. “Like a Band-Aid,” she said. “Gotta rip it off.”
“It’s a technicality,” Brad said.
“A technicality,” Bailey said.
“Exactly,” Brad said.
“Exactly what?” Bailey said.
“We don’t technically own the lighthouse,” Brad said. “I mean, we own part of it. We share in the guardianship with the board. The board owns it. We, the board, are a nonprofit corporation whose mission is to preserve and run this lighthouse.” Bailey nodded. Bailey sat back down. Bailey resumed eating. Bailey did not dare look at anyone. “Bailey?” Brad said.
“Let’s go for a walk, Brad,” someone said.
“Don’t forget your shoes,” Bailey said once again. Brad stood a few minutes longer, staring at her. Then someone, Bailey didn’t know or care who, gently took Brad’s arm and led him out. One by one everyone left the table until Bailey was sitting alone with Jake. Not that she cared. She was too stunned to even fantasize. For a few minutes they ate in silence. Then Jake pushed his plate away and patted his stomach with a big smile.
“So,” he said. “What’s it like living in a lighthouse? Is it as much fun as you thought it would be?”
Chapter 20
Keeper’s Log
Brad Jordan
July
We have a dive-bombing bird patrolling the patio. She’s an aggressive blackbird, protecting her nest, which I’m assuming is in the large oak near the patio, but it’s so tall and thick with leaves that I’ve yet to be able to spot it. Guests are getting pretty freaked out. She will actually brush your shoulder or the back of your head with her body. She will only make contact when your back is turned, so in that way she’s a bit of a coward. Experts call it “mobbing.” Still, it’s unnerving. Once she headed straight for my eyes, and I stood stock-still. I couldn’t believe she was getting more aggressive, attacking face-to-face. I still didn’t move. At the last minute, she swerved, while sending out a warning cry. My heart was pounding in my chest—it was a bit like being in a 3-D movie, seeing her come at me like that. She’s incredibly fast. That’s the maternal instinct for you. It’s made it near impossible to have dinner or movie nights on the patio. We will just have to wait until the babies are born and have flown far, far away.
I’m worried sick about Bailey. Since learning the truth about the lighthouse, she’s taken to standing by the kitchen window, waiting for the bird to strike an unsuspecting guest, and recording it all on her iPhone. Then she posts it to the B&B’s Facebook page (Did I mention we have a Facebook page?!) with comments like, “Hilarious!” and “Check this out!”
Angel got the worst of it. The bird smacked into her head three times in a row. I suspect it has something to do with the shampoo she uses. When she stands close to me I always get a hint of strawberries. Angel said Bailey asked her to go out and wipe down the picnic tables. We had a good rain last night, and nobody had been near them since, so they certainly didn’t need wipi
ng down. Angel screamed every time the bird slammed into her head, and Bailey uploaded the video to YouTube. I haven’t said anything to her. Lately it seems the only thing that makes her smile is recording the bird mobbing people. I’d sacrifice myself, stand there all day letting the thing tear me apart for her, but any time she sees me she puts the iPhone down and turns away. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in the main room. It’s not too bad except one of our guests likes to play a music box all night long. My guess is it’s Kimmy. I haven’t brought it up because I guess it soothes her to sleep.
I wish Bailey knew how sorry I was. I don’t know how to explain the feeling that came over me during the auction. I know it sounds ridiculous, to speak of a higher power. But at the time, I had to do it. I had to save this lighthouse. I felt as if someone’s life depended on it, maybe not my own, but—I don’t know. I felt as if the lighthouse deserved a voice. And I was that voice. That’s no excuse. I should have told Bailey the truth from the beginning. I’m no stranger to that concept, though, am I? Now would be the time to tell her every secret I’ve ever kept, and yet here I sit, silent, again. She’s still here. By some miracle, she’s still here. I’d give my life for her. I just wish she knew that whether I deserve it or not, I thank every star in the sky for her existence. I’d give anything to take away her pain, and I’ve never loved her more than I do right now.
In addition to recording unsuspecting members of the board getting whacked by their dive-bombing blackbird, Bailey was also doing a lot of reading. Fantasy books mostly, and the occasional biography of violent savages. Captain John Smith was a whaling pirate. He fell in love with Pocahontas. He beheaded three men. Now, there’s a man who would have ravaged Bailey on the deck and willingly planted his seed in her. Not that she wanted Brad’s seed at the moment. She didn’t know what she wanted. Aunt Faye advised Bailey to get a lawyer. For once, Brad’s charm had failed him. To Faye, lying about real estate was a crime for which there was no parole. Faye urged her to come back to New York, offered Bailey her old job back. Bailey hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no. She just didn’t know. Jesse had been a bit more diplomatic. She suggested that maybe Bailey had been correct after all, maybe Brad had suffered some kind of head trauma. She urged Bailey to consider taking him in for tests before she made any “drastic” decisions.