by Mary Carter
“You’re the one who wanted a lighthouse bed-and-breakfast,” Bailey said. “I’m doing everything I can to build clientele.”
“And you think they want to hear about ghosts?”
“I don’t think,” Bailey said. “I know.” It was true. Ghosts were very “in” right now.
“Fine. I’ll mention it in my log.” Bailey went to hug him, kiss him. Then she remembered she was angry with him. Brad looked elated, then pained.
“I’m so so sorry,” he said. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have kept such a huge secret from me.”
“You’re right. I don’t like to do it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m a coward—”
“Leave the criticizing to me, okay? I don’t like to hear you putting yourself down.”
“I have to tell you something else,” Brad said. “Something I should have told you eons ago.” Just then, the beam across the river flickered. Instead of four light and one dark, it flashed three times quickly. Brad and Bailey stepped toward the window, staring at the light. Soon after, both of their cell phones started to ring. “Coast Guard,” they both said at once. Slowly, they looked up at the automated light. Neither of them had touched it. Neither of them had been anywhere near it.
“I guess the light doesn’t like you keeping secrets either,” Bailey said.
“Or it doesn’t want me talking,” Brad said.
“Well, you were saved by the light, then,” Bailey said. “I’d rather not deal with your next deep, dark secret until we finish apologizing to the Coast Guard.”
“Bailey,” Brad said. Bailey stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek.
“Seriously,” she said. “I can only deal with one crisis at a time, okay? Unless you’re having an affair—”
“God, no. Never. Never, Bailey—”
“I was kidding. Relax. Is it life-threatening? Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Does it require our immediate attention?”
“I guess not.”
“Later, then. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Bailey smiled. At the moment, she really, truly didn’t care what it was. She had more than she could handle. But it was weird, the light freaking out just as Brad was about to bare his soul yet again. He was probably giving off so much energy it was interfering with the electricity. A far-out concept, yes. But Bailey was starting to get used to the “far-out.” Unfortunately, she doubted the Coast Guard would be so open to her explanation. Bailey took Brad’s hand and they went downstairs to face the firing squad.
Bailey was up early the next morning. She didn’t sleep well after the lecture from the Coast Guard. It was their light, they had the access to it, they were the ones who automated it, yet because they couldn’t figure out what was wrong, Brad and Bailey were the ones getting blamed for it. Bailey probably shouldn’t have insisted it was their problem, but really, was she wrong?
And although she couldn’t get rid of the Coast Guard, the board was going to get the axe. She was going to make breakfast extra special just in case their guests took her “pay if you want to stay” speech the wrong way. On her way through the living room she noticed that the guest book was open. A new entry had been scribbled in last night.
WHAT A TREAT. WHAT HOSPITALITY. THANKS A LOT.
It wasn’t signed. It was also in red pen instead of the black that Bailey kept next to the book. But the most striking thing was that it was written in all caps. Didn’t they know all caps was offensive? WHAT A TREAT. WHAT HOSPITALITY. THANKS A LOT.
Oh my God, Bailey thought. Who wrote this? It was meant to be sarcastic, snide. Here they are, staying for free, getting waited on hand and foot—okay maybe breakfast was a little tense the other day, but come on. This kind of rudeness could not be tolerated. She picked up the phone and called Captain Jack.
They were all seated, waiting for their food. The smell of eggs and bacon and pancakes permeated the room. Bailey even had fresh fruit and oatmeal for Kimmy. Even Vera seemed relaxed. Ever since the sleep-eating incident she’d been sharing a tent with Daniel. New love must have done the trick, for Vera hadn’t broken into the kitchen since. Bailey would have never put those two together. She had a lot to learn about reading her guests. Which meant the culprit could be anyone. Bailey stood at the head of the table with her hands full. But instead of plates to pass out, she was holding blank paper and red pens. Captain Jack had come through with the red pens, although it had cost her.
“Before you eat, you’ll need to make a comment on this sheet with this red pen,” Bailey said.
“Bailey?” Brad said. He was leaning on the kitchen counter behind her. Bailey ignored him. She already knew what Brad’s handwriting looked like; he didn’t need to participate.
“You can write whatever you want, as long as it’s in capital letters.”
“Bailey?” Brad said again. “A word?” He was using a tone of voice she knew well. If she didn’t give in and talk to him, he would escalate. It was just as she feared—they would never be alone to fight. Sheila was holding the entire stack of paper and pens, looking confused.
“Please take one and pass it down,” Bailey said. “I’ll be right back.” She joined Brad by the counter and tried to keep her voice low.
“What?”
“What are you doing?” Bailey took Brad’s arm and led him to the guest book. She opened it to the correct page and pointed to the comment. Brad read aloud.
“ ‘What a treat. What hospitality. Thanks a lot!’ ” He smiled, looked at Bailey. “That’s awesome,” he said when she didn’t respond. Bailey wanted to hit him over the head with the book. She was starting to think that married couples should be allowed a couple of free wallops a day.
“It’s sarcastic, look. Red letters and all caps.”
“Maybe they’re just passionate. Red is the color of passion.” Brad always looked for the best in people. It wouldn’t have been the first thought that crossed her mind. Red was also the color of rage, and hot tamales.
“Trust me,” Bailey said. “It’s not a nice message.”
Brad glanced toward the kitchen. “So what’s the plan, Nancy Drew? Are you collecting handwriting samples?”
“Damn right I am,” Bailey said.
Brad threw his head back and laughed. “You can’t do that,” he said. “It’s freedom of speech.”
“Freeloaders don’t have a right to freedom of speech,” Bailey said. She turned on him and marched back into the kitchen. She stood at the head of the table. “Did everyone write down something in capital letters?”
“I don’t get it,” Sheila said. “What are we supposed to write?”
“How about a good-bye letter?” Bailey said. She smiled ear to ear to help ease the blow. “I’m sure you—as the board—will all be thrilled to know that this coming weekend we are going to have our first paying guests. Therefore, this will be your last night staying here for free. If you would like to continue staying, you will have to pay for your rooms. And tents,” she added with a glance to the campers.
“What about our energy circle?” Sheila said.
“The séance will be tonight,” Bailey said. “Seven P.M. sharp.”
“It’s an energy circle,” Angel said.
“Can you please pass your papers up and I’ll get breakfast served,” Bailey said. She was losing her patience. Why did they have to keep talking back? Bailey glanced at the papers as they came in. “Did everyone put their names on it?”
“What subject are you teaching?” Angel said with a snort. “I forgot to check the syllabus.” Brad took the sheets out of Bailey’s hand and set them on the counter.
“Who wants what for breakfast?” he said, slightly pushing Bailey out of the way. Bailey subtly went over to the pieces of paper. Nobody put their names on it.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY
I LOVE LIGHTHOUSES!!!
I’M HUNGRY
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL<
br />
THIS IS STUPID
And the rest were blank. Bailey turned to see if she had any champagne left in the fridge, for she needed just a little something to take the edge off, when she noticed someone had written something on there as well, using the magnetic letters.
GET OUT
Was this a joke? Had Vera written a message to herself while sleep-eating? To top it off there wasn’t any orange juice left, let alone champagne. Brad served their guests, but he didn’t even ask Bailey if she wanted a cup of coffee. By the time she got to the pot it was empty. She set about making a new one. She opened the drawer to get a measuring spoon. Brad brushed by her, and in doing so his hip slammed the drawer on her thumb.
Oh God, the pain. The red-hot pain roaring through her thumb. Instant, irrational rage. Bailey doubled over and screamed. This was the worst morning ever. She was tired, she was pissed, she was caffeine- and food-deprived, her husband loved his freaking shoes more than her, she just found out they didn’t even really own this blinking albatross, one of their freeloading guests was an ungrateful son of a—
And now she slammed her thumb in the drawer. Her arm lashed out, and she picked up the first object she touched. A stick of butter in a ceramic tub. She hurled it across the room. It smashed against their mahogany cabinets and then dropped to the sink with a deafening clank.
“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey.” Brad tried to take hold of her hands. He was probably just trying to stop her from throwing anything else. But she wanted to. Hearing that butter tub clank and smash felt so good! Dare she say it even calmed her down a little. What could she throw next? Maybe something softer so it wouldn’t alarm their guests. Although it wasn’t like she was aiming at them or anything. Brad was still trying to reach for her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “It hurts.” All the guests were openly staring at her. “It hurts,” she said again. “It really, really hurts.”
“Do you want some ice?” It was Jake. He was out of his seat and hovering over her. Bailey looked at Brad as if to say, “See? He’s being attentive.” To her horror, Bailey felt tears coming to her eyes. Her entire life, she’d always cried at all the wrong things, at all the wrong times. Usually in public, in front of strangers. Set her on a couch with a box of Kleenex and a Hallmark movie and NADA.
“I’m okay,” Bailey said. Jake nodded, moved past her, then at the last minute shuffled through the papers on the counter, placed one of them on top, and gently slid it toward her.
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
Startled, Bailey looked away. He thought she was beautiful like this? Roaring and shouting and hurling sticks of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter across the room? Ah, the young, always attracted to drama. He probably thought she was a wildcat. Men loved crazy women in bed. Was she wild and crazy in bed? The last time she and Brad made love she didn’t even take off her nightgown, and in the middle of it she glanced at her crossword on the end table by her bed and figured out that six down was “astray.”
But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have it in her. She used to be wild in bed. Oh, the nights she and Brad took chances, made up positions, talked dirty, screamed, even bit each other. She used to have to force him to use condoms. Now she couldn’t get him to go bareback for anything. He was probably wearing one right now just to be extra safe. Bailey took a deep breath. She’d better get a hold of herself. Her guests were still staring.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s okay. As long as nobody needs any butter.”
Later, after insisting she clean up alone after breakfast, Bailey noticed the guest book was once again open. There was another message. In red pen. And all caps.
BREAKFAST WAS TRULY TERRIFYING!!!
NEXT TIME PASS OUT HELMETS.
Bailey turned to scream for Brad, only to find him standing directly behind her. She pointed at the latest comment. “I didn’t throw it anywhere near them,” she wailed.
“I know,” Brad said. He pulled Bailey into him and kissed the top of her head. “Still,” he said. “We might want to just consider the helmets.”
Chapter 22
Everyone sat in a circle in the main room. There were a few candles lit, but nothing over-the-top. To anyone walking in it could have been a book group or a support group with soft lighting. Bailey wanted to set up chairs, but Daniel insisted they sit on the floor. Bailey thought he would have gotten along great with the ex-con. What was his name again? Harold. How could she forget? Didn’t you always remember the name of your first prisoner? Bailey wondered if he’d ever been caught and where he was now. It would be that way for as long as they ran the B&B. People would come in and out of their lives, full of stories and life and drama, and then just disappear. Or go back to jail. Maybe some would return year after year, but otherwise it would be like watching a revolving soap opera where the main characters were constantly replaced by new actors.
Vera was the only one who came dressed for a séance. She wore heavy eye shadow, fake eyelashes, and a long purple dress, complete with a headband wrapped around her head like an amnesia victim. Bailey looked around at the eclectic little group and thought, If my parents could see me now. At that moment, they were probably sitting at the dining room table discussing the latest articles in the New York Times. If they knew what Bailey and Brad were up to, her father would shake his head and say, “What kind of California hippie-dippy thing are you into?”
“It’s not my fault,” Bailey would say. “Brad has brain damage, and I’m just trying to drum up business. Ghosts are really hot right now thanks to cable television.” The fascination probably had something to do with the fear of death. Ghosts were proof that an afterlife existed. Everyone was searching for the answers. Except the group surrounding Bailey. They all thought they had the answers.
They started by finishing up minutes from their last meeting. “So,” Vera said. “What question did we leave the group with last time?” Sheila raised her hand. Vera nodded.
“You asked who’s thinking of writing a book about their experience,” Sheila said.
“Right,” Vera said. “And show of hands, who’s writing a book?” Everyone but Bailey thrust up their hand.
“You’re going to write a book?” Bailey asked Brad. Was that the other “secret” he’d been referring to the other day?
“I’ve already started,” Brad said. Would it be rude, Bailey wondered, if she pinched the bridge of her nose really hard and closed her eyes?
“You were only dead for thirteen minutes,” Bailey said. “It will have to be a very short book.” Although the others didn’t seem to appreciate her humor, Brad threw his head back and laughed. After all these years, one thing was for sure. He got her. Maybe love did conquer all, even the supernatural.
“Bailey has a great sense of humor,” he explained to the group. “It was her sharp tongue I fell in love with.”
“And the things I could do with it,” Bailey said.
“See?” Brad said. He beamed and scanned the group for approval.
“Moving on,” Angel said.
“My book is going to combine my near-death experience with sleep-eating,” Vera said. “I’m going to call it Does My Corpse Look Fat?” Bailey slapped her hand out of her mouth to keep from laughing. “It’s okay,” Vera said. “You can laugh. Humor is part of it.”
“Mine is going to be like The Wizard of Oz,” Daniel said. “Only no Dorothy or yellow brick road shit. Just me and Tree meeting Our Maker as we navigate a long and bumpy tail.”
“Did you mean ‘trail’?” Kimmy whispered. She spoke so softly everyone leaned forward to listen.
“No,” Daniel boomed. “I mean tail. Turns out Daniel and Tree are climbing up a huge dragon’s tail, but you won’t know it until the end. And if any of you steal it, if I see any mention of dragons in your books, I will hunt your asses down. You’ll see what “Fire Breather” means then!”
“What about you, Kimmy?” Vera said.
“Mine isn’t really a book,” Kimmy s
aid. “Just some poems about my experience.”
“Read us one,” Sheila said.
“Oh God,” Ray said.
“You should be more supportive,” Chris said. He put his arms around Sheila.
“Yes, Kimmy, read us one,” Ray said, staring at Chris.
“Are you sure?” Kimmy said.
“A short one,” Vera said. Kimmy cleared her throat. Then she stood. Bailey doubted anyone really heard the poem; the shocker was Kimmy’s theatrical voice when she recited it—or one might say, “belted” it.
“I was dead. But now I’m not. What should I do? In life’s web I’m caught.” When she finished yelling her poem, she bowed.
“Happy now?” Ray said to Chris. Since Chris and Ray looked as if they were contemplating punching each other out, Bailey began applauding, and as the rest joined in and Kimmy took her seat, the tension momentarily eased.
“Sheila?” Vera prompted.
“I’m going to write about how this experience changed my marriage.” Was it Bailey’s imagination, or did Sheila glance at her after saying that? “It’s made it so much stronger, happier. We truly appreciate each other now.” She did! She’d just glanced at Bailey again.
“What about you, Brad?” Vera said. “What’s your book about?”
“It’s just a continuation of my journals,” Brad said. Bailey didn’t pipe in and tease him about him keeping a diary or pout that he’d never let her read them because for some reason her husband had just turned a thousand shades of red. What was making him blush? What was in those journals?
“We should talk about Olivia now,” Vera said. “So we can send her our energy.”
“Certainly,” Brad said. “Olivia Jordan was—”
Vera leaned over and touched Brad’s arm. “Not you, sweetie,” she said. “You’re too close. I think we should let Bailey talk about Olivia.”