by Mary Carter
“What about the end of the world?” Bailey said.
“It’s easier to accept when you have a hot meal and a place to sleep,” Carlos said.
“Do you live in the penthouse?”
“My God,” Allissa said. “I’m not Mother Teresa.”
“Studio in Harlem,” Carlos said. “And I still have my shopping cart.”
“Can you please stop chatting up the help?” Allissa said.
“Would you like help with the suitcases?” Bailey asked. Carlos-Manuel looked stricken at the idea. He shook his head, hurried over to the four large suitcases, and lifted them with ease, proportioning two on each side.
“Inappropriate!” he whispered at her as he scurried by. Bailey was relieved to see some of the old Carlos was still in Manuel.
“Since you’ve already had coffee, would you like something else to drink?” Bailey asked.
“Fresh-squeezed orange juice, please,” Allissa said.
“We just have store-bought,” Bailey said. Allissa nodded, but it appeared to make her sad. Bailey bit back asking if Allissa wanted her to drop everything and grow the tree. “I could put some champagne in it and make it a mimosa,” Bailey said.
“I’m pregnant,” Allissa said.
“I’ll drink the champagne,” Bailey said.
Allissa lit up the minute she saw Brad. Color came flooding back to her pale cheeks, and when she smiled her eyes seemed to sparkle. This time, Bailey wasn’t jealous. It was good to see Allissa come back to life, and Bailey felt a familiar surge of pride that her husband had that effect on people, even if by “people” she meant women. The three of them had dinner together and allowed Allissa to hold court. Bailey was surprised to hear Allissa say that she didn’t want her child to be raised by a nanny. She must have read Bailey’s mind.
“I know I seem spoiled,” she said. “And I am. But I wasn’t always. I grew up with two parents, and no nanny, and so will my child. I’m not saying I’ll never have help. Or ‘me time’ or ‘spa time,’ but being a mom is a full-time job, and I intend to do that job.”
“I’m proud of you,” Bailey said. “That’s great.”
“But Greg is never home. I’m all alone in that humungous place all the time. I mean, so far I keep myself busy with television shoots and the like, but it’s all going to change when we have this baby.”
“A baby does change everything,” Bailey said. She didn’t dare glance at Brad.
“I’m so jealous of you two,” Allissa said. “You’d be the perfect parents. And look at this quaint, cozy little place. What kid wouldn’t want to grow up in a lighthouse!”
“Have you talked to Greg about this?” Bailey said. “He’s crazy about you. I’m sure he’d be willing to cut his hours when the baby comes along.”
“Being crazy about someone doesn’t necessarily mean you’re always going to do the right thing, you know?” Brad said.
“We’re talking about Greg here,” Bailey said.
“Right, right, but just so you know, you can be totally, madly, in love, crazy about someone and still not do the right thing,” Brad said. “Whatever that is.”
Allissa looked from Brad to Bailey and back.
“Whatever that is?” Bailey said. “Do you honestly think, where a child is concerned, that there’s any room for murk?”
“Murk?” Allissa said.
“You know—murky,” Bailey said.
“Oh. Murky,” Allissa said.
“Murky waters,” Brad said.
“Exactly,” Bailey said. “Where a child is concerned, there are no murky waters. Just murky, knuckleheaded men.”
“Tell me one seventeen-year-old who knows how to handle something like that? You have no idea of the kind of pressure that can be put on someone.”
“Greg’s a lot older than seventeen,” Allissa said. “But he’ll be flattered.”
“Being young is one thing,” Bailey said. “Pressure is another. But lying to the person you love—the person who’s done nothing but love you through coffees, and sweaters, and freaking surfboards—being by that person’s side for give or take twenty-six years, obviously give away the night you spent with that little tramp from next door—that’s a horse of a different color, buddy. That’s—that’s just unforgivable.” Bailey stood up from the table. She knew she was being unfair to Allissa, but it had all just bubbled out of her. She had honestly and quite naïvely thought she was over the shock of Brad having a son. She had rationalized it away—he was so young, it was so long ago. Intellectually, Bailey had maturely processed it, but inside, she was still raw, and terribly sad, and angry.
Allissa’s mouth was hanging open. Brad put his head down on the table. “Do you see me, Brad? I’m not even throwing things. But I can’t sit here and listen to poor little Allissa whine because she’s pregnant.”
“Hey!”
“Your husband will do the right thing. I hope. I don’t know how you make men appreciate babies. If I knew that I’d have one of my own by now. But at least you know you’ll be able to raise this child no matter what.”
“Am I missing something here?” Allissa said.
“I’m sorry,” Brad said. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m sure you are. But I’m not even the one who matters now,” Bailey said.
“Thank you,” Allissa said.
“I don’t want to discuss this,” Brad said. “Not here and now.”
“Here and now is all we have, Brad. You should know that better than anyone. You have to find him. You have to find him and tell him everything and get this terrible, terrible weight off your chest.”
“I hear you,” Brad said. “And I’ve thought about it—I seriously have. But I can’t, I just can’t.”
“I am so sick of listening to your excuses,” Bailey said. “All these years, the millions of excuses you had not to have a baby. And now this. This is not like my husband. My husband is not a coward!”
“Greg?” Allissa said. “Are we still talking about Greg?”
“No,” Bailey said. “But if you want to talk to Greg, then call him.”
“I’d rather he suffer for a while,” Allissa said.
“That’s very mature,” Bailey said. “Both of you. Very mature.” She turned and walked in the direction of the tower.
“She’s become more aggressive since living on the water,” Allissa whispered to Brad.
Bailey stood in the tower, gazing out at the water. Something in her had cracked and split wide open. She wanted to cry, she wanted to rage, she wanted to leap off the tower. Yet she had no right, because there was a young man out there who was the innocent player in the drama. Brad had a son, and he wasn’t even going to make an attempt to see him? Just like him. Just like writing in those notebooks all those years, never sharing a word. Slamming doors. Starting over. Again and again. Keeping this secret from her. Denying her a child of their own. And not even coming out and denying it, but stringing her along, putting it off as if it were a project he didn’t want to face, as if it were August and he didn’t understand why she was bitching at him to take the Christmas lights down from the rim of the roof.
Was the universe testing their love? She felt as if she’d invested so much, given so much, opened herself up time and again. Was it too late to leave? Wouldn’t the time have been when she was in her twenties with all the optimism and angst those years bring? Bailey noticed a kayaker coming toward shore. She grabbed the binoculars and peered out. She could have sworn it was Jake. She wondered what the little ghost maker was up to now. She hurried out to catch him.
Down at the water’s edge, there was no sign of the kayaker Bailey had spotted from the tower. Nor was there a kayak pulled up on shore. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air. Or maybe he’d been a mirage. Bailey’s fantasies were now imagining Jake where Jake wasn’t. She would have to ask Brad if he’d seen him.
Bailey was cleaning up the kitchen when she smelled paint. She entered the main room. It was coming from up
stairs. She hurried up and found Allissa standing in the middle of the second bedroom, paintbrush in hand. Pink paint splattered onto the newspaper below. One whole wall had been slathered with pink. Before Bailey could lose it, Allissa turned and treated Bailey to a horrific sight. Allissa’s face was bloated. Black tears ran down her face. Her lip was quivering.
“I’m gggoing to pppaint the other wall blueeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
“Jesus.” Bailey hurried toward her and took the paintbrush out of her hand. “You shouldn’t be around paint fumes.”
“I have to finish it.”
“Come downstairs. I’ll make you some juice. We’ll figure this out.” Allissa reluctantly let Bailey take the paintbrush out of her hands. Bailey turned to see Brad in the doorway.
“I have to finish it,” Allissa said, reaching for the paintbrush again.
“I’ll do it,” Brad said. Bailey walked Allissa downstairs, made her some juice, and then tucked her into the couch for a rest. She took her cell phone out front and put in a call to Greg. Then she went back upstairs and watched Brad paint a baby’s room. When he finally turned around, it was Bailey who had fat black tears running down her face.
Chapter 38
Can a marriage just end like that? From a million little paper cuts? From a paintbrush filled with pink paint? Tiny threads of resentment had weaved into one giant tapestry in Bailey’s mind, but the image that threatened to unravel it all was her husband painting a baby’s room in their house, which wasn’t really their house, for a baby that wasn’t their baby. Without speaking, because she couldn’t, there were no words, just a lump in her throat that threatened to choke her, Bailey turned from the scene in front of her and crossed over the bridge to their watch room. Normally she preferred to walk outside and enter the tower from below. It was nice to have a separation of home and work. But at the moment all she wanted to do was pack a bag and get out of Dodge. Brad followed her, dripping pink paint as he did, calling her name, softly at first and then almost shouting it. He knew. He could feel her leaving. Marriage was that too, tiny clicks and blinks, and sighs, and energy that you could feel, predict. One of their biggest fights was caused when Bailey rolled her eyes at something he said. It was also the greatest make-up sex she’d ever had. That was marriage too, a sudden wave of passion that would carry you over to the next moment, and then the next, and then the next. But she didn’t have anything left to carry her to the next moment. The rowboat of their marriage was sinking fast.
Brad watched her pack a bag, pacing behind her in the circular room. He asked questions she couldn’t answer. “Where are you going?” “How long will you be gone?” “What can I do?”
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Please, baby, please. Bailey turned and looked at Brad. She wished she had the answers. She wished she could comfort him, make all of this go away. But she couldn’t, she simply didn’t know how. Yellow, she wanted to say. We’ll always have the color yellow. But when she said it in her head it sounded melodramatic and silly, so instead she said nothing at all.
Jake was waiting outside, standing on the patio. He saw her suitcase, then locked eyes with her.
“I don’t want to be with Angel,” he said. “I want to be with you.” Bailey smiled, a tired, flattered little smile. “I didn’t want to do those stupid ghost things. But it was harmless, right? A few recordings—music boxes and a woman laughing—a duplicate urn, a few wires cut to make the tower light freak out, the wrong battery in the tide clock. I swear I wouldn’t have done anything to really hurt anyone. And my feelings for you . . . They were totally real. I mean it, Bailey. I think I’m in love with you.” It was absurd, listening to his speech while her husband stood behind them, dumbfounded, still dripping little splotches of pink paint wherever he went. Bailey brushed past Jake and entered the main room. Jake and then Brad followed. Allissa was still curled up on the couch, her cell phone clutched in hand.
“Listen,” she said. She pressed Speaker and played a message. Greg’s voice filled the little room.
“Honey,” he said. “Honey, honey, honey. I love you. I love our baby. I’m coming. Don’t go anywhere, I’m coming. I’m taking a vacation. We’ll stay out there together, then come home together. Having a family with you is all I’ve ever wanted. Nothing else matters. Do you hear me? You and this baby are all I’ve ever wanted.”
Bailey looked at Brad. He stared back, and between them, it was clear. She was listening to the very words she wished he would have said to her.
“That’s how I feel,” Jake said. “About you.”
Allissa sat up and straightened her long, blond hair, now sticking up like a science experiment. “Do I know you?” she said.
“He was talking to me,” Bailey said. “Not everything is about you.”
“You’re not getting my wife,” Brad said.
Allissa looked confused. “I don’t want her,” she said. There was a loud pounding on the door. Brad answered it and came back with the Coast Guard.
“Is it the light again?” Bailey asked. For a split second, she wanted the light to be malfunctioning. She wanted the place to be filled with ghosts, she wanted Olivia around to save their marriage. Or she wanted the storm to be the biggest one ever, she wanted the Coast Guard to forbid her to leave her home, her husband.
“We just thought you guys should know there’s a storm coming in, and it’s going to be a doozy.” He glanced at Bailey’s suitcase. “If you’re going somewhere, you’ll want to get a move on, soon.”
“I’m leaving now,” Bailey said. She picked up the suitcase. Thanks a lot, guards. So much for stepping in to save me. Bailey turned to Allissa. “Can I borrow your yacht?”
“No, no, I don’t think so,” Allissa said.
“I’ll take you,” Jake said.
“Over my dead body,” Brad said.
“There’s a potential buyer captaining the ferry today,” the Coast Guard said. “I’m sure he’d take you across.” So that was that, Bailey thought. The Coast Guard was definitely not on the side of romance.
“Great,” Bailey said. “Can you give him a call and see if he’ll pick me up?” Maybe he would say no. Maybe someone besides Brad would try and talk her out of this. The Coast Guard got on his radio and spoke into it quietly.
“He’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes,” he said.
“Bailey, please,” Brad said. “I’m begging you.”
“Brad, I just—”
“Let me come with you.”
“Not right now.”
“Then wait here,” Brad said.
“I can’t just—”
“Three minutes, Bails. Just three minutes.” Brad looked absolutely tortured. Finally, Bailey nodded. He ran out of the room. When he returned, he was carrying a box. He looked at her and answered her unspoken question.
“My journals,” he said. “Or diaries, if you prefer.” He gave her a sad little smile. “It’s the only thing I can give you right now,” he said. “Bailey, please.” It was so strange to be in this place, a new marital territory, one in which she was pulling away and Brad was the one desperate to pull her back in. She nodded and took the box.
The new captain was having trouble starting the ferry. That was the trouble with ownership. Even ships got used to having one main person to take care of them. Whatever sweet touch Captain Jack had with the ferry, this new guy didn’t. He hadn’t spent years with her, he didn’t know if she needed a little kick or shorter thrusts of the engine, or maybe some kind words whispered before turning the key. He didn’t know her capacity, how she performed in storms, how to toot her horn just so. It was just like a marriage. Bailey couldn’t understand how married couples were even tempted to cheat. If you were with the right mate to begin with, they were the ones that knew how to get you started, how to keep you humming, how you were going to do when storms hit.
God, listen to her. Panic gripped her. Was she making a mistake she could never take back? Did she really, truly want to leave? No, she just wanted the b
linding pain to go away. She loved the lighthouse, the keeper’s house, and she loved Brad and the life they’d started to make here. Bailey had to admit it, she even missed Captain Jack. She realized they hadn’t even asked the Coast Guard to arrest Jake or question where Angel and Jack were. None of it really mattered to Bailey right now. Bailey sat on one of the benches next to the box of journals. While the new captain tinkered with the engine, Bailey grabbed the first notebook and began to leaf through it. At first she thought she was seeing things.
Bailey has an incredible laugh. I heard her with a customer. Whatever he said struck her as funny, and she just threw her head back and the sound of her laughter filled our little coffee shop and I looked around and everyone, everyone was laughing with her. How did I get so lucky? What if some customer falls madly in love with her and steals her from me?
Bailey is pissed. I think it’s all the traveling, we’ve been to Ireland, Scotland, England, France, Italy, and now Spain. I don’t blame her for being grumpy, but I hate when she’s pissed at me. And what’s with all the throwing? What an arm! She should have played baseball.
Bailey thinks she has big hands, but I think they’re beautiful. Especially when they’re wrapped around me. Same goes for her tongue, but if I tell her that she might stop doing it out of spite.
I don’t think Bailey likes California. Neither of us can surf either. She’s getting antsy. It might be time to go soon.
What was I thinking? Sweaters? Bailey looks fabulous in them, I think she’s allergic.
Bailey put the notebook down and grabbed the next. Again, every entry was about her. What she wore, how she looked, and how she treated him that day. Here were the little moments of their life, their marriage, word by word, sentence by sentence, page by page. Bailey stood up. She was going to go back. She had been through too much with Brad to give up now. Together, they would face this. Brad Jordan loved her. She had never once stopped loving him. Flaws and all, they were meant to be together. Destiny had brought them together, the universe had given her this wonderful gift, this incredible man. What was she doing? The boat’s engine suddenly roared to life.