The Things I Do For You

by Mary Carter

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” Brad said. “About the day I died.” Bailey took a seat across from Brad so that he would know he had her full attention.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “I had this experience. I was floating above my body. I didn’t even realize it was me! I thought—who is this dead guy lying on the sidewalk and why am I floating over him? Then I saw this light, Bails. I know—it’s so clichéd—but it happened—I can’t even describe it to you—only that I wanted to stay in it so bad.”

  “Oh, honey,” Bailey said. She left her chair and settled on the floor next to Brad once again. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” she said. She hadn’t brought up having a baby yet, she’d been waiting for the right time. Maybe it was now.

  “You believe me, then?”

  “Of course I believe you.” Well. She believed that he believed it. And who was she to say what the mind experienced when you went through that kind of trauma? She certainly wasn’t going to cast any doubt on it, not in his condition.

  “I’m so relieved,” Brad said. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I remembered you,” Brad said.

  “Me?” Bailey said. “You remembered me?”

  “I was just about to go into the light, and I felt like I was forgetting something—like you with your straightening iron—that’s when it hit me—I had a wife—I was that dead guy on the sidewalk!”

  “Oh my God.”

  “And the next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital.” Bailey clutched onto Brad’s hand, then leaned up and kissed him.

  “I’m so happy you came back,” Bailey said. She ran her hands up and down Brad’s arm. “I love this body. I never want to lose it.” Brad smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, babe?” Bailey said softly.

  “I didn’t see Olivia in the light,” Brad said. “I don’t think she made it to the light.”

  “Oh, babe.” She could tell, by the way he turned from her, that she’d said the wrong thing. She hated seeing him like this. Her vibrant husband, broken. A lost child. She wanted Brad back even if it meant he wanted to uproot them and start a dude ranch in Utah. Bailey tried again. “Maybe—it was just too bright to see her.”

  “It wasn’t a blinding light, Bails. I could still see. It was . . . bright. And so warm.” He wrapped his arms around himself. For a brief second his face shone. He looked like a man who had just fallen in love.

  “Maybe every individual goes into the light alone,” Bailey said.

  “Maybe,” Brad said. He didn’t sound convinced. She still felt as if he wanted her to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. It was as if her reaction had disappointed him somehow. Whatever he experienced was a result of trauma. Clinically dead, her ass. He’d been alive, and the experience he’d just described had been a dream. All of it was one horrible dream. But it was over now. They had been given a second chance. A miracle. Let’s make a little miracle of our own, she wanted to say. But there was no use bringing up babies now, not when he was so out of it.

  “You should lie down and take a nap,” Bailey said. “The doctor said you need a lot of rest.” Brad nodded, and this time, he didn’t argue. He simply followed her to the bedroom, and by the time she had finished tucking him in, he was fast asleep and gently snoring.

  Three months passed before they knew it. Brad’s recovery forced them into a quiet summer. Bailey gave up all the secret plans she had for them—getaways to the Hamptons, free concerts in Central Park, movies in Bryant Park. Instead, she allowed Brad time to heal. Which really just meant he sat and stared at things a lot. But fall was here, a time of changing leaves, tangerine skies, sweaters, and back to school. And Bailey was more than ready for a new start. She hoped Brad was too; he needed to embrace life. Hopefully, this would do for a start, Bailey thought, taking in the martini bar from their perches at the head of the bar. It was crowded, and dark, and noisy. In other words, it was hip. Brad rested his hand on his heart and for a moment, Bailey felt hers tighten up in sympathy. Was he having an attack? He leaned forward.

  “Are you okay?” Bailey had to shout to be heard.

  “I met with Auntie Olivia’s lawyer today,” Brad said. Bailey waited, but for a moment he didn’t add anything else.

  Physically, Brad was back to his old self. Bailey wished she could say the same thing about his mental state. He’d been so secretive lately, including keeping all the details of Olivia’s will to himself. Not that she minded. It wasn’t like she had any claim to any of Olivia’s things. And Olivia had been such a sore subject between them that Bailey usually made a point of keeping quiet about it. But that wasn’t why she wasn’t responding now.

  Not once, in the twenty-six years since she’d known him, had she ever heard Brad utter the word “auntie.” To add to the absurdity, his right hand was still placed over his heart like a Victorian woman in need of a fainting couch. But the real reason Bailey didn’t respond right away, couldn’t respond right away, was because she had just stuffed, not one, not even two (which in the court of her mind could still be argued as reasonable), but three giant green olives into her mouth, and, at the very second he dropped the news, was trying to simultaneously suck out the triple pimientos without choking to death. It was a meaningless but strangely satisfying game she’d come up with to dull the pain. There was a reason they were at Jason’s favorite hipster martini bar—he was celebrating the sale of the Fifth Avenue penthouse to the Fairytalers.

  The closing took forever due to all the stipulations and renovations and requests put in by the Fairytalers. But it was done: signed, sealed, and delivered. They would be moving, starting their glamorous new life. Allissa and Greg (as Jason was now calling them as if they were the best of friends) loved the chocolate-chip-scented candle. And the fact that they would pass the Frick museum every day on their way to work and relive where they began their journey as husband and wife. When Jason put it to them that way, they said, it had just cinched the sale! Jason, only twenty-six, had just made a fortune. Bailey was trying to keep it together. Brad was alive, that was all that mattered. Bailey prayed that if she repeated this enough to herself, she would be able to get through the evening without getting too tipsy and letting the little hipster have it. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. She was the one who’d told him to stay and show the penthouse. So he’d stayed. And used her sales pitch to woo them, and didn’t give her an ounce of credit. That’s all. Business was business. What did she expect him to do, split the commission?

  Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes . . .

  Of course not.

  What Jason called “hip,” Bailey called “hip-breaker” because the place was so cave-dark you needed a flashlight to see the menu. When she relayed this to Brad, he said their thirties was way too young to talk like that, but Bailey argued that they were in their late thirties, and how could you not resent a place that had you stumbling before you’d even taken the first salty sip of your Triple X martini? She would have lodged a formal complaint, but if Martinis on Madison had comment cards, she couldn’t see well enough to spot them.

  “Did you hear what I just said?” Brad said. Bailey held her finger up and pointed to her mouth, a private code that only a husband could know meant, “I’ve got a three-olive-pimiento-sucking-situation going on here,” then she carefully chewed while he stared at her. She was glad he was alive and feeling better, but Brad was still off. Impatient, quick to snap at her. Daydreamy, withdrawn, obsessed about his Near Death Experience. He was constantly online, Googling other people who had “crossed over.” It was as if she was married to John Edward, the psychic. Every time Bailey tried to point out someone’s adorable, drooling baby with chubby little cheeks and kissable fat baby legs, Brad would zone out, then somehow bring the conversation back to the light.

  Just as Bailey swallowed her olives and was about to ask how the meeting with the lawyer went, Faye popped up in front of them.
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  “How are you holding up?” You would think she was talking to Brad, but her question was directed at Bailey.

  “I think I’m faking it quite well,” Bailey said. “Do I look as green as I feel?”

  “I don’t know,” Faye said. “I can’t see a thing in this dungeon.”

  Bailey laughed. “Me neither.”

  “I know how difficult this must be,” Faye said. “And Jason is acting the fool, taking credit for your idea. But don’t you worry, I’m going to start setting you up with my bigger clients. You really came through for me. Our talent must be genetic.”

  “Thank you.” That did make Bailey feel better. Was Brad listening to this? Not that she wanted him to feel bad in any way, but she hadn’t dared say much about the thwarted sale, and well, it would be nice if he knew that it was her idea, that she would have sold the condo to the Fairytalers, that it would have been her being interviewed on Entertainment Tonight sitting next to the smiling couple, that she would have received the enormous check. Jason hadn’t even paid her back for the candle, which had cost her fifteen bucks. But Brad didn’t appear to be listening. Bailey put her hand on his knee.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

  “You can’t leave now,” Faye said. “What will people think?”

  “That my husband is recovering from a serious accident?” Bailey said.

  “Actually,” Brad said. “I really would love to get out of here.” Bailey was surprised. The old Brad would have talked her into staying. He was always the last one to leave a party. Poor guy. He must be exhausted.

  “Sorry, Faye,” Bailey said. “But we’re outta here.”

  “All right, then,” Faye said. “I’ll cover for you.” She put her hand on Bailey’s shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. Then she leaned over and kissed Brad full on the lips. Bailey just laughed. Faye adored Brad, everyone did. That Jordan charm. Faye would probably cut off Brad’s foot and wear it on her key-chain if she could. Faye finished the kiss, winked at Bailey, and disappeared into the dark. They were almost out the door when the couple of the moment stepped in front of them. Even in the dark, Bailey could make out Allissa’s perfectly white teeth. She held out her hand.

  “You’re Bailey, right?” she said. “Like the drink?”

  “Actually I’m named after my great-grandfather—”

  “Your aunt’s told me all about you,” Allissa said. Bailey shook hands with Allissa and Greg, hoping nobody could see that she was just a little bit starstruck. She was even thinner than she looked in the tabloids.

  “This is my husband, Brad,” Bailey said.

  “You were in an accident, right?” Allissa said. It was impossible to say for sure, but as Allissa turned to Brad, her eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

  “I was,” Brad said.

  “The very night you saw the penthouse,” Bailey said. “In fact—I was supposed to handle the showing. Until that awful phone call.” Brad glanced at her. Was she laying it on too thick? The chocolate-chip candle and slideshow of the Frick were my idea! And the romantic spiel—relive where you began the most important journey of your lives—that was me too!

  But Allissa wasn’t listening to Bailey. She was fixated on Brad. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked him. God, she was so pretty. So model perfect. And what was that perfume? No doubt designed in a science lab somewhere, carefully formulated to make every unsuspecting male fall madly, chemically, hormonally, irrevocably in love with her. Was it working? Was Brad in love with her? Bailey squinted but she still couldn’t make out much in the dark. Bailey subtly brought her own wrist up to her nose and sniffed. Peanuts. Salted.

  “Hit me,” Brad said. Hit me? Since when did he say things like hit me? What happened to “Auntie” and hand on heart? Why didn’t Brad give her the first shot? She’d be quite happy to hit him.

  “I heard you were . . .” Allissa stopped.

  “Dead?” Brad said, leaning into her. Allissa squealed and jumped back. Then, everyone laughed. Everyone except Bailey. What was so funny about her husband being dead? She felt her heart clench at the thought, the same clawing fear she’d felt when the stranger on the phone said those two little words: “clinically dead.”

  “Thirteen minutes,” Brad said. “Thirteen minutes that changed my entire worldview.” Changed his entire worldview? Now who was being dramatic? And what exactly did that mean? What exactly about his worldview had changed? So far he hadn’t shared any of these changes with Bailey.

  “So—you had some kind of experience?” Allissa continued in her little-girl voice. Bailey felt a string of conflicting feelings wash over her. She wanted Allissa to like her. She also wanted to pull her hair and slap her until she dropped the little-girl act. Bailey felt someone’s eyes on her and lifted her gaze to find Greg studying her. For some reason, it made her blush. For once she was thankful for the dark.

  “You’ll have to excuse my wife,” Greg said. “She’s into angels and trumpets and all that stuff.”

  Rich, and beautiful, and saintly, Bailey thought. How nice for her. “We actually have to go,” she said, reaching in her purse for her phone. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “Why don’t you use our driver?” Allissa said in an excited voice. Like she’d just found a pile of gold.

  “No need,” said Brad. “We’ve got wheels.”

  “We do?” Bailey said. “We’ve got wheels?”

  “Say you’ll have dinner with us some night,” Allissa said. “Our treat.” She snuggled close to Brad again. “I’d really love to hear all about your experience. You must have so much to share.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Brad said. Allissa launched herself into Brad’s arms, hugged him, then kissed both his cheeks before pulling back.

  Hey, Bailey wanted to shout. Get your manicured paws off my husband’s cheeks. Those are my cheeks. Greg looked at Bailey and smiled. Then Allissa grabbed Bailey’s arm and shook it up and down.

  “Don’t forget. Dinner, the four of us.” Bailey was reaching into her purse for a pen to get their phone number, but Allissa was already gone, Greg trailing in her wake.

  Chapter 6

  Outside, Bailey exhaled all of her jealousy in the New York night. Only then did she start tingling at the possibilities. Imagine, couple friends with the Fairytalers! Maybe that was even better than the sale. She hoped Brad would go along. He’d always hated the “Celebrity Culture.” Brad didn’t put anyone up on a pedestal. Ironic, because Bailey always held him up on one and he didn’t seem to mind that. And, she had to admit, it was Brad that Allissa was interested in, not her. That was life, wasn’t it? Here Brad couldn’t care less about the Fairytalers, and like cats who fling themselves all over the one animal hater in the room, they’d launched themselves on him. She linked arms with him, still humming with happiness at the prospect of hanging out in the penthouse with their new friends. Maybe she and Allissa would get pregnant at the same time and spend nine months reassuring each other that their asses were not too big.

  “What are you thinking about?” Brad said. It startled Bailey. They used to ask each other that every five minutes, when they were first in love. It had been a long time since he’d asked her that.

  “My ass,” Bailey said.

  “What?” Brad laughed, slipped his hand down, and rubbed her butt. “Funny,” he said. “Me too.”

  Bailey laughed and slapped his hand away. She hoped he would put it back. He didn’t. “What do you mean we have wheels?” she asked.

  “I have Olivia’s car,” Brad said. Bailey just stared at him. An image of the Cadillac, smashed like an accordion, rose to mind.

  “The Cadillac?”

  “Of course not. Turns out Olivia had a second car.”

  “Olivia had a second car?”

  “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” Brad hugged her to him and kissed her cheek. He was alive. He smelled good. He sounded good. He was back. Right? His worldview hadn’t really changed. That’s just so
mething one said to celebrities at cocktail parties. “Come on,” Brad said. “I’ll explain everything in the car.”

  Bailey felt light-headed as she stood and stared at the car. She was giddy. She felt slightly ashamed of herself, but she couldn’t help it, she was downright giddy. Aunt Olivia had a second set of wheels all right, a brand-new Jaguar. Well, a five-year-old Jaguar, but from the new-car smell and mileage, it looked as if Olivia had driven it straight off the lot and into her garage, and that was it. Bailey couldn’t get over it. Olivia Jordan owned a sleek, black Jaguar. This was the same woman who wore tall white gym socks with her sandals. It just didn’t seem possible.

  “This is unbelievable,” Bailey said.

  “There’s more,” Brad said.

  “More cars?”

  “No, silly. Not more cars. But Aunt Olivia was loaded,” Brad said. Bailey stared at her husband.

  “Olivia had a gun?” she said.

  “A gun?” Brad threw his head back and laughed. “Moola, baby,” he said. “Aunt Olivia had tons of moola.”

  “She did not.”

  “She did.”

  “How?” What, where, when, why? Bailey couldn’t get any of the words out of her mouth.

  “Ready for this?”

  “No,” Bailey said. “But hit me.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Brad said. “Turns out Olivia had a secret life.”

  “Out with it.”

  “Olivia was a poker shark.”

  “No.”

  “She played online, she played in groups, she played in tournaments.”

  “No.”

  “And she was good. Very, very good.”

  “No.”

  “You can’t keep saying that.”