by Mary Carter
Or just the sticks, Bailey thought. I could beat you with the sticks. And then, finally, he was opening the door.
They stepped into a second room, only slightly bigger than the first. Bailey thought she was going crazy. It was like one of those Russian nesting dolls. Would they just keep entering larger and larger rooms? This one had a nice wood floor and was about the size of a baby’s nursery, but the ceilings were lower and there was no skylight or windows. She was already wondering what they would do with this room. She thought it was weird. She wondered if Brad thought it was weird, but she was too afraid to ask, in case he thought it was incredible. Luckily, instead of another closed door, this simply had an open archway into the next section of the house. Bailey plowed through it, leaving Brad to stare at every nook and cranny. The archway led to a narrow hall. It was like a maze. None of the pictures had shown this strange series of starts and stops. The hallway creaked as Bailey walked through.
“Why are you rushing?” Brad called. “We need to savor this.” If he said “savor” one more time she was going to kill him. Justified homicide brought on by the careless repetition of the word “savor.” A jury of English majors would exonerate her.
“I’m hoping there’s a house in here somewhere,” Bailey said. “I’m just trying to find it.”
“That’s like the pony joke,” Brad said. Bailey just looked at him. “You know, where one kid’s an optimist, the other a pessimist. They both are confronted with a pile of manure and a shovel? The pessimist throws a tantrum but the optimist starts digging because ‘With all the shit in here, there has to be a pony somewhere!’ ”
“Right on,” Bailey said. “I’m just trying to find our pony.”
“You never get a second chance to make a first impression,” Brad said. As if the house were a person. He lingered behind, running his hand along a chair rail. Bailey kept going. The hallway was dark and bare except for a newspaper article tacked to the wall. Bailey stepped closer.
LOCAL KEEPER DIES
The floor squeaked behind her as Brad entered the hallway. Bailey snatched the newspaper article off the wall and jammed it in her pocket. Who in the world had tacked the obituary to the wall and why? Brad was all about death these days, twenty-four / seven. She didn’t want anything else setting him off. Still, it was silly, hiding it this way. But when Brad caught up with her, she didn’t say a word.
Together, they stepped into the main room on the ground floor. Finally, Bailey felt like she was in a real house. It was a huge space, overlooking the Hudson River. Since the lighthouse was on a hill, looking out, she almost felt as if they were floating above the river. Two human-sized windows made it feel as if you could step right out onto the water, walk across it. Like Jesus. Given Brad’s recent progression into the spiritual, Bailey decided to keep the walking-on-water parable to herself. Her chest expanded like an accordion as she took it all in, in one big breath. Dark wood floors, tall, tall ceilings, the two huge windows, a fireplace, and walls still clinging onto bits of vintage wallpaper. They were in desperate need of painting unless you wanted the aged antique look, which Bailey sort of did.
“It’s stunning,” she said. Her voice echoed through the room. She felt a slight breeze and wondered if the distinct dampness always clung to the room. But despite the chill, a peaceful stillness washed over her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Compared to the hectic pace of Manhattan, it was kind of nice to be out here in a keeper’s house by the river. Her optimism lasted all of a few seconds. The minute her energy slowed down, Brad’s skyrocketed. He began to bounce about the room, waving his hands as he put up imaginary partitions.
“This will have to be the front desk, we’ll have to build a counter and wall off most of the space so that when you’re sitting back there you won’t feel claustrophobic—”
“Wait,” Bailey said. “Me? When I’m sitting there?”
“And we’ll need room for a copy machine, and a cabinet for the keys—”
“It’s a bed-and-breakfast, Brad. Not a Holiday Inn. We can’t wall off this room, it’s the only decent room of its size.”
“You don’t know that. We haven’t seen the rest of the house.” True. But she had a feeling she was right. She gestured to the windows and the river beyond. “Look, it’s almost as if we could walk on water. Like Jesus.” Bailey watched Brad closely. The religious connotation seemed to stop him. He faced the windows and rocked back on his heels.
“I suppose we don’t have to look like a hotel,” he said.
“Of course not. This room is too beautiful to touch.”
“Except for this hideous wallpaper. We’ll have to peel it off and paint.”
“Let’s check out the rest of the place.” Bailey didn’t want to talk about the room anymore; she was terrified it would lead to an argument, especially since she felt like pummeling him. Stuck behind a desk? He pictured her stuck behind a desk? She’d rather be a weekend wife.
“Brad,” she said, “if we lived in the city and kept this place as a getaway . . .” She kept the sentence vague and unfinished, hoping it would spur him to finish it for her, agree with her.
“We can’t run a business like that.”
“Exactly. This doesn’t have to become a business. It can be a getaway. Our private getaway. We wouldn’t even have to paint.” Now that would excite her.
Brad must have sensed an argument moving in as well, for he suddenly plastered a large smile on his face and clapped his hands. “Our tour continues, m’lady,” he said, gesturing her to be the first up the narrow set of steps in the right-hand corner of the room.
The next floor held one master bedroom and three small ones. It curved around in an L shape. From here a small hallway connected over to the actual lighthouse. Bailey stood at the entrance to the small hall and couldn’t decide whether to check out the rooms first or cross over to the lighthouse. Gray carpeting covered what she assumed were also dark wood floors. She couldn’t wait to rip it up.
“At least it’s carpeted,” Brad said. “It will mute the noise.”
“Rooms first, or lighthouse?” Bailey asked.
“Definitely rooms,” Brad said. “We’ll save the lighthouse for last.”
“There are only three guest rooms,” Bailey said.
“On this floor,” Brad said.
“There’s another floor?” They both tried to peer around the corner, but if indeed there was another staircase around the bend, they couldn’t see it from where they stood.
“We’ll see,” he said. “Let’s take the rooms in order.” The first room on their right was the master suite. Bailey just assumed this would be their room, and she wished it were last instead of first. She didn’t like the thought of guests passing her room every night. If only she could talk Brad out of the whole B&B part of this adventure.
Bailey stepped into the master bedroom and once again thought about ripping out the carpet. She didn’t care whether it muted the noise, she hated carpet. This room had the same view as the main room downstairs. They would have to position the bed to overlook the river. She could see them lying in on Sunday mornings, eating and drinking in bed, gazing out at the ships. They could even get a telescope.
“We could charge a lot for this room,” Brad said. “The honeymoon suite.”
“And where will we sleep? The old married couple’s suite?”
Brad laughed as if she were joking, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into him. “We haven’t seen the third floor yet,” he said. “We could make the entire third floor our little apartment.”
“Oh,” Bailey said. “Maybe.” She’d been ready to pounce, fight him on this one, she realized. Was it happening already? Was the profound appreciation for the fact that her husband was alive already waning? She was ashamed of herself for not being capable of maintaining the feeling. She turned toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck, took in his smell, silently told him she loved him, and kissed him.
“What was that for?”
/> “You’re right,” she said. “This is exciting.” Brad grinned. Instantly he was that precocious little boy that she knew and loved. They were sharing an adventure, like the many other adventures they’d shared. Why had she hidden the obituary on the wall from him? She felt guilty, as if she was shaping his portion of the adventure, shielding him from the truth. If she pulled it out now, would it look funny? Was there any way of getting around it? Oh, by the way, look what I pulled off the wall downstairs and shoved in my pocket so you couldn’t see it.
Maybe she’d tack it back up somewhere. Put it on another wall for him to discover.
The two smaller rooms needed work. Thick ugly shag carpet that would have to be torn up. The walls just looked cracked as opposed to the vintage look downstairs. They felt a little drafty to Bailey too. But she could see the promise, the dark wood molding, each with a little wood-burning stove. There would be so much to do. Tear up carpeting, refinish the floors, paint, shop for furniture. It would keep Brad busy, that was for sure. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe this all was for the best. And when they finally turned the corner, Brad was right, there was another stairway leading up to a closed door.
“I told you,” he said. Bailey smiled; she would have to be the grown-up, even if it killed her.
“You did,” she agreed. “Although it could just be a crawl space.”
“What crawl space do you know of that has a door?”
“Excuse me, I haven’t been in too many lighthouses.”
“This isn’t a lighthouse, it’s the keeper’s house.”
“Are you looking for a smack?” This used to be a little joke between them. Bailey would say, “Are you looking for a smack?”; then Brad would grab her and kiss her. This time, he simply stared up at the closed door. “No kiss?” she said.
“What?”
“Never mind. Are we going up?”
“I’m just savoring the moment.”
“Brad,” Bailey said. “Do you think you could retire that word?” Bailey expected Brad to pout. Instead, he laughed.
“I am using it a bit much, aren’t I?”
“You are, my love.”
“I shall stop.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to relish the moment,” Brad said.
“Then I shall pickle it,” Bailey said. This time Brad didn’t laugh. Bailey waited, impatiently, while Brad relished. Finally he headed up the stairs. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she felt her heart lurch when he reached for the doorknob. But soon its erratic beat returned to normal. The door was locked.
Chapter 11
Brad put his body against the door and pushed. “You’re going to break it,” Bailey said.
“I can’t believe it’s locked.”
“We’ll have to relish the moment even longer,” Bailey said. “Mustard up the strength.” Brad gave her a look. He seemed to have lost his sense of humor.
“You’re queen of the pun today,” Brad said.
“Sorry. I’m just a little tired. And cold.”
“But excited, right? You’re still excited?”
“Of course,” Bailey said. “Let’s go look at the lighthouse. We’ll call the Realtor in the morning and see if there is a separate key to this floor.” Bailey headed back down the stairs, listening to them squeak. It seemed everything in the house made noise. Hopefully, all of their guests would be nice and quiet. She reached the bottom of the stairs. Brad was still standing by the door. She was going to have to call his doctor in the morning. Something was off with him. She’d been half joking with Jesse, but maybe he truly did have brain damage from the accident. “Brad?”
“Right,” he said. “Coming.” They crossed over the hallway that connected to the lighthouse. Windows on either side brought the outside in, made it feel like a bridge suspended in air. This time Bailey was the first to reach the door, but it too was locked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brad said. He sounded angry. He brushed Bailey aside and tried the door himself.
“I’ll bet we can get into the lighthouse from outside,” Bailey said. “Don’t we have a key for it?” Brad pulled out his set of keys. None of them looked like they would fit the old wooden door, but he had to see it for himself. Only then, after he tried each and every key, did they go downstairs and out the front door.
The rain was still coming down, obscuring everything but an expanse of darkness. Why hadn’t Bailey talked him into waiting for the next trip? Shouldn’t they be getting back to the boat? They hadn’t thought any of this through. They didn’t even have a flashlight. Just as the thought hit Bailey, the tip of the lighthouse lit up and its beam spread across the river. She laughed out loud. If nothing else, at least every few seconds they would be able to see. Brad laughed along with her and pulled her into him. “Isn’t she fabulous?” he said.
“He is,” Bailey said.
“Right, he,” Brad said. “But the house is a she?”
“Well, she’s cold, needs a lot of work, and is shutting us out of several rooms, so what exactly are you trying to say?”
“I think she’s beautiful and mysterious,” Brad said.
“Okay then, we’ll call the house a she. Happy now?”
Brad stopped her from moving forward, pulled her into him and kissed her. He kissed like the old Brad, and aside from the rain pelting them, Bailey gave herself to the moment.
“I’ve never been happier,” he said. Bailey was glad for the darkness. She didn’t want to put on a fake smile. She was remembering all the other businesses Brad started, and the pattern was the same. He was always happy at first. But after a month, a week, and then only a few days, he’d grow bored, restless, unhappy. Was this going to be just like all the other times, only this time it would cost him his entire fortune? And then what? Would they be able to slip back into their New York City lives, resume where they left off? Bailey hoped so. God, she hoped so.
She wondered what time Captain Jack was picking them up for the ride home. “What time are we going back?” she shouted over the wind and the rain. Brad probably didn’t hear her. He certainly didn’t answer.
The key fit easily into the outside door leading into the lighthouse. They stepped into a circular room with a cement floor and a spiral iron staircase going up, up, up, higher than it had looked to Bailey from the outside. She was right about one thing: In addition to being damp and freezing, it was extremely dim. She could barely make out the staircase. She decided not to point out the irony. It smelled like wet cement, but even that didn’t bother her. They were about to enter a lighthouse. Maybe she’d been way too negative. It was a pretty cool thing.
“We need a flashlight,” she said. “We could break our necks on these stairs.”
“Nah,” Brad said. “We’re more likely to break an ankle.”
“Comforting,” Bailey said. Brad laughed softly, took her hand, and started up the stairs. Bailey soon pulled hers away. She didn’t like the feeling of spiraling up, and she didn’t want to lose her balance. She gripped the rail and listened to Brad’s footsteps as he ascended.
At long last the stairs spilled out into a circular room, almost as large as the living room in the keeper’s house. In the middle of the space was a second spiral staircase, leading up to the lighthouse tower. Brad had found a dim light, and he stood bathed in it in the middle of the room. Sometimes she forgot how handsome he was. It often snuck up on her, like now. He almost glowed beneath the light. When he smiled, his dimples creased and his eyes seemed to shine. Her golden man. Brad flung his arms out. “This is called the wick room,” he said. “It’s where they used to cut the wick for the whale oil lamp.”
“Wow,” Bailey said, taking in the room. Aside from its circular shape, it was like a hip loft; one big open space with a cement floor and stone walls. People would kill for this space in Manhattan. “This is so cool,” Bailey said. Brad laughed and grabbed her around the waist.
“You sound like we did in college,” Brad said. “It�
��s, like . . . totally rad.”
Bailey laughed. “Um—like we did in college?”
Brad feigned hurt feelings. “I took classes,” he said.
“You lurked. Tuition free.”
“And no degree.” He nuzzled her neck. Bailey dropped her head back and allowed his lips to send shivers down her spine.
“I loved that about you,” she said quietly. “You really wanted to be there.”
“I wanted to be near you.”
“Liar. You loved those classes. Although you should have applied for a scholarship.” Brad shrugged. It was true, he’d been so smart, he most likely would have been able to attend as a real student and get a degree. It was one of their first big fights. Bailey tried in vain to get him to apply for a scholarship. But even then, Brad Jordan did what Brad Jordan wanted to do. Bailey reached out and gingerly touched his head.
“For such a hard head, you feel soft,” she said. She put her arms around his neck. He was here. He was hers. She pulled him close and held him. If anything ever happened to him, that would be it. She would never have another love like this again.
“I love the wick room,” Bailey said.
“I love you,” Brad said. “And don’t worry, baby, I’ll light your wick.”
Bailey laughed, then clutched onto him like a life raft. “Don’t ever leave me,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, desperate.
“I’m here,” he said.
“I was so scared when you were in the coma,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m glad you bought this lighthouse.”
“You are?” He pulled away, looked into her eyes. “Really?”
“As long as I have you, I could live anywhere.”
Brad hugged her, but it was quick, complete with a pat on the back and a peck on the cheek before he was back to bouncing around the room. “We could make this our room,” he said.
