The Things I Do For You

by Mary Carter

  “I only eat cake at night,” the man said.

  “I’d love a piece, Brad,” Bailey said. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen and cut a piece?” Brad smiled and followed Bailey into the kitchen. He put the cake on the counter, then swooped her into his arms and began to dance with her.

  “We’ve got a guest, we’ve got a guest, we’ve got a guest,” he sang. Bailey broke out of his arms.

  “We can’t let him stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because we’re a bed-and-breakfast without beds or breakfast.”

  “I’ll take the rowboat and buy eggs.” The rowboat. The one that came with the sale of the lighthouse, the one Brad promised to paint yellow, turned out to be a rusting, leaking old thing.

  “You cannot be serious. We’re not open for business.”

  “The sign says we are!”

  “Seriously. We don’t even have pans. Or a new oven.”

  “The old oven sort of works. And we have a table.” Brad gestured to the dining room section where he had set up a card table and folding chairs that Captain Jack had sold him.

  “But we don’t have pans, or even eggs.”

  “We don’t have to share the eggs. Let him eat cake.”

  “He only eats cake at night, remember?”

  “Well, he can have his breakfast at night.”

  “Brad. We don’t have a license or furniture, or insurance, or even a working shower. We are not open.”

  “He seems pretty flexible.”

  “And don’t you think that’s weird?”

  “You really are a jaded New Yorker.” He grabbed Bailey’s hand and pulled her back into the living room. The man was standing by the windows gazing out onto the river.

  “Listen,” Brad said. “We aren’t really set up to handle guests yet.” Bailey squeezed his hand as a thank you. “Unless you pay in cash, and don’t mind an air mattress, and are willing to eat cake in the morning,” Brad added.

  “Our air mattress?” Bailey said. The man grinned again and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Welcome to our little B-and-B,” Bailey said.

  Her choices sucked. She either stayed at the house with a strange bald man clutching a wad of cash, or she rowed the leaky boat across the river to buy food, and if she was lucky, a pan. She’d gone from living in a city where she could have anything delivered at all hours of the night to a world where she had to row a boat just to get a pizza. Brad put a tarp on the bottom of the boat and pushed her off. The oars were not easy to pull, or push, or whatever you were supposed to do with them. Brad yelled instructions from the shore. He was lucky she was concentrating too much to let him have it. There was a little seat for her bottom, but the tarp only provided so much protection and water started to leak onto her tennis shoes. Her arms started to ache. She’d only gone a few feet. This was so not supposed to be her job. And what about the romantic weekend with her husband she’d planned? It certainly didn’t involve a threesome with a bald stranger with strange cake-eating habits.

  Although the cash was enticing. They certainly needed cash. The more money they had coming in, the less Brad would push her to sell the condo. Of course, they were about to spend some of the cash on food. Bailey looked up to see a giant ship coming toward her. It was in the distance, but she still imagined it crushing her like a bug. Could it even see her? Being a smaller vessel, she was pretty sure she had the right of way, but what consolation would that be if she and this wreck of a boat sank?

  She started to row faster. There was now an inch of water at her feet and blisters on her hands. This was not a proper boat! And where were they now? All the people who insisted this was all worth it, as long as she had her handsome husband. A lighthouse! How cool! I’d love to live in a lighthouse! Bailey was definitely cranky when her feet were wet. At the least, her fear of being crushed by the giant ship was enough of a distraction that before she knew it, she was reaching the shore. The boat slid onto the rocks with a prolonged scraping sound. What did she care? She was done with the little rowboat. She was going to get the captain to bring her back, whatever it took.

  Island Supplies was a short walk down the path and through the woods. In the future Bailey planned on having their supplies shipped from somewhere cheaper, but she was stuck tonight. She’d really only brought enough food for herself and Brad, and even though technically they were only supposed to provide breakfast, Bailey figured she might as well have enough for him to join them for dinner. She’d simply pick up more pasta and sauce from Island Supplies, plus maybe some eggs, bacon, and toast for the morning. And pans. Please, please have pans. If she forgot anything, they didn’t even have neighbors to run to for a cup of sugar. Wow. Sans neighbors. It was a brand-new world.

  It was kind of exciting to have their first guest. And if he liked the place this much when it was this Spartan, she could just imagine how popular they’d be when the place was decorated and ready for business. She was starting to feel affection for the bald guy. How refreshing to meet someone so happy to sit on a wood floor and just enjoy the view. Maybe all of their future guests would touch Bailey in some way, teach her something about living an authentic life. And in turn they would provide much-needed peace and quiet to an otherwise hectic world. Maybe Brad was right, maybe this was their calling.

  Bailey pushed open the door to the small store. A bell jingled. Captain Jack was behind the counter, standing with one leg propped up on a stool, his elbow leaning on it, looking at her as if he’d been waiting for her to walk through the door.

  “Why, hello,” he said. “How’s island life treating you?”

  “We have our first guest.”

  Jack frowned. “I didn’t realize you were open for business?” Bailey flinched. Of course he was right, they weren’t, but she didn’t like hearing anyone else say it.

  “Not officially,” Bailey said. “But he kind of just appeared.”

  “I didn’t bring anyone over on the ferry,” Jack said.

  “Maybe he has a boat,” Bailey said.

  “I’d be careful,” Jack said.

  “It’s not like we have anything he could steal,” Bailey said.

  “We may be remote,” Jack said, “but we’re still expected to follow the law out here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need permits to run a business. You need to be insured. Licensed. My guess is furniture wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “I said the same things to Brad.”

  “Ah. Great minds think alike.”

  “Well, he’s here now, and it’s a one-time thing. And he seems to like the empty space. I think he’s some kind of yoga master.”

  “Well, I won’t tell, but again, be careful.” Bailey grabbed a basket and quickly filled it. To her relief, the Jack-of-all-trades even sold pans. She bought one frying pan and one saucepan. He had everything she could probably want, but his prices were steep. Until a Walmart moved in, he could charge whatever he wanted and get away with it.

  Jack watched her as he rang up her purchases. Bailey hated feeling like she was under a microscope and hoped her smile didn’t show it. “You weren’t at the auction,” Jack said.

  “No,” Bailey said. “I wasn’t.” She wasn’t going to air their personal business, admit that she knew nothing about the lighthouse until it was already signed, sealed, and delivered.

  “You were there?” Bailey asked.

  “Of course,” Jack said. “I was going to bid on her myself, but your little committee beat me to it.”

  What a strange thing to call Brad, Bailey thought. “Why on earth did you want it?” she asked. “You won’t even go inside the house.”

  “One’s personal,” Jack said. “The other is business.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you think I’m afraid to go into the house?”

  “You said it was haunted.”

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts. Are you?”

  “No.” Bailey took the newspaper clippin
g and Internet blog from her purse. She hadn’t planned on showing it to him tonight, but it was as good a time as any. She handed it to Jack. “Is this who’s haunting the lighthouse?”

  He scanned the articles. “Trevor?” Jack laughed. “If he is, you’ve nothing to worry about. Trevor wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “What about Edga?” Bailey said. The minute the name was out of her mouth, she regretted it. The captain’s face clouded over.

  “We don’t like to pick over our tragedies here like vultures,” he said.

  “Oh,” Bailey said. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the article says—”

  “I know what it says.”

  “You said you were going to bid on the lighthouse,” Bailey said.

  “That’s right.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  Jack laughed. “Didn’t get a chance. Your committee—”

  “Right,” Bailey said. Brad Jordan, committee of one. She picked up the groceries and headed for the door. The conversation had flustered her so much she’d even forgotten to ask him for a ride home.

  “The auctioneer opened the bid at a hundred thousand,” Jack said. Bailey stopped.

  “Wow,” she said. “It was really in demand, wasn’t it?”

  “Brad immediately bid a half a million dollars,” Jack said. Bailey felt her entire body lock up. A cold chill spread down the back of her neck. She tried to keep her voice light. “He what?”

  “From one hundred thousand to five hundred thousand.” The captain snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Guess nobody ever told them how an auction works.”

  “He knows how an auction works,” Bailey said. She couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing, she simply couldn’t process it now, yet she still had to stand up for her husband. Captain Jack continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “You should have seen the commotion in the room. A few laughed, thought it was a joke. Others, like me, thought they were completely out of their minds. She’s got character all right, but she’s not worth anywhere near half a million dollars. I probably don’t have to tell you that. Being in the business.”

  “The property is zoned for business,” Bailey said. Her voice sounded like she was flailing. “That increases the worth.”

  “Sure, sure,” Jack said. “Anyway, no use speculating now. The place is all yours.” He smiled. When Bailey smiled back, she felt downright ill. My husband was in an accident, Bailey thought. He could have brain damage. Would this be enough to get him out of the contract?

  “Why do you keep saying ‘they’ and ‘them’?” Bailey asked. It was probably just his way of talking, like the annoying way some people referred to themselves in the third person. Or, more likely, Brad had mentioned Olivia while purchasing the lighthouse, pretending as if she were in on the deal. It was all so overwhelming, his insistence that she were somehow still around. Captain Jack stared at her, as if trying to figure her out. His phone rang.

  “Sorry,” he said. He answered the phone and waved good-bye. She remained standing, so he simply turned his back on her and continued his conversation. Little did she know how much the saucepan was about to come in handy.

  Chapter 14

  Bailey replayed Captain Jack’s words with every saucepan of water that she scooped out of her rowboat and poured back into the Hudson. The auction. The bid opened at one hundred thousand dollars. Brad immediately upped it to half a million dollars. My God. Was it true? And if so, why? Did Brad know how an auction worked? Or was he brain damaged? Brain damage. Trauma. Aunt Olivia. Now here they were. By the time Bailey made it to shore she was a wreck. Aching arms, and even worse, completely confused.

  But no matter what, she wouldn’t dream of confronting Brad in front of a guest. Not arguing in front of paying customers was their mantra, and they’d certainly had enough practice. At the surf shop they were too young, naïve, and in love to argue. By the time they even realized they’d driven the business into the ground, it was too late and they were out of there anyway. Mostly they just closed early and took long lunches so they could have sex in the back of the shop on various surfboards. It got to the point that Bailey would start getting turned on any time she saw a new design. At the sweater boutique, they argued a tiny bit. But it didn’t matter. All that wool muffled their voices so that they could argue behind a stack of cardigans without being heard. And at the coffee shop they screamed at each other whenever they were grinding beans or frothing milk. Nobody heard them, not even them. Otherwise Brad would just whistle when he was angry with her. He whistled a lot back then. But they were seasoned professionals now. Whatever happened at the auction could wait. They had to entertain a strange bald man. And strange he was indeed.

  He had a habit of humming to himself, only it seemed to be one long, guttural tone he was emitting instead of anything remotely resembling a tune. As if he were meditating or chanting. Bailey didn’t know if she was supposed to look at him or not look at him during this, so she mostly kept her eyes glued to Brad. Unlike her, Brad seemed completely at ease, even happy to have company. Maybe he just wanted to avoid her. Had he ever planned on telling her what really happened at the auction? What had Jack called Brad? The committee.

  Once again, their guest was more than thrilled to sit at the little card table in the dining room. His name was Harold and he was taking time to travel the United States since the death of his wife. The pasta with meat sauce Bailey whipped up was her specialty, and Harold the hummer ate with gusto. Maybe she would give all their guests funny nicknames behind their backs. Not to be mean, just to amuse herself, just to cope. Brad looked totally content, and on several occasions shared a private smile with Bailey. Bailey smiled back and tried to push down her urge to confront him. I love him, Bailey thought. Even if he was paddle-happy at the auction. But then, just as quickly, another thought hit. He immediately bid a half a million dollars. What if we could have bought this place for a hundred thousand? What was he thinking?! How could he! When their guest finished his plate, he happily accepted seconds.

  “I see you waited until you cleaned your plate before you asked for more,” Bailey said. Brad cocked his head and looked at her. Harold just started humming. “Instead of asking for all of it right away, you bided your time—waited to see whether or not you’d be hungry, finished your plate, and then asked for seconds.” Harold didn’t even look up from his plate, he just kept shoveling it in, humming all the while.

  “Bailey?” Brad said.

  “That’s how these things work,” Bailey said. “You don’t ask for it all at once, you eat a little at a time.”

  “Are you all right?” Brad said.

  “I’m just happy he understands the concept,” Bailey said.

  “Suppose he asked for it all at once, but halfway through discovered he was full?”

  “Okay,” Brad said.

  “Think of the waste!” Bailey said. “Think of all the money we would have wasted!”

  “Island Supplies is pricey, all right,” Brad said.

  “This is the perfect concept,” Harold said when he’d finished his second plate. “A Zen retreat. No phones, no television, no furniture.”

  “Oh, we’re going to have furniture,” Bailey said. “And phones. And television. And the Internet. And e-book readers.”

  “E-book readers?” Brad said.

  “All of our guests are going to get a free e-book reader,” Bailey said. “Except for you, Harold. We haven’t implemented it yet.”

  “Don’t need one,” Harold said.

  “How about we just keep a shelf of paperbacks on hand,” Brad said.

  “My point,” Bailey said, twirling her spaghetti extra tight on her fork, “is that we are not going to be some low-tech B-and-B out in the boondocks.”

  “Why?” Harold said. “That’s exactly what society needs today.”

  “Exactly!” Brad said.

  “A retreat from technology,” Harold said.

  “A retreat from technology,” Brad said.

/>   “We’re going to be an equal-opportunity B-and-B,” Bailey said. “Those who want to retreat can do so. Those who need to Google or Facebook or e-mail or watch Glee can do that too.” Bailey cleared the plates. “Would you like cake?” she asked their guest. He glanced out the window. Twilight was descending, but there was still light to see by. He shook his head. “Because it’s not night?” Bailey asked. Brad gave her a look, but she really wanted to know.

  “Where all have your travels taken you?” Brad asked. So this is how it’s going to be, Bailey thought. Whenever I ask one of our guests something that embarrasses Brad, he’s going to change the subject. There was an old adage, “Never do anything in your first few months of marriage that you don’t want to keep doing for the rest of your life.” If she let Brad run over her now, he would continue to do so. Harold was their test subject. She had to show Brad he couldn’t run the whole show.

  “Is there anything else you don’t eat during the day, or is it just cake?” Bailey asked.

  “I’m just beginning my travels,” Harold said, with a quick glance between Bailey and Brad. “And, uh—it’s pretty much just cake.”

  “Like a vampire with a sweet tooth?” Bailey said.

  “Bailey!” Brad said.

  “It’s okay,” Harold said. “You see—I’m starting a new life. And I wanted to shake things up a little bit. I love cake. I really love it. So I decided that whenever I wanted to eat cake, I would do it at night. Under the moon and stars.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Brad said. He looked at Bailey for confirmation. She thought it was just weird. The old Brad would have too. He might have said “That’s beautiful,” but when he looked at her he would have raised his eyebrows, or grimaced, or given her a silly grin, something to let her in on the joke. Now he just looked . . . impressed.

  “What about pancakes?” Bailey said. “Or French toast. French toast is basically cake, right? Do you only eat pancakes and French toast at night?”

  “I’m not really a breakfast eater,” Harold said.

  “Me neither,” Brad said.