by Mary Carter
“Yes,” Bailey said. My husband and I bought it, she knew she should add. But she didn’t. You’re gorgeous, she wanted to say. But she didn’t. If it was true that fantasizing and thinking about doing things you shouldn’t were just as sinful as doing it, then she was going to have to start asking for truckloads of forgiveness. “Who are you?” she said. He held out his hand.
“Jake.” She shook his hand, of course she did, when someone held out their hand you were expected to shake it, it was just common courtesy. Innocent touching. Now, hugging him would be inappropriate. Wondering how his hard stomach would feel against hers was just normal. Although she noticed he didn’t really shake her hand, instead he just held it in his. Were her hands really perspiring? Should she apologize? What was going on here? She was a happily married woman, at least she used to be, and she would be again, and she was way too old for him, but definitely not a cougar, and it wasn’t like it was a crime, gently holding the hand of a stranger thinking how nice his fingers and palms felt against hers. Appropriately, she pulled her hand away. He tilted his head and smiled. He looked curious, and interested. In her. Had she spiked her coffee too much, or not enough? It wasn’t the big questions of life that plagued her, it was the little ones.
“Are you part of the group?” she asked. She wasn’t going to call them the “committee” as Brad had called them on a few occasions. He mentioned he’d invited his NDE support group to the lighthouse, but Bailey didn’t think they were supposed to be here this soon.
“I’ve never been a groupie,” Jake said with a smile.
Bailey pointed to the tent. “So you’re just arbitrarily parked on my lawn?”
“Considering you’re paying me, I don’t think I should take up one of your rooms as well, do you?”
“Paying you?” she said. “What am I paying you to do?” A hundred dirty answers ran through her mind. Jake laughed as if he knew this.
“I’m your new general contractor,” he said.
“You’re kidding?” Bailey said. Thank you, Captain Jack. Was he old enough to use tools?
“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “You’re in good hands.” Oh God. She wasn’t going to think about that comment.
“Would you like breakfast?” she said.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Bailey should invite Brad down for breakfast too, introduce him to the new contractor. Then again, he probably didn’t want to be disturbed. Besides, it would give her a chance to explain to Jake exactly how she wanted the repairs done around the place. And it was because she was trying to be polite, getting used to letting others do as they wish in her home, that she didn’t even think to ask him to put a shirt on. No shirt, no shoes, but this B&B still had service.
Chapter 16
Holes. There were holes in their yard, holes in the floor of the lighthouse tower, holes punched into the walls of the attic. Bailey thought she was seeing things. Now in addition to tools, and dust, and holes, there were strange men littered about the place. Jake had a small crew, but they were still a crew. Bailey supposed she shouldn’t complain. After all, when they were done she’d have new cabinets and two new bathrooms, and beautifully stained floors, and a dock you could walk on without plunging into the Hudson River, and a new outdoor patio where guests could barbecue and sip wine at night while watching the ships go by, and lights that actually followed the law of the switch.
But in addition to their home and yard, it was official, their pocketbook also had holes. The last of the money drained out of their account so fast, it made Bailey’s head spin. And Brad was becoming more distant than ever. His NDE group had to postpone their first visit. It was like watching a child disappointed by a father who’d promised to take him to a baseball game but left him waiting all alone on the curb instead. Bailey and Brad were either fighting or suffering alone in silence. By the time months had passed and the house had actually taken shape, Bailey’s marriage was falling apart. It was time to use the contact Jesse had given her and call in help. Since there were no psychiatrists on the island, it was time to ship one in. His name was Martin Gregors. He used to be the head psychiatrist at Bellevue; now he was in private practice to an exclusive clientele in Manhattan. Normally they could never have afforded him. But despite how she felt about living in one, Bailey was beginning to discover the power of a lighthouse. Instead of his astronomical fee, Martin agreed to a free weekend at the lighthouse, in exchange for casually checking out Brad. Bailey just wanted to know how much she should worry about her reclusive husband and his attachment to “his committee.”
But that wasn’t the worst of it. There was still the matter of Olivia. Brad had out-and-out refused to find a final resting place for the ashes. The urn was up in the lighthouse, in the eye, where the light pulsed nightly, a permanent fixture in their lives. At odd times, she would catch Brad talking to the urn as if Olivia were right there beside him. Bailey wanted her gone. She’d tried everything she possibly could with Brad, and he’d stubbornly refused to get rid of her. He was convinced their guests would love her. Bailey was convinced that anybody in their right mind would peg him as a lunatic. Hopefully Martin was that right-minded man who could point Brad in a healthier direction.
Bailey was proud to give the good doctor the tour. Most of the furnishings that used to be in their condo fit surprisingly well in the keeper’s house. The leather couch, the Persian rug, the dark wood coffee table. Maybe Bailey had been furnishing a Victorian lighthouse all those years without realizing it. Some kind of strange fated destiny of which she was blissfully unaware.
Bailey took pleasure in gauging Martin’s reaction to the place. Brad should be alongside her, showing off his land. Instead, he was in the Crow’s Nest doing God knows what. Gregors was a short, slim man in his forties with thinning blond hair and black-rimmed glasses. Although he was wearing jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, she somehow imagined him always wearing suits. He had an ease about him that made Bailey feel comfortable right away. He’d probably cultivated that over the years he’d spent listening to other people’s neuroses.
“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Martin commented as they took the tour of the upstairs.
“Thank you. We’ve tried to keep the furnishings to the original time period. This keeper’s house was built in 1892. The lighthouse is built onto the back of the house and can be accessed from a little bridge on this floor. There are only twenty-nine iron steps up to the top.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Martin said.
“It is something. I mean, the light itself isn’t much to see, except at night. It’s really something to stand up there watching the room blink light and dark.”
“Amazing.”
“It’s also where my husband Brad spends most of his time. With Olivia.”
“I see.”
“I hope you can help my husband. He hasn’t been the same since the accident.”
“Where he had a near-death experience?”
“Yes. Last summer.”
“Fascinating.” They stopped in the largest of the three guest rooms, apart from the attic, which they’d decided not to rent out unless they absolutely had to. Strange noises could still be heard up there late at night. Several of the workers had soon refused to go up after dark. Even Brad reluctantly admitted to hearing the footsteps. So that guests wouldn’t try and claim the attic for their own, they’d left it unfurnished. Martin insisted on seeing the space. Instead of recognizing that it was just an empty old attic, he loved it. He paced over the thick wood floors, once in a while touching the high beams and gazing out the small window. Bailey tried not to gaze at the ceiling and wonder from which spot Edga had hanged herself. She assumed it was by the window. It was human nature. We all liked a good view, even if we were on the way out. “Why, this is like a studio apartment up here,” Martin said. “Or will be when you furnish it.”
“Little by little,” Bailey said. She glanced around, wondering if the ghost would make an appearance. Flicker the lights,
squeak the floorboards. Bailey could hardly stand to be in the space at all. She decided not to mention any of this to Brad’s new therapist; he might see to it that she was the one on the couch.
“Shall we go to the lighthouse now?”
“Lead the way,” Martin said. He was equally impressed with the lighthouse loft. It was by far Bailey’s favorite place. She’d always wanted a loft apartment. They’d painted the concrete floor maroon. The kitchen was in the middle of the space with a granite island directly in the center. On one side of the open kitchen was a couch facing the window, with the view of the Hudson River. On the other side, their king-sized bed was situated next to the fireplace. They’d turned a closet into a small bathroom. It was modern and old-fashioned at the same time. The spiral staircase up to the tower was on the far wall.
“This is just fantastic,” Martin said. Bailey could tell he was hating his guest room more and more.
“Yes,” Bailey said. “Although it gets a little drafty.” Martin murmured something politely. She wanted to point out that he was getting to stay for free—in exchange for shrinking her husband’s head, that is. Something she wasn’t convinced he was even going to be able to do.
“It was something cleaning these stairs,” Bailey said as they headed up to the tower.
“Cast iron,” Martin commented. “Remarkable.” Bailey felt a flush of pride, even though Brad was the one who had spent his entire fortune on the house. It truly was a remarkable renovation. Bailey could see the value of the place increasing as the years went by. And she was excited about having guests. It shouldn’t be a problem getting people to come and stay.
“In the old days they had to carry whale oil up here to light the tower. Of course, this isn’t bad—just twenty-nine steps if you count both staircases. Some lighthouses have hundreds of steps they used to navigate.”
“That would be something,” Martin said. She hoped she wasn’t boring him with too many facts. Just like her father. Maybe in the end, no matter what you did, everyone turned out like their parents. She wondered what Martin thought of that—after all, he was the expert—but now was probably not the time to talk shop.
“Knock, knock,” Bailey said as they entered the small, round tower.
“Who’s there?” Brad cheerfully called back. Bailey and Martin climbed into the tower. It was a tight fit with all three of them. If Brad was surprised to see her with a guest, he didn’t show it. Officially they were still waiting for their license to come in.
“This is Martin Gregors,” Bailey said. “Martin, this is my husband, Brad.” Martin grinned and stuck his hand out. He purposefully avoided looking at the urn, which was sitting just to the right of the desk where Brad was shuffling through a pile of papers.
“Would you like to go out on deck?” Brad said. “It’s a bit narrow out there, but the three of us would fit. That is, if you’re not afraid of heights?”
“I’d love to go out,” Martin said. Brad opened the small hatch and climbed out first. As Brad predicted, the three of them fit on the narrow deck, but barely. They held on to the railing and Bailey was still awestruck standing out, gazing at the river. It wasn’t too terribly high, but it would still kill you if you jumped.
“You’re incredibly lucky,” Martin said. “This is a special, special place.” Brad beamed and shot Bailey a satisfied look. They climbed back into the tower. Martin finally turned his attention to the urn.
“And who is this fine woman?” he asked in a theatrical voice.
Brad treated them to another wide grin. “Martin,” he said. “I’d like you to meet my aunt Olivia.”
Martin bowed. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. Bailey stared, open-mouthed. He’d better be working up to a plan with this bullshit, or it looked like she was going to have to throw him off the tower along with Olivia’s ashes.
But instead of shrinking Brad, Martin Gregors spent the rest of his weekend just being a guest. He read more than one paperback thriller. He constantly quizzed Bailey on all the options for breakfast, and even roped her into making him eggs Benedict, which required a special trip to Island Supplies, and since he had no interest in rowing over there, she had to do it herself. She was astonished how lazy he was. Somehow he paid Captain Jack enough to deliver him dinner from the Italian restaurant in town. He didn’t even ask if they’d like to order as well. She had to sit near him and smell meatballs and garlic bread and pretend she was perfectly happy with the stew she’d made a few days ago. He didn’t even eat it all. She watched in horror as he threw out half a piece of garlic bread and a full meatball.
He played chess with Brad and spent the entire game pretending to talk to Aunt Olivia himself—especially whenever Brad made a move the good doctor considered risky. “Ah, doll, look where your nephew just moved his bishop!” Bailey couldn’t believe it. She was dying to kick him out. He didn’t even take walks. How could you live by the river and not take one freaking walk? Now, that was unhealthy.
Instead, he put on a blue shag robe and never ventured farther than the patio. On his second morning with them, he stood on the patio, and Bailey saw him bend down and put something in the pocket of his robe. She was dying to know what it was. There couldn’t have been anything that interesting on the ground, could there? Was it a pebble? A bit of sea glass? Around three o’clock he started in on the red wine he’d bought in town, and at ten P.M. he stumbled up to the attic, where he slept on a Japanese-style mat he brought himself. There, he found Bailey with her hand shoved into the pocket of his robe.
“What are you doing?” It was an excellent question. So insightful.
“Going through your pockets before I wash this robe,” Bailey said. God, she was good.
“You’re going to launder my robe?”
“Of course,” Bailey said. “We are a full-service B-and-B.”
“Excellent.” Martin Gregors heaved his huge duffel bag onto the bed, zipped it open, pulled out an enormous pile of clothes, and thrust them on Bailey.
“You brought all this for one weekend?”
“I was going to ask if I could use your washer and dryer. You know how hard it is to do your laundry in Manhattan.”
Yes. You just drop it off and they do it for you. Cheapskate. Bailey almost tripped going down the attic steps with a pile of his dirty clothes in her arms. All that for what? It was a penny he had in the pocket of his robe. A freaking penny. Apparently, it did bring good luck, for she was the one now doing all of his laundry. She missed the ex-con.
And to top it all off, Martin Gregors thought Brad was completely normal. Although “normal” wasn’t the word he used.
“I think he’s delightful,” Martin Gregors said on his last day with them. “And not at all brain damaged.” Bailey couldn’t believe it. “He’s simply grieving in his way,” Martin continued. “He knows Olivia is gone. Some people visit a grave, others keep the ashes. I can’t see the harm in it.”
“He talks to her,” Bailey said. “I hear him up there.”
“Again, nothing to worry over. Now, if she starts talking back, that’s when you should give me a jingle.” Martin laughed heartily at his own joke. Bailey wanted to punch him.
“And what about his obsession that Olivia didn’t make it into the light, that she’s ‘earthbound and trapped’?” She felt guilty for quoting Brad, but Martin wasn’t taking this seriously. And it was serious. Something had been off with the light lately. Bailey suspected Brad was somehow altering the pulse so he could signal Olivia. She didn’t know how he was doing it, but he was doing it.
“I thought the light was automated,” Martin said.
“It is. But—”
“Run by the Coast Guard.”
“Yes.”
“Yet somehow your husband has found a way to alter it?”
“Just slightly.”
“I see.”
“You think I’m seeing things? I know the light better than you do.” They were in the dining room, where Martin seemed to spend most
of his time, as if waiting for the second Bailey was going to feed him again. He pulled out a chair for her.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked casually.
“Fall River, Massachusetts,” Bailey said.
“Ah. And now you live by a river. Interesting.” She didn’t know how it happened. Suddenly he seemed so interested in her, and the next thing she knew, she was running off at the mouth like a leaky faucet. Spilling the beans about her obsession with Brad, her professor father, her flighty mother, the sibling rivalry she had with her sister Meg, her obsession with Brad, all of their failed businesses, her aching desire to have a baby, and to her horror, she even blurted out her fears of a ghost in the attic and her sexual attraction to Jake.
“My goodness,” he said when she was finished. She hated him again. “If you would like to make an appointment—”
“Me?”
“I’d be more than happy to have you as a client. I know you can’t afford me. We could work out some kind of exchange. Maybe a weekend free here every month.”
“God, no!”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean. That’s very—generous. It’s just. This isn’t about me. Brad’s the crazy one.”
“I don’t use the term ‘crazy.’ Unless of course, they really are.” He threw his head back and laughed. Bailey had to get him to see that Brad was the one who needed help.
“Brad is obsessed with death. He spent a half million dollars on this lighthouse!”
“A half a million. My goodness. I had no idea. I thought two, maybe two-fifty.” She hated that his assessment was right on. Bailey grabbed Martin’s arm.
“He thinks he’s seen the afterlife. And apparently, it’s so wonderful, and beautiful, and brilliant that he no longer wants to be here on earth!”
“Again, Mrs. Jordan, this is all so new. He’s still grieving. He faced mortality. That can do strange things to a man. I think you’re just going to have to be patient. Have you told him how worried you are?”
