by Mary Carter
“Angel,” Brad said.
“I know, I should have told you,” Angel said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Rachel said. “We always have to peek at her too.”
“I can’t wait to have kids,” Angel said. She snuck a glance at Jake, who was smiling at her without any hesitation at all.
“Beautiful women make beautiful children,” Jake said. There was a beat, then he glanced quickly at Bailey. Their eyes connected for several seconds.
“I’m going to shower,” Angel said. She headed out of the room.
“Wait,” Brad said. Angel turned back around. “Why are you lying?”
“Brad?” Bailey said. “What are you talking about?”
“Angel wasn’t using the upstairs bathroom,” Brad said. “She used the one down here. I was in the kitchen when she came out. We were having a chat when all of you started running upstairs.”
Angel threw her arms open. “Got me again,” she said.
“So you weren’t peeking in the baby’s room?” Rachel said.
“I was down here,” Angel said. “With Brad.”
“Well, not with me. I was just in the kitchen getting more wine when she came out of the bathroom.” Bailey felt a stillness settle in her chest as she looked from her husband to Angel. They were both speaking in measured voices, as if reciting lines from a play. Why in the world would Angel lie about chatting with Brad in the kitchen? Unless they were doing more than chatting.
“I just thought you guys would feel better if there wasn’t some ghost hanging about the place,” Angel said. “I mean, we all get to leave. But you two have to live here. And frankly, I would be totally freaked out if I were you.”
“Why don’t we let Angel take her shower,” Bailey said. “Running might make you look good, darling, but it doesn’t do much for your smell.” There was just a slight hesitation before Angel laughed. And if anyone was unconvinced seconds ago, it was now quite clear. Angel’s laugh was nothing like the woman on the baby monitor.
“Bailey?” Brad said. “A word?”
“No,” Bailey said. “Whatever you have to say in front of me, you can say in front of our ‘guests.’ ” Granted, it probably wasn’t nice to put air quotes around the word “guests,” but Bailey was sick of Brad pulling her aside to scold her in private. She’d warned him about this: Who wanted to live twenty-four / seven with strangers? Did he think they were never going to fight in front of anyone else? It was exhausting always being “on,” having to watch every single thing that came out of her mouth.
“Wow,” Jake said. “The tide clock is going nuts.” Everyone looked at the clock. Sure enough, the hands were swinging like a pendulum from High Tide to Low Tide.
“Can’t blame that one on me either,” Angel said.
“You’re the one who confessed to something you didn’t do,” Bailey said. “And my guess is it’s because you feel guilty. About something.”
“Bailey,” Brad said.
“So what exactly were you two chatting about anyway?”
“Thank you for breakfast,” Jake said. “Can I help with the dishes?”
“We’ve had enough of your help around here,” Brad said.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Rachel lifted Simone out of her high chair, even though the baby looked as though she could keep eating until sundown.
“Thank you for the nice place to stay,” Rachel said. She grabbed Dean by the shoulder and yanked him up mid-bite. “Let’s go,” she said in a loud stage whisper.
“I’m sorry if it’s a little tense in here,” Brad said.
“We had a lovely time,” Rachel said.
“You’re here one more night, aren’t you?” Bailey said. The couple looked at each other.
“We want to see more of Manhattan,” Rachel said. “We’re leaving early.”
“Thank you for coming,” Bailey said.
“We’re so sorry,” Brad said.
“Stop apologizing,” Bailey said.
“Good luck,” Rachel said. They scooted out of the room like racewalkers. Bailey hadn’t noticed before that their suitcases were propped by the door.
“I don’t think Captain Jack will be here for another hour,” Bailey said.
“We’ll wait outside,” Rachel said.
“Don’t forget to sign the guest book!” Brad called after them.
Chapter 28
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
Although we very much appreciate your French toast, we do not like to hear couples fighting so early in the morning. It is a shame the Oprah show is over, you could have some national American-style therapy. May we suggest that your ghost is not happy with your fighting? Your light is not working, your tide clock is going berserk, and ghosts are laughing at you. Although you mentioned wanting to have children, I would suggest healing the rift between the two of you first. Regardless, we appreciate your attempt at jokes, and if we were ever to come again (which we will not) we would like to try those English muffins. We still do not understand how they are like lanterns, but we laughed anyway.
Keeper’s Log
Bailey is furious with me, and I don’t blame her. How can I tell her what I told Angel? How could I have told Angel what I told Angel? Everything is going south. Like our French visitors stated, even the clocks in this house are going crazy. Here’s something else I can never tell Bailey. I’m going crazy. I’m bored with tide charts and weather reports, and now that the tower is dark, I don’t know—it just feels like something is missing. I never really thought about the fact that we would be surrounded by people all the time. I have to keep in mind that summer is almost over, there will be less visitors in the fall, and even less in the winter. Maybe we’re just having growing pains. I can think of a thousand places I’d rather be. Maybe I’ll throw myself into setting up the museum. We only have a few bits in there. I’m going to start giving official tours to the community too. We can’t have them thinking we’re trying to turn the place into a haunted house. I think tours and a museum is a good place to earn back some respect.
Bailey was nervous. Her entire family—parents, sister, niece and nephew, and Aunt Faye—were all coming to visit. Jesse was supposed to join them as well, but she’d canceled at the last minute. Apparently, another nurse had taken ill and Jesse had to cover her shift. Bailey was disappointed, but Jesse promised to come the following weekend instead, and at least by then there wouldn’t be too many people around to take away from their time together. This way, Bailey could just focus on her family, then next weekend get some much-needed alone time with her best friend.
It should have been a time of celebration, a time to relax and just enjoy themselves. If only Bailey could figure out a way to get rid of Jake and Angel. It was annoying, thinking of the two of them all snuggled in the tent night after night. And then there was the little Angel. Brad was still insisting that nothing had happened between them. Bailey wanted to believe it, but it just didn’t make sense. Unless she felt guilty about something, why in the world would Angel claim to be the woman laughing on the baby monitor?
And if it wasn’t her, who had it been? The only other women present, Bailey and Rachel, had been on the patio. Despite their protests to the Coast Guard, Bailey had been trying to play up the ghost business to garner interest and business. But she didn’t believe in ghosts herself, so who was sneaking around their house?
Bailey waited with Captain Jack for her family to arrive. It was chilly enough to see their breath in the morning air. The river smelled a little bit like oil. She hoped her parents didn’t notice it. Even if they did, they would have to be impressed by the parade of river traffic and wildlife, and the rich variety of plants growing wild throughout their property. Oh, please let them be impressed, because she was showing off a lighthouse that wasn’t lit.
Brad borrowed Captain Jack’s shuttle van, picked them up at the train station, and drove them to the ferry. In tow were her parents, Jim and Ellen, her sister Meg, and Joyce a
nd Thomas, her niece and nephew, ages thirteen and sixteen. Meg’s husband was always traveling on business, so it was no surprise that he couldn’t join them. Aunt Faye was supposed to arrive later in the evening with Jason. Bailey was a bit surprised to hear that Jason was tagging along, but she wasn’t going to tell him it was close friends and family only—after all, it wasn’t his fault he got the Fairytalers’ sale over her. Business must be good if they were both taking off at the same time, although they were only staying for one night.
Bailey’s parents had never pressured her to have children. They didn’t have to. The fact that they’d raised Bailey in a somewhat normal, happy childhood was pressure enough. Why wouldn’t she want to pass on the happiness she’d been handed as a child? Parents who might not be overly effusive—okay, maybe to some her father was downright boring—but he was educated, and stable, and always there. Yes, he liked quiet nights with books, and long walks, and even when he argued he sounded more like a polite guest having a debate, and he was a definite homebody, but he was her father, and he was as solid as a rock.
Her mother had been flirtatious, bordering at times on flighty. Ellen had been the fun parent, Jim the disciplinarian. Bailey was a little jealous that when it came to her relationship with Brad, she was definitely more in the role of her father than mother. Ellen always went on about how easy it had been to raise three children, and Bailey knew most of the credit had to go to her father, who took over when her mother was done playing or having fun, and she was free to go off and have “me time” in an era before “me time” was even a thought in housewives’ heads. Ellen just couldn’t fathom why Bailey and Brad hadn’t given them grandchildren yet. Bailey’s biggest problem was that she agreed with her mother 100 percent. Every time she tried to explain Brad’s hesitations, her mother looked at her as if she was just making excuses. “I’m going to have a talk with him,” she’d warned Bailey several times on the phone before their visit. At first, the very thought sent Bailey into a tailspin of panic, and then she thought, what could it hurt?
Maybe a little prodding or induced guilt from her mother would do the trick. Her father would stay out of it and focus more on the lighthouse. A researcher at heart, he would arrive with more knowledge of the workings and history of lighthouses than Bailey would learn in the next ten years. She smiled to herself as she thought of her parents, looking forward to seeing their sweet faces.
Her sister Meg was another story. Meg’s workaholic husband had basically left her a single mother. She was five years older than Bailey, terrified of not being young anymore, furious she’d “wasted her youth,” and adamant that Bailey and Brad were the smart ones for not having kids. Add to the mixture the fact that Joyce and Thomas were teenagers. Bailey thought they were terrific kids, but of course they were still kids, and Meg had had her share of squabbles and rebellion with Thomas lately. Bailey just prayed Meg would keep her opinions to herself and not start touting the joys of childless living.
“The first lighthouse was the Pharos of Alexandria,” her father announced on the ferry. “280 BC in Egypt.”
Bailey leaned up and whispered in Brad’s ear. “Alexandria or Alex,” she said. “I like those names.” They’d make cool kids’ names.
“Wonder if they made it into a bed-and-breakfast,” Brad said to her father. “I wonder how Cleopatra or King Tut liked their eggs.”
“Well-preserved, I imagine,” Jim joked back.
“Did they like use candles or what?” Joyce said.
“Pretty wimpy lighthouse if they used candles,” Thomas said. “One little puff and ships crash.”
“They used fires and reflexive mirrors,” Jim said. He turned to Brad. “Yours has an occulting white light instead of twin arrow beacons, right?”
“Right, Dad,” Bailey said. She could tell he was trying to turn this into a lesson for the kids, both of whom looked ready to throw themselves off the boat and swim for it.
“You see, a flashing light is when the light has longer periods of darkness and less light. What they have is longer periods of light than dark, right, Brad?”
“Four seconds light, one second dark,” Brad said. His voice was strained. Neither of them had broken it to her father that they were having light malfunctions. Her father was an absolute non-believer in anything supernatural and would spend his entire trip trying to find a logical explanation for the odd mishaps.
“You see, instead of rotating, an occulting light has a screen that is periodically raised and lowered around the light source,” her dad continued.
“Can I work the light?” Joyce asked.
“It’s fully automated,” Jim said. “That’s the beauty of it, they don’t even have to touch it.”
“It used to be lit with whale oil,” Bailey said. Now she too was “teaching,” but what kids weren’t interested in whales?
“That’s totally cruel,” Joyce said.
“Awesome,” Thomas said. “Moby freaking Dick!”
Captain Jack, who hadn’t been able to get a word in since her father stepped into the ferry, chimed in. “They didn’t tell you about the light freaking out all the time? The Coast Guard keeps shutting it down.”
Both Bailey and Brad gave Captain Jack a dirty look, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“Your lighthouse is freaking out?” Jim said. “Is that why they auctioned it off? Did you buy a clunker, dear?”
“No, we didn’t buy a clunker, Dad. Just some wiring problems they haven’t worked out.”
“Ah, so you’re no longer blaming the ghost?” Jack said. Joyce and Thomas, who had been hunched over since they arrived, suddenly sat up like someone had zapped them in the base of their spines.
“Ghost?” Joyce said. “You have a ghost?”
“Is it an evil spirit?” Thomas said. He looked at Joyce and waited for a reaction.
“It’s a wiring problem,” Bailey said. “We’re going to fix it and then reapply for permission to use the light again.”
“You didn’t say anything about ghosts,” Meg said. “You know Mom and I don’t like anything creepy.”
Jim leaned over to Brad and said in a loud whisper, “That’s why Ellen picked me over John Boyd.”
Ellen’s laugh rang out. “Johnny Boyd was pretty creepy,” she said.
“Ghosts,” Joyce said, getting in Bailey’s face. The young might be beautiful, but they certainly didn’t have better breath. It was all Bailey could do not to side-step her niece. “Spill, details,” Joyce continued. “You know I watch Ghost Whisperer religiously.”
“It’s just a rumor,” Bailey said. “It’s an old house. A beautiful, old house. You’re going to love it.”
“How can you even call it a lighthouse if there’s no light?” Jim asked.
“I’m sorry, Dad. It just happened.”
“I’ll take a look at it,” her father said. Bailey smiled and concentrated on not rolling her eyes. Joyce and Thomas started whispering about ghosts, Meg and her mother began worrying about whether or not they were going to be able to get a wink of sleep, and Captain Jack, who seemed thrilled he’d been able to break the news that Bailey and Brad hadn’t, began to whistle. It was the longest little ferry ride of Bailey’s life.
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
Are there any other kids on this island besides my stupid brother?
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
Lovely. Some of the furniture is in need of dusting. Although maybe it’s on purpose, to give the lighthouse a more authentic look. Either way it’s just lovely! I would be happy to dust for you, darling.
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
I wish Grandpa would stop talking.
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
You’ll miss me talking when I’m dead.
PLEASE SIGN OUR GUEST BOOK!
Mom and Dad seem really proud of you. Can we lock the kids in the tower until they appreciate the goddess that is their mother?
Aunt Faye and Jason arrived fashionably late, lo
aded down with their own sheets and pillows. Faye grilled Bailey about the comforter on her bed, which was only a few months old. Bailey had to stand by while Faye inspected the room. Ellen, Meg, and Joyce watched joyfully from the doorway, Meg and Ellen with glasses of wine. Faye did this to all of them when she visited, and it was always fun to watch as long as it was someone else’s turn. Just like the saying, “Doctors make the worst patients,” real estate agents made the worst guests. Bailey wasn’t looking forward to Faye pointing out the many flaws in the rest of the old building. There was only so much you could do when you lived so close to water. Bailey was now used to what she jokingly called the “great sea smell,” but she could tell by Faye’s upturned nose that she was going to hear about it later.
“I can’t wait to see the lighthouse tower,” Faye said. “That was our favorite Nancy Drew, remember, Ellie? Nancy and the lighthouse tower.”
“The light isn’t working,” Joyce said.
“What on earth?” Faye said.
“First it was the batteries, now they think it’s a wiring problem,” Bailey said. “The Coast Guard is working on it.”
“It’s because of the ghost,” Joyce said.
“Would you stop?” Meg said. “Faye, why don’t you take these two back to the Rotten Apple with you.”
“I’d put them to work,” Faye said. Bailey couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. She missed her work as an agent. It was one thing to put up with whiny clients when you stood to get a pile of money at the end of it; it was quite another when you were barely making ends meet and still had to clean their dirty sheets and dishes. Let’s face it, she was a cook and a maid.
“So,” Faye said when she was done inspecting her room. “Have you guzzled all the wine, or is there anything left for me?”
