The Things I Do For You (13 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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Then again, ghosts were very popular these days, weren’t they? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if the lighthouse was a little haunted. The sooner the place started making money, the better. Between a little ghost, and Brad’s near-death experience, and the Fairytalers “pimping the lighthouse,” maybe they could actually turn a profit. They wouldn’t have to sell the condo, and when Brad snapped out of it, their true life in Manhattan would be waiting for her. Marriage was all about compromise and patience. In other words, Bailey was just going to have to wait it out until Brad saw things her way. Until then, she was going to find a way to turn the lighthouse into a gold mine.
Chapter 13
B
ailey brought Brad a cake. It was made by a local genius on her block, a white sheet cake on which he sculpted a lighthouse with icing. She also brought a nice bottle of wine, and candles. She tucked them away in the kitchen until she was ready to surprise him. She’d also had a wooden sign made. It simply read B&B O
PEN
on one side and B&B C
LOSED
on the other. She propped it up on the front stoop, hoping to surprise him with it that evening when they came back from their walk. True to Brad’s word, he’d scrubbed the place clean. He was supposed to have stocked the cupboards and fridge with groceries from Island Supplies, but the cleaning took so long that he hadn’t gotten around to it. At least they had the basic food groups—sugar and alcohol.
The place still looked like a hovel, but it was a clean one. They stood in the living room. Bailey realized she’d probably spend most of her time here, gazing out onto the water. There was definitely something primal about the sea. “I’ve been thinking of furnishings,” Bailey said. Bailey also wanted a slate tile floor for the kitchen and a nice sage green color on the walls. So far Brad had remained silent on the subject but Bailey didn’t push it, mainly because they’d yet to figure out how to pay for all of it. Bailey had purchased one gallon of sage green paint and it sat unopened in the dining room section of the kitchen. They also couldn’t agree on cabinets, countertops, or appliances. Bailey wanted cherrywood, and stainless steel, and slate countertops. Brad wanted to go bargain basement. Where was that mentality when he spent half a million dollars in a matter of seconds? If he was allowed to cause that much damage waving a paddle in the air, she should at least be allowed to spank him with it. Or get her pick of the appliances and furnishings. Brad didn’t seem to see it that way.
“Furnishings,” Brad said. “We can’t afford anything too expensive.” His response, said with a smile, irritated her. She swallowed it and smiled back.
“It’s an investment. We’re committed to this now, we should do it right.”
“Bails.”
“Can I just tell you what I’ve been thinking?”
“Sure. As long as you’re not too attached.”
Too attached?
She didn’t say it out loud; she wasn’t going to let him tease her about her habit of repeating after him, yet she still couldn’t stop doing it in her head. She had three catalogues clutched in her hand, with samples of furniture she thought would be perfect for the B&B, a mixture of antique and modern. Leather couch with Victorian coffee table, Persian rug with Pottery Barn chairs—nothing that screamed “theme,” no seashells in the bathrooms, no seafaring paraphernalia, just simple, clean, and sleek.
She also pictured black-and-white photographs on the walls, except for the lighthouse loft—which was what she was calling the circular room below the tower. For that she wanted to splurge on original paintings by up-and-coming artists exhibiting in Manhattan. She and Brad could make a night, or several, out of it, visiting art galleries, drinking wine, eating cheese, and dreaming. Just like they’d spent their twenties dreaming. Or rather Brad dreamed and Bailey followed his follies. The fourth catalogue, the one with baby furniture, she kept at the condo. That was for another discussion, when Brad was a little bit more himself.
Brad looked at the catalogues she’d thrust in front of him, but except for once in a while saying, “Mmm,” his reaction was halfhearted at best.
“You don’t like them?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your body language says that.”
Brad uncrossed his arms and sighed. “You have excellent taste,” he said, handing the catalogues back to her. “You always have. Of course anything you pick out would be fantastic.”
“But?”
“But we have perfectly good furniture.” Bailey glanced around the empty space, wondering if Brad was now seeing furniture in addition to bright lights. Brad caught the look of worry on her face and laughed.
“At the condo,” Brad said. “Unless we’re going to sell it furnished?” The last part was said with a boyish grin and a nervous sweep of his hand through the fuzz on his head. He’d been doing that lately, rubbing his head, like it was a genie capable of granting wishes. It had been months since the accident, but his hair had barely grown back. The doctor said it could be due to stress. Yet another reason Bailey shouldn’t be arguing with him. Yet she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was casually talking about selling their condo. The condo he said she’d never have to give up.
“We talked about this,” Bailey said. “You said I could commute. We never talked about selling the condo.”
Brad walked to the window. “Captain Jack was right,” he said to her back.
“Excuse me?”
“The river that cannot make up its mind.”
“That’s not fair,” Bailey said. “We never talked about selling the condo. Never.”
“I know, I know.” Brad passed his hand along his fuzzy hair again and started pacing. “I just thought once you saw this place, felt it, you would know it’s home. Where we belong.”
Bailey stepped in front of Brad, and took hold of his arms. “I like this place,” she said. “I really do.”
“But?”
“Home? We’ve had this place a few weeks. It’s nowhere near ready—”
“It needs some work. We need money to do that work.”
“We’re going to have to find another way. We’re not selling the condo.”
“There is no other way.”
“Get a loan.”
Brad walked over and put his hands on Bailey’s shoulders. He gently started kneading her. “You just got here,” he said. “Relax.” She wanted to relax, she really did. Lately, she didn’t know how. “As soon as we get a bathtub, I’m going to draw you bubble baths. Lots and lots of bubble baths.”
“That sounds nice,” Bailey said. “How soon will that be?”
“It costs money to put in new bathrooms, Bailey. Everything costs money.”
“I can’t believe this place was so expensive,” Bailey said. “Half a million and it didn’t even come with a tub.” Brad stopped massaging her. He crossed his arms and moved away from her. And just when she thought he was going to start another fight, his tone softened.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I promise. But when we do start decorating the rooms—what do you think of having nautical themes?”
 
It happened as they were standing there. Bailey was thinking that Brad didn’t really deserve the cake or the wine and was contemplating sneaking up the lighthouse tower by herself with a wine opener and a fork when they heard the front door open. They looked at each other. Neither of them moved. They listened to the door shut. Then they heard footsteps, and before they knew it, a short, bald man was standing in front of them. He looked to be in his fifties. He was wearing a white undershirt, jeans, and a gray jacket.
“You left the door unlocked,” Bailey said to Brad.
“You were the last in,” Brad said. That was true. But she had cake and wine in her hands.
“Sorry,” the man said. “Is this a bad time?” He smiled. His teeth were crooked and yellow.
Bailey shivered. “We’re not open for business,” she said.
“The sign out front said you’re open,” the man said.
“Sign?” Brad said.
“Surprise,” Bailey said.
The man threw his arms open. “Look at that view.”
Brad immediately went into business mode. He stuck his hand out. They shook. “I’m Brad. This is my wife Bailey. Welcome to our bed-and-breakfast.”
“So you are open,” the man said. “Excellent.”
“We’re not,” Bailey said. “As you can see—”
“Have a seat,” Brad said. Bailey was about to point out there was nowhere to sit when the man simply sat on the floor as if it was the most normal thing ever. He tucked his legs up like a yoga master. Then Brad held up his finger and disappeared into the kitchen. Bailey and the man just stared at each other, the man grinning. After a moment Brad emerged with the cake.
“Would you like a piece of cake?” Brad said, displaying it as if he’d made it himself.
“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.

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