The Things I Do For You (19 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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“Is that what she saw? Harps and fluffy clouds?” Bailey was glad Ray asked it so she didn’t have to.
“Not exactly. She did go through a tunnel. Then she saw her grandmother. She told her to go back. It wasn’t her time. She had things to do.”
“And?” Bailey said, sensing there was more to the story.
“She’s going nuts trying to figure out what her purpose is. It’s absolutely tormenting her. Like she’s been given super powers, only she doesn’t know what to do with them or who she’s supposed to save.”
“Survivor’s guilt,” Bailey said.
“Huh?” Ray said.
“They have survivor’s guilt. They’ve been ‘saved.’ Given a second chance. Come back to life. Now they think they owe somebody something for that. But they don’t know who to make the check out to or how much it’s supposed to cost them.” Intellectually, Bailey understood Brad felt guilty, but she thought it was all about Aunt Olivia. But how would she feel if she’d died and come back? She already felt guilty for living such a nice life when others were born into lives, and countries, and cultures where they had nothing. Where the goal of day-today life was to get through it alive.
Was it just dumb luck that some people had it easy and others had to struggle? And wouldn’t that feeling of guilt be even stronger if she actually did almost die and then was given another chance? She would probably feel exactly like Brad did. She would be struggling, trying to prove her worth in the world. Maybe it was just the pot, maybe it was having others around who were going through the same thing, but in that moment, she felt she understood what Brad was really going through. It made her love him all the more, made her want to do everything she could to assure him he deserved to live.
“I’m just so grateful that she’s alive,” Chris said. “I don’t have a right to complain about anything.”
“And that’s our burden to bear,” Bailey said. The three fell quiet again and simply passed the joint around.
This night was meant to be,
Bailey thought.
It’s going to bring me and Brad closer than ever. I’m going to be the most understanding, supportive, loving wife ever.
“You must be especially bummed,” Chris said to Bailey.
“Why’s that?” Bailey said.
Because my husband bought a lighthouse behind my back?
“You know,” Chris said. “Because when the voice told him he had a choice—”
“Wait,” Ray interrupted. “What voice?”
“God? I don’t know. It sure wasn’t his grandmother. He said he saw this incredible light—”
The most incredible love he’s ever felt. . . .
Chris turned to Bailey. “Sorry, you’ve probably heard this a million times.”
“Go on,” Bailey said.
Chris directed the rest of the story to Ray. “While he was in the light, he heard this male voice. It told him he could either stay or go back—it was his choice. Only he didn’t want to go back. In fact, there was only one thing he was tempted to go back for. And it wasn’t even his wife. It was his shoes.”
Bailey, who had just taken a big draw on the joint, began to choke. The men stared at her, waiting for her to finish, waiting for a reaction. She hoped she wasn’t showing one. Finally, Chris patted her on the back, and she was able to get it somewhat under control. As under control as someone who felt absolutely sick could be. Worse, she was high, and she desperately wanted to be sober. How could she handle this news high? His shoes? He didn’t want to come back for her, he came back for his shoes? Was it true? Was that what he was telling people? People as in everyone but her?
I came back for you,
he told her.
I came back for you
. Bailey let out a nervous little laugh.
“Seriously?” Ray said, still staring at Bailey. “Are you serious?”
“I feel for you,” Chris said to Bailey. “It would have killed me if my wife had said something like that.”
“That’s beyond painful, man,” Ray agreed. “His fucking shoes?” He looked at Bailey again. “Is he Arab?” He was waiting for Bailey to say something. She couldn’t. She’d lost the ability to speak. He turned to Chris. “Don’t Arabs worship shoes or something?”
“It’s the opposite,” Chris said. “Shoes are an insult. If you throw them at somebody.”
Bailey looked at the ground. If she threw something now it would have to be a lot heavier than a shoe. Maybe if she looked at the ground hard enough, they would just go away. Maybe she would go away. She would float off to another world and feel love like she’d never felt before, and not care about anyone or anything on earth. And if she did care about anything, if she did want to come back, she only knew one thing for sure. It wouldn’t be for a pair of shoes.
A sharp pain in her heart. The telltale sign of unstoppable tears. She held herself in. She would not cry in front of her guests. In the future—note to self—she wouldn’t take them for walks, and she probably shouldn’t smoke pot with them either. But it was too late. What was done was done. She couldn’t change anything. Nothing she did to Chris could take back the story that came out of his mouth. She could rip his stupid T-shirt off and shove it down his throat and it still wouldn’t change things.
She jabbed at the ground. The joint was already out, crushed. She reached for it and tried to unfold it into something she could light. Her hands shook. She dropped it the first three times she tried to pick it up. She felt as if her insides were going to fall out. She asked Ray for a lighter. But he was too entranced in the story.
“His shoes?” Ray said again. Were they really still talking about this? Wasn’t it time to stop? Bailey really wanted them to stop. If only she could get her tongue to work. It was the pot, it was turning their conversation into the movie
Groundhog Day
.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “I guess he had just bought new shoes, and it was the only thing he was tempted to go back for. But nothing else mattered anymore.”
“Ouch,” Ray said.
“But that’s what the group is for, right? To say those horrific things they’ve been keeping bottled up inside them. I mean, obviously, the two of you have worked through that, right?” Chris said. He glanced at Bailey.
“Ray?” she said. “Lighter?”
“I don’t think there’s anything left,” he said.
“I was a Girl Scout,” Bailey said. “I’m going to try.” Ray handed her the lighter. She burned her fingertips and her lungs when she tried to dredge something out of the joint. It wasn’t the story he’d told her. Sitting in their condo, he’d held her hands, he’d looked into her eyes, and he’d told her, “I remembered you. I came back for you.”
And now, here he was, in his lighthouse, sitting less than twenty feet away telling strangers a totally different story. And she didn’t have to ask which story was the truth. It explained a lot. Brad making huge decisions behind her back. Moving away, telling her she could commute, avoiding the topic of having kids. Oh my God. That was the reason he’d asked Bailey to take Ray for a walk. It wasn’t to get him away from the group, it was to get
her
away from the group. Her husband’s guilt. His moodiness. His preoccupation with death. It wasn’t about Olivia. It was about her. All they’d been through, all she’d done for him, or tried to do for him—meant nothing in the end. Brad died, went to another world, and felt love like he had never felt before. In the end, she hadn’t even meant as much to him as a new pair of shoes.
Chapter 19
T
here was somebody to blame, there had to be. His mother. Hadn’t Martin Gregors hinted as much? Given what horrible maternal instincts the woman had, it was no wonder Brad couldn’t form intimate attachments with anything but shoes. If she could get Elizabeth to the lighthouse and entice Martin to come back, maybe he could do a little instant family therapy. Best-case scenario, Elizabeth was sober and ready to fall on the sword for what a horrible mother she’d been. Mother and son would make up, Elizabeth would spend the rest of her life making her son feel like he finally had a mother, and presto chango, Brad would be ready to become a father.
Worst-case scenario, maybe Martin could help Brad let go of his mother once and for all, and in doing so, he’d be able to fully commit to Bailey and their future bambinos. Time was running out. As soon as the morning was over, Bailey would sit down and write a letter to Elizabeth Jordan. She would get her to come to the lighthouse, whatever it took. But first she had breakfast to contend with.
Never again would Bailey believe in the phrase “The more the merrier.” Everyone was up early, but nobody was getting along. Kimmy and Ray wanted to leave and demanded that Bailey get in touch with Captain Jack. Bailey tried to explain that breakfast was included with their stay, but upon remembering nobody here was paying for their stay anyway, it didn’t much matter. Except for the fact that it was just barely seven
A.M.
and Captain Jack had made it clear on numerous occasions that unless it was an emergency (meaning willing to fork over big money), he wasn’t going to make any runs before ten
A.M.
When Kimmy and Ray heard that, breakfast was suddenly an enticing option.
Bailey went looking for Brad, but he was already out of bed and hiding God knows where. She hadn’t been able to sleep a wink last night. Brad was right beside her, snoring softly in their bed, while a thousand accusations swam around in her head. But she couldn’t bring herself to confront Brad about the story he’d told the group. Not yet. She was way too hurt—an ache in her heart rose every time she replayed the conversation in her head, and she was liable to say things she could never take back, or worse, threaten a breakup. And in his current state of mind and support from his fellow zombies, there was more than a chance Brad would be happy to see her go.
Zombies. Did she really just call them that? Since when had she become so spiteful? She hated it, she hated all this “near death” stuff. She wanted to be as far away from it as possible. Yet since their arrival, her husband had definitely perked up. There was a bounce in his step, a permanent smile on his face. Would the horrors never end?
Bailey headed for the kitchen. It’s where her husband should have been standing in his K
ISS
THE
C
OOK
apron, getting ready to make breakfast for their guests. The old Bailey would have fantasized about what he was wearing under the apron and dared to get a quickie in before anyone caught them. Maybe the new Bailey would feel the same way. Maybe she would open the door and he’d be waiting for her, naked except for the apron. Instead, Bailey opened the door to a disaster. Cupboards were flung wide open. The refrigerator door was open-mouthed and near empty, for almost every single item from within it was out on the counters, and on the table, and on top of the door to the unhinged stove. An empty bag that used to house white fluffy bread was discarded on the floor, along with a carton of eggs stacked with cracked and empty shells with the exception of a single egg, broken and dripping a gooey yellow tear, and next to them an open jar of mayonnaise and a decimated jar of pickles.
If only it stopped there. A bag of flour had been ripped open and white powder coated the kitchen as if it had snowed indoors. Bailey just stood, stunned.
Raccoons,
she thought.
We have raccoons
. But she didn’t see any paw prints in the flour. She glanced at the tide clock that hung above the door. The hand was hovering over High Tide, and slightly shaking, as if traumatized by the kitchen intruder.
And that’s when she noticed the sink. Something metal and coiled was resting in its bottom. The locks and chains. She’d forgotten all about them. But there they were, all tossed in the sink in one big rusty heap. Panic took hold of Bailey. She had locked everything up last night, just as she promised. The key was actually on a side table by their bed. She’d forgotten the key this morning, but she’d definitely locked them last night. “Brad?” Bailey yelled at the top of her lungs. “Brad!!”
Bailey stomped over to the fridge and shut the door. She peered into the oven and pulled out a tray of cookies. They weren’t even baked. Raw cookie dough sitting on the pan, half of them gone. Bailey shut the oven door and turned it on. Might as well bake the rest. What in the world had this woman done? Dry flour, raw cookie dough—what else? A saucepan on the stove with one or two kernels of corn left in it. The empty can of corn lay on its side on the counter. She’d eaten half a loaf of bread, gnawed on a huge chunk of a frozen pizza, and alas, it appeared she had indeed eaten a stick of butter.
“Brad,”
Bailey yelled again. She didn’t know where Vera was, but she couldn’t be feeling well. The kitchen door flew open, but it wasn’t Brad, it was Angel. She was wearing the tiniest jogging shorts and bra Bailey had ever seen and she didn’t have a single imperfection on her body.
“Oh my God,” she said, taking in the room. “Are you having a hard time of it?”
“What?” Bailey said.
“Not that I’m much of a cook either,” Angel said. “I mostly eat raw.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“What,” Angel’s eyes darted around the destroyed kitchen, “are you trying to make?”
“This isn’t my mess,” Bailey said. “I believe Vera was sleep-eating.”
“Oh my God,” Angel said again. “I thought you were supposed to lock everything up.” Bailey went to the sink and hoisted up one of the lock and chains. “She either has another key or she picked the locks,” Bailey said.
“I’m going for a jog,” Angel said. “Then I’m doing calisthenics. Then I’m going to meditate and watch the sunrise. But after that, and my shower, I’m totally available to help you clean up.”
“Oh, I’m not cleaning up,” Bailey said.
“Brad!”
Bailey turned to Angel and gave a fake smile. “Have a good run,” she said.
“I’m not married yet,” Angel said. “But can I make an observation?”
“No,” Bailey said before she could censor herself.
Angel threw her head back and laughed. “I love your sarcasm,” she said, placing her hand on her heart. “But do men really like to be screamed at?”
“Oh, I have a whole repertoire of things that Brad would like even less,” Bailey said. Then, just to spite Angel, Bailey took a deep breath and yelled for Brad again, the loudest one of them all. Would she have done it if she thought guests were still sleeping? Who knows. But she’d already run into Kimmy and Ray begging to go home, Daniel was out in his tent, and Sheila and Chris were standing just outside the window by the river holding hands. Bailey didn’t know where Vera was, but from the looks of the kitchen, she was either in some kind of food coma or in such pain, a little yelling certainly wasn’t going to do much more damage. Angel didn’t leave. Bailey turned her back to her and started making coffee. She would make herself a cup of coffee (maybe with a little shot of the strongest something she could find), she would go for a walk herself, and only then would she come back and tackle the kitchen. Hopefully, by then she would be able to locate her MIA husband.
“I would offer you a cup of coffee,” Bailey said. “But I don’t want to.” Angel laughed again, but this time it was muted and off-key. “Run,” Bailey said. “Run, run, run.” This time, Angel left.
Coffee with shot of Baileys in hand, Bailey stepped outside, took a deep breath, and tried to calm her mind. It was nice and cool. The sun was slow to sizzle around here, and Bailey liked it that way. The birds were out full force, chirping and flitting about. She didn’t know one bird from another, but Brad did. She’d read a few of his keeper’s blog entries. He was very specific.
Saw an osprey this morning singing her heart out
. Since when did he know species of birds? Three sailboats dotted the river, making their lazy way down the Hudson. As Bailey neared Sheila and Chris, she could see Daniel and Tree approaching from the other direction.
Sheila held out her hand. She was holding a rock. It didn’t look like much to Bailey, just a black rock, but Sheila looked rather excited about it.
“Isn’t it a miracle?” she said. Bailey looked in Sheila’s eyes. Large, hazel, and unblinking. Behind her, Chris gave Bailey a knowing look. But when Sheila whipped around to see his reaction, he too was looking at the black stone like it was a miracle. “It’s so smooth,” Sheila said. “So wet and perfect. I feel connected to it. I truly feel at one with it.” Just then, Daniel passed. He swiped the rock out of her hand and without a second glance pitched it far into the river without breaking stride.
“Let go!” he shouted. “It’s gone now!” Tree ran past, drool dripping from his mouth. He let out a loud, excited bark that made Bailey jump and jostle her coffee. The hot liquid spilled onto her wrist. Bailey took another sip of the spiked stuff anyway, stopping short of licking her wrist, and kept walking. Jake soon passed her from the other direction. Even though his work as a contractor had finished, he had asked Bailey if he could stay the summer. Brad wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but after all, he was staying in his tent, not taking up one of their rooms. Bailey hated to admit it, but she liked having him around. He was a very pleasant distraction. Besides, with the exception of the fact that the man seemed to like to dig holes, he and his crew had done a good job. Sure, they took longer than she would have liked and they cost an arm and a leg, but what contractors didn’t?
They stopped to chat, and soon Bailey felt someone else watching them. She turned around to find Daniel staring at them openly. Did she laugh a little too loud at Jake’s jokes maybe? Or did her flushed cheeks give her away? After a few minutes, Jake left to go kayaking, but Daniel lingered, watching Bailey.
“He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?” Daniel said.
“Yes,” Bailey said, looking him up and down. He was wearing the same white dress and sandals from yesterday. “And that outfit is a little too Jesus for you.”
 
Brad was in the kitchen, fully dressed and no apron in sight, when Bailey walked in a half an hour later. He was standing, dumbfounded, staring at the mess as she had done an hour earlier. When he turned to her, she answered before he even asked any questions.
“I did lock everything up.” She went to the sink and held up the locks and chains. “She either stole the key from the table next to our bed or she picked the locks.”
“Unbelievable,” Brad said. “Now we don’t have any eggs.”
“We should ask Vera to replace them.”
“It’s not her fault,” Brad said. “She has a disorder.”
“And I feel bad for her. But it’s not our fault either, and we’re trying to run a business.”
“It’s just a dozen eggs.”
“And bacon, and half a bag of flour—”
Brad put one hand to his head and held the other up to stop her. “I can’t,” he said. “I’ll get sick.” Bailey stepped closer and looked at Brad. His eyes were slightly red; his hair was sticking straight up.
“You smoked last night too, didn’t you?”
“It was just a little—what do you mean, ‘too’?”
“I smoked with Ray and Chris.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Who did you smoke with?”
“Vera passed a joint around to the group.”
“I’m no prude—but shouldn’t a known sleep-eater not get herself all toked up and hungry before bed?”
“I can’t control our guests,” Brad said. “And neither can you.” He grabbed a broom out of the closet and began sweeping the flour from the floor.
“Did I say I could?” Bailey said. Brad looked at her as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Control our guests?” Bailey added.
“I just meant it might not be smart to smoke pot with our guests,” Brad said.
“Like you did?”
“That was different,” Brad said.
“Why? Because you’ve all been to heaven and back and that gives you some kind of ganja pass?” She had better be careful. She was never very good at hiding her sarcasm. One slip and she’d be calling them zombies.
“No, because I was a guy with a room full of women. You were a woman alone with two strange guys.”
“Are you holding me to a different standard with our guests than yourself?”
“Hey, guys.” Bailey turned, startled. Angel stood in the doorway, glowing and sweaty. She was all smiles.
“When’s breakfast?”
“There’s been a delay,” Brad said, gesturing around him.
“Great,” Angel said. “Then I have time for a long shower.” She paused and held eyes with Brad, as if hoping he was imagining her in the shower. Which he probably was.
“Don’t use too much water,” Bailey said. “We do have other guests.” Bailey walked over to the doorway until Angel stepped back. Then she shut the door to the kitchen so that once again she and Brad were alone.

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