Stargazey Nights (5 page)

Chapter 5

C
AB WENT UPS
TAIRS TO CHANGE,
but when he got to his room, the whole situation poured in on him, and he just stood in the middle of the floral room, stuck. He needed to look at the state of the carousel and figure out what to do with it. He also needed to deal with Ned's house. He'd seen a little real-­estate office in the next block. He'd let them have the listing for the house. But the carousel?

Already it was beckoning him. The keys felt hot in his hand, which was stupid. His hands were hot, not the keys. Maybe he was coming down with something. He was feeling a little off-­kilter. In a fog. Maybe it was the flu.

Or maybe it was just hard to think with all this floral material and flouncy pillows around. He was a minimalist, a modernist, a steel-­and-­glass kind of guy.

He pushed open a window, and a breeze wafted in. The sun was going down, and the air was cooling off. He'd go down to the beach. He could hear laughing and talking in the distance; the festivities were continuing. It sounded like an enthusiastic send-­off. It would be polite to make an appearance. He'd been invited. Besides, maybe Silas or Hadley or Beau would be down there and give him some advice.

He changed into khakis and a T-­shirt Grabbed a sweatshirt that he'd thrown in his suitcase at the last minute and tied it around his neck. No one was downstairs. He put his room key in his pocket and went outside.

The air was bracing, moist, and smelled like the sea. He hadn't noticed that earlier in the afternoon. Too preoccupied. Now it hit him full force, and a sense of déjà vu came over him as he walked across the cracked tarmac and stepped from the Technicolor quaintness into gray abandonment. It was like someone had taken a pencil to the town and tried to erase everything below the line.

He saw the carousel before he wanted to. He'd known that Ned had decided not to reopen it after one of the big storms about ten years before. But Cab hadn't really believed that he could just let it sit idle.

The Stargazey Carousel had been Ned's dream. His avocation. His passion. It wasn't like Ned to give up. But then it wasn't—­hadn't been—­like Cab to ignore the only man who had loved him unconditionally.

He kept walking, afraid to look closer. He knew what he would find. Rot, mold, termites, structural damage. It was amazing that the old building was still standing. And the animals? They'd withstood three-­quarters of a century, and now they were probably unsalvageable.

He passed the octagonal building that housed the carousel. Next to it, an old white cottage that had been a store that sold local crafts was in pretty much the same shape. Only a sign, picked out in blue on a piece of whitewashed plywood, said that it was the community center.

No wonder Sarah Davis walked around with a chip on her shoulder. She probably hadn't bargained for this when she'd taken a year off from Columbia and life in New York City.

The bonfire had been lit, and fireflies of burning embers lifted in the air, only to be snuffed out before hitting the sand. Cab continued to the pier—­or at least where the pier had been. Where once the lights of the arcades had led to the dance pavilion at the far end, there was now a broken length of matchsticks, barely standing and off-­limits to everyone.

Cab let out a long breath. Pretty damn depressing. No wonder Ned hadn't bothered to reopen. Not even Cab could have helped him with this. Still, he walked through the opening of the seawall, past the rotting pylons that stuck up like ruins from the sand.

He looked to his right, and there, where he always sat, was Beau Crispin, carving at a hand-­size block of wood.

He looked up, saw Cab, and nodded.

Cab felt about ten years old again. Standing around waiting for Beau to notice him and nod for him to come sit a spell.

“Wondered if you'd be coming down tonight,” Beau said.

“It's a lot to take in.”

“Big changes. Kind of a one-­two punch if you know what I mean.”

Cab waited for clarification.

“Get hit with the big one, and before you can think what you should do, it hits you again, and you have no choice but to fall down.”

“Is that what happened to the pier?”

“Pretty much. All those storms, beaches got eroded—­hardly any left—­we're a bit better down on the Point, but not by much.” Beau sliced a curve in the block of wood, blew the shavings away.

Cab didn't bother to ask what he was carving. Beau never told, and he never showed anyone the finished work. It was a weird thing to do, but it was Beau, and everyone accepted him the way he was, a kind, gentle soul.

“How's Miz Millie?”

Beau considered, his knife poised in the air. “ 'Bout the same. She has her flights, like always. But my other sister, Marnie's, back. She keeps us on the straight and narrow.”

“I don't think I ever met her.”

“No. She left when she was fifteen or sixteen, must have been. Only came back a few years ago. Guess everyone gets a hankering for home sooner or later.”

Cab stared out past the bonfire to the dark sea. It seemed to him that the dusk had been snuffed out instantaneously while he'd been watching Beau. But in its place, high above them, millions of stars winked out of the darkness. Stargazey Point. He'd forgotten. “So are you still living out at the Point?”

“Uh-­huh. Good Lord knows the place is falling down around our ears, and I had to sell off some acreage. Taxes have gotten so high cause of the new resorts popping up everywhere, that . . . ” Beau trailed off. Blew off more shavings and considered his carving. Cab couldn't begin to guess what it would turn into. It looked like a bulb with a knot on top and some crevices down the length.

“It must have brought in a good price.”

“Well about that . . . it could've if I had sold them a piece of beach with it, but I didn't. They took it anyway. 'Spect they're waitin' for me to die, so they can deal with the heirs. 'Course, they'll have to wait for Millie and Marnie to go, too.”

He stopped, frowned out into the darkness. “But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Is that what happened to Silas? Sarah Davis, the woman who runs the community center, said Silas sold out. To send his niece to college?”

“Uh-­huh. Then the girl goes off and gets herself a scholarship.”

“What are they building there?”

“Nothin'. They only got to the tearing-­down stage, then ran out o' money. Should've thought about that before they began. But they'll be back, like hyenas, those developers. Won't be satisfied until they've gobbled up the whole coast.”

Cab thought about the closed-­community project in the planning stages for Myrtle Beach. He hadn't been to the site yet. The surveyors had made detailed maps of the area. Of course, on paper, there were no existing houses or buildings, just a flat surface on which to draw.

“You see Jonathon Devry yet?”

“Yes. Ned left me everything.”

“Don't 'spect there was much to leave.”

“No. but I didn't expect it. I'm just . . . I wish . . .”

“I understand, son. And so did Ned. Don't let yourself get all bothered by it. Just know that Ned was real proud of you.”

There was a shift in the singing. Several ­people danced up the beach toward Cab and Beau. They pulled Cab onto his feet and into the crowd.

Someone handed him a beer, someone else handed him a plate of food. When he looked back at the seawall, Beau was gone, but Cab could make out the silhouette of a tall, lanky figure walking down the beach toward home.

Cab was stuffed with good food, slightly drunk, and dead on his feet by the time Silas, Hadley, and several other ­people whose names he'd learned but was already forgetting, walked him back to the Inn.

He half expected to be locked out since it was late, and he appeared to be the only guest. But the front door opened, the lights were turned low, and a note on the registration desk asked him to turn off the light switch at the top of the stairs.

He staggered up the stairs, turned off the light, and had barely gotten out of his clothes before he fell into bed and into a deep, heavy sleep.

H
E
WOKE UP
three hours later, wide-­awake and stone-­cold sober. It was still black as pitch outside, so he lay looking at nothing, waiting for sleep to return.

It didn't.

After a half hour, he sat up. Looked out the window. Still dark, only the hush shush of the waves through the open sash. He sat up. He knew what had awakened him. It was a dream. A dream he'd often had as a boy away at boarding school, or at home for the holidays. Riding across the sands on Midnight Lady's back. Free and wild. And happy.

He turned on the bedside lamp. After three o'clock. Still hours before first light, And longer before he could cadge a cup of coffee somewhere.

He got dressed in the same clothes he'd worn at the beach. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head, and, praying that Bethanne didn't mistake him for a burglar and shoot him into the next century, he carried his shoes downstairs.

The street was deserted—­not even a streetlight burned in the darkness. He cautiously made his way to his SUV across the street. Opened the hatch and took out a flashlight. Something scuttled across the sidewalk and into the shadows. It could have been a cat or a rat. He closed the hatch.

With the light bouncing ahead of him, he went straight to the carousel building. Walked around the side, guided by that one small circle of light. Shined it on the padlock that kept the double plywood doors together.

Cab expected the lock to be rusty, so he was surprised that it actually opened on the first try. The door was a different matter. It sagged on its hinges, and he had to put down the flashlight and pull with both hands and all his body weight before it screeched open, leaving a scar on the hard-­packed dirt .

He stepped inside but stopped just within the doorway, sure that he'd heard something, a remnant of music, but he must have imagined it. He panned the flashlight in an arc, picking out a piece of machinery, catching something that winked briefly, then disappeared. He walked farther inside.

By feel as much as by memory, he made his way to the carousel. Nearly tripped over something lying on the floor. Some kind of tarp. Then nearly ran into a structure that shouldn't have been where it was.

Cab ran the light over it. The old ticket kiosk lay on its side in the middle of the floor. He sidestepped it and walked to where he knew the carousel would be. Shined the light on the pictures that shielded the engine and music maker. And between Cab and the center, a forest of brass poles stood, silent and unmoving, and at the bottom of the poles, waiting, was nothing.

Cab moved the light. Nothing. Moved it again. Nothing. There were no horses, no chariots, none of the other animals that had once traveled its revolutions. They were gone, all of them.

Had Ned had to sell them off one by one, just to live? Is that why he hadn't reopened. Why hadn't he asked Cab for money? He knew Cab's address; Cab sent him a Christmas card every year. Why hadn't Cab thought to ask?

He ran his hand over his gritty eyes and down his face. How had he let this happen? Why had he forgotten to care about Ned? When had he become so self-­centered?

“ 'Bout time you be showing up.”

Cab jerked around. “Who's there?” The light of the flashlight caromed around the room. Hit a new figure standing in the doorway. Passed on, came back to stay.

The old woman in the church. Ervina.

She threw her arm over her eyes, and he instinctively lowered the flashlight.

“You don't need that thing to see. Put it out.”

Recovering himself, Cab said, “Unlike like you, I can't see in the dark.”

The old women cackled. It sent a chill up Cab's neck. “You cain't even see with the light on. That's 'cause you trying to see what ain't there.”

“The animals.”

“Them, too.”

“What else is there?”

She took a step toward him. He raised the flashlight as if it could ward her off. Not that he was afraid of her. She was small and ancient and maybe weighed as much a piece of driftwood.

She averted her face to keep the light from her eyes.

Cab dropped the light to his feet.

“Stop trying to see something that ain't here no more. Too late for that.” Her voice had grown quieter but somehow felt magnified by the dark. “Where you been all this time?”

“I—­”

“At least you dressed up real nice for the funeral.”

Cab squinted into the darkness. Her voice seemed to be coming from a different direction, but he didn't want to risk blinding her again, so he kept the flashlight lowered to the ground. “Do you know what happened to the animals? Did Ned sell them?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“He didn't sell them animals.”

Cab jumped. The words were said in his ear. He could feel the breath of her words on his skin. She was a small woman, and his rational self said she must be standing on tiptoe, but in the dark, with her strange voice, it felt as if maybe she had just levitated from the ground.