The Things I Do For You (23 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Things I Do For You
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Oh God, the pain. The red-hot pain roaring through her thumb. Instant, irrational rage. Bailey doubled over and screamed. This was the worst morning ever. She was tired, she was pissed, she was caffeine- and food-deprived, her husband loved his freaking shoes more than her, she just found out they didn’t even really own this blinking albatross, one of their freeloading guests was an ungrateful son of a—
And now she slammed her thumb in the drawer. Her arm lashed out, and she picked up the first object she touched. A stick of butter in a ceramic tub. She hurled it across the room. It smashed against their mahogany cabinets and then dropped to the sink with a deafening clank.
“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey.” Brad tried to take hold of her hands. He was probably just trying to stop her from throwing anything else. But she wanted to. Hearing that butter tub clank and smash felt so good! Dare she say it even calmed her down a little. What could she throw next? Maybe something softer so it wouldn’t alarm their guests. Although it wasn’t like she was aiming at them or anything. Brad was still trying to reach for her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “It hurts.” All the guests were openly staring at her. “It hurts,” she said again. “It really, really hurts.”
“Do you want some ice?” It was Jake. He was out of his seat and hovering over her. Bailey looked at Brad as if to say, “See? He’s being attentive.” To her horror, Bailey felt tears coming to her eyes. Her entire life, she’d always cried at all the wrong things, at all the wrong times. Usually in public, in front of strangers. Set her on a couch with a box of Kleenex and a Hallmark movie and NADA.
“I’m okay,” Bailey said. Jake nodded, moved past her, then at the last minute shuffled through the papers on the counter, placed one of them on top, and gently slid it toward her.
 
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
 
Startled, Bailey looked away. He thought she was beautiful like this? Roaring and shouting and hurling sticks of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter across the room? Ah, the young, always attracted to drama. He probably thought she was a wildcat. Men loved crazy women in bed. Was she wild and crazy in bed? The last time she and Brad made love she didn’t even take off her nightgown, and in the middle of it she glanced at her crossword on the end table by her bed and figured out that six down was “astray.”
But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have it in her. She used to be wild in bed. Oh, the nights she and Brad took chances, made up positions, talked dirty, screamed, even bit each other. She used to have to force him to use condoms. Now she couldn’t get him to go bareback for anything. He was probably wearing one right now just to be extra safe. Bailey took a deep breath. She’d better get a hold of herself. Her guests were still staring.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s okay. As long as nobody needs any butter.”
Later, after insisting she clean up alone after breakfast, Bailey noticed the guest book was once again open. There was another message. In red pen. And all caps.
 
BREAKFAST WAS TRULY TERRIFYING!!!
NEXT TIME PASS OUT HELMETS.
 
Bailey turned to scream for Brad, only to find him standing directly behind her. She pointed at the latest comment. “I didn’t throw it anywhere near them,” she wailed.
“I know,” Brad said. He pulled Bailey into him and kissed the top of her head. “Still,” he said. “We might want to just consider the helmets.”
Chapter 22
E
veryone sat in a circle in the main room. There were a few candles lit, but nothing over-the-top. To anyone walking in it could have been a book group or a support group with soft lighting. Bailey wanted to set up chairs, but Daniel insisted they sit on the floor. Bailey thought he would have gotten along great with the ex-con. What was his name again? Harold. How could she forget? Didn’t you always remember the name of your first prisoner? Bailey wondered if he’d ever been caught and where he was now. It would be that way for as long as they ran the B&B. People would come in and out of their lives, full of stories and life and drama, and then just disappear. Or go back to jail. Maybe some would return year after year, but otherwise it would be like watching a revolving soap opera where the main characters were constantly replaced by new actors.
Vera was the only one who came dressed for a séance. She wore heavy eye shadow, fake eyelashes, and a long purple dress, complete with a headband wrapped around her head like an amnesia victim. Bailey looked around at the eclectic little group and thought,
If my parents could see me now
. At that moment, they were probably sitting at the dining room table discussing the latest articles in the
New York Times
. If they knew what Bailey and Brad were up to, her father would shake his head and say, “What kind of California hippie-dippy thing are you into?”
“It’s not my fault,” Bailey would say. “Brad has brain damage, and I’m just trying to drum up business. Ghosts are really hot right now thanks to cable television.” The fascination probably had something to do with the fear of death. Ghosts were proof that an afterlife existed. Everyone was searching for the answers. Except the group surrounding Bailey. They all thought they had the answers.
They started by finishing up minutes from their last meeting. “So,” Vera said. “What question did we leave the group with last time?” Sheila raised her hand. Vera nodded.
“You asked who’s thinking of writing a book about their experience,” Sheila said.
“Right,” Vera said. “And show of hands, who’s writing a book?” Everyone but Bailey thrust up their hand.
“You’re going to write a book?” Bailey asked Brad. Was that the other “secret” he’d been referring to the other day?
“I’ve already started,” Brad said. Would it be rude, Bailey wondered, if she pinched the bridge of her nose really hard and closed her eyes?
“You were only dead for thirteen minutes,” Bailey said. “It will have to be a very short book.” Although the others didn’t seem to appreciate her humor, Brad threw his head back and laughed. After all these years, one thing was for sure. He got her. Maybe love did conquer all, even the supernatural.
“Bailey has a great sense of humor,” he explained to the group. “It was her sharp tongue I fell in love with.”
“And the things I could do with it,” Bailey said.
“See?” Brad said. He beamed and scanned the group for approval.
“Moving on,” Angel said.
“My book is going to combine my near-death experience with sleep-eating,” Vera said. “I’m going to call it
Does My Corpse Look Fat?
” Bailey slapped her hand out of her mouth to keep from laughing. “It’s okay,” Vera said. “You can laugh. Humor is part of it.”
“Mine is going to be like
The Wizard of Oz,
” Daniel said. “Only no Dorothy or yellow brick road shit. Just me and Tree meeting Our Maker as we navigate a long and bumpy tail.”
“Did you mean ‘trail’?” Kimmy whispered. She spoke so softly everyone leaned forward to listen.
“No,” Daniel boomed. “I mean tail. Turns out Daniel and Tree are climbing up a huge dragon’s tail, but you won’t know it until the end. And if any of you steal it, if I see any mention of dragons in your books, I will hunt your asses down. You’ll see what “Fire Breather” means then!”
“What about you, Kimmy?” Vera said.
“Mine isn’t really a book,” Kimmy said. “Just some poems about my experience.”
“Read us one,” Sheila said.
“Oh God,” Ray said.
“You should be more supportive,” Chris said. He put his arms around Sheila.
“Yes, Kimmy, read us one,” Ray said, staring at Chris.
“Are you sure?” Kimmy said.
“A short one,” Vera said. Kimmy cleared her throat. Then she stood. Bailey doubted anyone really heard the poem; the shocker was Kimmy’s theatrical voice when she recited it—or one might say, “belted” it.
“I was dead. But now I’m not. What should I do? In life’s web I’m caught.” When she finished yelling her poem, she bowed.
“Happy now?” Ray said to Chris. Since Chris and Ray looked as if they were contemplating punching each other out, Bailey began applauding, and as the rest joined in and Kimmy took her seat, the tension momentarily eased.
“Sheila?” Vera prompted.
“I’m going to write about how this experience changed my marriage.” Was it Bailey’s imagination, or did Sheila glance at her after saying that? “It’s made it so much stronger, happier. We truly appreciate each other now.” She did! She’d just glanced at Bailey again.
“What about you, Brad?” Vera said. “What’s your book about?”
“It’s just a continuation of my journals,” Brad said. Bailey didn’t pipe in and tease him about him keeping a diary or pout that he’d never let her read them because for some reason her husband had just turned a thousand shades of red. What was making him blush? What was in those journals?
“We should talk about Olivia now,” Vera said. “So we can send her our energy.”
“Certainly,” Brad said. “Olivia Jordan was—”
Vera leaned over and touched Brad’s arm. “Not you, sweetie,” she said. “You’re too close. I think we should let Bailey talk about Olivia.”
“Oh,” Brad said. “Sure.” All eyes turned to Bailey.
“I’m really just here to watch,” Bailey said. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Olivia.
“I’m sorry,” Vera said. “In order for this to work, everyone must participate in full.”
“It’s okay,” Brad said. “Just say a few words about her.”
“Okay,” Bailey said. “Well. She was Brad’s aunt. She absolutely doted on Brad. She was in her seventies. She lived in a very clean and simple one-bedroom in the Riverdale section of the Bronx. It was a rental. Which is totally wild when you think about it.”
“What’s wild about it?” Vera asked.
“Because she was rich,” Bailey said. “She could have bought a place. She even had a niece-in-law who was a pretty good Realtor, if I do say so myself.”
“Go on,” Vera said.
“Well, I got my license about a year ago, and even though I mostly dealt with high-end condos and penthouses—”
“Not about you, dear. Go back to talking about Olivia.”
“Oh,” Bailey said. “Right. Well. She liked to play poker, but of course we only found that out after she died.”
“It was quite a surprise,” Brad said. He held up a deck of cards. “I brought this to honor her.” Bailey hoped she was sitting in a spot dim enough that nobody could see her expressions.
“It was a surprise,” Bailey said. “She didn’t even hang out her real calendar when we visited. And she kept a Jag in the garage we didn’t even know about. We had to sell that when we moved here.”
“Why don’t you talk to Olivia,” Vera said. “Tell her what’s on your mind.” Everyone looked at Bailey. She looked at Brad. Why was this being geared toward her? Brad was the one with Olivia issues. But Brad didn’t look as if he were about to speak.
“Well,” Bailey said. “I think we’d all like to know where she—”
“Speak directly to her,” Vera said. “As if she were right in front of you.” Bailey nodded and tried not to roll her eyes.
“Olivia. We’d all like to know where you would like us to spread your ashes. Is the Hudson River okay?”
“Bailey!” Brad was out of his seat. Olivia’s urn was sitting on the fireplace mantel. He looked as if he were about to throw his body in front of it. Bailey threw her arms open.
“Am I wrong? Aren’t we here to say good-bye? Release her? Go to the light, Olivia! Go to the light!”
“I miss the light,” Sheila said.
“Me too,” Kimmy said. Bailey was outnumbered. Chris and Ray were too busy eyeing each other to come to her defense.
“We all miss the light,” Vera said.
“I don’t,” Brad said a little too loudly. “I really don’t. Not any-more.”
“That’s because you live in the light, brother,” Daniel said.
Angel turned to Bailey. “You’ve no idea how good it feels,” she said. “I wish you could experience it.”
“Oh, I’ve heard,” Bailey said. If Bailey wasn’t mistaken, Angel had just found a polite way to tell her she wished she would drop dead.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” Vera said. “You sound a bit . . . unhinged.” Bailey looked around to see who she was talking about. They were all staring at her. Wait—they were all staring at her. They thought
she
was unhinged? The back-from-the-dead board thought she was unhinged? She was going to have to watch her temper or they’d see unhinged.
“I think we’ve gotten off track here,” Bailey said. “This isn’t about me. I’m just going to sit back and let you guys do your thing.”
“But it is about you,” Vera said. “Can’t you see that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Bailey turned to her husband. “Brad? Tell them this isn’t about me.”
“It’s not,” Brad said. “Entirely about you.”
“It’s about your hostility,” Angel said with a huge smile, as if she were a television host picking the winner of a lottery. Bailey laughed. This had to be some kind of joke.
“Let’s all join hands and guide Olivia into the light,” Bailey said. She grabbed Sheila and Kimmy’s hands. Brad was sitting across from her in between Angel and Vera.
“You’re the one we’re trying to guide into the light,” Angel said.
“Excuse me?” This was getting ridiculous. Brad and his posse of back-to-lifers.
“The group helped me come to a few revelations,” Brad said.
“My worries aren’t about Olivia. They’re about you.” Bailey nodded as if this made perfect sense, as if she were astutely listening. All the while a hum filled her ears. Her leg took on a life of its own, shaking with nervous energy. She was absolutely going to kill him.
“Do tell,” Bailey said.
“Don’t be angry,” Brad said. “I’m trying to help. I’m trying to make things right.” Brad took a deep breath. Angel squeezed his hand. “I’ve been carrying a huge burden,” Brad said.
Bailey shot out of her chair. “Don’t you think this is best handled privately?” she said.
“We’re like family,” Angel said. She put her hand on Brad’s shoulder. “We’re just here for support.”
“You are not like family. You’re not even a friend.”
“Bailey.”
She held her hand up to stop Brad. “It was nice meeting all of you. Good luck. I probably won’t see you again before you leave. Bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Brad tells us you gave up the guitar?” It was Sheila. She was looking at Bailey with definite sympathy.
“Are you kidding me?” Bailey said.
“Is it true?” Sheila said. “Did you give up your dream?”
It was a million years ago. For his twenty-first birthday, Bailey secretly bought Brad tickets to see Bruce Springsteen. It was a sold-out concert. In order to pay the high price set by a scalper, she’d sold the acoustic guitar her parents had just bought for her twenty-first birthday. For the short time she had it, she dreamed of becoming a famous songwriter. She imagined playing with Brad, taking their show on the road. But she had to have those tickets for his birthday. Brad loved the Boss. The stinky scalper kept her waiting two hours in the rain, in the dark, under a scary overpass. A drunk who was living there in a cardboard box kept growling at her. She gave Brad the tickets, brimming with pride that she’d just given him the best birthday present ever. She never mentioned the hell she’d gone through to get the tickets, and she’d even kept her mouth shut every time Brad chided her for giving up the guitar so soon. Apparently, he’d always known what really happened to it. Her mother must have told him. She was going to have to have a word with her too.
“I’m sorry, Bailey,” Brad said. “But ever since I’ve had this . . . experience . . . I keep thinking about you. Everything you’ve given up for me. And it kills me.”
“Really? Does it?”
“It does, really.”
“Then why are we here, Brad? Why did you lie to get me here? Why did I give up my job? Sell our condo? If you care so much about what I want, why are we still using condoms?” She didn’t care anymore that she was airing her business in front of strangers. They would all be gone tomorrow. It was Brad she cared about, Brad she had to get through to. He had it all wrong. He was the one who needed help.
“He’s very upset,” Angel said.

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