John Locke - Now & Then

• Название: Now & Then
• Автор: John Locke
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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A sudden gust kicked up from the beach. I closed my eyes and inhaled the salty scent. When I opened them I noticed what might have been sea turtle tracks leading from a nearby sand dune to the water. I viewed the B&B from the back.

It was a gorgeous old home, probably the nicest bed and breakfast I’d ever seen. But a proper restoration would require a serious injection of cash. I wondered if the place could ever turn a profit and decided the answer was no. Nevertheless, I found myself drawn to stay there and do what I could to help. It was almost as though the old home had singled me out and expected me to report to duty. And there was something else. That feeling of serenity I’d experienced the first night back. It seemed to have come with the sudden breeze off the water. I looked around to see if anything had recently entered my space: a bird, a bit of Spanish moss, some insects…but nothing seemed out of place. I turned back to the beach, but there were no answers to be found, in fact the beach was deserted, save for two women in big hats, wading in the far distance. I watched them walking away for a few moments, and suddenly the feeling was gone. I searched again for any clue that something was moving out of my immediate space, but all I came up with was that the wind had died down. I looked out to sea a minute, waiting for another gust. When it came, there was no feeling of serenity with it.

Perhaps I was going mad. Maybe Rachel’s insanity was contagious.

I walked back to the front yard and found Beth where I’d left her.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“You will?”

“Subject to Rachel’s okay.”

Beth’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

I nodded.

“I don’t believe it!” she said. “Thank you!”

She started to cry, softly. I wanted to hold her, tell her everything was going to be all right, but I’d just moved from client to employee, and it wouldn’t be proper. I stood there, feeling as useless as tits on a rooster, till she got herself together.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m such a baby.”

“You’re doing the best you can, in a tough situation.”

She nodded. “Can I ask you something about your decision to stay here?”

“Sure.”

“Do you feel drawn to…to The Seaside in some manner?”

I studied her a moment. “How did you know?”

Suddenly she seemed younger, almost girlish.

“Can you really cook?” she said.

“Does it matter?”

Chapter 7

RACHEL WAS BACK. I didn’t ask her where she’d been, and she didn’t offer any explanation.

“You want me to be a waitress?” she said.

“Beth needs us,” I said.

“Beth, huh?”

“Yup.”

“She’s pretty,” Rachel said.

“You think?”

“You know she is. Should I be worried?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Just so you know,” she said, “If I ever catch you cheating, I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to a sea gull.”

“It would have to be a helluva big sea gull,” I said.

“In your dreams!”

I frowned.

“Maybe I’ll just toss it in the air and let a flock of sea gulls fight over it,” she said.

I winced at the visual.

“How long are we gonna do this?” she said.

“As long as it’s fun for you.”

“And the minute it’s not?”

“We’ll head to South Beach.”

“Will you wear a big white chef’s hat, like Chef Boyardee?”

“Not even to save my life,” I said.

“In that case, I’ll do it!”

Moments later she was telling Beth, “If I ever catch you fucking Kevin, I’ll burn you up in your bed.”

Beth gave me a look of horror and said, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Kevin is a gourmet cook,” Rachel said.

I shrugged.

“Rachel,” Beth said, “I’m about to go broke. Every nickel I own is tied up in this place. I loved—and still love—my husband. I have no interest in developing a romantic relationship with—”

She looked at me. “Is it Donovan or Kevin?”

I shrugged again.

She continued. “Charles loved this place, it was his dream. It’s all I have left of the man I loved with all my heart. But Rachel?”

Rachel looked at her.

“—I don’t want to have to worry that every time Kevin and I are in the same room you’re going to think something’s up.”

“I’m only concerned about the fucking,” Rachel said.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Beth said.

Rachel threw her arms around Beth and said, “I love you, Beth. And you’ll see, I’m going to be the best waitress you ever had!”

Beth looked at me wide-eyed and mouthed the words, “Is she crazy?”

I mouthed back, “She loves you.”

Chapter 8

BOB POCKET WAS a normal-sized man with an enormous round belly. Sitting in his high-backed banker’s chair, it looked like he was trying to hide a basketball under his shirt. He drummed his fingers on it, and I wondered if it was as solid as it appeared. It was truly amazing, and I couldn’t wait to tell Rachel about it.

“Excuse me?” he said. “You’re the what?”

“Chief cook and handyman.”

“Well, Mr.—”

“Creed.”

“Creed.” He started to sneer, then caught himself and turned it into a broad smile. “It’s wonderful to have you here, you’re going to love our little town. All the people are amazing, the weather’s amazing, the beach is wonderful, and like I say, the people are—”

“—Amazing,” I said. “I get it.”

Bob Pocket seemed about to frown, but again, he found a way to show me a pleasant, though unconvincing, smile. “I’m really not at liberty to discuss Ms. Daniels’ financial affairs with her employees. I hope you can try to understand that.”

I passed him a notarized power of attorney. He studied it carefully before saying, “She’s way behind, but we haven’t begun the foreclosure proceedings yet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, this is hard to explain to an outsider, but our little town has a way of attracting good luck. Good things happen here, things that can’t be explained. We’re just trusting that something wonderful will happen, and Beth won’t have to lose her special inn. Wait, why are you laughing?”

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said. “I’ve never encountered a benevolent banker before.”

Bob Pocket chuckled. “Benevolent banker,” he repeated. “I like that. I guess we are a trusting bank, with an optimistic board of directors. But after you’ve been here awhile it will make more sense to you. This community has been blessed, and it’s astounding how much good fortune we’ve attracted lately.”

“The luck of St. Alban’s?”

“You’ve heard about it?”

“Dr. Carstairs used the phrase.”

Pocket nodded. “Good man. We’re fortunate to have him with us.”

“He’s new to the town?”

“Came here a year ago, out of the blue, right when we needed him the most.”

“Uh huh. So you’re what, hoping another miracle will occur, and this time Beth’s B&B will be saved?”

“I wouldn’t say miracle, but yes, I suppose we tend to rely on some sort of cosmic balance. We’ve had bad times in the past, and now it’s time for a rebirth. All the signs are pointing to a happy, prosperous community. Beth has had her troubles, but she’s due for some good fortune. She’s an asset to the community and she’s got a charming little business, and we’re just hoping for the best. Maybe your arrival has signaled the start of her good fortune.”

“How much time does she have?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Board meeting’s next Tuesday.” He paused, and broke into a wide-faced grin. “But even if something wonderful doesn’t happen by then, I’m sure Beth will recover. Things have a way of working out in our wonderful town. Beth will be happy and prosperous again, you’ll see.”

“How much does she owe?”

“The total note is a million-six,” he said, “give or take.”

Beth had an interest-only note that ran about eight thousand a month. I knew she and Charles hadn’t made any principal payments in more than a year. I also knew she was six months behind on her note.

Bob Pocket looked over the top of his reading glasses. “Perhaps you should consider finding employment elsewhere until things work out for Beth. There are golden opportunities everywhere, within the city limits.”

I handed him a check for sixty thousand dollars.

“This should catch Beth up and take care of next month’s payment,” I said.

He studied the check as if it held a secret code. “This any good?” he asked.

“Call it in.”

“Count on it.”

“This check,” I said.

“What about it?”

“This is between you and me. St. Alban’s is a small town. I don’t want anyone to know about this. Not even Beth.”

“If the check is valid, Ms. Daniels will see it on her bank statement.”

“By then it will be okay. In the meantime, I’m counting on your discretion.”

“I’m just one part of the group,” he said. “There are a number of local board members who will learn about it.”

“I don’t want any talk.”

“I can’t speak for the whole town,” he said. “But I can assure you, no one will question it.” He stood, took my hand and pumped it vigorously. “You see? It’s just as I’ve said. Every day something seems to happen that can’t be explained. This town attracts good fortune. Has, ever since—”

I looked at him.

He shrugged. “Well, quite a while now. We like to think of it as our turn.” He turned somber a moment. “We had a long dry spell. You can’t imagine.”

Pocket stared off into space. I came prepared to hear him ask if Beth and I were dating, but the possibility never seemed to cross his mind, which impressed me. Surely he wondered why I’d take a cook and caretaking job if I had this type of money. I had two reasons, but planned to keep a lid on them. First, I thought the structure of the job would help stabilize Rachel’s mood swings, and second, I wanted to poke around to see if I could find the source of the power I’d felt twice in this strange little town. Something was drawing me to stay in St. Alban’s, and if the townspeople were going to be seeing a lot of me, it made sense to have a reason for being here. Like a job. After a while Pocket seemed to remember he had company.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What was I saying?”

“You were saying I couldn’t imagine the dry spell St. Alban’s has had.”

“Oh, right. Well, to be honest, I can’t really imagine it, either. But I’ve heard the stories, we all have. During the worst of it, our forefathers barely managed to keep their families alive.”

“Why’s that?”

“The town was cursed.”

“Excuse me?”

His words had come too quickly, and he seemed to regret having said them. He hastened to add, “But that was then, and this is now.”

“The town was cursed?”

He smiled. “Forget I said that, it’s just an old wife’s tale, a figure of speech. What’s important is the tide has turned, and it’s a new day, a happy time for our town.”

Pocket sat back in his chair and filled the silence between us by drumming his fingers on his belly. Before long he had a rhythm going where each tap produced a hollow sound not unlike a housewife thumping a melon for ripeness. He abruptly brought his concert to a close and looked at the check again.

“This is valid?” he said.

I nodded.

“And you’re a cook.”

“Cook and caretaker,” I said.

He winked. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve been holding off this foreclosure for six months, hoping something would work out. We’re days away from filing, and suddenly, out of the blue, you and your girlfriend just happen to show up in time to save Beth’s Inn.”

“So?”

“Don’t you find that amazing? I mean, you being a total stranger and all?”

“I’m just protecting my job,” I said.

Chapter 9

I FIGURED BOB Pocket would be on the phone before I got out the front door. I also figured he’d shit his pants when he found out I could buy not only the bank in which he worked, but the whole town as well. I’d been worth a half billion dollars before my recent score, but now my net worth was north of six billion. What could this tiny bank be worth, twenty million at best?

Two weeks ago I put twenty-five million in Rachel’s account, which meant The Seaside’s waitress could buy Pocket’s bank. So yes, the check was good.

I walked across the street to Rider’s Drug Store and purchased three EpiPens, which cut their supply in half. The pharmacist looked blissful. He said, “I just ordered those EpiPens last week.”

“You sell a lot of them, do you?”

“In all the years I been here, I sold one,” he said.

“That being the case, why’d you order six?”

“Just had a feelin’,” he said.

“Got a feeling when you’ll sell the other three?”

“Nope, but they’ll sell before the expiration date, you can be sure of that.”

I didn’t know what gave him the confidence to make that statement, but a day ago I wouldn’t have expected to buy three EpiPens, or even one, for that matter. Nor would I have imagined myself giving an innkeeper’s banker a check for sixty grand. Maybe Bob Pocket was right. Maybe there was something charmed about this town. I just hoped the cosmic balance didn’t depend on me.

I took a different route back to the Seaside, but I don’t know why. Main Street to A1A would have been a clear shot, but for some reason High Street to Eighth felt more inviting. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to get the feel of the little town.

Something happened when I turned on High Street.

I felt a tingling sensation. A good one, like the kind you feel when you first climb under the covers on a cold night. The further I drove the more soothing it felt. By the time I hit Eighth, I was practically euphoric. This was the feeling I’d had two nights earlier, when I’d followed Rachel down A1A, and again yesterday when I stood behind the B&B, contemplating the caretaker’s job. I drove past an empty tailor’s shop, some old houses, and a boarded-up dry cleaning store. At the intersection to A1A, on the left-hand corner, I saw a lady carrying what looked like a picnic basket up the steps of an old church. I remained there a moment, my eyes transfixed on the church. I’m not a religious man, nor even a spiritual one, but the feeling I was enjoying seemed to come from the area of the church.

I wasn’t alone in this, either.

In the churchyard, standing reverently, but still, like statues, were half a dozen elderly people. Their eyes were turned skyward, or perhaps I should say balcony-ward, since the second floor balcony on the side of the church seemed to be their point of focus. As I sat on my brake at the stop sign I noticed a small line of people turning the corner. They weren’t together, and none were speaking. But all were making their way toward the churchyard. There was also a van parked twenty yards to the side with two guys in the front seat. Like me, they appeared to be watching the statue people in the churchyard. They had almost certainly brought the first group of old people to the church and appeared to be waiting for them. I backed my rental car, turned into somebody’s driveway, put my flashers on, and climbed out. Crossing the street, I approached two elderly women and a man bent over a cane.