Stargazey Nights Page 5

  It was another sunny day, the air was crisp and clean and tinged with salt. He could hear gulls screeching in the distance. So why did he feel like he was standing under a black cloud, with birds of prey circling his head?

  Flora’s was open. There were a few customers sitting at tables that were covered in blue-­checked tablecloths. Half curtains of the same material. What this town needed was a sleek, nouvelle bistro.

  No it didn’t. This town needed some paint and repairs, a ­couple of tons of shipped-­in sand, and an ad campaign.

  “Sit anywhere you want.”

  Cab quickly searched for her name. Not Flora, not Sarah, Penny. “Thanks, Penny, but I just wanted a coffee to go if that’s possible.”

  “Of course it’s possible, but you’ll it enjoy it more if you sit down and drink it with my asparagus, cheese, and ham omelet and home fries.”

  “No grits?”

  “You can have those, too, but I didn’t figure you for the grits type.”

  “You figured right. But I’m a bit in a bind this morning. Are you open for lunch?”

  “Sure am. How do you like your coffee?”

  CAB WALKED TO the carousel, carrying his coffee and a bag of cheese biscuits that Penny had forced on him. Actually, he was grateful; he was hungry. It must be the sea air. He’d always eaten like a horse during his summer stays with Ned.

  He unlocked the carousel door and carried his breakfast inside. There was just enough light filtering through the lattice for him to see his way over to a big workbench, where he set down his breakfast.

  There were tools that looked as if they’d been used recently. Had Ned planned to reopen? Where would he have kept the animals if not here? Cab looked into the shadows. It was clammy, dank; it needed a shot of sunshine and life.

  He took a sip of coffee, grabbed a hammer and a crowbar, and went back outside. He started with the first piece of lattice. The lattice had originally been secured by hinges and could be hooked open, revealing the carousel. There were no hooks left, and the lattice had been nailed shut. One yank of the crowbar, and it splintered into several rotten pieces. Beneath it was plywood; getting it off was a harder job. It was newer than the lattice and had been nailed shut over plastic, which he could see sticking out from behind the edges.

  Which was okay by Cab. It meant that maybe the damp and the salt hadn’t completely crept inside to rust parts and rot wood. Maybe there would be something left.

  He didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did.

  He carefully leaned the plywood against the side of the octagonal building. It would have to be replaced by the end of the day. He couldn’t leave the inside exposed to weather and looters and God knew what or who else.

  He quit after the third window and carried his tools back inside. Enough light came through the opening to cast light through the room. It poured in over the long workbench, which Cab could now see had been used recently.

  The first thing he did was lift the ticket kiosk until it was standing upright. Except that the whole structure leaned precariously on loose joints, a leaning tower of Pisa in bright colors. He wrestled it out of the center of the room and propped it against the wall.

  Then he took the flashlight over to the carousel. In the daylight, he could see that the poles were rusted. The rounding panels, which had hidden the engine and music maker, were gone, and they were covered with a tarp and more plastic sheeting. Not much chance of getting either running again. Not that anybody would want to.

  Cab looked up; all the ornamentation was gone, and he could look straight into the gears and rods that drove the animals. Like a strange abstract design with no purpose.

  He stepped gingerly onto the platform, tested its strength. Here, at least, the boards had been sealed. Still, he walked carefully in a full circle, making sure the frame was solid. Occasionally, he would hit a pole as he passed by, and it would sway a few times before finally settling back in place.

  When he’d made a full circuit, he stopped in front of the tarp that covered the engine housing. It was tied tight, battened down sailor fashion. Beau’s work, probably.

  It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. He untied the tarp and threw it to the side. The engine was still there though the red paint had turned to rust brown, the lettering that spelled out the company logo had faded and flaked away, and Cab couldn’t remember who had made it.

  It looked like it might work if he’d had a power source, but it wouldn’t for long; he could see the beginnings of rust on the bolts and cogs. He jumped back to the platform, went over to search the workbench, and found screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches lined up across the front. Clean rags, slightly damp from the humidity, were stacked neatly in a cabinet beneath, and in the next cabinet, several cans of WD-­40. The secret to a happy carousel is to keep her oiled and speak sweet to her.

  Ned had taken him through every joint, and juncture, each bolt and spring. The process came back to him as if it had been last summer, not twenty-­five summers ago.

  Twenty-­five.

  Cab slowly became oblivious to everything around him except the engine and its parts. There was a breeze off the ocean, but no cooling draft reached Cab down in the housing, and sweat soaked his T-­shirt and ran down his jaw to drip off his chin.

  He forgot that he was working on a defunct engine, one that probably hadn’t worked in years. It didn’t matter. It was something he wanted to do. Even if it was a case of too little too late.

  He stood, rubbed the small of his back. Wiped the sweat off his face with one of the rags that wasn’t covered in oil.

  “Thought I might find you here.”

  “Hi, Beau. I was just seeing if anything is salvageable.”

  “Oughta be. Ned and I came down here nearly every week, just to keep things primed and ready. In case anybody ever wanted to open up the carousel again.”

  Cab climbed out of the housing. “Do you think anyone would be interested? I have to say, things are looking pretty bleak around here.”

  “Well, things have been bad, no use mincin’ words about that. But we’re slowly but surely coming back.” Beau put a greasy paper bag and two Cokes on the worktable. “Thought you might be hungry. I was down at the Tackle Shack and thought you might like a catfish sandwich.”

  “I haven’t had catfish, in . . .”

  “Probably since the last time you were here.”

  “Probably, but it’s welcome.” Cab finished wiping his hands and tossed the rag aside before opening the paper bag. “Thanks.”

  Beau twisted the cap off one of the Cokes and handed it to Cab, an action so natural that Cab thought he must have spent a lot of time here with his uncle.

  The bottle was cold, and Cab took a long drink. It was sweet and tingling. Something else he’d forgotten. How much he loved Coke. Now it was always Evian or scotch or that luncheon staple, sweet tea. But Coke, that was a workingman’s drink.

  He opened the sandwich paper and took a bite.

  “So what were you doing climbing around down in the engine?”

  Cab wiped his mouth with the miniscule paper napkin and finished chewing. “Just didn’t want it to corrode while it was left unattended.”

  “Uh-­huh.” Beau pulled a stool out from under the table and sat.

  Cab did the same. “Actually, I couldn’t sleep last night and came down to take a look.”

  “Pretty dark last night. Had to turn off the electricity. Ned was failing, no real reason to keep it turned on.”

  “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “Ned didn’t want it that way. Didn’t want to interfere with your life.”

  Cab slammed the Coke bottle on the table. “I would have come.”

  Beau gave him a speaking look. And what it said was “Would you?”

  Cab wadded up the paper bag and looked around for a trash can. Bea
u pulled a plastic grocery bag from a stash in one of the cabinets. “Better carry that out with me. Don’t want to encourage any critter to come looking for food.”

  Cab dropped the bag into the plastic one, embarrassed by his outburst.

  “It’s the way Ned wanted it. Simple as that. No use wondering what if.”

  Cab groaned. “You sound like crazy Ervina. She showed up while I was here and scared the spit out of me.”

  Beau chuckled to himself. Shook his head. “That Ervina.”

  “She said Ned didn’t sell the animals. But she wouldn’t tell me where they are. I don’t mind telling you, she creeped me out. Was she telling the truth or just making up more of her crazy stories?”

  Beau tied a knot in the plastic bag and dropped it on the floor by his feet.

  “Son, there’re only three ways to Ervina. She’s either pullin’ your leg, tryin’ to scare you, or tellin’ you the God’s own truth.”

  “You forgot hoodoo nonsense.”

  “Hoodoo maybe, but you better never let Ervina hear you calling it nonsense. She might be inclined to put the curse on you. Just a little one, mind you, just to put you in your place.”

  “Turn me into a toad?”

  Beau’s eyes twinkled; it made him look like a young man instead of somebody at least seventy. “Maybe not somethin’ that drastic but somethin’ to get your attention.”

  Cab shook his head. He didn’t remember Ervina too well. Hadn’t thought about her at all until she started moaning at the funeral. When he’d first come to Stargazey Point, he’d been afraid of running into her. Ned had told him she was harmless, but then threw in the caveat, if you didn’t do anything bad.

  “She’ll do it, too. Don’t you doubt it for a minute.”

  “She said she knew where they were. But she wouldn’t tell me until she decided if I was man enough to find them. I shudder to think what she meant by that.”

  “Now that, she was just trying to put you in your place. Ned was well loved around here. He was generous, and he cared about the town and the ­people who lived here.”

  “I know.”

  “And a lot of them are wondering what kind of man you turned out to be. Ervina wants to be sure you’ll do right by him.”

  “How? What does she want me to do?” And why was it any business of hers or anyone’s in this town. He shut the thought down the minute he thought it.

  “Only Ervina knows that. But let me just say, if you’re gonna sell to the highest bidder, I think it would be best to do it all at once and be done with it.”

  “Sell?” Of course he had to sell. The carousel building was an eyesore. It would have to be pulled down if they wanted to gentrify this end of town. And Ned’s cottage, if the outside was any indication of the inside, probably should be pulled down, too. Or he could just leave them to rot where they stood and let the town deal with it.

  But if the animals still existed . . . If they were in decent shape, they could bring in a lot of money. Not that he needed it. He was doing just fine. But sell the horses? The sea horse, or the pig? Not Neptune’s chariot. Or Midnight Lady? How could he sell her? He couldn’t do it. None of them. He just couldn’t do it.

  So what the hell was he going to do? Just walk away? Maybe they were already rotted, maybe they didn’t even exist. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make that decision.

  Beau heaved himself off the stool. “You think on it some. You’ll figure it out. And if you’re still here tomorrow, Millie said to invite you for Sunday lunch. One o’clock like always.”

  “Thanks, thank her for me. I need to get back to Atlanta, but can I let you know?”

  “Sure, just call up to the house before you come, so Marnie will know how many places to set. Bethanne knows the number.”

  Beau picked up the bag of trash and went toward the door. Before he left, he turned back to the room. He didn’t look at Cab but at the carousel, then around the room, a slight smile on his lips as if he were hearing, seeing something only meant for him.

  Chapter 7

  CAB FINISHED OILING THE ENGINE, then carefully re-­covered it and tied it down, though not nearly as neatly as Beau had done. He put away his tools and went outside to nail the plywood back over the openings.

  The sun blinded him at first. And it took a few seconds to realize what all the noise was. It was Saturday in Stargazey Point. ­People were out, doing whatever they did in a town that was obviously in its death throes.

  Cab opened his eyes. A group of kids was playing Wiffle baseball in the widened tarmac in front of the pier. An older boy was pitching to them. It was a lesson in futility. The wind caught almost every pitch and carried it away from the batter.

  “This is dumb,” the batter said, dropped his bat, and wandered away.

  “Hey.” Sarah Davis, not much bigger than the kids herself, loped down the sagging steps of the community center and grabbed the bat. The remaining kids stepped out of range. Sarah’s face went slack, and she glowered at the kids. ”What? If I were inclined to smack you, which I am not, do you think I’d use a plastic bat?”

  She held it up, frowned at it, and hit herself on the head with it.

  A dozen pair of eyes grew round.

  “See?” She shrugged. “I’m going inside for a snack.” She turned on her heels, barefoot heels, Cab noticed. She barely made it to the door before the kids broke rank and ran after her, crowding through the door.

  Sarah turned to where she could see Cab. “Don’t even say it.”

  “What?”

  “That it was a stupid game. I knew that. But you can’t have them breaking what windows are left in the buildings. And they aren’t interested in learning anything. The high point of their day is snack, which is some god-­awful generic brand red dye # 2, 3, 4, 5, juice pack and peanut butter crackers.”

  She pointed the plastic bat at him. “And don’t warn me about peanut allergies. These kids are too poor to have allergies.”

  Cab grinned. He knew it wasn’t funny. He could tell she was frustrated. And he guessed the tiny dynamo had a short fuse. “Guess you’re not having a very good day?”

  “Got it in one.” She pulled the screen door open and went inside, letting it slam behind her.

  What on earth had possessed her to take over a kids’ program? Or maybe she really was here to take care of Ervina. The old woman was certifiable.

  He finished nailing the windows shut and went back inside to get his jacket. It was ridiculous to spend any more time here. It was sad to see the old carousel cease to be, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Maybe he could find a buyer interested in restoring it—­if, and it was a pretty big if—­he could find the menagerie that went with it.

  But even a restorer would want to move it to someplace where it would be appreciated, not leave it languishing in a forgotten town devoid of tourists.

  But before he left it for good, he turned one last time, looking over the now-­darkened space. And he thought he must look similar to the way Beau had looked when he left. One last memory of the lights, the calliope, the circling horses and sea creatures and a small boy clinging to the pole that ran through Lady’s middle and riding like there was no tomorrow.

  Now there wouldn’t be, not for the carousel.

  He shoved the door closed, snapped the padlock, and walked away. He was sad. He’d lost an uncle and childhood memories, but he’d lost something more important than that. He just didn’t know what it was.

  It was time he got back to Atlanta. Have a day to relax before work on Monday. Maybe Bailey would be over her mood though she hadn’t called him. Then again, the phone worked both ways, and he hadn’t called her.

  He still had a ­couple of things that needed to be done before he could leave Stargazey Point. He walked across the street, nodded to a ­couple of ­people as they passed. Kept one eye out for Ervina, not th
at he expected to see her out in the daylight. She’d wait until dark, when he was alone, and pop up like a maniacal jack-­in-­the-­box.

  But when she did, he’d pin her down on where Ned had left the carousel menagerie. If he really had left them anywhere.

  Cab walked away from the center of town, retracing his steps from yesterday. Jingling the ring of keys in his jacket pocket. He wasn’t looking forward to this, and the sooner he got it over with, the sooner he could be done with it and leave.

  Ned’s house was in the middle of the block, wedged between other houses, with pretty much the same look and floor plan. A main room and kitchen and bedroom, and another little room that would be a closet in newer condominiums or an office in older ones. It had been Cab’s bedroom each summer.

  He walked past a rusted Chevy parked on the street, with its hood up. Two young men with Rasta hair were bent over the engine. It would be a miracle if they ever got it up and running again.

  One of them straightened up. “Yo,” he said in greeting.

  Cab nodded and walked on.

  He slowed as he came closer to Ned’s house. The house next door had pots of mums on the porch steps, deep orange and gold and yellow. An old woman used to live there, Cab couldn’t remember her name. She was probably dead by now.

  He stopped at his uncle’s house and was surprised by his anticipation, excitement, and a sense of relief. But it was feeling from another time.

  Today, he just needed to take a look inside and decide the best way in which to deal with Ned’s . . . personal effects. Ignoring the burn in his stomach, probably just hunger, he told himself, he stepped onto the porch, felt the boards sag beneath his feet. The house probably wouldn’t even pass inspection if he did try to sell it.

  He unlocked the door, reached for the light switch, and was surprised when the light came on. Was surprised even more at the sock in the gut he felt seeing the old couch still covered with a bedspread. But it was the folded newspaper on the seat that really got to him. As if someone had been reading and had just gotten up to get a cup of coffee.