Page 8 of Sea La Vie
“Well, go on then,” she says, leaning her head out the window and throwing her hand in a shoo-ing motion. My feet are rooted to the ground and panic seeps into every corner of my body. I’ve seen the videos. I know what happens when you walk into dark, desolate houses by yourself.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she says and turns the truck's ignition off and gets out to stand next to me. “Come on. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. Did I say all that out loud? “You can leave.”
“You’re shaking, Tate.” I look down at my hand, and sure enough, it’s a dead giveaway for the dread I feel inside. She reaches behind one of the faded shutters and produces a key.
“How did you know that was there?” I ask.
“I don’t know if you remember or not, but we used to be pretty great friends,” she says, sarcasm dripping off every word. She sticks the key in the lock and pushes against the door. It doesn’t budge.
“Lainey,” I start. “Can we talk about—”
“The door must be swollen from the humidity,” she interrupts me. “What are you afraid of anyway? We’re in Widow’s Wharf.” She nudges the door with her shoulder and it still doesn’t give.
“Say that again and listen to yourself really closely.Widow’s. Wharf.The perfect place for plenty of ghosts,” I say.
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes and kicks the bottom corner of the door. It finally swings open and a musty smell hits me in the face. I follow her through, and my hand grapples along the wall until I find the light switch. Warm light fills the little living room, and I’m comfortedanddisgusted by the fact that it looks exactly like it did the day we left.
The pale green carpet covering the floor, the wood panels covering the walls, even the same gray couches that my sister Cara and I used as beds sit along the far wall. There’s even the ancient TV right in front of the couch, propped up on a stand that’s seen better days.
I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen where I flip on another light. Although outdated, the oak cabinets look to be in decent shape, with the exception of one cupboard door sitting on the ground beside the sink with a hole in it. I turn on the faucet and the pipes groan to life, producing rusty, red water that smells of sulfur. My lip curls in disgust, and when I glance at Lainey, hers do the same.
She follows me wordlessly into the only bedroom, and we both gape up at the huge hole in the ceiling. Pieces of plaster are laying on the bed, and the smell of more mold curls my nose. “This must be the leak Mom warned me about,” I mutter. “How long has it been since renters even stayed in this place?”
“I haven’t seen anyone here in a while,” Lainey says.
She walks into the attached bathroom and immediately runs right back out. “There’s something living in your bathtub,” she whispers and nods to the bathroom door.
I nod to the opposite door…to safety.
Lainey rolls her eyes and moves to go back in but I stop her. “No, no. I’ve got this,” I tell her and puff out my chest. Lainey snorts and I pretend like it doesn’t hurt my pride as I tiptoe to the door frame and peer in. “Hello?”
When I don’t hear anything, I shuffle over to the edge of the tub and peel back the curtain. Sure enough, a raccoon is clinging to the spigot, teeth bared. When it starts hissing, I yank the curtain shut.
“Actually, would you take me to Dave’s after all?” I ask, running out and slamming the door shut behind me.
Lainey giggles, then looks down. I grabbed her hand, holding it in a vice grip. I immediately let go and wipe my palm on the side of my pants.
“Sorry,” I stammer. “I just thought…that you uh, might want to hold my hand. In case you were scared or anything.” I clear my throat and look up at the boob light fixture that is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. I also make a mental note that it needs to be changed, because boob lights are hideous.
“In case I was scared, huh?” The faintest smile appears on Lainey’s lips.
“Mhm.” I gulp then tear my eyes away from the light and stare at the door instead. “You’re welcome.”
As we pull up beside a little fishing shack, Lainey shifts the truck into park. “I’ll walk you in. Lucille can be a little…”
I stop dead in my tracks, one foot dangling out the door. “Lucille?” I ask.
“Mhm,” Lainey says. “She and Dave married a couple years ago, after his wife died. Weird, huh?”
“She beat me with a broom when I was a kid for throwing gum on the sidewalk. Do you think she’ll remember?”
Lainey shrugs and walks to the front door. While the fishing shack is definitely old, someone’s put a lot of work into restoring it. The outside boasts a new coat of navy blue paint, white shutters hang from the windows, and flowers spill out of window boxes and into meticulously kept flower beds. I have a feeling the whole town looks like this in the daylight—old but well maintained.
Lainey rings a bell on the board-and-batten front desk, and a woman no bigger than my very first paycheck bustles from a back room. “Lainey!” She says. “It’s so good to see you.” She leans forward and steps on her tiptoes to give Lainey a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, Lucille,” she says. She hitches a thumb my way and says, “This here is my…fri—, uh, Tate. He got a little lost, and his car is getting worked on, so he needs a place to stay.”
