Lighthouse Nights

22

breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs (sprinkled with green peppers and cubes of ham), toast, bacon, and orange juice.

two plates. gabe ate quickly.

the girl was asleep in his bed. they had sex for the second time last night before his meeting with sexboy, but now she had to go. (there existed a layer of MIND crammed between gabe’s internal monologue and his subconscious desires. it was a place where TRUTH often mulled, trying every so often to break the barrier into consciousness. it was inside this limbo that gabe knew the reason he let jules worm her way into his final days. it wasn’t because he wanted to live; even at the deepest levels of heart and mind, he truly wanted to die. he kept her around to feed the creature. the last twelve months was spent disemboweling sentiment and mauling sympathy, but the little man was still alive; panting, shrinking, suckling every condolence or affirmation—however insignificant—offered by the girl.)

he walked across the room with the tray on his palm, then opened the door and set it on the hallway carpet. mom would get it later.

back at his bed, he prodded jules in the side with his finger. “get up,” he said. “it’s time for you to go.”

she replied without a stir, “if you want me to leave, you’ll have to kill me too.”

*  *  *

sarah would get the candy. gabe would get the bread.

jules couldn’t switch off OBNOXIOUS for thirty seconds. “michigan has the worst economy out of all fifty states,” she said. “but the grand harbor bread company is hiring?” she pointed to the help-wanted sign in the window.

the chimes jangled violently, signaling a whale behind the counter. “what a cute couple!” she said, her tomatoey jowls wobbling with every word. “our apple-cinnamon bread just came out of the oven. would ya’ll like a sample?”

before gabe could order, jules piped up. “the sign says you’re hiring?”

“yes, ma’am, we certainly are!”

gabe ignored the peripheral conversation. “i’ll have a loaf of blueberry bread.”

“it’s a great place to work,” said the whale (ignoring his simple fucking request.) “friendly atmosphere, flexible hours... and it always smells like home!”

jules rolled her eyes. “serving bread isn’t exactly his thing. gabe’s an artist. a GOOD artist. you should see his work.”

“an artist?” said the whale as she turned to gabe. “can you draw and paint?”

“i’d really just like a loaf of blueberry,” he said again.

“what a miracle! i’ve been trying to design a new brochure for months, but i don’t have the time or talent to do it right. and this place needs a new logo; something we can stamp on the bags. also, our window paintings are a little dreary, don’t you think? i’m usually the one who gets to stencil the bread and butter and nativity at christmas time, but i would ADORE professional input from a real artist! i’d pay more, too.”

“nice!” jules said, nudging him in the side. “you could totally do that. think it’s something you’d be interested in?”

“i’m interested in blueberry bread.”

the whale looked at jules, then back at him. “i’m sorry, hon,” she said softly. “we’re out of blueberry.”

gabe pounded his fist on the glass counter. “you always have it on—”

“i can put it on the menu for tomorrow. just for you. if you come back...”

gabe spun around, blew past jules, and barreled through the door with another rattle of those fucking chimes.