John Locke: Now and then

"Uh huh. So you're what, hoping another miracle will occur, and this time Beth's B amp;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.

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 amp;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.