The Wilde Expedition

14. photographic memory

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

〮CHAPTER FOURTEEN 〮

When I entered the lighthouse again, my mug was empty, and I stumbled upon Gavin clambering down a set of narrow steps with a massive box in his arms. Blake stood on in the living room, supervising Gavin as he set the box on the ground and let out a deep breath of exhausted air.

"No shoes! Boots off, Miss Emma!" Blake ordered.

"Yeah, boots off!" Gavin echoed, shaking a jesting finger in my direction. I rolled my eyes and set the mug down on a dresser before returning to the foyer where I unlaced my boots and set them under the bench. I came back to find the box cut open, and something I recognized all too well sitting inside.

"Whoa," I breathed out, stepping over to survey the contents closer.

"I know, right? I have a problem," Gavin said, brushing his fingertips over the foam peanuts concealing the unlimited number of boxes of Indian tea.

Tea. We stopped in Crescent City for tea.

"You're a weird guy, you know that?" I told him. He gave a casual shrug before curling his legs into pretzel formation and removing box after box after box.

Blake walked off and returned with a set of brown packaging paper and twine. Together, we all wrapped up the thin boxes with the paper, and cross-tied the string into bows on top. When I saw Gavin wrap the bow up, it made me think of the time he used the rope in his van to tie the handle of the semi hatch.

Unbelievable. Un. Be. Lievable.

I probably shouldn't have been criticizing Gavin for all his Wilde quirks. Mom was a pretty big tea fan herself, so I got to drinking tea a lot at home.

While we packaged up the tea boxes, Gavin started explaining to me how he came in contact with this Blake fellow who sat himself in the rocking chair, using his arthritic fingers to strap bows onto the boxes. "Blake here is a veteran from Vietnam."

"Damn straight," Blake grumbled from the corner.

"Before he left, though, he had a sweetie out in Wisconsin, and when he came back, she up and left with no note, no directions, nothing. So, naturally, he went in search of her and wound up here before he ran out of cash and had to pick up a job. Ya see, he got hooked up in this historical society around here, 'cause he's something of a history buff, and volunteered to help keep up with this lighthouse. So in the winter months, he lives here.

"But on all the other occasions, he works for a manufacturing company that sells Indian-styled tea. When I met Blake, I was on a tour of this lighthouse and we got to talking and now we're pen pals. Ain't that right, Blake?"

"Damn straight."

"You volunteer here? And you just live here and take care of the lighthouse?" I asked. Blake raised his eyes from his work to look at me.

"It's what 'caretaker' entails, don't it?"

My cheeks colored and I bowed my head, refusing to answer him.

A short while later, we finished packaging the tea and placing them back into the box. I could tell Blake wanted us to stay longer, because he kept sharing stories with Gavin when he picked up the box with the intent of leaving it at that. In the end, Blake convinced Gavin to help clean the mugs out in the kitchen, so I had every intent of helping him. When I got up to follow, though, Blake stopped me and said he had something to give to me.

An encouraging look from Gavin led me to following the elderly man into the next room over—a sitting room. It was filled with pictures and display plaques, historical books, and memorial bits from past caretakers. Blake reached into a closet on the far side of the room while I stood off to the side, closest to the door because I felt like I was intruding, standing anywhere in the lighthouse, actually. Everything seemed so fragile and antique.