A Spirited Gift

“Do you have any idea who this belongs to?” she asked, swinging her long blond hair out of the way as she handed out Duck brochures to the people attending the conference.

I told her about finding the key ring outside. “I guess someone will need it before they can go home. We’ll see.”

I kept glancing back at the key ring until she put it away. Sometimes, I feel emotions for the things I find—it can be hard to set them aside. I had to focus on something else, like changing clothes before too many people saw me this way.

It was warm and dry inside, with a pleasant fire in the old hearth. I avoided people I recognized who were drinking coffee and talking quietly. The old iron-lace elevator was moving slowly up and down, taking guests from the lobby all the way up to the recently completed third floor.

I’d helped in a lot of the renovation—even helped coat the outside of the old hotel in its original blue color. Most of the work was Kevin’s, though. He’d done a great job restoring the 1930s atmosphere and charm while modernizing everything for his guests.

I was prejudiced, of course, since Kevin and I had been dating for several months. Sometimes it seemed as though he’d lived in Duck forever even though he’d been here less than a year. He’d blended in as a Banker, joined the chamber of commerce and the volunteer fire department.

But he was more than a responsible Duck resident, or even a boyfriend, to me. He understood my gift in ways even my grandfather didn’t. He never seemed to be surprised by anything that happened. Pirate curses and ghost stories left him unphased. He might not have been born in Duck, but he belonged here.

I popped my head in the kitchen. Kevin had four other cooks working with him. They all wore white jackets with cute little chef’s hats—except for Kevin, who wore an apron over his tuxedo. I watched him as he directed, tasted, and got everything ready for the reception. He was like a conductor with a kitchen full of gastric musicians.

“Dae?” He looked upset and unhappy when he saw me. “What happened?”

“Bad storm outside. I suppose you couldn’t hear it.” If I’d forgotten how awful I looked, his face reminded me.

“But you’re speaking at the reception.”

“True. Not to worry. Nancy always prepares for the worst. She brought my outfit over earlier. I’ll be polished and ready to go when it’s time.”

He took my arm and we moved away from the frantic energy of the meal preparation. “How did it go with Shayla?”

“Nothing new happened.” I shrugged. “At least not message-wise anyway. There were these strange balls of light that floated around the room and disappeared.”

“That’s different. What did Shayla say?”

“That we should keep trying.” I rubbed a spot on my head that was beginning to throb. “I don’t think I have the heart for it anymore, Kevin. I don’t know.”

He managed to kiss me exactly on the spot that was beginning to ache. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you. Somebody set October 15 as the day for the conference and then nominated the Blue Whale to hold it.”

I smiled, since that somebody was me. “That’s true. Believe me, I would’ve done it another day if I could have. Has it been terrible?”

“I’m not complaining. The money will look nice on my balance sheet.”

“Then I’m glad I could help. Anything else I can do?”

“What you need to do is change clothes.” He pushed me toward the kitchen door. “You don’t want people to see the Honorable Mayor of Duck looking like she rode over in the rain in her golf cart. Then get out there and network. That’s why you did this, right?”

He was right, I thought, heading up the stairs instead of trying the elevator. I don’t know why, but looking at it always made me queasy.

The conference was my baby. Twenty mayors, two days talking about our problems and strengths, getting together to make important things happen. I was ready for it—despite the strangeness of the day. I wished it wouldn’t have been this particular day in October, but that’s the way it had worked out.

I took a long hot shower and pushed the séance and the storm from my mind. I was the first elected mayor of Duck, North Carolina. That meant something to me because this was my home. I wanted to leave my mark here—to have people remember me as more than just a picture on the wall in town hall.

I wanted sidewalks to make walking safer going up and down Duck Road. I wanted community watchdog groups that would help fight bad development, the reason Duck incorporated in the first place. I wanted this to be a good, safe place to live during the summer when we were swamped with fifty thousand tourists and in the winter when there were less than six hundred of us.

As I gazed at myself in the lovely antique mirror, I thought I looked like that mayor in my black floor-length gown, my short hair swept back from my face. I added a touch of makeup and lipstick to enhance my after-summer tan. I was ready to go.