Lock and Key (16 page)

When I got back to Cora’s house later that evening, the driveway was packed with cars and the front door was open, bright light spilling out onto the steps and down the walk. As I came closer, I could see people milling around in the kitchen, and there was music coming from the backyard.

I waited until the coast was clear before entering the foyer, easing the door shut behind me. Then, bags in hand, I quickly climbed the stairs, stopping only when I was at the top to look down on the scene below. The kitchen was full of people gathered around the island and table, the French doors thrown open as others milled back and forth from the backyard. There was food laid out on the counters, something that smelled great—my stomach grumbled, reminding me I’d skipped lunch—and several coolers filled with ice and drinks were lined up on the patio. Clearly, this wasn’t an impromptu event, something decided at the last minute. Then again, me being here hadn’t exactly been a part of Cora and Jamie’s plan, either.

Just as I thought this, I heard voices from my right. Looking over, I saw Cora’s bedroom door was open. Inside, two women, their backs to me, were gathered around the entrance to her bathroom. One was petite and blonde, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail. The other was taller, in a black dress and boots, a glass of red wine in one hand.

“. . . okay, you know?” the blonde was saying. “You know the minute you stop thinking about it, it’ll happen.”

“Denise,” the brunette said. She shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. “That’s not helpful. You’re making it sound like it’s her fault or something.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Denise said. “All I’m saying is that you have plenty of time. I mean, it seems like just yesterday when we were all so
relieved
to get our periods when we were late. Remember?”

The brunette shot her a look. “The point is,” she said, turning back to whoever they were speaking to, “that you’re doing everything right: charting your cycle, taking your temperature, all that. So it’s really frustrating when it doesn’t happen when you want it to. But you’ve only just started this whole process, and there are a lot of ways to get pregnant these days. You know?”

I was moving away from the door, having realized this conversation was more than private, even before both women stepped back and I saw my sister walk out of her bathroom, nodding and wiping her eyes. Before she could see me, I flattened myself against the wall by the stairs, holding my breath as I tried to process this information. Cora wanted a
baby
? Clearly, her job and marital status weren’t the only things that had changed in the years we’d been apart.

I could hear them still talking, their voices growing louder as they came toward the door. Just before they got to me, I pushed myself back up on the landing, as if I was just coming up the stairs, almost colliding with the blonde in the process.

“Oh!” She gasped, her hand flying up to her chest. “You scared me . . . I didn’t see you there.”

I glanced past them at Cora, who was watching me with a guarded expression, as if wondering what, if anything, I’d heard. Closer up, I could see her eyes were red-rimmed, despite the makeup she’d clearly just reapplied in an effort to make it seem otherwise. “This is Ruby,” she said. “My sister. Ruby, this is Denise and Charlotte.”

“Hi,” I said. They were both studying me intently, and I wondered how much of our story they’d actually been told.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Denise said, breaking into a big smile. “I can see the family resemblance, I have to say!”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Excuse Denise,” she said to me. “She feels like she always has to say something, even when it’s completely inane.”

“How is that inane?” Denise asked.

“Because they don’t look a thing alike?” Charlotte replied.

Denise looked at me again. “Maybe not hair color,” she said. “Or complexion. But in the face, around the eyes . . . you can’t see that?”

“No,” Charlotte told her, taking another sip of her wine. After swallowing, she added, “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Cora said, steering them both out of the doorway and down the stairs. “Now go eat, you guys. Jamie bought enough barbecue to feed an army, and it’s getting cold.”

“You coming?” Charlotte asked her as Denise started down to the foyer, her ponytail bobbing with each step.

“In a minute.”

Cora and I both stood there, watching them as they made their way downstairs, already bickering about something else as they disappeared into the kitchen. “They were my suitemates in college,” she said to me. “The first week I thought they hated each other. Turned out it was the opposite. They’ve been best friends since they were five.”

“Really,” I said, peering down into the kitchen, where I could now see Charlotte and Denise working their way through the crowd, saying hello as they went.

“You know what they say. Opposites attract.”

I nodded, and for a moment we both just looked down at the party. I could see Jamie now, out in the backyard, standing by a stretch of darkness that I assumed was the pond.

“So,” Cora said suddenly, “how was the mall?”

“Good,” I said. Then, as it was clear she was waiting for more detail, I added, “I got some good stuff. And a job, actually.”

“A job?”

I nodded. “At this jewelry place.”

“Ruby, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the rail behind her. “I think you should just be focusing on school for the time being.”

“It’s only fifteen hours a week, if that,” I told her. “And I’m used to working.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “But Perkins Day is more rigorous, academically, than you’re used to. I saw your transcripts. If you want to go to college, you really need to make your grades and your applications the number one priority.”

College?
I thought. “I can do both,” I said.

“You don’t have to, though. That’s just the point.” She shook her head. “When I was in high school, I was working thirty-hour weeks—I had no choice. You do.”

“This isn’t thirty hours,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes at me, making it clear I just wasn’t getting what she was saying. “Ruby, we want to do this for you, okay? You don’t have to make things harder than they have to be just to prove a point.”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that I’d never asked her to worry about my future, or make it her problem. That I was practically eighteen, as well as being completely capable of making my own decisions about what I could and could not handle. And that being in my life for less than a week didn’t make her my mother or guardian, regardless of what it said on any piece of paper.

But just as I drew in a breath to say all this, I looked again at her red eyes and stopped myself. It had been a long day for both of us, and going further into this would only make it longer.

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll talk about it. Later, though. All right? ”

Cora looked surprised. She clearly had not been expecting me to agree, even with provisions. “Fine,” she said. She swallowed, then glanced back down at the party. “So, there’s food downstairs, if you haven’t eaten. Sorry I didn’t mention the party before—everything’s been kind of crazy.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

She looked at me for another moment. “Right,” she said slowly, finally. “Well, I should get back downstairs. Just . . . come down whenever.”

I nodded, and then she stepped past me and started down the stairs. Halfway down, she looked back up at me, and I knew she was still wondering what exactly had precipitated this sudden acquiescence. I couldn’t tell her, of course, what I’d overheard. It wasn’t my business, then or now. But as I started to my room, I kept thinking about what Denise had said, and the resemblance she claimed to be able to see. Maybe my sister and I shared more than we thought. We were both waiting and wishing for something we couldn’t completely control: I wanted to be alone, and she the total opposite. It was weird, really, to have something so contrary in common. But at least it was something.

“. . . all I can say is, acupuncture works. What? No, it doesn’t hurt. At all.”

“. . . so that was it. I decided that night, no more blind dates. I don’t care if he
is
a doctor.”

“. . . only thirty thousand miles and the original warranty. I mean, it’s such a steal!”

I’d been walking through the party for a little more than twenty minutes, nodding at people who nodded at me and picking at my second plate of barbecue, coleslaw, and potato salad. Even though Jamie and Cora’s friends seemed nice enough, I was more than happy not to have to talk to anyone, until I heard one voice that cut through all the others.

“Roscoe!”

Jamie was standing at the back of the yard, past the far end of the pond, peering into the dark. As I walked over to him, I got my first up-close look at the pond, which I was surprised to see was already filled with water, a hose dangling in from one side. In the dark it seemed even bigger, and I couldn’t tell how deep it was: it looked like it went down forever.

“What’s going on?” I asked when I reached him.

“Roscoe’s vanished,” he said. “He tends to do this. He’s not fond of crowds. It’s not at the level of the smoke detector, but it’s still a problem.”

I looked into the dark, then slowly turned back to the pond. “He can swim, right?”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“I’m sure he’s not in there,” I told him, feeling bad for even suggesting it as he walked to the pond’s edge, peering down into it, a worried look on his face. “In fact—”

Then we both heard it: a distinct yap, high-pitched and definitely not obscured by water. It was coming from the fence. “Thank God,” Jamie said, turning back in that direction. “Roscoe! Here, boy!”

There was another series of barks, but no Roscoe. “Looks like he might have to be brought in by force,” Jamie said with a sigh. “Let me just—”

“I’ll get him,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go back to the party.”

He smiled at me. “All right. Thanks.”

I nodded, then put my plate down by a nearby tree as he walked away. Behind me, the party was still going strong, but the voices and music diminished as I walked to the end of the yard, toward the little clump of trees that ran alongside the fence. Not even a week earlier, I’d been running across this same expanse, my thoughts only of getting away. Now, here I was, working to bring back the one thing that had stopped me. Stupid dog.

“Roscoe,” I called out as I ducked under the first tree, leaves brushing across my head. “Roscoe!”

No reply. I stopped where I was, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, then turned back to look at the house. The pond, stretching in between, looked even more vast from here, the lights from the patio shimmering slightly in its surface. Nearer now, I heard another bark. This time it sounded more like a yelp, actually.

“Roscoe,” I said, hoping he’d reply again, Marco Polo- style. When he didn’t, I took a few more steps toward the fence, repeating his name. It wasn’t until I reached it that I heard some frantic scratching from the other side. “Roscoe? ”

When I heard him yap repeatedly, I quickened my pace, moving down to where I thought the gate was, running my hand down the fence. Finally, I felt a hinge, and a couple of feet later, a gap. Very small, almost tiny. But still big enough for a little dog, if he tried hard enough, to wriggle through.

When I crouched down, the first thing I saw was Mr. Cross, standing with his hands on his hips by the pool. “All right,” he said, looking around him. “I know you’re here, I saw what you did to the garbage. Get out and show yourself. ”

Uh-oh,
I thought. Sure enough, I spotted Roscoe cowering behind a potted plant. Mr. Cross clearly hadn’t yet seen him, though, as he turned, scanning the yard again. “You have to come out sometime,” he said, bending down and looking under a nearby chaise lounge. “And when you do, you’ll be sorry.”

As if in response, Roscoe yelped, and Mr. Cross spun, spotting him instantly. “Hey,” he said. “Get over here!”

Roscoe, though, was not as stupid as I thought. Rather than obeying this order, he took off like a shot, right toward the fence and me. Mr. Cross scrambled to grab him as he passed, missing once, then getting him by one back leg and slowly pulling him back.

“Not so fast,” he said, his voice low, as Roscoe struggled to free himself, his tags clanking loudly. Mr. Cross yanked him closer, his hand closing tightly over the dog’s narrow neck. “You and I, we have some—”

“Roscoe!”

I yelled so loudly, I surprised myself. But not as much as Mr. Cross, who immediately released the dog, then stood up and took a step back. Our eyes met as Roscoe darted toward me, wriggling through the fence and between my legs, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.

“Hi there,” he called out, his voice all friendly-neighbor-like, now. “Sounds like quite a party over there.”

I didn’t say anything, just stepped back from the fence, putting more space between us.

“He gets into our garbage,” he called out, shrugging in a what-can-you-do? kind of way. “Jamie and I have discussed it. It’s a problem.”

I knew I should respond in some way; I was just standing there like a zombie. But all I could see in my mind was his hand over Roscoe’s neck, those fingers stretching.

“Just tell Jamie and Cora to try to keep him on that side, all right?” Mr. Cross said. Then he flashed me that same white-toothed smile. “Good fences make good neighbors, and all that.”

Now I did nod, then stepped back, pulling the gate shut. The last glimpse I had of Mr. Cross was of him standing by the pool, hands in his pockets, smiling at me, his face rippled with the lights from beneath the water.

I turned to walk back to our yard, trying to process what I’d just seen and why exactly it had creeped me out so much. I still wasn’t sure, even as I came up on Roscoe, who was sniffing along the edge of the pond. But I scooped him up under my arm and carried him the rest of the way, anyway.