Lock and Key (34 page)

“Hey,” I said. “That was just one day.”

“I know, I’m just kidding,” she said, waving me off with her hand. “But neither of us exactly fit the mold there.”

“Right.”

She sat back, brushing her braids away from her face. “My point is, there are a lot of people in the world. No one ever sees everything the same way you do; it just doesn’t happen. So when you find one person who gets a couple of things, especially if they’re important ones . . . you might as well hold on to them. You know?”

I looked down at the stopwatch sitting on the curb between us. “Nicely put,” I said. “And all in less than two minutes.”

“Conciseness is underrated,” she said easily. Then she looked over my shoulder, suddenly raising her hand to wave to someone behind me. When I turned, I was surprised to see Gervais, in his peacoat standing in front of the box office. Seeing me, his face flushed, and he hurriedly grabbed his ticket from under the glass and darted inside.

“You know Gervais?” I asked her.

“Who, extra salt, double-lic whip? Sure. He’s a regular.” I just looked at her. “That’s his concession order,” she explained. “Large popcorn, no butter, extra salt, and two packs of licorice whips. He hits at least one movie a week. The boy likes film. How do you know him?”

“We ride to school together,” I said. So Gervais had a life outside of carpool. It wasn’t like it should have been surprising, but for some reason, it was.

Just then, I heard a buzzing: her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket, looked at the screen, then sighed. Laney. “I’d say I told you so,” she said. “But it’s not like I get any satisfaction from this.”

I watched as she flipped it open, hitting the TALK button and saying she’d be there in a minute. Then she picked up her book and got to her feet, brushing herself off. “Still,” I said, “you have to get something, though.”

“From what? ”

“From this.” I gestured around me. “I mean, you are out here timing her. So you can’t be totally opposed to what she’s doing.”

“No, I am.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket, shoving the book under her arm. “But I’m also a sucker. Clearly.”

“You are not,” I said.

“Well, then, I don’t know the reason,” she said. “Other than she’s my cousin, and she asked, so I’m here. I try not to go deeper than that. I’ll see you around, okay?”

I nodded, and then she was walking away, across the lot to her car. Watching her, I kept thinking of what she’d said earlier about having things in common, and then of Nate and me in his garage on Thanksgiving, when I’d told him about my mom and our history. Clearly, sharing something could take you a long way, or at least to a different place than you’d planned. Like a friendship or a family, or even just alone on a curb on a Saturday, trying to get your bearings as best you can.

It wasn’t just me that was feeling out of sorts. Even the weather was weird.

“You have to admit,” Harriet said, shaking her head as we stepped out into the employee parking lot later that night, “this is very strange. When has it ever been seventy-seven degrees a week before Christmas?”

“It’s global warming,” Reggie told her. “The ice caps are melting.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the apocalypse,” she said.

He sighed. “Of course you were.”

“Seriously, though, who wants to Christmas-shop when it feels like summer? ” she asked as we started across the lot. “This
cannot
be good for sales.”

“Do you ever think about anything but business?” Reggie said.

“The apocalypse,” she told him. “And occasionally coffee.”

“You know,” he said, “I’m aware that you’re kidding, but that’s still really—”

“Good night,” I called out as I peeled off toward the greenway. They both waved, still bickering. This, however, was not strange in the least; it was the way I always left them.

Often, Harriet gave me a ride home, as she hated me taking the greenway in the dark, but as the weather had grown oddly warm I’d been insisting on walking instead, just to make the most of the unseasonable weather while it lasted. On my way back to Cora’s, I passed several bicyclists, two runners, and a pack of kids on scooters, all with the same idea. Weirdest of all, though, was what I saw at home when I walked in the front door: Jamie, at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his bathing suit and swim fins, a towel thrown over his shoulder. It might not have been a sign of the apocalypse, but it seemed pretty close.

At first, it was clear that I’d surprised him: he jumped, flustered, before quickly recovering and striking a casual pose. “Hey,” he said, like he hung out in swimgear in the foyer every day. “How was work?”

“What are you—?” I began, then stopped as Cora appeared at the top of the stairs, a pair of shorts pulled over her own suit.

“Oh,” she said, stopping suddenly, her face flushing. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said slowly. “What’s going on?”

They exchanged a guilty look. Then Cora sighed and said, “We’re going pool jumping.”

“You’re what?”

“It’s seventy-five degrees! In December!” Jamie said. “We have to. We can’t help ourselves.”

I looked up at my sister again. “It is pretty nice out,” she said.

“But the neighborhood pool doesn’t even have water in it,” I said.

“That’s why we’re going to Blake’s,” Jamie told me. “You want to come?”

“You’re sneaking into Nate’s pool?”

Cora bit her lip as Jamie said, “Well, technically, it’s not really sneaking. I mean, we’re neighbors. And it’s right there, heated, with nobody using it.”

“Do you have permission?” I asked.

He looked up at Cora, who squirmed on the step. “No,” she said. “But I saw Blake earlier and he said he and Nate were taking off for an overnight business thing. So . . .”

“. . . you’re just going to jump their fence and their pool,” I finished for her.

Silence. Then Jamie said, “It’s seventy-five degrees! In December! Do you know what this means?”

“The apocalypse?” I asked.

“What?” he said. “No. God. Why would you—“

“She’s right, you know,” Cora said, coming down the stairs. “We’re not exactly setting a good example.”

“It was your idea,” Jamie pointed out. Cora flushed again. “Your sister,” he said to me, “is a serious pool jumper. In college, she was always the first to go over the fence.”

“Really,” I said, turning to look at her.

“Well,” she replied, as if about to justify this. Then she just said, “You know, it’s seventy-five degrees. In December.”

Jamie grabbed her hand, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said, then pointed at me. “You coming?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I told him.

“In my closet, bottom right-hand drawer,” Cora said. “Help yourself.”

I just shook my head, incredulous, as they started through the kitchen. Cora was laughing, Jamie’s flippers slapping the floor, and then they were outside, the door swinging shut behind them.

I wasn’t going to go and certainly didn’t plan to swim. But after sitting on my bed in the quiet for a few moments, I did go find a suit of Cora’s, pull on some sweatpants over it, and head downstairs, crossing the yard to where I could hear splashing just beyond the fence.

“There she is,” Jamie said as I slipped through. He was in the shallow end, next to Roscoe, who was on the deck, barking excitedly, while Cora was underwater, swimming down deep, her hair streaming out behind her. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m coming in,” I said, walking over and sitting down on the edge, my knees pulled to my chest. “I’ll just watch.”

“Ah, that’s no fun,” he said. Then, with Roscoe still barking, he dove under, disappearing. As he swam the length of the pool, the dog ran alongside, following him.

I looked over at Cora, who was now bobbing in the deep end, brushing her hair back from her face. “You know,” I said, “I never would have figured you for a lawbreaker.”

She made a face at me. “It’s not exactly a felony. And besides, Blake owes us.”

“Really? Why?” I asked, but she didn’t hear me, or chose not to answer, instead diving under again to join Jamie, who was circling along the bottom.

As they emerged a moment later, laughing and splashing each other, I kicked off my shoes, then rolled up my sweatpants and dunked my feet in the water. It was warm, even more so than the air, and I leaned back on my palms, turning my face up to the sky. I hadn’t been swimming since the last time we’d lived in a complex with a pool, around ninth grade. In the summer, I would spend hours there, staying in until my mom had to come get me when dark was falling.

Jamie and Cora stayed in for about a half hour, dunking each other and playing Marco Polo. By the time they climbed out, it was past ten, and even Roscoe—who’d been barking nonstop—was exhausted. “See,” Jamie said as they toweled off, “one dip, no harm done.”

“It is nice,” I agreed, moving my feet through the water.

“You coming back with us?” Cora asked as they walked behind me, heading for the fence.

“In a minute. I think I’ll hang out a little while longer.”

“Might as well make the most of it,” Jamie said as Roscoe trotted behind him. “After all, it won’t be like this forever.”

Then they were gone, through the fence, where I could hear their voices fading as they crossed the yard. I waited until it had been quiet for a few minutes before slipping off my sweatpants. Then, with one last quick look around me to make sure I was alone, I jumped in.

It was startling, at first, being back in a pool after so long not swimming. Just as quickly, though, all the instinct came back, and before I knew it I was moving steadily to the other side, the water filling my ears. I don’t know how many laps I’d done, back and forth, only that I had hit such a rhythm that at first, I didn’t even notice when a light clicked on in the house. By the time the second one came on, it was too late.

I froze, sinking down below the pool’s edge, as a figure moved through the now-bright living room. After it crossed back once, then again, I heard a door slide open.
Shit
, I thought, then panicked, taking a deep breath and submerging myself.

Which, as it turned out, was not the smartest move, as became apparent when I looked up through the shifting blue water above to see Nate staring down at me. By that time, my lungs were about to explode, so I had no choice but to show myself.

“Well, well,” he said as I sputtered to the surface. “What’s this all about?”

I swam to the edge, just to do something, then ran a hand over my face. “Um,” I said. “Actually—”

“Cora and Jamie were pool jumping, huh?” he said. I just looked at him, confused, until he pulled one flipper, then another, from behind his back. “They’re not exactly slick about it,” he said, dropping them on the deck beside his feet. “These were right there on that chair. Last time they left a swimming noodle.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess we’re busted.”

“No big deal.” He crouched down by me, dipping his hand in the water. “It’s good someone’s getting some use out of this thing. My dad’s always complaining about how much it costs to heat it.”

“You don’t swim at all anymore?”

“Not really,” he said.

“You must miss it, though.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. It was a good escape. Until, you know, it wasn’t.”

I thought of what he’d said, about his dad getting banned but still yelling from the fence. “You should come in,” I said. “It’s really warm.”

“Nah, I’m okay.” He sat on a nearby chair. “You go ahead, though.”

I bobbed there for a second, neither of us talking. Finally I said, “So I thought you were out of town on a business thing.”

“Change of plans,” he said. “It was decided I should come home early.”

“Decided,” I repeated.

He looked up, then gave me a tired smile. “It’s been a long day, let’s just say that.”

I’ll bet,
I thought. Out loud, I said, “All the more reason to take a dip. I mean, it’s December. Seventy-five degrees. You know you want to.”

I honestly didn’t think he’d agree with this; I was just talking. But then he nodded slowly, and pushed himself to his feet. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

As he disappeared inside, it occurred to me that maybe this was not the smartest idea. After all, I was trying to keep my distance and now, with this invitation, had narrowed the space we were in considerably. Before I could figure out how to change this, though—or even if I wanted to—he was coming back outside, now in trunks, and walking across the patio. Needless to say, this was distracting. That first night, I hadn’t really seen him shirtless, and now I could focus on little else. All the more reason, I realized, to backtrack, but before I could he was stretching his arms overhead and diving in, hitting the water with barely a splash and disappearing below.

You swim,
I thought, having a flash of that sweatshirt as he came to the surface, then closer toward me with a breast-stroke that looked effortless. When he emerged, shaking his head and sending droplets flying, I said, “Nice form.”

“Thanks,” he said, bobbing in front of me. “Years of training.”

Suddenly, I was so aware of how close we were to each other, with only the water between us. I looked down: beneath the surface my skin looked so pale, almost blue, my necklace lying across it. When I glanced up again, he was looking at it, too, and after meeting my gaze for a second he reached over, catching it in one hand to lie flat on his palm.

“How many of those key necklaces do you think Harriet has sold since Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “A lot.”

“I saw a girl at Jump Java today wearing one. It was so weird.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Harriet you said that,” I said. “She’ll be overjoyed.”

“I don’t mean it like that.” He turned his palm, letting the key fall loose, and it slowly floated back down to rest against me again. “It’s just that I associate them with you, and this one. You know? It was the first thing I noticed about you that night we met.”