Lock and Key

  I just looked at her, not exactly sure what to say, especially considering she was still kind of wheezing. Now that I was seeing her up close, I figured she was in her mid-thirties, maybe a little older, although her freckles, hair, and outfit—low-slung jeans, suede clogs, and Namaste T-SHIRT—MADE it hard to pinpoint exactly.

  “Wait,” she said, putting her coffee on the register and pointing at me, a bunch of bangles sliding down her hand. “Do I know you? Have you bought stuff here before?”

  I shook my head. “I was with Nate the other day,” I said. “When he came to pick up those things from you.”

  She snapped her fingers, the bangles clanging again. “Right. With the beeping. God! I’m still recovering from that.”

  I smiled, then looked down at the display again. “Do you make all this yourself?”

  “Yep, I’m a one-woman operation. To my detriment, at times.” She hopped up on a stool by the register, picking up her coffee again. “I just made those ones with the red stones, on the second row. People think redheads can’t wear red, but they’re wrong. One of the first fallacies of my life. And I believed it for years. Sad, right?”

  I glanced over at her, wondering if she’d been able to tell from a distance that this, in fact, was the one I’d been looking at. I nodded, peering down at it again.

  “I love your necklace,” she said suddenly. When I glanced over to see her leaning forward slightly, studying it, instinctively my hand rose to touch it.

  “It’s just a key,” I said.

  “Maybe.” She took another sip of her coffee. “But it’s the contrast that’s interesting. Hard copper key, paired with such a delicate chain. You’d think it would be awkward or bulky. But it’s not. It works.”

  I looked down at my necklace, remembering the day that—fed up with always losing my house key in a pocket or my backpack—I’d gone looking for a chain thin enough to thread through the top hole but still strong enough to hold it. At the time, I hadn’t been thinking about anything but managing to keep it close to me, although now, looking in one of the mirrors opposite, I could see what she was talking about. It was kind of pretty and unusual, after all.

  “Excuse me,” a guy with a beard and sandals standing behind a nearby vitamin kiosk called out to her. “But is that a coffee you’re drinking?”

  Harriet widened her eyes at me. “No,” she called out over her shoulder cheerily. “It’s herbal tea.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She sighed. “Fine, fine. It’s coffee. But organic free-trade coffee.”

  “The bet,” he said, “was to give up all caffeine. You owe me ten bucks.”

  “Fine. Add it to my tab,” she replied. To me she added, “God, I always lose. You’d think I’d learn to stop betting.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to this, so I looked over the necklaces for another moment before saying, “So . . . are you still hiring?”

  “No,” she replied. “Sorry.”

  I glanced at the sign. “But—”

  “Okay, maybe I am,” she said. Behind her, the vitamin guy coughed loudly. She looked at him, then said reluctantly, “Yes. I’m hiring.”

  “All right,” I said slowly.

  “But the thing is,” she said, picking up a nearby feather duster and busily running it across a display of bracelets, “I hardly have any hours to offer. And what I can give you is erratic, because you’d have to work around my schedule, which varies wildly. Some times I might need you a lot, others hardly at all.”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  She put the duster down, narrowing her eyes at me. “This is boring work,” she warned me. “Lots of sitting in one place while everyone passes you by. It’s like solitary confinement. ”

  “It is not,” Vitamin Guy said. “For God’s sake.”

  “I can handle it,” I told her as she shot him a look.

  “It’s like I said, I’m a one-woman operation,” she added. “I just put up that sign. . . . I don’t know why I put it up. I mean, I’m doing okay on my own.”

  There was pointed cough from the vitamin kiosk. She turned, looking at the guy there. “Do you need some water or something?”

  “Nope,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

  For a moment they just stared at each other, with me between them. Clearly, something was going on here, and my life was complicated enough. “You know, forget it,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

  I stepped back from the kiosk, hoisting my bags farther up my wrist. Just as I began to walk away, though, I heard another cough, followed by the loudest sigh yet.

  “You have retail experience?” she called out.

  I turned back. “Counter work,” I said. “And I’ve cashiered.”

  “What was your last job?”

  “I delivered lost luggage for the airlines.”

  She’d been about to fire off another question, but hearing this, she stopped, eyes widening. “Really.”

  I nodded, and she looked at me for a moment longer, during which time I wondered if I actually wanted to work for someone who seemed so reluctant to hire me. Before I could begin to consider this, though, she said, “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t delegate well. So this might not work out.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Still, I could feel her wavering. Like something balanced on the edge, that could go either way.

  “Jesus,” Vitamin Guy said finally. “Will you tell the girl yes already?”

  “Fine,” she said, throwing up her hands like she’d lost another bet, a big one. “We’ll give it a try. But only a try.”

  “Sounds good,” I told her. Vitamin Guy smiled at me.

  She still looked wary, though, as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Harriet.”

  “Ruby,” I said. And with that, I was hired.

  Harriet was not lying. She was a total control freak, something that became more than clear over the next two hours, as she walked me through an in-depth orientation, followed by an intricate register tutorial. Only after I’d endured both of these things—as well as a pop quiz on what I’d learned— and had her shadow me while I waited on four separate customers did she finally decide to leave me alone while she went for another coffee.

  “I’ll just be right here,” she said, pointing to the Jump Java outpost, which was less than five hundred feet away. “If you scream, I’ll hear you.”

  “I won’t scream,” I assured her.

  She hardly looked convinced, however, as she walked away, checking back on me twice before I stopped counting.

  Once she was gone, I tried to both relax and remember everything I’d just been taught. I was busy dusting the displays when the vitamin guy walked over.

  “So,” he said. “Ready to quit yet?”

  “She is a little intense,” I agreed. “How do her other employees deal with it?”

  “They don’t,” he said. “I mean, she doesn’t have any others. Or she hasn’t. You’re the first.”

  This, I had to admit, explained a lot. “Really.”

  He nodded, solemn. “She’s needed help forever, so this is a big step for her. Huge, in fact,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of small pill packs. “I’m Reggie, by the way. Want some free B-complexes?”

  I eyed them, then shook my head. “Ruby. And um, no thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “Yo, Nate! How those shark-cartilage supplements treating you? Changed your life yet?”

  I turned around. Sure enough, there was Nate, walking toward us, carrying a box in his hands. “Not yet,” he said, shifting to slapping hands with Reggie. “But I only just started them.”

  “You got to keep them up, man,” Reggie said. “Every day, twice a day. Those aches and pains will be gone. It’s miraculous.”

  Nate nodded, then looked at me. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  “She works for Harriet,” Re
ggie said, nudging him.

  “No way,” Nate said, incredulous. “Harriet actually hired someone?”

  “Why is that so surprising?” I said. “She had a HELP WANTED sign up.”

  “For the last six months,” Nate said, putting his box down on the stool behind me.

  “And tons of people have applied,” Reggie added. “Of course she had a reason for rejecting every one of them. Too perky, bad haircut, possible allergies to the incense . . .”

  “She hired you, though,” I said to Nate. “Right?”

  “Only under duress,” he replied, pulling some papers out of the box.

  “Which is why,” Reggie said, popping a B-complex, “it’s so huge that she agreed to take you on.”

  “No kidding,” Nate said. “It is pretty astounding. Maybe it’s a redhead thing?”

  “Like does speak to like,” Reggie agreed. “Or perhaps our Harriet has finally realized how close she is to a stress-related breakdown. I mean, have you seen how much coffee she’s been drinking?”

  “I thought she switched to smoothies. You guys made a bet, right?”

  “Already caved,” Reggie said. “She owes me, like, a thousand bucks now.”

  “What are you guys doing?” Harriet demanded as she walked up, another large coffee in hand. “I finally hire someone and you’re already distracting her?”

  “I was just offering her some B-complexes,” Reggie said. “I figured she’ll need them.”

  “Funny,” she grumbled, walking over to take the paper Nate was holding out to her.

  “You know,” he said to her as she scanned it, “personally, I think it’s a great thing you finally admitted you needed help. It’s the first step toward healing.”

  “I’m a small-business owner,” she told him. “Working a lot is part of the job. Just ask your dad.”

  “I would,” Nate said. “But I never see him. He’s always working.”

  She just looked at him, then grabbed a pen from the register, signing the bottom of the paper and handing it back to him. “Do you want a check today, or can you bill me?”

  “We can send a bill,” he said, folding the paper and sliding it into his pocket. “Although you know my dad’s pushing his new auto-draft feature these days.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We bill you, then take it directly out of your account. Draft it and forget it, no worries,” Nate explained. “Want to sign up? I’ve got the forms in the car. It’ll make your life even easier.”

  “No,” Harriet said with a shudder. “I’m already nervous enough just letting you mail stuff.”

  Nate shot me a told-you-so look. “Well, just keep it in mind,” he told her. “You need anything else right now?”

  “Nothing you can help me with,” Harriet replied, sighing. “I mean, I still have to teach Ruby so much. Like how to organize the displays, the setup and closing schedule, the right way to organize stock alphabetically by size and stone . . .”

  “Well,” Nate said, “I’m sure that’s doable.”

  “Not to mention,” she continued, “the process for the weekly changing of the padlock code on the cash box, alternating the incense so we don’t run out of any one kind too quickly, and our emergency-response plan.”

  “Your what?” Reggie asked.

  “Our emergency-response plan,” Harriet said.

  He just looked at her.

  “What, you don’t have a system in place as to how to react if there’s a terrorist attack on the mall? Or a tornado? What if you have to vacate the stall quickly and efficiently?”

  Reggie, eyes wide, shook his head slowly. “Do you sleep at night?” he asked her.

  “No,” Harriet said. “Why?”

  Nate stepped up beside me, his voice low in my ear. “Good luck,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”

  I nodded, and then he was gone, waving at Harriet and Reggie as he went. I turned back to the display, bracing myself for the terrorism-preparedness tutorial, but instead she picked up her coffee, taking another thoughtful sip. “So,” she said, “you and Nate are friends?”

  “Neighbors,” I told her. She raised her eyebrows, and I added, “I mean, we just met this week. We ride to school together.”

  “Ah.” She put the coffee back on the register. “He’s a good kid. We joke around a lot, but I really like him.”

  I knew I was supposed to chime in here, agree with her that he was nice, say I liked him, too. But if anyone could understand why I didn’t do this, I figured it had to be Harriet. She didn’t delegate well in her professional life; I had the same reluctance, albeit more personal. Left to my own devices, I’d be a one-woman operation, as well. Unfortunately, though, with Nate the damage was already done. If I’d never tried to take off that first night, if I’d gotten a ride from someone else, we’d still really just be neighbors, with no ties to each other whatsoever. But now here I was, too far gone to be a stranger, not ready to be friends, the little acquaintance we had made still managing to be, somehow, too much.

  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 Co
ra, 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.