The Last to Vanish(54)
He walked back to the counter between us, hands pressing into the surface, leaning forward, the imagine of nonchalance. “Well, I’ve never seen anything that makes me think it’s true. But it’s a big world out there.” He flashed a toothy grin, and I could imagine him giving that line to any shopper, any tourist. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with this fine day?” he asked, changing the subject.
My eyes drifted to the back wall—behind the racks of clothes that filled the common area. Small lockers lined the left side of the wall, in square cubes made for wallets and maybe shoes, like you might rent at an amusement park for a few hours. Larger lockers like those I’d used in high school took up the rest of the space and were apparently deep enough for tents and duffel bags.
I wasn’t sure which type of locker this key was for. Or how to get over there without him noticing. I decided to just say it. Less likely it would stick in his mind. And besides, he didn’t have cause to interact with Georgia much at all. He probably wasn’t even the one to give her this key.
“Just running an errand for Georgia.” I held out the small key. “I didn’t get the locker number, though.”
The front door opened again, and a family of four entered, all with pale legs and long khaki shorts, hiking boots laced up over too-white socks: a mother and father who looked very excited to be here and two tweens, a boy and girl, who seemed decidedly less so.
“Morning,” Jack called to them. “Anything I can help you with today?”
“Yes,” the father said, definitive, authoritative. “We’re about to have our first camping trip.”
“Well,” Jack said, “you’ve come to the right place. Just a sec.”
He pulled a large brown book out from under the counter, and I got a whiff of old paper as it made contact with the surface. “You got this?” he asked me.
“Yes, thanks,” I said as he snaked out from behind the counter, joining the family in the middle of the racks. “Oh, this set is awesome, if you’re looking for a full cook setup…” He trailed off.
Inside the book he’d left for me, there was an old-fashioned placeholder ribbon, and I couldn’t help but imagine an old spell book. But it appeared more like a ledger inside, with individual customers signing in and out. Each page worked as a library card of sorts, with a list of names, start dates, and the scheduled expiration date of the rental. It was somewhat organized by locker numbers, but that didn’t seem to be the primary system. Instead, there were sections for daily, weekly, or monthly rentals.
There were yellow tabs sticking out of the pages that still had availability, with all the prior names crossed out in thick black Sharpie, so at least that narrowed it down a bit. The system seemed so rudimentary, this log in mere paper and ink, that a line of marker could erase the existence of any record that had come before. It seemed, suddenly, like something only a place like this could get away with. Like you’re not sure whether it comes from the lack of technological progress or a place that craves its privacy.
Either way, in the end, the process involved going page by page, looking for Georgia’s name.
Some of the open listings had dates that had already passed, and I could only assume that eventually those lockers would be cleaned out by Jack or another worker if no one came to claim the contents. Sort of like the gear left behind in the guest rooms at the inn, ultimately making its way to the lost and found.
Jack and the family of four had immersed themselves in the cooking section, and the mother was admiring an ultra-light French press. I couldn’t imagine them making it very far out there.
I flipped through the pages of the ledger faster, hoping to be done with this before Jack returned so he couldn’t ask any follow-up questions. Georgia’s name wasn’t assigned to any of the small lockers; none of the weekly lockers, either. By the time I had made it to the large locker section, of which there were far fewer, I was starting to get frustrated, wondering if this key wasn’t for a locker here after all, that I’d let my imagination run away with me, just like my mother had always said.
And then I stopped. The page for locker 203 was a row of crossed-out names in black, and then a single visible line filled out in looping, cursive blue ink. A chill ran through my entire body. The line read: Abby Lovett
I stared at it as if it would somehow trigger a memory. This was not my handwriting. This was not my doing.
I looked over my shoulder, watched as the family followed Jack to the tent section. Then I read the page again. The names above mine had been crossed out in black Sharpie, and according to the ledger, my name had been added to the locker 203 register in April. The rental was originally listed as three months, which would mean it had already expired. If anyone had gone through this ledger recently, the locker might’ve already been emptied.
I didn’t know what this meant, why my name was in here. But I did the safest thing I could think of. I took the Sharpie from the pen holder on top of the counter and drew a thick line through my name, so that any trace of me was gone. Then I shut the book and went to check on locker 203.
The racks around the store were high enough that I could move within them, like a maze, and feel somewhat protected. But I could see Jack’s head over top, and a scattering of the others shifting across the store.
Each locker had a number plate etched onto a maroon rectangle, adhered to the gray metal. A small keyhole positioned just under the latch.