Lock and Key(103)

I swallowed, hard. “Then no,” I told him. “Then go.”

For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t. That this, finally, more than all the words, would be what changed his mind. But then he was pushing himself to his feet, his shirt sliding back, space now between us, everything reverting to how it had been before. You don’t have to make it so hard, I wanted to say, but there was a time I hadn’t believed this, either. Who was I to tell anyone how to be saved? Only the girl who had tried every way not to be.

“Nate,” I called out, but he was already walking away, his head ducked, back toward the trees. I sat there, watching him as he folded into them, disappearing.

A lump rose in my throat as I stood up. The gift he’d brought was still on the bench, and I picked it up, examining the rose-colored paper, the neatly tied bow. So pretty on the surface, it almost didn’t matter what was inside.

When I went back in the house, I tried to keep my face composed, thinking only of getting up to my room, where I could be alone. But just as I started up the stairs, Cora came out of the living room, where her CD was still playing— Janis Joplin now—the chocolate box in her hands. “Hey, do you want—?” she said, then stopped suddenly. “Are you all right? ”

I started to say yes, of course, but before I could, my eyes filled with tears. As I turned to the wall and sucked down a breath, trying to steady myself, I felt her come closer. “Hey,” she said, smoothing my hair gently off my shoulder. “What’s wrong? ”

I swallowed, reaching up to wipe my eyes. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Two words, said so easily. But even as I thought this, I heard myself doing it. “I just don’t know,” I said, my voice sounding bumpy, not like mine, “how you help someone who doesn’t want your help. What do you do when you can’t do anything?”

She was quiet for a moment, and in that silence I was bracing myself, knowing the next question would be harder, pulling me deeper. “Oh, Ruby,” she said instead, “I know. I know it’s hard.”

More tears were coming now, my vision blurring. “I—”

“I should have known this CD would remind you of all that,” she said. “Of course it would—that was stupid of me. But Mom’s not your responsibility anymore, okay? We can’t do anything for her. So we have to take care of each other, all right?”

My mother. Of course she would think that was what I was talking about. What else could there be? What other loss would I ever face comparable to it? None. None at all.

Cora was behind me, still talking. Through my tears, I could hear her saying it was all going to be okay, and I knew she believed this. But I was sure of something, too: it’s a lot easier to be lost than found. It’s the reason we’re always searching, and rarely discovered—so many locks, not enough keys.





Chapter Fifteen


“So as you can see,” Harriet said, moving down the kiosk with a wave of her hand, “I work mostly in silver, using gemstones as accents. Occasionally I’ve done things with gold, but I find it’s less inspiring to me.”

“Right,” the reporter replied, scribbling this down as her photographer, a tall guy with a mustache, repositioned one of the key necklaces on the rack before taking another shot. “And how long have you been in business at this location?”

“Six years.” As the woman wrote this down, Harriet, a nervous expression on her face, glanced over at Vitamin Me, where I was standing with Reggie. I flashed her a thumbs-up, and she nodded, then turned back to the reporter.

“She’s doing great,” Reggie said, continuing work on his pyramid of omega-3 bottles, the centerpiece of his GET FISH, GET FIT display. “I don’t know why she was so nervous.”

“Because she’s Harriet,” I told him. “She always nervous. ”

He sighed, adding another bottle to the stack. “It’s the caffeine. If she’d give it up, her whole life would change. I’m convinced of it.”

The truth was, Harriet’s life was changing, though coffee had nothing to do with it. Instead, it was the KeyChains—as she’d taken to calling them since Christmas—which were now outselling everything else we carried, sparking somewhat of a local phenomenon. Suddenly we had shoppers coming from several towns over, seeking them out, not to mention multiple phone calls from people in other states, asking if we did mail order (yes) or had a Web site (in the works, up any day). When she wasn’t fielding calls or requests, Harriet was busy making more keys, adding shapes and sizes and different gems, as well as experimenting with expanding the line to bracelets and rings. The more she made, the more she sold. These days, it seemed like every girl at my school was wearing one, which was kind of weird, to say the least.

This reporter was from the style section of the local paper, and Harriet had been getting ready all week, making new pieces and working both of us overtime to make sure the kiosk looked perfect. Now, Reggie and I watched as—at the reporter’s prompting—she posed beside it, a KeyChain studded with rhinestones around her neck, smiling for the camera.

“Look at her,” I said. “She’s a superstar.”

“That she is,” Reggie replied, adding another bottle to his stack. “But it’s not because she’s suddenly famous. Harriet’s always been special.”