Lock and Key(39)

“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.