Lock and Key(84)

I could have stood there and told him this, and more. Like how glad I was, now, that the Honeycutts had turned me in, because in doing so they’d brought me here to Cora and Jamie and all the things I was thankful for, including him. And how even when you felt like you had no options or didn’t need anyone, you could be wrong. But after all he’d just told me, to say this seemed foolish, if not impossible. Six months wasn’t that long. And I’d been left behind enough.

You understand, right? he’d said. There was only one answer.

“Yeah,” I said. “Of course I do.”





Chapter Twelve


“There you are! Thank God!”

It was the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year, and the mall was opening at six a.m. for door-buster specials. Harriet, however, insisted I had to be there at five thirty to get ready. This seemed a little extreme to me, but still I’d managed to rouse myself in the dark and stumble into the shower, then pour myself a big cup of coffee, which I sucked down as I walked along the greenway, a flashlight in my other hand. When I got to the mall itself, people were already lined up outside the main entrance, bundled up in parkas, waiting.

Inside, all the stores I passed were bustling—employees loading up stock, chattering excitedly—everyone in serious preparation mode, bracing for the crowds. When I got to Harriet’s kiosk, it was clear she had already been there for a while: there were two Jump Java cups already on the register, a third clamped in her hand. Needless to say, she was pumped.

“Hurry, hurry,” she called out to me now, waving her arms back and forth as if she could move me closer faster, by sheer force of will. “We don’t have much time!”

Slightly alarmed, I looked over at Reggie, who was sitting at the Vitamin Me kiosk, a cup with a tea bag poking out of it in one hand. He took a sleepy sip, waving at me as I passed.

“You had to be here early, too?” I asked him. I couldn’t imagine someone actually wanting some shark cartilage for Christmas.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I kind of like the bustle.”

Then he smiled and looked at Harriet, who was maniacally lighting another incense stick. Yeah, I thought. The bustle.

“Okay,” Harriet said, pulling me to stand next to her in front of the cart as she took another gulp of coffee. “Let’s do a check and double check. We’ve got the low-dollar stuff on the bottom, higher on the top. Rings by the register for impulse buyers, incense burning for ambience, plenty of ones in the register. Do you remember the disaster plan?”

“Grab the cashbox and the precious gems, do a head-count, proceed to the food court exit,” I recited.

“Good,” she said with a curt nod. “I don’t think we’ll need it, but on a day like this you never know.”

I glanced over at Reggie, who just shook his head, stifling a yawn.

“You know,” Harriet continued, studying the kiosk, “as I’m looking at this now, I think maybe we should switch the earrings and bracelets. They don’t look right. In fact—”

“Harriet. They’re great. We’re ready,” I told her.

She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I still feel like I’m missing something.”

“Could it be, maybe, the true meaning of the holiday season?” Reggie called out from his kiosk. “In which we focus on goodwill and peace on earth, and not on making as much money as possible?”

“No,” Harriet said. Then she snapped her fingers, the sound loud, right by my ear. “Hold on!” she said. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

She bent down beneath the register, pulling out the plastic bin where she kept all her stock. As she picked through the dozens of small plastic bags, finally pulling one out and opening it, I looked at my watch. It was 5:51. When I looked back at Harriet, she was fastening a clasp around her neck, her back to me.

“Okay,” she said. “I made these a couple of weeks back, just fooling around, but now I’m wondering if I should put them out. What do you think?”

When she turned around, the first thing I saw was the key. It was silver and delicate, dotted with red stones, and hung from a braided silver chain around her neck. Instantly, I was aware of my own key, which was bulkier and not nearly as beautiful.But even so, seeing this one, I understood why I’d gotten so many comments on it. There was something striking about a single key. It was like a question waiting to be answered, a whole missing a half. Useless on its own, needing something else to be truly defined.

Harriet raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

“It’s—”

“You hate it, don’t you,” she decided, before I could even finish. “You think it’s tacky and derivative.”

“It’s not,” I said quickly. “It’s beautiful. Really striking.”

“Yeah?” She turned to the mirror, reaching up to touch the key, running her finger over it. “It kind of is, isn’t it? Unique, at any rate. You think they’ll sell?”

“You made more?”

She nodded, reaching into the box again. As she laid more bags out on the counter, I counted at least twenty, none of them the same: some keys were smaller, some bigger, some plain, others covered in gemstones. “I got inspired, ” she explained as I examined them one by one. “It was kind of manic, actually.”