Lock and Key(89)

It wasn’t just me that was feeling out of sorts. Even the weather was weird.

“You have to admit,” Harriet said, shaking her head as we stepped out into the employee parking lot later that night, “this is very strange. When has it ever been seventy-seven degrees a week before Christmas?”

“It’s global warming,” Reggie told her. “The ice caps are melting.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the apocalypse,” she said.

He sighed. “Of course you were.”

“Seriously, though, who wants to Christmas-shop when it feels like summer? ” she asked as we started across the lot. “This cannot be good for sales.”

“Do you ever think about anything but business?” Reggie said.

“The apocalypse,” she told him. “And occasionally coffee.”

“You know,” he said, “I’m aware that you’re kidding, but that’s still really—”

“Good night,” I called out as I peeled off toward the greenway. They both waved, still bickering. This, however, was not strange in the least; it was the way I always left them.

Often, Harriet gave me a ride home, as she hated me taking the greenway in the dark, but as the weather had grown oddly warm I’d been insisting on walking instead, just to make the most of the unseasonable weather while it lasted. On my way back to Cora’s, I passed several bicyclists, two runners, and a pack of kids on scooters, all with the same idea. Weirdest of all, though, was what I saw at home when I walked in the front door: Jamie, at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his bathing suit and swim fins, a towel thrown over his shoulder. It might not have been a sign of the apocalypse, but it seemed pretty close.

At first, it was clear that I’d surprised him: he jumped, flustered, before quickly recovering and striking a casual pose. “Hey,” he said, like he hung out in swimgear in the foyer every day. “How was work?”

“What are you—?” I began, then stopped as Cora appeared at the top of the stairs, a pair of shorts pulled over her own suit.

“Oh,” she said, stopping suddenly, her face flushing. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said slowly. “What’s going on?”

They exchanged a guilty look. Then Cora sighed and said, “We’re going pool jumping.”

“You’re what?”

“It’s seventy-five degrees! In December!” Jamie said. “We have to. We can’t help ourselves.”

I looked up at my sister again. “It is pretty nice out,” she said.

“But the neighborhood pool doesn’t even have water in it,” I said.

“That’s why we’re going to Blake’s,” Jamie told me. “You want to come?”

“You’re sneaking into Nate’s pool?”

Cora bit her lip as Jamie said, “Well, technically, it’s not really sneaking. I mean, we’re neighbors. And it’s right there, heated, with nobody using it.”

“Do you have permission?” I asked.

He looked up at Cora, who squirmed on the step. “No,” she said. “But I saw Blake earlier and he said he and Nate were taking off for an overnight business thing. So . . .”

“. . . you’re just going to jump their fence and their pool,” I finished for her.

Silence. Then Jamie said, “It’s seventy-five degrees! In December! Do you know what this means?”

“The apocalypse?” I asked.

“What?” he said. “No. God. Why would you—“

“She’s right, you know,” Cora said, coming down the stairs. “We’re not exactly setting a good example.”

“It was your idea,” Jamie pointed out. Cora flushed again. “Your sister,” he said to me, “is a serious pool jumper. In college, she was always the first to go over the fence.”

“Really,” I said, turning to look at her.

“Well,” she replied, as if about to justify this. Then she just said, “You know, it’s seventy-five degrees. In December.”

Jamie grabbed her hand, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said, then pointed at me. “You coming?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I told him.

“In my closet, bottom right-hand drawer,” Cora said. “Help yourself.”

I just shook my head, incredulous, as they started through the kitchen. Cora was laughing, Jamie’s flippers slapping the floor, and then they were outside, the door swinging shut behind them.

I wasn’t going to go and certainly didn’t plan to swim. But after sitting on my bed in the quiet for a few moments, I did go find a suit of Cora’s, pull on some sweatpants over it, and head downstairs, crossing the yard to where I could hear splashing just beyond the fence.

“There she is,” Jamie said as I slipped through. He was in the shallow end, next to Roscoe, who was on the deck, barking excitedly, while Cora was underwater, swimming down deep, her hair streaming out behind her. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m coming in,” I said, walking over and sitting down on the edge, my knees pulled to my chest. “I’ll just watch.”

“Ah, that’s no fun,” he said. Then, with Roscoe still barking, he dove under, disappearing. As he swam the length of the pool, the dog ran alongside, following him.