Lock and Key

by Sarah Dessen

  Family, I thought as we pulled out of the driveway. The neighborhood was still asleep, houses dark as we drove out past those big stone pillars, and I remembered how I’d felt, coming in all those months ago, with everything so new and different.

  “Are you nervous?” I asked Nate as we pulled out onto the main road.

  “Not really,” he replied, sitting back. “It’s all kind of surreal, actually.”

  “It’ll hit you eventually,” I told him. “Probably at the exact moment it’s too late to come back.”

  He smiled. “But I am coming back,” he said. “I just have to survive Arizona and my mother first.”

  “You think it’ll be that bad?”

  “I have no idea. It isn’t like she chose for me to come there. She’s only doing this because she has to.”

  I nodded, slowing for a light. “Well, you never know. She might surprise you,” I said. He did not look convinced, so I added, “Either way, don’t decide to pack it in the first night, or jump any fences. Give it a few days.”

  “Right,” he said slowly, looking over at me. “Any other advice? ”

  I switched lanes, merging onto the highway. It was so early, we had all the lanes to ourselves. “Well,” I said, “if there’s some annoying neighbor who tries to make nice with you, don’t be a total jerk to them.”

  “Because you might need them later,” he said. “To take you out of the woods, or something.”

  “Exactly.”

  I felt him look at me but didn’t say anything as we came up to the airport exit. As I took it, circling around, I could see a plane overhead—just a sliver of white, heading up, up, up.

  At the terminal, even at this early hour, there were a fair amount of people, heading off, arriving home. The sun was coming up now, the sky streaked with pink overhead as we unloaded his stuff, piling it on the curb beside him. “All right,” I said. “Got everything?”

  “Think so,” he said. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Well, I did kind of owe you,” I said, and he smiled. “But there is one more thing, actually.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Even if you do make tons of new friends,” I told him, “try not to forget where you came from, okay?”

  He looked down at me. “I seriously doubt that could happen.”

  “You’d be surprised,” I told him. “New place, new life. It’s not hard to do.”

  “I think,” he said, “that I’ll have plenty to remind me.”

  I hoped this was true. Even if it wasn’t, all I could do was hand over what I could, with the hope of something in return. But of course, this was easier said than done. Ever since Christmas, I’d been trying to come up with the perfect gift for Nate, something phenomenal that might come close to all he’d given me. Once again, I thought I had nothing to offer. But then I looked down and realized I was wrong.

  The clasp of my necklace was stubborn at first, and when I took the key to the yellow house off, I noticed how worn it was. Especially in comparison to the bright, shiny new one to Jamie and Cora’s, which I slid onto the chain in its place. Then I took Nate’s hand, turning it upward, and pressed them both into his palm.

  “Well,” I said, “just in case.”

  He nodded, wrapping his hand around the necklace, and my hand, as well. This time, I let my palm relax against his, feeling the warmth there and pressing back, before stepping in closer. Then I reached up, sliding my hand behind his neck and pulling him in for a kiss, closing that space between us once and for all.

  In the weeks since, Nate and I had been in constant contact, both by phone and on UMe.com. My page, long inactive, was now not only up and running but full of extras, thanks to Olivia, who helped me set it up and tweaked it on a regular basis. So far, I’d only accrued a few friends—her, Nate, Gervais, as well as Jamie, who sent me more messages than anyone—although I had lots of photos, including a couple Nate had sent of him at his new job, lifeguarding at a pool near his mom’s house. He was swimming every day now, working on his times and getting back into shape; he said it was slow progress, but he was seeing improvements, bit by bit. Sometimes at night in my room when I couldn’t sleep, I imagined him in the pool, crossing its length again and again, stroke by even stroke.

  In my favorite picture, though, he’s not in the water but posing in front of a lifeguard stand. He’s smiling, the sun bright behind him, and has a whistle around his neck. If you look really closely, you can see there’s another, thinner chain behind, with something else dangling from it. It was hard to make it out, exactly. But I knew what it was.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Ruby? You about ready?”

  I turned, looking over my shoulder at Cora, who was standing in the door to the kitchen, her purse over her shoulder. “Are we leaving?” I asked.

  “As soon as Jamie finds the camcorder,” she replied. “He’s determined to capture every moment of this milestone.”

  “You have to document important family events!” I heard Jamie yell from somewhere behind her. “You’ll thank me later.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. “Five minutes, whether he finds it or not. We don’t want to be late. Okay?”

  I nodded, and she ducked back inside, the door falling shut behind her, as I turned back to the pond. I’d been spending a lot of time out there lately, ever since the day a couple of months earlier when I’d come home from work to find her and Jamie huddled over something in the foyer.

  “Jamie. Put it down.”

  “I’m not opening it. I’m just looking.”

  “Would you stop?”

  I came up right behind them. “What are you guys doing? ”

  Cora jumped, startled. “Nothing,” she said. “We were just—”

  “You got a letter from the U,” Jamie told me, holding up what I now saw was an envelope. “I brought it in about an hour ago. The anticipation has been killing us.”

  “It was killing Jamie,” Cora said. “I was fine.”

  I walked over to where they were standing, taking the envelope from him. After all I’d heard and read about thick and thin letters, this one was, of course, neither. Not bulky, not slim, but right in the middle.

  “It only takes a page to say no,” Jamie told me as if I’d said this aloud. “It is only one word, after all.”

  “Jamie, for God’s sake!” Cora swatted him. “Stop it.”

  I looked at the envelope again. “I’m going to take it outside, ” I said. “If that’s okay.”

  Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Cora put her hand over it. “That’s fine,” she said. “Good luck.”

  Then it was April. The grass had gone from that nubby, hard brown to a fresh green, and the trees were all budding, shedding pollen everywhere. A nice breeze was blowing as I walked out to the pond, the envelope dangling from my hand. I walked right up to the edge, where I could see my reflection, then tore it open.

  I was just about to unfold the pages within when I saw something, out of the corner of my eye, moving quickly, so quickly I almost doubted it. I stepped closer, peering down into the murky depths, past the rocks and algae and budding irises, and there, sure enough, I saw a flash of white blurring past. There were others as well, gold and speckled and black, swimming low. But it was the white one, my fish, that I saw first. I took a deep breath and tore the letter open.

  Dear Ms. Cooper, it began. We are pleased to inform you . . .

  I turned around, looking back at the kitchen door where, unsurprisingly, Jamie and Cora were both standing, watching me. Jamie pushed it open, then stuck his head out. “Well?” he said.

  “Good news,” I said.

  “Yeah?” Beside him, Cora put her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening.

  I nodded. “And the fish are back. Come see.”

  Now, in mid-June, they were even more present, circling around the lilies and water grasses. Above them, in the water’s surface, I could see my reflection: my hair loose, black gown, cap in one hand. Then a breeze blew
across the yard, rustling the leaves overhead and sending everything rippling. Beside me, sitting on the grass, Roscoe closed his eyes.

  As always, when I saw myself, it was weird to be without my necklace. Even now, I was still very aware of its absence, the sudden empty space where for so long I’d always seen something familiar. A few days earlier, though, I’d been digging through a drawer and come across the box Nate had given me for Valentine’s Day. The next time we spoke, I mentioned this, and he told me to open it. When I did, I saw that once again he’d known what I needed, even before I did. Inside was a pair of key-shaped earrings—clearly Harriet’s work—studded with red stones. I’d been wearing them every day since.

  I looked across the yard, the trees swaying overhead, to Nate’s house. I still called it that, a habit that I had yet to break, even though neither he nor his dad had lived there for a while. Mr. Cross had put it up for sale in May, just after a lawsuit was filed by several Rest Assured clients who had began to notice, and question, various discrepancies on their accounts. The last I’d heard, he was still in business, but just barely, and renting an apartment somewhere across town. The new owners of the house had small children and used the pool all the time. On warm afternoons, from my window, I could hear them laughing and splashing.

  As for me, thanks to Gervais’s method, I’d made a ninety-one on my calc test—guaranteeing my own spot at the U—and soon would be walking across the green at Perkins Day, taking my diploma from Mr. Thackray, officially a high-school graduate. In the lead up to the ceremony, I’d received endless paperwork and e-mails about getting tickets for family, and all the rules and regulations about how many we were allowed to reserve. In the end, I’d taken four, for Cora and Jamie, Reggie and Harriet. Not all family, but if there was one thing I’d learned over these last few months, it was that this was a flexible definition.

  At least, that was the final thesis of my English project, which I’d handed in during the last week of classes. We’d each had to get up in front of the class and do a presentation that showcased our research and findings, and for mine, I’d brought in two pictures. The first was of Jamie’s extended tribe, which I put up while I explained about the different definitions I’d gathered, and how they all related to one another. The second was more recent, from the eighteenth birthday party Cora had thrown me at the end of May. I’d told her not to make a fuss, but of course she’d ignored me, insisting that we had to do something, and that I should invite anyone I wanted to celebrate with me.

  In the picture, we’re all posing by the pond, one big group. I’m in the center, with Cora on one side, Olivia on the other. You can see Jamie, slightly blurred from running back into the shot after setting the timer on the camera— he’s standing by Harriet, who is looking at me and smiling, and Reggie, who is of course looking at her. Next to them you can see Laney, smiling big, and then Gervais, the only one eating, a plate of cake in his hand. Like the first one, which I’d studied all these months, it is not a perfect picture, not even close. But in that moment, it was exactly what it was supposed to be.

  It was also, like the one of Jamie’s family, already changing, even if that day we hadn’t known it yet. That came a couple of weeks later, when I was leaving for school one morning and found my sister sitting on her bed, crying.

  “Cora?” I dropped my backpack, then came over to sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  She drew in a big, shuddering breath, shaking her head, clearly unable to answer. By then, though, I didn’t need her to; I’d already seen the pregnancy-test box on the bedside table. “Oh, Cora,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  “I—I—” she said, sobbing through the words.

  “What’s going on?” Jamie, who had just come up the stairs, said as he came into the room. I nodded at the test box, and his face fell. “Oh,” he said, taking a seat on her other side. “Honey. It’s all right. We’ve got that appointment next week—we’ll see what’s going on—”

  “I’m fine,” Cora sputtered as I grabbed her some tissues. “I really am.”

  I reached over, taking her hand so I could put the tissues into it. She was still holding the test stick, so I took it from her as she drew in another breath. It wasn’t until after I put it down on the bed beside me that I actually looked at it.

  “Are you, though? ” Jamie was saying, rubbing her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

  I stared at the stick again, double-checking it. Then tripling. “Yeah,” I said, holding it up, the plus sign more than clear as Cora dissolved in tears again. “She’s positive.”

  She was also sick as a dog, morning and night, as well as so tired she couldn’t stay up much past dinner. Not that I’d heard her complain, even once.

  All of this had got me thinking, and a few days before my birthday, I’d sat down at my desk to write a letter, long overdue, to my own mother, who was still in rehab in Tennessee. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, though, and after sitting there for a full hour, with nothing coming, I’d just photocopied my acceptance letter from the U and slid it inside the envelope. It wasn’t closure, by any means, but it was progress. If nothing else, now we knew where to find each other, even if only time would tell if either of us would ever come looking.

  “Got it! Let’s go!” I heard Jamie yell from inside. Roscoe perked up his ears, and I watched him run, tags jingling, across the grass to the house.

  It was only then, when I knew I was alone, at least for the moment, that I reached under my gown into the pocket of my dress. As I pulled out my key from the yellow house, which I’d kept on my bureau since the day Nate left, I traced the shape one last time before folding my hand tightly around it.

  Behind me, Cora was calling again. My family was waiting. Looking down at the pond, all I could think was that it is an incredible thing, how a whole world can rise from what seems like nothing at all. I stepped closer to the edge, keeping my eyes on my reflection as I dropped the key into the water, where it landed with a splash. At first, the fish darted away, but as it began to sink they circled back, gathering around. Together, they followed it down, down, until it was gone.