Lock and Key

by Cat Porter

  All these years I had never truly felt in my bones that he was at peace and, therefore, neither was I.

  Instead, at the time of his funeral, my doctors had pumped me full of anti-anxiety meds, fastened my wrists to a hospital bed for fear of my making another suicide attempt. My head only shook back and forth against the flat pillow, and an endless river of tears had spilled down my bruised and swollen face. My wired brain replayed over and over again those final, horrible shrieking moments. My insides were empty, my soul had been ripped to shreds, yet Dig’s hoarse rough voice still vibrated through me. I could only hear his voice say those words.

  “Get gone, baby. Go, sweetheart.”

  I took two steps forward, crouched and laid my bouquet of wildflowers on the blades of green grass. My trembling fingers pressed in on the cold unforgiving stone over the engraved letters of his name. A hot tear dropped on my hand.

  Here in this tiny patch of cold hard ground directly beneath me were the remains of my husband.

  His remains.

  What does that mean? The life force had been removed, driven off, vanquished. Now there remained only a mass of particles, remnants, residue.

  A stinging pressure caved my chest in. The door I had left ajar all these years was finally closing. Dig being dead and gone was no longer an idea that I could distract myself from or keep at arm’s length with new places to live, new jobs, new faces, new bed partners. It was real, it was done, and I felt it settling now deep in a corner of my heart right where it needed to be.

  “Rest, baby,” I whispered.

  My fingers scrunched the cool sharp blades of grass over the hard earth. I rose and steadied myself with a hand on his gravestone and slid my sunglasses back down over my aching eyes. Someone took hold of my arm and slipped it through his. I tilted my face to the side. Boner gave me a watery smile. My fingers gripped the sleeve of his worn leather jacket.

  “It’s killing me to see her like this. She’s trying to keep up her happy face for Jake, that’s one thing, but she’s doing it for us now, too. Ever since your results came back negative, that spark of hope drained from her eyes. It’s not there anymore. I hate this.”

  Alex growled and slung his arm around my shoulder. We walked through the parking lot of the hospital so he could have a smoke. I held onto his hand that hung at my shoulder and wrapped my other arm around his waist. High in the clear mid-day sky, the sun glared over the sea of metal cars in the visitor’s lot.

  “We can’t think like that Alex. Jakey can’t see you like this, either.”

  “Why do you think I’m dumping it on you?” He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  I bumped his hip with mine, and we both let out brittle laughs. “Good, dump away,” I said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Grace.”

  “Me too.” My vision got misty. I cleared my throat. “How about I pick Jakey up from pre-school and take him out for dinner and ice cream, and you can have more time with Ruby or go home and enjoy the silence for a couple of hours. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great.” He let out a sigh, gave me a weary smile and planted a kiss on my forehead.

  The roar of pipes blasted in my ears. My head jerked around. Lock straddled a Harley Fat Bob. He removed his helmet. The line of his jaw was harsh, and his mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes. His full lips twisted, but his body remained motionless. His broad shoulders were pronounced under the worn patched leather jacket, his long lean legs fitted with dark blue jeans were taut against the massive bike.

  The sight of him far surpassed caffeine first thing in the morning.

  Alex’s arm tensed around me. “I’m assuming you know this guy?”

  I clenched my jaw as I took in all that was Lock. Dizzying sensations swirled through me at the memory of those powerful legs tangled up in mine, pinning me down…

  Grace, no. Back to Earth.

  Today Lock wore black Harley boots with chain detail. His fingers raked through his cropped hair, and the small hoop earring on one ear swung lightly. His sunglasses obscured his intense dark eyes, but his stiff, unhappy vibe was palpable. I ground the heel of my one boot into the asphalt.

  “They must all know you, huh?” Alex said in my ear. “Their Prodigal Old Lady has returned and all that?”

  “Shut up, Alex,” I said through gritted teeth. Lock lifted himself up off his hog in a powerful and graceful maneuver that took my breath away. He directed his gaze at me, his lips pressed into a firm line. My mouth suddenly went dry.

  “He doesn’t look too happy. I think you better go talk to him. I’ll go.” Alex released me and turned to move. My hand pressed into his middle.

  “Oh no. Let me introduce you.” I hooked my hand in his arm and dragged him toward Lock.

  “Not necessary,” Alex said. “I could really do without this right now, Grace.”

  “Lock.” I nodded at him. His features remained tight.

  Lock leaned back against his bike. “Don’t waste any time do you?”

  Alex’s eyes widened. A lone muscle in Lock’s face pulsed.

  I smiled at him. “Lock, this is Alex. Alex this is Lock. Alex is my sister’s husband. I think I mentioned him to you another time.” Lock’s lips parted, and his face relaxed. He raised his sunglasses over his head.

  “Good to meet you.” Lock thrust his hand out to Alex.

  “Same here,” Alex said shaking his hand.

  Lock’s shoulders loosened. “Sorry to hear about your wife and all that your family is going through right now. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be.”

  My mouth fell open. Lock was not only polite, but he was empathetic and articulate.

  I’m really in trouble.

  “Thank you,” Alex leaned in closer to Lock as they shook hands. “It is very difficult, but we’re thrilled that Grace is here with us now.”

  “I’ll bet.” Lock released Alex’s hand. “We’re glad she’s back, too.”

  Alex shot me a look. He dropped what was left of his cigarette to the ground and squashed it with the toe of his shoe. “I’m going to head up to Ruby now.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Call me when you get Jake, okay? Nice to meet you, Lock.” He lifted his chin at us and left the parking lot.

  “Nice guy,” Lock said.

  “Very. My sister is a lucky woman.”

  “I came to see if you wanted to grab a cup of coffee,” he said. “I found some information on your dad.”

  “You did? Already?”

  “Wasn’t too hard, Grace.”

  “So he’s still alive and kicking?”

  “Yes, he is,” Lock said.

  “Where?”

  “In Montana, just over the border from North Dakota.”

  “Montana?” I asked.

  Lock nodded.

  “Montana?” My brain fired burning particles off in the direction of what I hoped was Montana.

  “Grace—” Lock’s hand gripped my bicep.

  My eyes blinked up at him. “Tell me.”

  “Why don’t we go get a cup of coffee and talk about it?”

  “Montana,” I said.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” I suddenly snapped out of my huff and landed in a new one.

  “Grace—coffee.” He flicked his sunglasses over his eyes once again. The Fat Bob roared to life underneath him. “Now get on the bike.”

  “What?”

  He held out his helmet to me. “Get on the bike. Let’s go.”

  Lock hit the accelerator, a muscle in his jaw pulsed. My mouth watered before the combined greatness that was the Fat Bob and Lock straddling it.

  “Grace, get on the goddamn bike!”

  I snapped the helmet from his hand, fit it over my head, and got on his bike. We took off. My body lurched forward, and we zipped through the back exit of the hospital parking lot, my heart in my throat. It had been a while since I had been on a bike with someone who really knew what they were doing. Lock was no Sunday rider. He
was an organic part of his machine.

  My hands eased over his waist. No use being shy about this. It certainly wasn’t my first time on a bike, not to mention that Lock and I had already done the deed, hadn’t we?

  Even so, my palms prickled against the smooth leather of his jacket.

  “Erica Drake?”

  “That’s right.” Erica laughed. “Oh my gosh, Grace! It’s good to see you again.”

  Lock had taken me to Meager for coffee. On the bike it took less than an hour.

  “There was a Starbucks down the block!” I said in his ear as the bike tore out of Rapid City.

  “You need to get out of the hospital routine for a bit,” he said over his shoulder as he guided the bike onto Route 44. “Town’s changed, it’s picked up. I think you’ll like seeing it.”

  Erica’s revamped cafe was remarkable.

  The walls were painted in cool hues of robin’s egg blue and grey. Dark wood trim framed the interior. Small cushioned chocolate brown and grey sofas and apricot arm chairs dotted the room. Large framed black and white photos of the magnificent eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires of the Black Hills landscape punctuated the walls.

  An oversized picture window let in golden streams of sunlight and offered an ample view of Clay Street, Meager’s winding main drag. From here you could lie back and people watch all day. Dark glossy wood flooring glistened in the glow of the midday sun. A brick fireplace in the far corner of the room lent coziness to the mood of the cafe perfect for the colder months of the year. A single fresh red flower in a tiny vase on each table added a stroke of bold color. This was fresh country elegance, not a jot of backwoods hokeyness in sight.

  “My aunt and uncle had the diner that used to be here, remember?” Erica asked.

  “Of course I do. You used to waitress on the weekends and in the summers.”

  “That’s right.” Erica let out a small laugh. “They sold it to me about five years ago, and I made a few changes.”

  “Just a few? It looks great. And this—” I held up my hazelnut latte, “—smells fantastic, and the muffins and cookies look irresistible.” My eyes swept over the glass case chock full of a delectable array of baked goods coated in powdery sugar, white glaze, chocolate, and jam. Small sandwiches burst between squares of crusty bread and beckoned from their trays.

  “We bake everything here daily,” said Erica.

  “I think I need one of those cookies right now.”

  “I’d recommend the chocolate chip with pistachios and dried cranberries or the lemon ginger spice,” Erica said. Her eyes widened at something behind me as she bent over the display case. I followed her gaze. It was Lock. He stirred his Super Grande Brazilian Roast at the opposite counter and stared at us. My heart skipped a beat. Yes, he was an impressive specimen. Even in a relaxed pose there was something primal about him. Either he was ready to pounce or to shield you. I wasn’t sure which.

  “Grace? Which cookie would you like?”

  “Oh, um, I can never say no to chocolate.”

  A slight smile creased Erica’s mouth as she reached into the case with a slip of wax paper to grab one of her jumbo gourmet cookies for me.

  “Here you go. On the house.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said.

  “Come back another time, and we’ll catch up, okay? How’s Ruby doing?”

  “She’s… okay.”

  “Give her my best,” Erica said.

  “I certainly will, thanks.” I stuffed several dollar bills in the hand-painted tip jar by the cash register.

  “Thanks, honey. You have a good afternoon now,” Erica said.

  Lock had moved to a low table by the large bay window of the Meager Grand Cafe. I put my handbag down on a round walnut-colored chair and sat next to him on the low brush textured grey sofa. Our eyes trailed the light traffic on Clay Street and the pedestrians who strolled by enjoying a day out in our tiny town.

  I was pleased to see the large red sign for Pepper’s Boot Shop still hung outside the family owned store of wonders that sold all manner of boots to farmers and ranchers and trendy young folk. Mom had taken us there and bought us our first pair of real leather cowboy boots when Ruby was a freshman in high school. “Good quality is worth the price,” she had declared as we tried them on and pranced up and down the narrow aisles of the store. “Can’t keep wearing those cheap imitations, they’re bad for your feet. Nope. My daughters are going to look good and feel damn good about it.” The three of us had squealed with laughter and gone out for lunch afterwards, our precious shopping bags in hand. That was a good day. A very good day. In fact, that was when my leather boot obsession began.

  The tiny fifties-era post office still clung to its corner on the winding end of the road. Marla’s sandwich shop which once only catered to the retirees who went for an early morning breakfast and then headed back for lunch, still stood alongside dear Pete’s Tavern next door. In between were a few new shops I had never seen before—an organic produce co-op, a vintage clothing store, and a boutique called “Lenore’s Lace” with purple gothic style lettering on a dramatic black banner which flapped in the breeze.

  Steve’s Auto Repair had survived as had Kellerman’s Hardware and Grocery along with its classic red brick facade. The aging firehouse endured on its own in the distance. There was now another gas station in town, all shiny and modern, but how could it possibly compete with the grand old Prairie Pumper still holding court on the corner of Clay and Anderson?

  I settled back into the couch next to Lock. An elderly couple from the next table glanced over at us then went back to chatting quietly. A young couple in their early twenties with matching dyed black hair murmured over their laptops at the small table on Lock’s side.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded as I sipped at my latte.

  “Was it a bad idea coming out here?”

  “No. It was very thoughtful, thank you. I don’t think I would have come out here on my own otherwise. It’s actually good to see the old town refreshed and revived. This cafe is terrific.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” he said.

  “Erica and I were pals in high school.”

  Lock nodded. “She’s good people.”

  “I sort of remember you too back then, actually.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Lock sank back into the sofa and rubbed a hand down his jeans over a long, muscular thigh. “What do you remember about the high school me, Grace?” He took a sip of his coffee.

  “You would slink around the hallways, hide your eyes behind your long hair. Mostly I remember your book covers.”

  “My book covers?” He nodded and took another long gulp of coffee. “I could never stop doodling.”

  I shook my head. “Oh no, no, no. What regular kids did was doodle on their brown paper book covers or write the lyrics to their favorite songs like I did. I still remember etching “Born to Run” on my Chemistry cover. You, however, created mini murals on yours full of wild imagery, a real opus of colors.”

  A smile curled his lips. “You saw one up close?” he asked. “You were a year ahead of me. We didn’t have any classes together, didn’t run with the same crowd.”

  I let out a laugh. “Yeah, you spent most of your free time on the smoking patio, can’t say I did.” I said. “No, I think the first time I noticed them was at an assembly. We were both late getting to the auditorium, and you and I ended up standing in the back next to each other. Your book cover caught my eye. It was a comet flying with space aliens and horses with wings. Something like that.” I grinned at him. “It wasn’t rainbows and unicorns, but it definitely was some sort of cataclysm in the galaxy.”

  Lock rubbed his hand over his face and continued to look out the window. His lips twitched.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I like the words you use,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “Opus, cataclysm, that about sums it up,” he nodded. “For shit’s sake, how can you remember something like tha
t?”

  “Like what?”

  “A detail from over twenty years ago—a freaking book cover that belonged to a kid you didn’t know, never even talked to in high school?”

  “I liked high school, Lock. I still remember a few things from back then. And your book cover was so unique and unusual. It… dazzled me. I always looked out for your book covers after that. You were a little spooky back then, though. So yes, I remember.”

  He chuckled. “Spooky?”

  “Not spooky scary or weird. Spooky as is in something deep and big was going on behind those bleak eyes and long hair,” I said.

  His dark gaze held mine.

  I cleared my throat. “Then you started playing football, and you grew out of spooky real fast.”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “You filled out, got taller.”

  “You noticed that, did you?” His features relaxed, his mouth turned into a sensuous smile that made me sit up.

  I rolled my eyes. “Me and all the rest of the girls, Lock. It was hard not to.”

  “That’s what eating three square meals a day does for a growing boy,” he said.

  “Things were bad on the reservation before Wreck brought you to Meager?”

  “We didn’t have much on the res. Wasn’t much to have, but there were good people there. The last two years there with my dad were tough though, let’s just put it that way.

  I was sure Lock was putting it mildly. His eyes had gotten hard once more. Time to change the subject.

  I knocked my knee against his thigh. “I like your Fat Bob, by the way.”

  “You do?”

  I nodded from behind my coffee cup.

  “I’ve got an Ultra Classic Electra Glide at home,” he said.

  “Holy shit, really? A CVO?” My eyes widened. I knew my Harleys, not only from my years with Dig at the club, but all the years I had worked at the Harley Davidson stores around the country. The Electra Glide was a pricey custom Harley with premium features. It was a beautiful touring bike, sleek, powerful.

  “I decided to spend some money on myself for a change a few years ago and sprang for a brand new bike. Then I bought the Electra Glide too for longer trips. What the hell have I been saving for all this time, you know? I’ve been riding my own choppers for a while and I’ve got quite a collection, what with Wreck’s old bikes,” he said.