Lock and Key(44)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“Wait,” Cora said, looking down at the shirt on the table in front of her. “What is this for again?”

“Our Christmas card!” Jamie said, reaching into the bag he was holding to pull out another shirt—also a denim button -up, identical to hers—and handing it to me. “Remember how I said I wanted to do a photo this year?”

“You want us to wear matching shirts?” Cora asked as he took out yet one more, holding it up against his chest. “Seriously? ”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “It’s gonna be great. Oh, and wait. I forgot the best part!”

He turned, jogging out of the room into the foyer. Cora and I just stared at each other across the table.

“Matching shirts?” I said.

“Don’t panic,” she said, although her own expression was hardly calm. She looked down at her shirt again. “At least, not yet.”

“Check it out,” Jamie said, coming back into the room. He had something behind his back, which he now presented to us, with a flourish. “For Roscoe!”

It was—yes—a denim shirt. Dog sized. With a red bow tie sewn on. Maybe I should have been grateful mine didn’t have one of these, but frankly, at that moment, I was too horrified.

“Jamie,” Cora said as he bent down beneath the table. I could hear banging around, along with some snuffling, as I assumed he attempted to wrangle Roscoe, who’d been dead asleep, into his outfit. “I’m all for a Christmas card. But do you really think we need to match?”

“In my family, we always wore matching outfits,” he said, his voice muffled from the underside of the table. “My mom used to make sweaters for all of us in the same colors. Then we’d pose, you know, by the stairs or the fireplace or whatever, for our card. So this is a continuation of the tradition.”

I looked at Cora. “Do something,” I mouthed, and she nodded, holding up her hand.

“You know,” she said as Jamie finally emerged from the table holding Roscoe, who looked none too happy and was already gnawing at the bow tie, “I just wonder if maybe a regular shot would work. Or maybe just one of Roscoe?”

Jamie’s face fell. “You don’t want to do a card with all of us?”

“Well,” she said, glancing at me, “I just . . . I guess it’s just not something we’re used to. Me and Ruby, I mean. Things were different at our house. You know.”

This, of course, was the understatement of the century. I had a few memories of Christmas when my parents were still together, but when my dad left, he pretty much took my mom’s yuletide spirit with him. After that, I’d learned to dread the holidays. There was always too much drinking, not enough money, and with school out I was stuck with my mom, and only my mom, for weeks on end. No one was happier to see the New Year come than I was.

“But,” Jamie said now, looking down at Roscoe, who had completely spit-soaked the bow tie and had now moved on to chewing the shirt’s sleeve, “that’s one reason I really wanted to do this.”

“What is?”

“You,” he said. “For you. I mean, and Ruby, too, of course. Because, you know, you missed out all those years.”

I turned to Cora again, waiting for her to go to bat for us once more. Instead, she was just looking at her husband, and I could have sworn she was tearing up. Shit.

“You know what?” she said as Roscoe coughed up some bow tie. “You’re absolutely right.”

“What?” I said.

“It’ll be fun,” she told me. “And you look good in blue.”

This was little comfort, though, a week later, when I found myself posing by the pond, Roscoe perched in my lap, as Jamie fiddled with his tripod and self-timer. Cora, beside me in her shirt, kept shooting me apologetic looks, which I was studiously ignoring. “You have to understand,” she said under her breath as Roscoe tried to lick my face. “He’s just like this. The house, and the security, this whole life. . . . He’s always wanted to give me what I didn’t have. It’s really sweet, actually.”

“Here we go!” Jamie said, running over to take his place on Cora’s other side. “Get ready. One, two . . .”

At three, the camera clicked, then clicked again. Never in a million years I thought, when I saw the pictures later, stacked up next to their blank envelopes on the island. HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE HUNTERS! it said, and looking at the shot, you could almost think I was one of them. Blue shirt and all.

I wasn’t the only one being forced out of my comfort zone. About a week later, I was at my locker before first bell when I felt someone step up beside me. I turned, assuming it was Nate—the only person I ever really talked to at school on a regular basis—but was surprised to see Olivia Davis standing there instead.

“You were right,” she said. No hello or how are you. Then again, she didn’t have her phone to her ear, either, so maybe this was progress.

“About what?”

She bit her lip, looking off to the side for a moment as a couple of soccer players blew past, talking loudly. “Her name is Melissa. The girl my boyfriend was cheating with.”

“Oh,” I said. I shut my locker door slowly. “Right.”

“It’s been going on for weeks, and nobody told me,” she continued, sounding disgusted. “All the friends I have there, and everyone I talk to regularly . . . yet somehow, it just doesn’t come up. I mean, come on.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to this. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “That sucks.”

Olivia shrugged, still looking across the hallway. “It’s fine. Better I know than not, right?”

“Definitely,” I agreed.

“Anyway,” she said, her tone suddenly brisk, all business, “I just wanted to say, you know, thanks. For the tip.”

“No problem.”

Her phone rang, the sound already familiar to me, trilling from her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at it, but didn’t open it. “I don’t like owing people things,” she told me. “So you just let me know how we get even here, all right? ”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said as her phone rang again. “I just gave you a name.”

“Still. It counts.” Her phone rang once more, and now she did flip it open, putting it to her ear. “One sec,” she said, then covered the receiver. “Anyway, keep it in mind.”