Lock and Key(77)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“I’ll do that,” he said, reaching into his almost-empty sack. “But you go ahead and bring him some candy canes. I’ll meet you back here. All right?”

“Okay,” I said, handing over Roscoe’s leash. He took it, then tossed his sack over his shoulder—the Santa police would have approved—and started across the street to a house with brightly lit snowflakes on either side of the front steps.

I slid the box of candy canes in my pocket, then headed up Nate’s walk, taking a deep breath of cool air. The truth was, I’d thought about getting him a Christmas gift. I had even picked out more than one before stopping myself, not sure even after that night in the pool that I was ready or able to make such a grand gesture. But in the days since, I’d also realized that with Nate, everything just came so easily, as easily as letting him take my hand and pull me beneath the surface. Maybe it was impossible for someone to share everything with you, but I was beginning to think what we had was enough. And anyway, it was Christmas, a time above all for hope, or so I’d been told. He’d given me so much, and now, here, I was finally ready to reciprocate. So I stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

The moment he opened the door, I knew something was wrong. It was just the look on his face—surprised, even alarmed—followed immediately by the way he eased the door a bit more shut, the same move I’d once mastered with the Jehovah’s and landlords. “Ruby,” he said, his voice low. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Right that moment, I heard his dad: loud, bellowing, barely muffled from behind a nearby wall. I swallowed, then said, “Jamie was just handing out stuff, for Christmas—”

“It’s not a good time,” he said as there was a bang, or a thud, discernible. “I’ll call you a little later, okay?”

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“I’m fine.”

“Nate—”

“I am. But I’ve got to go,” he said, easing the door closed a bit more. I could barely see him now. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ”

I didn’t get a chance to answer this, as the door was already shutting with an audible click. I just stood there, my mouth dry, wondering what I should do. I’m fine, he’d said. I reached out, putting my hand on the knob and turning it. Here I was, finally ready to let him in, and it was me locked out.

“Hey!” Jamie called from behind me. I turned. He and Roscoe were across the street, coming closer. “Are they there? ”

Say something, I thought, but even as I tried to form the words, any words, I remembered that day in the garage, how he’d asked me to keep this quiet. You understand. Did I want to be the Honeycutts, stepping in and ruining everything, even if I thought it was for the best? Jamie was coming up the walk, Roscoe pulling ahead. I had to decide, now.

“They’re not home,” I said, stepping off the porch. The box of candy canes was still in my pocket, and I slid my fingers in, cupping them around it. It felt almost like a hand, resting in mine. “Let’s just go.”

Chapter Thirteen

I was up until way late, but not waiting for Santa. Instead, I lay on my bed, watching the lights from Nate’s pool dance across the trees, the same way I had that first night. More than once, I thought about sneaking over again to find him and see if he was okay. But then I’d remember him shutting the door in my face, the click of the latch catching, and stay where I was.

The next morning, I got a new backpack, some CDs, a few books, and a laptop. Cora got her period.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sputtered when, shortly after we’d opened gifts, I found her sitting on her bed, crying. “Really.”

“Honey.” Jamie came over, sitting beside her and sliding his arm over her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“I know.” Her voice was still choked as she reached up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just, I really had a feeling it had happened this month. Which I know is so stupid . . .”

“You’re not stupid,” Jamie said softly, smoothing a hand over her head.

“. . . but I just started thinking how great it would be to find out today and be able to tell you guys, and how it would be the best gift ever—” She drew in a long, shaky breath, her eyes welling up again. “But it didn’t happen. I’m not pregnant. Again.”

“Cora.”

“I know,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s Christmas, we have a wonderful life, roof over our head, things so many people want. But I want this. And no matter what I do, I can’t get it. It just . . .” She trailed off, wiping her eyes again. This time, Jamie didn’t say anything.

“Sucks,” I finished for her.

“Yeah,” she said, looking up at me. “It sucks.”

I felt so helpless, the way I always did when I saw Cora upset about the baby issue. It was the one thing that could take her from zero to emotional in less than five minutes, the single tender spot in her substantial personal armor. The previous month she’d finally agreed to a little pharmaceutical help, via an ovulation drug, which made her hot and emotional, liable to be sweating or weeping or both at any given moment. Not a good mix, especially during the holidays. And now, it was all for nothing. It did suck.

“We’ll just try again,” Jamie was saying now. “It was just the first month. Maybe the second time will be the charm.”

Cora nodded, but I could see she was hardly convinced as she reached up, running her finger over the gift I’d given her that morning: one of Harriet’s key necklaces, a silver one lined with red stones. I’d been strangely nervous as she opened the box, worried she wouldn’t like it, but the minute she slid it out into her hand, her eyes widening, I knew I’d scored. “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up at me. “It’s like yours!”

“Kind of,” I said. “But not completely.”

“I love it,” she told me, reaching up immediately to put it on. She brushed her hair over her shoulders. “What do you think? Does it look good?”

It had, and did now, as she rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder, curling into him. She still had one hand around the key. The necklace looked different on her than on me, but you could see some similarities. You just had to know where to look.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Roscoe, who’d been snoozing at the foot of the bed, perked up his ears and let out a yap. “Was that the door?” Jamie asked.