Keeper of the Keys

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  Farther east there would be championship golf courses, pools, hotels, restaurants, shopping. Kat remembered the town as a compact, wealthy, sedate Vegas. Tuesday morning, and the only people going to work seemed to be Hispanic. The retirees would still be putting in the laps in their backyard pools.

  They drove around the parking lot, looking for Leigh’s minivan. Nothing. Driving past the corner market farther up the road, and up and down a couple of side streets, all they turned up was a guy washing his driveway with a hose-felonious waste of water. “We’ll just have to get the room number somehow,” Ray said as they parked under the portico. The external air temperature was eighty-seven degrees, according to the thermometer Velcroed onto the Echo’s dashboard. The earth-withering heat slapped her down as she climbed out. “Ow.” She flung her hand away from the car.

  “Let me go in,” Ray said.

  She stood in the shade by the car, imagining a star drifting too close to the earth in a disaster movie and searing the landscape, blinding her through her shades and shriveling her skin. Ray negotiated with the clerk inside behind the barrier of glass, smiling, gesturing like a Napolitano. For somebody who hadn’t communicated very well with his wife, Ray seemed to have a way of persuading people to go his way, so she waited and hoped.

  When he came out, she said, “Well, is Leigh staying here or not?”

  “He says no. He remembers your phone call. We’re lucky to get rooms at all, he’s so suspicious. Luckily the place isn’t jammed full, it’s a Tuesday in August, not exactly the best weather for a visit. He says it’ll be ninety-nine by noon.”

  She examined his face and read nothing. “That’s it? Aren’t you disappointed?”

  “We just got here. Keep your shirt on.” He picked up his bag. “Got us communicating rooms at the corner, away from the traffic,” he said, self-satisfied in the way guys were when they killed a deer with a rifle or made money on a stock. He handed her a card key. “Meet me at the coffee shop in ten minutes.”

  She walked along the concrete path in front of the third-floor rooms, second-floor rooms, first-floor rooms, cursing the efficient blinds. Now and then she caught a glimpse of motel life, a man sitting on the bed watching TV, loud noises of squabbling kids, a woman on the phone brushing her hair, heedless of the open window.

  She wasn’t Leigh, though, and Leigh wasn’t in the standard-issue coffee shop. They showed the waitress her photo and got another look and a shrug.

  They ate. Kat had a headache behind her eyes. She thought, another wasted trip, and this thought was very frightening, because the road seemed to end here at the motel. It seemed to Kat that if they didn’t find Leigh here she would have to admit she was dead.

  “If she’s not using the coffee shop, I guess it’s not much use to check out the pool,” Ray said. “We can do that, though, and keep a watch on the rooms, and we can keep looking for her van.”

  “You think the clerk was lying?”

  “I think the clerk was doing his job. Protecting people’s privacy.”

  “After this we’ll have to go home,” Kat said.

  The waitress gave him the check and he got out his credit card. As he was signing the bill, the door opened and the motel clerk came into the coffee shop. Waving a hand familiarly at the waitress, he zeroed in on their table and slid into the booth next to Kat. He was younger than she had imagined through the window, Latino, with large clear brown eyes, not hostile but not friendly, either.

  “Why do you want this lady?” he said.

  “Why do you care?” Ray said. “If she hasn’t been here?”

  “Curiosity. I keep track of cops traveling through. Do I need to watch out for her?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Ray said. “I’m her husband, just like I said.”

  “Who’s she?” he said, motioning with his thumb toward his seatmate.

  “I’m her sister,” Kat said.

  “Like I told you,” Ray said.

  “Still lying,” the clerk said.

  “How do you know I’m lying?”

  “Because the lady I’m thinkin’ of, she ain’t got a sister.”

  Ray’s mouth dropped open. “She’s here?” Kat experienced a peculiar feeling in her chest. Hope, rising eternally. But she felt very fragile, as though she couldn’t bear for this hope to be crushed, too. She and Ray looked at each other. The clerk was watching them.

  “I didn’t say that. There’s a similar lady. I gave her a call. She said she had a husband, but no sister.”

  “Okay,” Kat said. “Look, we shouldn’t have tried to tell you a lie. I’m not her sister. It’s true, she doesn’t have a sister.”

  “Let me see your driver’s license,” he told Ray. Then, “And yours, too.” Kat produced hers, and he looked them both over carefully. “Wait here,” he said, and left.

  Five minutes passed. The hum in the coffee shop seemed to get louder. Kat was trembling; it was freezing in there and too brightly lit, and her headache was getting worse. She and Ray seemed to have lost the ability to speak. This is it, she kept saying to herself. One way or the other.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear one more second of this purgatory, she saw the clerk come in again. He plopped down and said, “This lady-she says she’s willing to talk to you.” He held up a hand. “Wait. That’s all she said. She doesn’t talk much. That’s it. I don’t know anything else.”

  “What’s her name?” Ray said.

  “Gale Graham.”

  “How long has she been here?”

  “A while. Do you want the room number or not?”

  “Is she-did you recognize her photo?”

  “I can’t say.” He handed them a map of the complex, which turned out to be much larger than they had imagined from seeing its front, including two adjoining buildings. Building A hosted the overnighters. Another building, for monthly renters, held struggling young families receiving Section 8 funds from the government. Building C held what he called “executive suites” and were for paying clients who stayed a week or two.

  “Here.” He tapped a fingernail on room 116 of Building C. “Her room. First floor, by the pool. I’ll be checking on her in an hour. And I made copies of your IDs. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  Ray led the way. She followed him, step for rapid step, along the harsh white concrete walkways to Building C.

  They arrived at 116. Two dried-out potted palms flanked the doorway. The sun was fierce on the concrete. When Ray didn’t knock but stood, hanging back off the walkway like someone who did not belong, Kat knocked firmly.

  No answer.

  She tried the doorbell.

  Again, nothing.

  Then, like a chapter starting up in a children’s story, the door opened.

  28

  L eigh stood there, in a tank top, shorts, and running shoes, long hair in a ponytail.

  Ray and Kat faced her uncertainly, but not for long. “You came for me!” she cried, leaping forward into Ray’s arms. She buried her face in his shoulder. He held her tight, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was in pain.

  Kat stepped back, dizzy, watching as they pressed against each other so hard they almost toppled over there in the entryway. Realizations tumbled through her mind. Leigh was alive. She had run away after all.

  Ray hadn’t murdered her. Ray was just Ray. The police, the suspicion-it amounted to nothing.

  Leigh ran away, leaving them to search for her. She had caused so much pain-

  But she was alive. Ray and Leigh held each other, then pulled apart enough to look at each other. Then there were a lot of kisses, more hugs. After a long, long time, the couple broke apart, and Kat took a good look at her lost friend. Taller than Kat remembered, older, pretty in a grave way in spite of dark circles around her eyes.

  “Kat,” Leigh said, her voice muffled, and her arm drew Kat close. “You here? Incredible. Come in.” They stepped out of the heat and into the arctic breeze of a Palm Springs motel room.

  The r
oom, slightly larger than most hotel rooms, had textured wallpaper, soothing green and white in an abstract fern pattern. Double-glass doors, at the moment standing ajar and letting in a river of superheated air, led out to a courtyard. Beyond low palms and succulents that fringed a flagstone walkway, the turquoise, freeform pool beckoned, the water reflections dancing on the ceiling of Leigh’s room like something alive. The king-sized bed was unmade. A jumble of groceries was stacked on the desk, and the TV was on, muted. Leigh had been here awhile.

  They stood in the room and stared at each other. Where should they start? With her frightening absence? With all the distrust, and the many changes?

  “We thought something had happened to you,” Kat said at last, her voice hoarse.

  In a quiet voice, Leigh said, “I had decided to come home. I want you to know that. I’m ready to face-everything.”

  Ray and Leigh sat down on the edge of the bed together. He put his arm around his wife and held on tight. Kat took a chair by the door.

  Ray said, “I’m so very, very sorry, Leigh. I didn’t treat you right.”

  His wife shook her head. “No. No, darling. It wasn’t you. I should have come straight home. I was confused and-hurt.”

  “I never should have-”

  “I need you so much-” They fell together like drowning sailors, murmuring and sighing. Kat tried to restrain herself.

  “Kat?” Leigh was examining her.

  “Hey.” Kat’s voice felt less forceful than usual.

  Leigh’s eyes whipped between Ray and Kat and cruised back again, settling finally on her husband.

  “Is this like-I take up with your best friend so you search for mine and hook up?” The corners of her mouth trembled, but turned up slightly. Kat realized she was joking, obviously as unsteady with the situation as they were.

  Kat said, “Gee, Leigh, there was that ugly possibility that Ray might have killed you and buried you under a new swimming pool in Laguna or somewhere.”

  “What?”

  “The police-your father called the police.”

  “Oh, no. I knew I should have called them. But-Dad’s a police officer-it would have set things in motion-I couldn’t-” Leigh stood and went over to Kat, put her hand on Kat’s shoulder, and looked into her eyes wonderingly.

  “When I-saw you both standing there in the doorway, I had the awful thought this was some kind of payback for Martin. I’m sorry. I’m-so surprised.”

  “I’m glad to see you,” Kat said, and broke into a smile. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I’m glad, too. It’s so good to see you, Kat. I can’t believe it.”

  “We joined forces to look for you.”

  Leigh’s eyes welled. “I didn’t expect that. I thought you both hated me.”

  “I never hated you, Leigh,” Kat said. “Are you all right?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, I’m not sick, if that’s what you mean. But there have been times when I thought I might never come back. I just couldn’t see my way out. I needed time.”

  “I don’t give a shit about what happened with Martin anymore,” Ray said. “And I swear, you don’t have to run from me. I will never hurt you. I’m sorry if I scared you that night.”

  “Oh, my darling. Of course, you would never hurt me! I didn’t leave because of Martin. I didn’t leave because you were so mad.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Then, when Ray tried to speak again, she laid her finger across his lips.

  A fan spun overhead and a chill ran down Kat’s back.

  “I’ll explain. Just let me catch my breath. Hold me, please. Tight.”

  “Tell me one thing,” Ray said. “Tell me you’ll come home.”

  The look she gave him puzzled Kat. Leigh put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and it was a look like a goddess comforting a penitent, a look full of love and-what? Pity? “You came a long way to find me. I hope-I pray you won’t regret it,” Leigh said.

  “Never,” Ray said. “Come home with us.”

  “I need to explain but I’m afraid.”

  During the pause that followed, Kat stood up and said, “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’ll leave you two for a little bit, okay? You can catch up. I’ll take a dip or something.”

  “Don’t go,” Leigh said firmly. “We’ve all kept too many secrets. No more of that. Let’s just go. I’ll tell you everything soon. So much to say, but first, we need to pack up and get on the road. I want to go home.”

  She went over to hug Kat for a long time. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re as extreme as ever,” she said with a flash of her old impudence, giving Kat’s cheek a quick caress. Then, “This will just take a minute,” she said, opening drawers and tossing clothing toward her suitcase.

  They checked out of the motel, Ray slipping the clerk a hundred-dollar bill and being rewarded with the name of the clerk’s brother, who would be willing to drive Leigh’s van back to L.A. He collected Ray’s money, collected the card keys, and turned back to a small television at the back of the office, which was at that moment offering up a compelling advertisement about pizza.

  When they opened the door to leave, the clerk spoke at last, still watching the TV.

  “You all find what you were looking for here?”

  They nodded.

  “Leaving me with just the tumbleweeds, the old folks, and the highway patrol for company.” He chuckled raggedly. “Well, hasta luego.”

  “I bet he’s a transplant,” Kat said, as they walked through the parking lot toward the Echo. “I think he got stuck here because his elderly parents owned this run-down motel. He spruced it up, advertised in some good magazines, and gets all his news from travelers.”

  “You still do that,” Leigh said. “Make up things about people. Oh, it’s so good to see you, kiddo.”

  “Sit with Ray in back,” Kat said. “I’ll chauffeur.” She should be dying of curiosity, she supposed, but she wasn’t. She didn’t care why Leigh had left. She only cared that Leigh was returning, with new chances all around.

  Or perhaps some part of her just wanted the moment to stay bright and unalloyed, pure, happy. Ray and Leigh were holding each other, and she could feel in a visceral way both Ray’s overwhelming joy and Leigh’s deep relief at being found.

  Leigh’s face when she said, “I pray you won’t regret it”-let that wait, let the universe hold still for a few moments and just rejoice.

  After stopping for gas and a snack at a convenience gas station, they climbed back into the mountains at top speed. For as long as they had open highway, Kat drove fast, dashing from one lane to another, eyes glued to the side mirrors, watching for trouble.

  Leigh’s mood changed. She pulled away a little, looking out the window silently, though she kept Ray’s hands in hers. Every once in a while they would lean their heads together, murmur to each other, their love for each other obvious.

  Kat passed her bottled water back to Leigh. They were at the top of the grade, looking down on the L.A. Basin. All they could see was brown air swathing everything. External temperature, ninety-four.

  Leigh stirred. “Um, take the 605,” she said, “when you can, okay?”

  Kat, caught up in the flow of getting home, was thrown off. “That’s not on our route. Why should I take the 605? I mean, Whittier?”

  “I promise it makes sense,” Leigh said. “Could we stop and get coffee or something? This isn’t going to be easy.”

  Kat pulled off and they found a chain restaurant. When the coffee came, Leigh talked. And talked. And talked.

  A pounding at the door. At first, Esmé covered her ears with the extra pillow. That didn’t work. Her head began to pound along with someone’s fist, pow, pow, pow. She wished she had not drunk so very much whiskey that night, or at least had eaten dinner. Sodden and fragile, she realized that, now awake, she wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Fury built. That noise! She had to make it stop!

  What time was it? Three in the afternoon, not good, not good.

  Sliding
out of bed, which caused a nasty shifting of perspective, she peeked out the side window toward the porch and saw a tableau of three shadowy figures in blinding sun. Her heart froze as she recognized Ray. Two women flanked him. One was tall. Leigh.

  So you’re back, she thought. Back to ruin my life. The fury grew, as if it had an existence of its own, had lived independently inside her for many years. They had come like furtive critters who dig up carcasses in the night forest, that bring the soil aboil.

  She peeked again from the raised curtain-corner. The two women stood silently along the pathway to the house, having retreated from the porch. Ray had disappeared. Well, she had taken his key away, hadn’t she? What could she expect? Her boy wanted in. He would not be denied.

  She would fight. He had no right to violate her space. He was a traitor to the family, no longer welcome.

  But he was her darling son. She had lived her life for him.

  No more.

  Which?

  Swaying between emotions, her mind achieved a moment of clarity, and she understood he would attack the weak point of the house, the single basement window, the chink in her battlements.

  She ran into the living room and located her sharp knife. She could not allow Ray to bumble around in that basement. She would have to go stop him.

  Was there some way to explain away anything Leigh must have told him by now? Could she save him, sacrificing only the peripheral people who did not matter? Padding through the dark hallway toward the closed door that led to the basement stairs, she thought, I’ll just deny everything she says, whatever she told him.

  But Ray would believe Leigh, not her. It’s a matter of love, she thought. He has cleaved to his wife and left me. She breathed in the bitterness of his abandonment and it mixed with the anger.

  Glass broke. She heard the basement window creak open, the window she expected to open. She had every right to protect herself and-and-her hand shook, holding the knife ready. He was breaking in, all right. I thought it was a burglar, Judge, she thought, her mind swirling. It isn’t always about you, son, some of it is about me, my basic survival, and now when you turn your back after I have given you everything, everything-