Chương 4
“Sorry.”
“You’d be surprised what people think property management does.”
She told me security started at six in the morning and that she would brief the building manager, Carlos Mendes, before leaving for the day.
Then her voice shifted.
“Emily, there’s something else you should consider.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“If you believe they may try to enter your unit without permission, you should make sure no one has a physical key.”
“They don’t.”
I stopped.
My mother did not have a condo key.
At least, I had never given her one.
But she had been in the unit on closing day.
She had helped carry two tote bags from my car while Thomas showed me how the building fobs worked.
The locksmith packet had been sitting on the counter then, containing three keys.
I could remember putting one on my own ring.
I could remember giving one to my friend Leah because she had agreed to check on me after surgery.
The third key should have been in the small ceramic bowl beside the entryway.
I stood.
The bowl held a grocery-store receipt, two quarters, a wrapped peppermint, and no key.
“I’ll call you back,” I said.
I ended the call and stared into the bowl as if the key might materialize under pressure.
Then I checked the drawer beneath it.
Nothing.
My purse.
Nothing.
The kitchen junk drawer.
Nothing.
My desk box.
Nothing.
By the time I reached the bedroom, I was breathing harder than the search justified.
The surgeon had told me not to bend repeatedly.
I bent repeatedly anyway.
I searched the nightstand, the canvas bag from closing, the folder containing appliance manuals, and the cardboard box where I had thrown spare cables.
No third key.
I sat on the edge of the bed and called Leah.
She answered with her mouth apparently full.
“If this is about lunch, I’m eating your soup.”
“I hope it’s the lentil one.”
“It is, and I have no remorse.”
“Do you still have the spare key I gave you?”
A crunch.
Then silence.
“Yes.”
“Can you send me a picture of it?”
“Are you being held hostage by a locksmith?”
“Leah.”
“Okay, that was the wrong tone.”
I heard a chair scrape.
“What happened?”
I told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Melissa was coming.
Mom might have taken a key.
There was a truck.
Management knew.
Leah listened without interrupting, which was one of the reasons we had stayed friends for eleven years despite having almost nothing else in common.
She was a physical therapist who believed most problems could be improved by hydration, resistance bands, or direct confrontation.
I preferred documentation.
“So change the lock,” she said.
“I just bought the place.”
“Locks aren’t emotionally attached to closings.”
“I don’t even know if Mom took the key.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know who has it.”
I lay back carefully and stared at the ceiling.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“Feeling ridiculous is cheaper than finding your sister’s bunk beds in your spare room.”
I covered my eyes.
“She has four kids, Leah.”
“Yes.”
“They have nowhere to go.”
“That is sad.”
“She’s still my sister.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I am helping.”
Her voice softened.
“Emily, helping her find somewhere to go and letting six people establish themselves in your home while you’re recovering are two different things.”
The phrase establish themselves bothered me.
It sounded legal.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I watch too much terrible television, so don’t quote me.”
She sent the picture.
Her key had a small blue sticker I had placed on it while organizing the closing packet.
I remembered then.
The third key had a yellow sticker.
I had seen it in the ceramic bowl Sunday night.
My mother had visited Monday morning.
She brought chicken soup and complained that the living room needed curtains.
She also spent ten minutes alone near the entryway while I was in the bathroom struggling with a compression garment.
I sat up again.
“No.”
“What?”
“I think she took it.”
“Call her.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then call a locksmith.”
That was how Leah handled life.
When one door became difficult, she searched for a different door rather than arguing with the first one.
I opened the building’s resident portal and found the after-hours vendor list.
The locksmith could come that afternoon.
The fee was irritatingly high.
I booked it anyway.
Then I called my mother.
She answered cheerfully.
“Hi, sweetheart, how’s the pain?”
“Where is my yellow spare key?”
Silence.
Then a cabinet door closed on her end.
“What key?”
“The third key to my condo.”
“I don’t know anything about your keys.”
“It was in the bowl by my front door.”
“You lose things constantly.”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
I almost argued.
Instead I waited.
My mother disliked silence.
She filled it before other people could.
“I might have moved it when I was cleaning.”
“You didn’t clean.”
“I wiped the counter.”
“Did you take my key?”
“Why would I take your key?”
“For Melissa.”
The line went still enough that I could hear her television in the background.
Some daytime host was applauding.
“Your sister is in a difficult position.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She has children, Emily.”
“Did you take my key?”
“You are becoming very fixated on this.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the comforter.
“Yes or no.”
“I was going to keep it for emergencies.”
The room seemed to lose sound.
“You took it.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“I didn’t say steal.”
“Well, that’s what you’re implying.”
“No, I’m saying you took a key to my home without asking me.”
“I am your mother.”
“That does not make it your key.”
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation after everything I’ve done for you.”
There it was, opened like a familiar umbrella.
Everything.
No list required.
May you like
Everything simply existed, large and shapeless, available whenever I said no.
“Are you planning to give that key to Melissa?”
