Keeper of the Keys

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 ru

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 room, 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.”