Page 32 of Under Locke & Key
The second, and last, location isn’t any better. Despite it inhabiting all the charm and history I’d like, it’s unsuitable. Too far from downtown, the Colonial Brownstoneisstunning, but the doorways and passageways are too narrow, and the tiny steps up to the front door too steep. The spiral staircase is a nightmare on its own. There’s no way this will be an accessible building without a lot of time and money. Something I am limited on. So, the choice is made, almost for me.
“Thanks for bringing me out here, Jim. I’m going to confer with Rachel and get back to you as soon as possible, but I think I have an idea of where I’m headed. I appreciate you taking the time to help us.” I hold out my hand for the realtor to shake and Jim gives me a kind smile.
“I look forward to hearing from you, and I meant it. It’s going to be great to have a place like this in town. I’m glad you found your way home.”
The words hit me in the solar plexus and all I can do is give him a tight smile, my ability to speak momentarily failing me. Driving off shortly after, Jim leaves me standing on a residential sidewalk with too much buzzing in my brain. There’s really only one person I can, and want to, talk to about this.
Sorry to bother you on a Sunday.
Do you have a minute to talk?
I think I have a location in mind but want to run it by you.
I’m near downtown if you’d like to meet somewhere.
I’m not sure why I’ve even phrased it like that. It’s not as if she has any bearing on what place I let. Rachel will be dealing with what's happening inside of the building, not which one it is. Still, I meant it when I said her opinion mattered. The reply comes swift.
Rachel
Hey! I’m in the middle of something
Heart dropping into my shoes, the force of my disappointment is a shock to the system. Before I can even try to grab my words back through the ether she follows up with,
If you don’t mind meeting at my apartment, we can discuss here.
I’m about five minutes out. Is that okay?
Perfect. Door’s unlocked!
There’s a parking space behind the building
That . . . doesn’t seem safe. I would’ve thought a girl from D.C. knows better than to leave her house unlocked, but then again, I did say five minutes. Maybe the thing she’s in the middle of is time sensitive and she can’t drop whatever it is at a moment’s notice when I arrive.
Thankful that I don’t have to brave the Sunday post-church downtown parking situation, I head toward the robin’s egg blue door I’d seen her disappear into yesterday. The shop beneath her apartment has their door ajar and the rich aromas of tea, herbal and heady, floats out onto the sidewalk. I allow myself one deep, calming breath, nodding at the old man behind the register, staring out the window at me before I head upstairs.
It turns out the thing she’s in the middle of, the one that prevents her from locking her door, isn’t time consuming so much as it is dangerous.
Rachel stands on the corner of a console, probably for her TV which sits haphazardly on the floor off to the side. Reaching over, screws in her mouth and an old screwdriver in her hand, she’s trying to mount a curtain rod bracket without the proper equipment and is practically halfway to falling. There’s too much weight on one foot, and she’s balanced precariously.
Rising up onto her toes, her back foot stretched out behind her as she braces herself on the wall to reach further, I feel my heart stutter. The muscle in her calf flexes, clad in what I can only describe as if leggings were shorts, leaving most of her legs bare. Fear and anger that she’d do something this foolhardy fill me.
“Are you out of your mind?” It comes out harsher than I intend, already stepping in to try and help.
My body knows it was a mistake before my mind catches up and it’s only for that reason that I’m close enough. Long legs eating up the distance between us in three lengthy strides, I’m near when she whips her head around, her body pivoting to give her a better view of who’s just spoken.
Screws fall from between her lips as her mouth drops open in shock, clinking against wood as they tumble and hit. Rachel’s spin causes her to lose her balance, her small hand reaching back and gripping the slightly textured drywall as if it’ll provide a means of stopping gravity.
I’ve never seen someone fall in slow motion but somehow she manages it. Enough time for me to reach out my arms and catch her before she lands head first, or more likely on her side, from a few feet off the ground.
Rachel’s breath leaves her chest in a little “oof” from the collision of her body dropping against mine. Face buried against my shoulder, her arms and legs tucked in slightly as if she’d tried to curl into a ball to lessen the impact of her fall, she’s warm and soft in my arms.
My brain is still lagging behind my body, it takes me a full five seconds to convince my hands and arms to let her go so she can stand on her own. Her body sliding against mine as I deposit her onto the floor is wicked, and her cheeks are flushed a deep red.
When she looks up at me it takes a moment for her eyes to switch from glassy to something sharp.
“AmIout of my mind? What kind of person startles someone in the middle of a dangerous task?” The breathiness of the statement undercuts the incredulity and anger she tries to inject into it.
“So you admit it’s dangerous?”
