Page 24 of Under Locke & Key
Saturday arrivesin a blaze of spring sunshine cutting through the garage apartment window and the sound of my father mowing. Despite the nerves eating up my stomach, I managed a couple of hours sleep, and I step into a hot shower to perk me up enough to get through dressing.
Henley and jeans this time. The second meeting we’ll be having where I’m not in my usual scratchy button ups and slacks. I don’t know what it says about me as a business owner but the fabric is soft, long sleeves to stave off the still-chilly breeze, but thin enough for when the sun bakes the indoors. Despite the futility of it, I give myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror before I leave.
A little too shaggy for the office. My hair is longer than I usually keep it and the scruff I’ve kept at varying lengths over the last nine months has slowly become familiar. Paired with my outfit, I look—relaxed. Even though that word doesn’t really feel like it suits me. Quiet, yes. Careful, usually. Relaxed, not within my mind.
Fastening my boots, I do my regular double knot. I should have told her to forgo the heels this time, in case we have any uneven flooring or way too many steps, but even if I’d thought about it sooner—we’ve less than an hour until we meet up at the old bank—I doubt I’d have gone through with it. Who am I to tell her how to dress? Why should it matter to me at all?
“You heading out? All ready?” My dad calls from his spot in the backyard as he watches me get into the car, wiping his forearm against the sweat gathered on his brow.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The ride downtown seems to take forever and I hit every red light on the way there. By the time I’m parked with the meter paid and outside the steps of the Old National, Rachel is already there.
And chatting up a storm with Jim—the real estate agent I’ve reached out to for help—one of my dad’s not-quite-friends-but-friendly-acquaintances people.
“Ah, Bryce!” He steps forward and gives my hand an enthusiastic shake. “I was just telling Miss Mackey here that we’ve got an exciting lineup. I’ve got you scheduled for the three you mentioned and if those don’t work for you, I can set up some others for another day. There are two options I know of on my end. It’ll be a packed morning but your dad emphasized how important it is to get a jump start on this, so I hope you both are ready.”
Rachel gives him a smile, one that has the tiniest flash of dimple, but not all the way there yet. When she turns that smile to me I almost choke.
She’s not in heels. She’s not in anything stuck up at all.
Jim swings the heavy doors inward and she follows close behind in loafers, her shapely legs clad in blue jeans, and a button down loosely tucked into them. It should look semi-professional but something about the oversized shirt on her petite body, the collar slightly askew and the buttons around her throat undone that is a little too—rumpled for me to get my mind off.
And boy is my mind having a field day wondering what she’d look like in one ofmyshirts.
“It’ll need a lot of work but there’s some offices off to the side, two conference rooms upstairs, and the vault is a pretty fun touch!” Jim’s voice bounces through the cavernous space, the super high ceilings and emptiness stretching and throwing his words around.
The space could be beautiful. Marble and heavy steel and possibilities. But there’s ugly eighties industrial carpeting curling up off the floor, yellow glue tacked underneath it and covering whatever tile or wood lay beneath. The offices and conference spaces are separated by glass and cubicle-type walls. None of this is conducive to creating a “locked-in” feel and it would be a bitch to keep clean, not to mention heated in the winter.
“What do you think?” Jim asks and Rachel looks up at me, all big bright eyes and questions behind them.
“It’s lovely but I’m not sure it’s the right space. I don’t mind the double levels but it does make it much harder to see multiple rooms happening at once. I think I’d prefer something a little closer with definite separate rooms or the capability to easily make them.” I say to both of them and she nods, as if mentally notating what I’m saying.
Jim walks us the two blocks to the old movie theater, chatting to Rachel about the history of the town and she soaks it all up.
“Dulaney was settled in the 1700’s by a family from Ireland. Since then it’s been home to slavery, war, ghost stories, and so many German immigrants that it has a sister-city back in Bavaria. A lot of families have been here a long time and you’ll hear a lot of people with the same names as our streets. We had a big flood in the nineties that damaged a lot of downtown. Since then it’s been bits and spurts of progress. We’re finally getting to a point where people are starting to move back and revitalize the town.”
Jim looks back over his shoulder at me and gives me an approving nod. “People like Bryce here, for instance. I can tell you, my grandkids will absolutely love this place, especially since the ice rink closed down ten years ago. It’ll be good to keep people entertained and out of trouble.”
As if to emphasize the words “closed down”, we round the corner to the theater and Jim gets us inside. There’s little light here, the opposite of the bank, and so dusty that it sticks at the back of my throat. I clear it once, twice, and give up.
The theater isn’t a bad option at all. There are well defined rooms where each screen used to be set up. Even though the ceilings are still quite high, and the chairs will all need ripping up—along with the carpet—god, so much carpet. The walls are covered in graffiti and there’s a lot of random trash littering the place. But there’s a long passage up above between the projector rooms, which I didn’t know as a kid, that will serve us well. I thought each little window in the back was its own room. Instead it’s a long hallway with little nooks for each, no bigger than a bathroom or coat closet.
Throughout our little trek Rachel thinks to ask Jim how many outlets are in the room, and how long the place has stood empty. Jim recommends a good inspector and makes an offhand comment about the electric being older than dirt and off for years.
Overwhelm sneaks up on me. Between the stuffy rooms, the dust clinging to my skin and throat, and the dark I have to squint through to get an idea of what I’m looking at, it’s beginning to grate. This might be a good option but I’m ready to quit it now. I make a show of looking down at my smartwatch.
“Hey, Jim. I like this place better than the bank but I have Rachel in a bit of a time crunch and I’d love to be able to narrow it down some more.”
She looks up at me, her face half shadowed, mouth open to contradict what I’m saying but something akin to understanding flashes across her face and she just nods instead.
“You got it. I’ll just lock up but you guys feel free to head on over to the mill in the meantime. I’ll meet you there.”
We step back out on the curb. Jim’s parked on the opposite side of the block from me and is fussing with the heavy chains someone’s added in addition to the regular locks—no doubt thanks to the graffiti. Rachel stands out on the corner and soaks up the street around her, just starting to brim with people walking their dogs and browsing the shops that have opened since our quest began.
“I’ll meet you over there?” I ask and her attention snaps back to me.
Biting down on her bottom lip she takes a deep breath before speaking. “It might take me a minute to get there.”
