She got out of the car. Her headlights lit the carport area with its closeted facilitieslaundry, tool room, lavatory and the steps on the left that led up to the kitchen entrance. She tried the door. It was locked. Halfway down to her mothers lower-level patio, a breeze stirred the wind chimes suspended from the arch over her head. Aaron had given them to her on a Christmas morning and hung them there.
Should never have come back. Shouldve gone anywhereanywhere but here!
The patio door held fast. She stumbled into her backyard and breathed the smell of the brackish water of Sanderling Creek, which flowed with memories that turned her around. She crossed along the back of the house. In the middle of the up-sloping side yard she ran into the thorny branches of the Pyracantha.
Oh! she cried as she felt the scratches on her face. A thought glimmered like after-storm lightning. The secret key! That day I came home with chicken pox and no one was here. Blessie hid it and said, You wont never be locked out again. I wonder. After all these years, could it ?
In the dim light of a street lamp she estimated where it might be. About a foot from the house. Straight down from the left nursery window on the upper floor, near her bedroom.
She looked around for something to dig with and found a piece of broken flowerpot. She brushed away mosquitoes and perspiration and tried several times before she struck glass. The jarthats it!
She pulled it out and wiped the earth away with her hands. The screwtop was rusted on so she smashed it against the house, then removed the damp disintegrated paper wrapped around the key. If it doesnt work Ill go get Blessiesbut I dont want to see anyonenot yet.
She put the broken pieces of glass in the hole and covered them with dirt. She began to step away but something held her to the spot. Up through the limbs loaded with small berries she saw herself in the nursery window as she had stood one early morning. Aaron was with herclosehis arms about her waist.
She had discovered a pair of mourning doves building their nest in the thorny branches. With shared wonderment, she and Aaron watched like anxious parents as the male and female took turns sitting on the two small white eggs, then endlessly fetched food for the greedy hatchlings.
Carol said, I want to see the mama and papa get them through all those thorns.
Aaron said, They dont fit the nest anymore. Its got to be tomorrow. Ill come early.
Carol met him as he ran from the bridge that crossed to her side of the creek. She pulled him, panting, through the kitchen door. They stole to the window. She felt his racing heart as he pressed against her. She feared that he could hear her hearts wild throbbing. They looked down into the nest. It was empty. One limp-necked fledgling was caught in the thorns. She felt tears spring to her eyes as he turned her to him.
Oh! she said.
He held her head against his shoulder. As he eased the ball of soft feathers free, scratches cut his hands. She helped him dig a grave and line it with white tissue paper.
I name thee Cantha, he said.
They had buried it near where the key was hidden.
Cantha, Carol said as she rubbed the grimy key in her hand.
Though she knew the front door would not yield, she tried it, then hurried to unlock the kitchen door. She took her suitcase to her room.
It looked about the same as it had three years before when she had run away stunned and shattered. Rose walls and bed covers were faded softer. Her shelves of books, world globe, pictures, desk, electric typewriter, all were there.
She went to the library, hesitated at the closed door and leaned against it. She started to turn away, then commanded, Face it! Face everything head on. You cant be afraid. Not of anything.
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