The Key Read Online Free

off the pot.”
    He spun around and regarded her- she had a huge, clever smile on her face. He promptly turned away and continued walking, shaking his head at the crazy old lady and her brashness.
    And yet, as he ambled down the dirt road to his house, the key in is pocket felt heavy- weighing him down. He thought about what the old woman said: taking something beautiful and making it ugly… a silk purse to a sow’s ear- not that he had anything against pig ears…
    Is that what he had done? Had he taken his relationship with Anna and twisted it- cutting her off- making everything seem ugly in the process? He stumbled into the cool beach house and collapsed on the sofa, deciding that he had been thinking too hard. Sometimes a crazy old lady is just a crazy old lady.
    And yet….
     
     
     

~Part 3~
    The Lock
    He saw her.
    Dressed in a pair of old jeans and a comfortable t-shirt, pointing at the walls animatedly- obviously issuing instruction to a series of painters. Drop cloths and plastic were everywhere; cans of paint scattered over the floor chaotically.
    But, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hair was longer and a mass of curls- the top half of which was gathered with a pencil on the top of her head. He remembered that she used to wear her hair in a similar fashion while in college.
    He had been gone for six months but- after seeing her- it felt like twenty years. He drank her in hungrily like a man dying of thirst.
    After his encounter with the street vendor on the island, his thoughts could focus on nothing else- the key he obtained seemed to have a life of its own- always finding its way into his pocket. He didn’t want to take their beautiful friendship and make it ugly with his selfishness. He needed to tell her the truth- needed to shit or get off the pot.
    He smiled and shook his head- the unexpected phrase from the old lady held a lot of truth in its crass words. He needed to be honest- he needed her to know; otherwise he would always wonder: what if?
    He didn’t know how long he had been staring through the window- appreciating the sight of her. However, when she abruptly turned her face in his direction and their eyes immediately locked, he felt all the wind leave his lungs. She stood perfectly still- like a statue. He couldn’t even make out her breathing; consequentially, he was holding his breath.
    She was the first to break eye contact, looking away momentarily to answer a concern from one of the staff. When she looked up again it was almost with hesitation- as thought she didn’t really expect him to be there. This time, when their eyes caught- hers were guarded and distant and made his chest hurt with the familiar ache- it felt good.
    He watched her as she excused herself from the employees, still watching him through the window. She dipped her head briefly to inspect herself then made a B-line for the exit. He followed her movements with his eyes, the same graceful sway of her hips- whether she was wearing Prada or Old Navy- she was always stunning.
    Her fingers confidently undid the lock and she pulled the door open, her expression still guarded. He stopped directly in front of her, not trying to hide his pleasure at seeing her; not trying to hide anything anymore.
    “Hi.” She said, her brow drawing together as though by speaking she expected him to vanish before her eyes.
    “Anna-” was all he got out before she punched him in the shoulder, her eyes turning dark and angry. “Anna! Stop hitting me.”
    “Why are you here?” she retreated a step, satisfied his presence was bona fide, her voice monotone and severe.
    He tipped his head to the side, watching the proud lift of her chin, the set of her jaw. He took a step closer- some selfish need in him wanted to smell her perfume; it had been so long. “Anna- I am sorry-”
    “Jake…” interrupting, she breathed out slowly- apparently trying to get a grip on her anger, shaking her head, “First, you act like I have the plague, you