I asked him if Sarah was home. He shrugged. I walked up and rang the doorbell. Waited a minute. No response.
I looked back at the man. He had put out his cigarette and was just staring off into space now. I paused for a moment, too. The sight felt so surreal.
I looked back at the door. Took a better look at the lock. It was worn. The wood around it was scraped and damaged. It looked like it had been replaced. Poorly. And more than once.
I sat down next to him.
“How long have you lived here, Thomas?”
His eyes darted to one side for a moment.
“Seven.”
“Years?” I asked.
He turned his head to look at me. Tilted it a little.
“Months.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Listening to the wind. After what felt like a century, Thomas asked me a question.
“You ever been in love?”
I thought for a moment.
“You could say that.”
Thomas looked forward down the steps.
“With a man? A woman?”
I turned my head slightly.
“I don’t judge,” Thomas shrugged.
“With a lock,” I answered. Thomas smirked a little.
“Have you ever heard of the Mul-T-Lock MT5+? The keys are three-dimensional. They unlock two sets of pins at once. One at the bottom, one at the side.”
Thomas nodded along slowly.
“It’s the most complicated lock I’ve ever worked with. Picking it feels… beyond me. When you look at a mechanism like that for long enough, you start to appreciate the exterior qualities of it. The smoothness of its design. The little quirks. The way the mortise locks perfectly into the wood of the door.”
Thomas paused for a moment, beginning to understand.
“Does the lock love you back?”
I leaned back slightly.
“I think so. It’s hard to tell. I can only look through the keyhole.”
The two of us sat in silence for another minute or so. A child blew past us on a bicycle. One of the neighbors put the trash out. A crow flew overhead.
“She gets this dimple—” Thomas started, touching his right cheek, “On the side of her face when she smiles.”
I turned to him as he spoke.
He looked up for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“I wonder what happened to it.”
I stayed silent.
“And she does this thing when she finds something funny. She starts snickering before she even gets to the punchline,” he almost smiled, “Can’t help herself.”
Thomas sighed.
“She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Not book smart, necessarily. Just— walks into a room and reads it in ten seconds flat.” He paused. “I’ve never been able to do that. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I don’t always know when to push and when to leave well enough alone.”
He picked at a thread on his sleeve.
“I guess I knew it was going to be like this from the first,” Thomas muttered. “Thought it was just the stress of moving. Thought we’d get over it. Deep down I knew better.”
He sighed, deeply. Several seconds passed before he continued.
“Every time she avoided me it felt like I had broken something. I never knew what it was until it was too late. I’m starting to think—It’s me. I’m the mistake. God—”
Thomas began to sob into his hands in a way that almost sounded like a laugh. I reached out a hand toward his shoulder but stopped before touching him. I pulled back.
I sat there, watching the sun set for a long while as Thomas’ sobs grew quieter. Eventually the weeping turned to sighs, and the sighs to silence.
I sat there for a little while still. The clouds were painted in orange and pink hues, contrasting against the sky’s deep indigo.
“I wish I didn’t have to love,” Thomas whispered.
I looked down and pursed my lips.
My toolbox sat motionless on the steps. I grabbed it and began unlocking the door. Thomas sat by quietly. After a minute or so I was done. I swung the door open, which turned directly into the living room.
Sarah sat at the table, looking at me. Her eyes were red.
I understood then. She could have opened it, physically speaking. Instead, she called me.
I didn’t stay long. I got my payment and went home, glancing over my shoulder as the door closed behind Thomas.
I drove home, staring out at the road. Thirty minutes felt like hours. When I finally parked, I sat in the car for a moment, watching the porch light. Barbara had left one on for me. She always did.
I entered without a sound, throwing my coat over the rack carelessly. The apartment was dark. The last train had already passed. The walls blocked out the traffic, leaving the interior in silence.
On the couch was a figure. He sat perfectly still in the darkness, the only light from the window. It stopped just short of his face.
I closed the door behind me and sat down next to him. Then I lowered my head onto his lap. He didn’t react.
“How was your day?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
I nodded.
“Are you hungry, Aymeric? I was thinking I could get us takeout. Thai, maybe. Or I could make something.”
He didn’t respond.
“Thai it is.”
I turned onto my side. The vase of roses on the coffee table. Barbara. She’d been the best caretaker I’d ever met. I stared at the petals for a while, then reached out and touched one. It was s
