The Spare Key

The key cutter asked Adela whether she wanted two copies, and she nearly said yes because two seemed less revealing than one.

“One,” she said. “Please.”

The man took the key without interest. He had probably seen people entrust entire lives to small pieces of metal before lunch. Hers was an ordinary front-door key, worn smooth at the shoulder from years in her pocket.

While the machine worked, she looked at the display of tags. Plastic houses, coloured rings, a brass fob with an inscription about home. She chose a plain blue ring because it would be easy to find in a bag and because that was enough reason.

She had not asked Oswin to move in. She did not want a key to make the request for her.

It was Wednesday, three days before dinner. Two friends coming, Rhoswen not coming, and a small accumulation of things she had…