Keys
“Where are my keys?”
Ron sighed as he turned over couch cushions, tossing them on the floor, then lifting them to check the floor. He lifted one edge of the couch, peering under it using the light from his iPhone. Everything on the coffee table also ended up on the floor with one sweep of his arm.
“You could help me,” he said, pushing my feet off the coffee table also.
“Yep. I could.” I went back to swiping the icons in the game I was playing on my phone.
“Bitch.”
He emptied the kids’ toyboxes. He looked under their beds. He opened all their drawers, chucking carefully folded clothes all over their floors. I heard the commotion.
“You’d better put those back!” I called. He swore in reply. I grinned. No, I didn’t know where his keys were, but him actually getting off his arse and looking for them amused me.
“Have you tried looking in your car?”
He appeared, red faced and sweating. His eyes narrowed. “If you’ve put them anywhere…”
“I haven’t touched your keys. I’m just trying to help.”
“Get up and help me look!”
I scratched my ear, my eyes never leaving my phone screen. “Uh, nope. You’re on your own.”
He mumbled something I can only guess at.
An hour later, I was hanging out some washing and he was still looking for his keys.
“Call your mates, maybe one of them took them home by accident.”
His eyes pinged open. Without replying, he tapped on his phone and I heard Derek’s deep voice on the speaker.
Derek didn’t know anything about his keys either. Tommy, the usual group’s joker, claimed not to know the keys’ whereabouts either, but something in his voice made me wary.
“I think Tommy probably does know,” I said casually. “Did you guys go anywhere the other night?”
Ron shrugged, his mind ticking over the group’s meanderings a few nights ago. Ron and his mates had congregated at our place to watch the footy while I went to Derek’s house to meet up with the wives club. We’d done nothing but drink wine and watch The Notebook. Evidently the guys had been up to many more shenanigans; when I returned the house was in shambles, with empty beer cans littering every horizontal surface in the house. Even the kids’ rooms were affected: how the heck did ketchup get dripped down the walls?
“I dunno. We didn’t go anywhere and the boys called Ubers to get home.”
“Well then, you’ll have to keep looking.”
Three days later and the keys were still missing. Ron had been using my car even though he disliked it so; my car was too small for his height. Every time he used my car, he grumbled about it almost non-stop. Luckily the kids were old enough to catch the school bus by themselves. Forcing him to leave the car for me while he went to work… well, that would be fun.
That same afternoon, I walked down to the shop on the corner because I really felt like some chocolate milk. I also needed bread for the kids’ school lunches, but I was willing to wait until the following morning to pick that up from the supermarket. Still, since I was here craving chocolate milk, I bought some bread and a few other assorted items to tide me over until the kids’ school bus arrived.
On my return, my eye caught a glint of sunlight hitting something tiny and shiny. With bright spots still dancing in my eyes, I bent down to pick up a brown leather walllet; the metal clasp button had caught the angle of the sun. If the wallet had been there when I left, I hadn’t noticed it. I popped it into the plastic bag carrying my other items, and wrangled the house keys from my back pocket.
Disappointingly, the wallet’s ID had been taken, giving no indication of the owner nor their address. It could have come from anywhere. A jogger, someone walking their dog, thrown out of a car window. I assumed the wallet had been stolen, since the ID and debit cards were not inside.
I was outside waiting for the school bus as it dropped off my kids.
“What are you doing out here?” asked Brendon, stepping off the bus with his backpack slung over one shoulder.
“I need the bus. Move, you’re in the way.”
“But mum, this is a school bus. You can’t just get on like a regular bus,” Brendon said, his face beginning to flush.
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to move,” the bus driver said, one hand on the lever to close the door.
“I’ll go with you, mum,” offered Joe, the younger of my two sons.
Aboard the bus, with Brendon safely at home lest his mother embarrass him in public, I showed Joe the wallet I’d found.
“Can’t you wait til Ron gets home?”
“The police station will be closed by then. And he’ll leave early tomorrow with my car. If this was your wallet, you’d want it back, right?”
“Sure, I guess.”
The bus stopped three blocks from the police station. Close enough. Joe told me about his day and the homework he was expected to do over the next month.
“Well, I can’t help you. I never did my homework,” I said, breathing heavily from the walk. I was more unfit than I cared to admit.
“I like homework,” Joe replied. “If I’m going to be a journalist, I won’t be restricted to work hours. I’ll have to be on the ball all hours of the day and night. It’s good practise.”
A young lady with waist length brown hair was behind the desk at the police station. I’d only been in once before, about four years ago when the license plates were stolen from my car. There were signs everywhere: Do Not Bring Weapons Into the Station, If you’re reporting for bail, please wait in the green corridor on your right, Domestic Violence is NOT OK, If office is unattended please ring bell once.
I placed the wallet on the counter. The young lady looked up, her fingers still writing furiously.
“Just be a moment,” she said.
Joe looked around, choosing to sit in a faded blue plastic seat whose legs were attached to the floor.
“Sorry to keep you, how can I help?”
“I found this wallet…” The forms she filled out took little time. I signed the receipt and she handed me a yellow copy.
Just as I turned, motioning Joe to follow, a lady about my age entered the station, holding the hand of a toddler, who was sucking on a lollipop.
“Hi, I found these keys…”
I looked at the set of keys she had put on the counter. A flash of green caught my attention. I walked over next to her… Yep, Ron’s keys.
“Hi, excuse me. Where did you find these?”
“In a tree at Sailor Park. They’ve been there a few days. I left them in case someone came back for them…”
I smiled at the lady behind the counter, who was looking quite confused at this turn of events. “These are actually my husband’s keys,” I said.
“Oh, well, um, lucky you came in when you did!”
Ron called Tommy that night. He admitted everything: Having had a few too many, he thought it would be hilarious to hide the keys in a tree at the local park. Ron remembered Tommy going out to take a leak, and thinking he was taking a while.
Men eh?
