“You cannot go in there right now,” he said, stepping directly in front of the door lock. “The lock was sticking, so Dad had the whole mechanism replaced.”
He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning my uniform.
“I have my own key,” I said. I pushed past him and slid the brass key into the shiny new deadbolt.
I turned the brass key in my fingers, but the cylinder remained stubbornly still.
I pulled the key back a millimeter and tried again. The brass teeth caught nothing but resistance.
Chad let out a short, dry laugh and flicked his silver lighter open. “Told you. Deadbolt is frozen solid. Dad had to swap the whole setup last week because the pins went bad.”
“The deadbolt was brand new when I left for Okinawa,” I said, dropping my hand from the cold metal.
“Salt air ruins everything, sis. You know how the Gulf is.” Chad flipped the lighter shut with a metallic snap, then slipped it into his front pocket.
He took a step down the concrete porch stairs, his eyes shifting toward the street as if he expected a delivery truck to pull up. The gravelly dirt of the driveway kicked up a small puff of dust under his sneakers. He was thirty-eight, but he still dressed like he was waiting for a high school gym class to start, wearing baggy cargo shorts and a faded grey t-shirt that had dark grease stains near the hem.
“Why don’t you head over to the highway and get a room at the Quality Inn for tonight?” Chad said.
“This is my house, Chad. I have my bags right here.” I gestured to the green military seabag resting near my boots.
“And you can’t get inside,” he said, stepping directly between me and the door. “Dad is meeting you at the Golden Griddle at six anyway. Just leave the gear in my trunk and go check in somewhere.”
