Lucky(20)

Lucky got out of the car. The front door had opened and she could see Darla, Steph’s mom, outlined in the doorway. There was the sound of a dog’s bark, and then a golden retriever was bounding down the driveway toward her. This had to be Blossom, the dog Steph had said her mom bought after her dad had his heart attack, to make them both feel better. And it had helped a bit, Steph had admitted. A puppy helped with everything. Blossom stopped barking and nuzzled Lucky’s hand.

“Virgil?”

“Darla,” her father said, his voice full of emotion even Lucky almost believed was true. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me for taking off on you like that? I got scared. I fell so hard for you, so fast, and it didn’t feel right. So I ran away. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m even more in love with you than I was last summer. I’ve thought of you every moment of every day since.”

“Oh, Virgil. Me too. I never stopped believing I’d see you again. And now here you are.”

Lucky felt sick. Her father was lying to Darla, again, and Darla was falling for it. Why wasn’t she suspicious? Why wasn’t she staying mad, at least for a little while, and questioning a man who had taken off in the night and not said goodbye? No, instead, Lucky could hear the sloppy, gross sounds of the adults kissing as she knelt down and buried her head in the dog’s fur so she wouldn’t have to listen anymore.

“Andi?”

She looked up. Suddenly it was all worth it.

“Oh my God, I seriously thought I was never going to see you again!” Steph exclaimed, running down the driveway toward her. “Did they work? Did you get them? The treatments?”

Lucky took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “I’m one hundred percent better. They said it was a miracle.”

Steph grinned, then whooped. “Really? That’s amazing! And now you’re…”

“Here,” Lucky said. “Now we’re here.” The parents had walked away together, around the side of the house, where they could continue their reunion in private. Steph rolled her eyes, but then looked at Lucky and grinned again. Blossom still stood at Lucky’s side, wagging her tail.

“She likes you,” Steph said. Blossom was even more beautiful than Steph had described her, her flaxen coat shining under the now-lit streetlamps, her gentle tail wagging in slow motion, her great panting mouth appearing to arrange itself into a welcoming grin as she looked up at Lucky. It was all too good to be true, and yet it was true. Darla had welcomed her father with open arms. John had told Lucky that if Darla didn’t get too angry when she saw him, that meant they were going to be able to stay.

Darla and “Virgil” came back out from the side of the house. Darla was smiling. Her lipstick was a bit smeared. “Andi!” she said. “Let me get a good look at you. Is it true, you’re all better?”

“Sure is,” her dad said, his eyes on Lucky. It was barely noticeable, and yet so poignant, the way he lifted a hand and dashed away a nonexistent tear with a knuckle. “The transfusions worked. Look at her! She’s completely healthy. Thanks to you, Darla. I hope you can forgive me for what I did.”

“Oh, stop, Virgil, I told you I forgave you already. I forgave you the moment you pulled up in front of the house.”

The next thing Lucky knew, just like in a movie, Darla was in his arms again, this time embracing him with even more abandon. “Come on,” Steph said, and Lucky followed her into the house, the dog on their heels. She had wanted this, exactly this—but it didn’t feel right. If she could just forget that they were lying, if she could just believe that what they were saying was true, everything would be okay.

The problem: It was impossible to forget. She felt the lies across her shoulders like a yoke as she walked into the house she had dreamed of, with the friend she had dreamed of—and understood for the first time that not everyone had to be careful what they wished for, but she did.



* * *




Two months passed. Lucky tried, every day, to be happy. But all she could think about was this being over someday. She and her father had never talked about how long they would stay, but Lucky knew it was temporary. Everything with them was temporary. Still, she could tell when she looked at him that her father was happy, that he was enjoying this—who wouldn’t? Darla treated him like a god. “I’m so happy to have a man to cook for again,” she’d say. “No, no, put up your feet, relax.” Darla had even found John a job working as a salesman at a furniture store owned by a family friend. When he came home, Darla would have a drink waiting, and a home-cooked meal.

“It’s bizarre,” Steph would whisper to Lucky. “Like it’s 1952, not 1993.” Still, Lucky knew Steph liked that her mom was happy and not laser-focused on Steph alone, which apparently she had been before Lucky and her father had shown up. Before, Steph had had all sorts of rules—and her mother would worry like crazy if she came home even thirty seconds after the streetlamps turned on. But now in the evenings, Steph and Lucky could run through the meadow with the other neighborhood kids, catching salamanders in their hands and then setting them free. Once the gloaming shifted into night and they were due back home, they’d walk back slowly, chatting—and Darla was never mad when they were late.

It was almost summer, when the nights would stretch even longer. And for the first time in her life, the change of seasons meant something different to Lucky, because of school. Lucky had been enrolled at the private school Steph went to, using the faked documents her father had brought with him. “They hardly checked them,” her father had whispered to her the evening he and Darla had returned from the school registrar. “All they wanted was a big fat tuition check.” It went without saying that Darla had paid for it. Darla paid for everything, and it didn’t seem to bother John, but this gave Lucky a sick feeling that was constant, like when you ate too much sugar even though you knew it was a bad idea. It made her lose her appetite, but if she ever said she wasn’t hungry, Darla’s eyes would widen with concern. She’d put her hand to Lucky’s brow and hold it there, featherlight. Lucky would have to sit still, pretending this sort of maternal gesture was something she was familiar with, something her own mother had done, too, back when she was alive. It always brought tears to her eyes, but she never let them out.