Lucky(26)

“What about Gloria?” she found herself saying, the gold of the cross warm against her fingers.

That confused expression was back on her father’s face.

“Gloria? I haven’t thought about her in years.”

“Where is she now, do you know?”

“She’d be outside of Cooperstown, of course, still running the Devereaux family fishing camp, which she ran off from the city to do after she left me high and dry—unless she’s dead, which I doubt; she’s too young, younger than me, of course, and we’re still technically married so you’d think someone would have told me. But why would you ask—” A slow dawning; he realized he had said too much, and Lucky realized she was missing something—but what? “Oh. Shit,” her father said.

“What if I did it, went to that camp you just mentioned and found her? Wouldn’t having a winning lottery ticket be attractive to her, to anyone? Wouldn’t it help her want to know me? Finally? Millions and millions of dollars?”

“Oh, God, kiddo. Really? You’ve never even met her, and you’re going to show up in the situation you’re in? It’s not just about the ticket, or the money. Gloria is—”

“Four minutes!” shouted the guard.

“You used to act like I never had a mother,” she said. “Like I dropped onto this planet fully formed. Like I don’t need her and never have! But you know where she is—”

“This is why you really came. To grill me for information about your mother. You don’t visit for a year, and now you come for this.”

It was a familiar game, this quick attempt to turn the tables. At least he was up to it, at least his mind was working well enough to play it. Cold comfort.

“No. I came to ask you for help.”

“All right, then. I’ll help. You have this ticket, and all you need is someone to cash it in for you. Someone you can trust.” His eyes lit up. “I have an idea. Darla, Steph! They were like family, once.”

“No, they weren’t. We were just pretending.”

“You could go to them, tell them I ended up in jail, and you, you never had anything to do with any of my cons. Steph loved you like a sister, you can’t deny that. Go to them, appeal to their emotions. It’s brilliant, actually, because we know the things they’ll do for love. Tell them they’re all you have, even to this day, and now you’re in trouble, and could they cash in the ticket for you. It’s perfect.”

“I don’t understand why you think I have a better chance with Darla, with Steph, than I do with someone who has an actual blood connection to me. I need a sure thing here.”

“Priscilla, then. That woman can make anything happen.”

Lucky felt any hope she had held out when she had decided to come here fly away from her, out the barred windows. “No way.”

“She’ll help you. You’ll have to give her a cut, of course—”

“That woman is a snake.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. She’s changed. She’s rehabilitated. Jail either makes you worse or it makes you better. Now she’s running a women’s shelter in Fresno—”

“She was barely in four years—”

“Plus, she’d be interested in knowing where her precious Cary got off to, don’t you think?”

“I have no idea where he is.”

“But you can make her think you do.”

“One minute!” called the guard.

“What if I call Priscilla tomorrow, let her know to expect you?”

“Please, don’t do that. And don’t tell anyone about this ticket. Promise me that. This has to be mine alone.”

“Come on, old man.” A guard was at their table now. Her father flinched at the sight of him.

“Okay,” she said, pushing her chair back. But her father was leaning forward, gripping her arm.

“Reyes told you he was no good,” he whispered. “You think I didn’t know who he really was and that you had something going with him, but I did. I should have made you stay away from him.”

She stepped back.

“Uncle John,” she said, keeping her tone even, trying to keep smiling, “he’s exactly like you.”

Her father’s smile faded. “I would never abandon someone the way he’s done to you.”

“Now!” The guard snarled. He had a grip on her father’s forearm.

“All right, all right, no need to get testy. Not so tight. I’ll go, I’ll go.” He looked at her again. “See you later, kiddo,” he said, as if nothing had just happened, as if they were just a regular uncle and niece, bidding each other farewell until next time.





December 1993

BELLEVUE, WASHINGTON



The split-level ranch house was lit up inside and out. Darla hosted a Christmas Eve open house every year and neighbors had been in and out all afternoon and evening. Blossom had a red bow on in place of a collar, and as the party wound down the girls took her upstairs to the bedroom they shared, where they had been instructed to change into their Christmas pajamas, get in bed, and read their new books. New pajamas and a new book were a household tradition on Christmas Eve in the Dixon house, apparently. Lucky hadn’t known what to say when Darla asked her what types of books she liked. The last book she’d read was Les Misérables; she’d left it behind in Novi without ever finding out what had become of the wretched Jean Valjean and the tragic Fantine. But she knew Darla would think it strange for a girl her age to ask for that book. So she asked for the latest Goosebumps story. Stephanie had asked for a V. C. Andrews novel, and squealed as she read, vowing to lend it to “Andi” after she was finished.