Lucky(31)

“It is,” Stephanie said, behind her. “Take your time walking through. I need to tidy up a bit.”

“Thanks.” Lucky wandered the main floor, thinking that this house reminded her of an updated version of Steph’s house from when they were kids. Grown-up Stephanie went into the kitchen, her flats—similar to the ones Lucky wore—making soft sounds on the porcelain wood-look tile floors (heated, according to the property description in the flyer she now held in her hand) while Lucky moved forward to stand at the window, heart still racing.

In the other room, she heard a cell phone ring, and then Stephanie’s voice. “Hi, Mom. Is he really? Adorable. Yes, half hour or so. Just one last person here.”

Lucky stood rooted to the floor.

Footsteps behind her. Lucky turned and forced a smile.

“Would you like me to give you a proper tour of the upstairs?”

“Sure,” Lucky said. “That would be great.”

On the second floor, they stood in the doorway of a bedroom.

“Isn’t it sweet? Reminds me of the room I had as a little girl,” Stephanie said.

“Yes,” Lucky said. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I could see that. Any little girl would love this room.” She wondered if this bed was a trundle, too, with a mattress that could be pulled in and out for a friend who was almost like a sister to sleep on. She moved toward it and ran her hand along the smooth wood, searching for a handle until she found one. “My daughter would adore it,” Lucky said, straightening up and moving away from her memories. She crossed the room and stood by the window, pretending to check out the view of the yard.

“How many children do you have?”

“Two. A girl and a boy. Four and five.” At this lie, Lucky’s voice wobbled—and her hand rose instinctively to her stomach, the way it often had during the two-month period in Boise when she had been pregnant with Cary’s baby. She tried not to think of this time, of the loss. But in pretending to be a mother now, she had opened that wound. She fought to smile again.

“How lovely. A million-dollar family. I have a son, but we’re hoping for another child.”

“Yes, well.” Lucky turned away from the window, composed herself. “I’m thinking of having a third, but my mom would probably move out on me if I did, and I sort of count on her for help with the kids.”

“Oh, that would be amazing,” Stephanie said. “My mom still works, so she can’t help with my son during the day—but she does babysit for me when my husband is working, like tonight.”

Lucky wished she could ask why Darla was still working. They’d had so much money, before. But as she remembered the house, the car, from days gone by, she realized it wasn’t enough to sustain anyone for a lifetime. Especially after some con made a serious dent in your bank account on his way out of town.

Lucky cleared her throat. “How many bedrooms did you say there were?”

“Three, plus an office. Here, let me show you.” Stephanie led Lucky down the hall to a bedroom painted a dark blue with electric-green accents and football pennants on the walls.

“My son would love this,” Lucky said, the pain from earlier now receded, her focus back on the story she was weaving about herself. “He’s a huge Seahawks fan.”

In Stephanie’s grin, Lucky saw the girl she had known. “I tried to convince the owners to paint out this dark color, but they wouldn’t do it. They said it would just be a matter of finding the right buyer.”

“Can I see the master?”

As Stephanie walked ahead, she talked about the brand-new Berber carpeting, the hardwood in the bedrooms, the wall sconces. Lucky could tell she was getting excited, thinking she had found the perfect buyer for this house. Enough was enough. Lucky had nothing for her—not yet.

“Listen,” Lucky said. “This is a great house—but I just realized, I have to go. It’s getting late, and I have to pick the kids up from a friend’s place because my mom is at swim class. I got so sidetracked, seeing this house, the sign saying it was for sale when I’d always admired it. It’s perfect for my family. You’re right, it feels like kismet. And I want to see it again, but right now… I can’t stay.”

“Kismet?” Stephanie cocked her head. “I don’t remember using that word.”

Lucky was backing out of the room. “I’ll call you. I’ll bring my husband and the kids to look at it. I’ll see you again soon, thank you for your time, bye.”





January 1999

SAUSALITO, CALIFORNIA



The year Lucky turned seventeen, her father won a “houseboat” in a New Year’s Eve poker game in Palm Springs. When Lucky and her father arrived in Sausalito, where the boat was docked, they learned it was a decades-old thirty-five-foot Catalina live-aboard sailboat and not much of a prize: it wasn’t seaworthy.

“But at least it’s a roof over our heads,” John said, climbing down the steps and putting his rucksack on the kitchen table belowdecks in the tiny living space. There was a bench on one side of the table and behind it was a shelf. A lantern-like chandelier hung above the table; a rusted icebox was tucked beneath the bench. There was a tiny sink, but it didn’t work. There were a hot plate and a kettle, too. The bedroom consisted of a cabin belowdecks with leaky porthole windows and two long cushioned benches; mildew crept up from the cushion seams.