Lucky(46)

“Who did you tell Hugh she was?”

“No one was home. They’re all at the Stanford graduation. I didn’t have to tell anyone anything. But she told me a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Shhh. Here she comes.”

Priscilla handed around plastic cups of cheap sparkling wine. “Oh, please. Don’t shush each other, there’s nothing you can say I don’t already know. To answer the question you probably just asked about how I found you so fast, I had associates keeping an eye on you two while I was in prison. I’m impressed. One phone call, though, and I could blow your con to bits, tell all your friends you’ve been stealing from them before you get the chance to take off later tonight. Why did you wait, by the way?”

“Lucky wanted to get her diploma,” Cary said. “We weren’t going to be able to leave a forwarding address for it.”

“I suppose not. Well, anyway. Congratulations.” She tapped her plastic glass against Lucky’s. “You’ve done it. A business degree.”

Priscilla made it sound so small, this thing Lucky had been working toward for four years. But, she told herself, this piece of paper she now held in her hands was hers. It was her path to legitimacy—and Cary’s, too. He’d had some fun, but it was risky—and it was fake. With her, Cary was going to build a life that was actually sustainable. Alaina Cadence had no prior record with anyone. And she had a degree.

Priscilla drained her glass. “I’m here as a stand-in for your father,” she said to Lucky. “I promised him I’d share a toast. And he wanted me to give you a hug, although I doubt you’d allow that.”

“Why is my father even speaking to you?”

“I’m a rehabilitated woman. And part of my penance is apologizing to the people I’ve hurt. I’m trying to make it up to your father—and the only thing he wants is to know that you’re happy. Are you happy, Lucky?”

Lucky had been, about an hour earlier. She had been full of excitement about what the future held, but Priscilla’s presence was like a pin in her balloon.

Cary pulled her close. “Of course she’s happy,” he said. “We both are.”

Priscilla tossed her plastic cup in a nearby trash can. “Let’s go somewhere we can get a decent drink, at least. And have a proper talk.”

Cary sighed. “Don’t drag Lucky into this, Mother.”

“?‘Mother.’ Now, that’s a first.” But she was smiling.

He turned to Lucky. “You just head home and keep packing. I’ll have a drink and a talk with Mother here, and be there in a few hours.” As he kissed her cheek, he whispered in her ear, “I’ll pick up the rental car on my way home. We’ll leave as soon as I get back.”

Lucky took a taxi to the coach house, packed, and waited nervously for Cary to return. Betty was at her feet, watching the door anxiously, too. He didn’t pick up his cell phone when she called—and when he did finally return, around two o’clock in the morning, he was drunk, and Lucky was upset.

“Where’s the car?” Lucky asked him. “Aren’t we going?”

“Do I look like I’m in any state to drive?” He stumbled, landed on the love seat. “We can’t leave, okay? We have to stay around for the summer. I have to actually open that fucking club. Mother says so. There are some things I need to take care of for her, or—” It was dark, but she could see it in his eyes: fear. Then he closed them, leaned his head back against the cushions. “I have no choice. I’m sorry.” Soon, he was asleep. Lucky sat staring into the darkness, until Betty nudged her with her snout, reminding her she wasn’t alone.



* * *




It was Christmas Eve, and the club was empty except for Lucky and Cary. Lucky sat on a corner couch, wearing one of the short, tight dresses Cary had bought her so she would fit the role she was supposed to play while beside him at the club. She was helping him count the night’s cash.

“A great night,” he said, locking the cashbox and putting it in a bag. “And not just because we made some good money. It’s time for your Christmas present.” He pulled a card from behind his back.

“But Christmas isn’t until tomorrow,” Lucky said. “My gift for you is back at the house.”

“We’re not going back to the house,” he said, smiling. “Open it.”

She did. There was a folded piece of paper inside. “A title deed,” she said. “For a house… in Boise, Idaho?”

Cary pointed at the page. “That’s your name, right there. Alaina Cadence. The house belongs to you.”

“Well—” she began.

“No, that’s you. All your official papers are under that name. You’ve got a passport and a birth certificate, a business degree, and now, a deed. You always said you wanted a simple, normal life. And Boise, Idaho—that’s the place! Our future starts tonight.”

“But Priscilla—”

“We’re done with her. I did what I promised, I did what I had to so she would eventually let us go. I held up my end of the bargain and now it’s her turn. We’re taking off. Tonight. She’s not going to follow us.”

“Where did you get this house?”