Lucky(49)

“I swear, I don’t know anything about the money. I was under the impression Cary took everything and ran.”

Priscilla picked up the receipt on the table and held it up. “Let’s start here. What is this list really? What does it unlock, and what are you hiding?”

“It’s a code for a storage locker back in Boise. I couldn’t bear to let it all go. I had a feeling something was going to happen—I knew Cary wasn’t telling me everything. So I put some items from the house that were of value—a few paintings we had, some jewelry, electronics—into the locker. Just in case I needed to pawn them.”

Priscilla looked down at the sheet of paper, silent and thoughtful. “All right, then,” she said. “We’ll go to Boise together and you can show me, just so I can confirm you’re telling the truth.” She stood and walked to her desk, picked up a day planner. “On Friday, we’ll take a little drive, just the two of us,” she said, marking it down. “I’ll tell Sharon I’m taking you to stay with some family we’ve discovered who want to help you.” She put down the book. “Meantime, if you change your mind and decide to tell me what this code really opens, I’ll be all ears. Now, go to bed. And take that disgusting dog with you.”





2004


BOISE, IDAHO



The first year, Lucky worked hard. She took investment courses online, got four different certifications, and started her own small investment and accounting firm—the office of which was located above the garage of their Tudor revival in Boise’s North End, near Camel’s Back Park. She slowly started managing the accounts for small businesses and building individual clients’ investment portfolios. She became known for providing consistent returns, but nothing flashy.

Things were starting to feel secure. Everything was perfect: their new life; their house, with its peaked turret and wraparound porch. While Lucky worked, Cary puttered around the garage, or went for jogs, or rode his mountain bike in the park. He cooked, he cleaned, he insisted he was happy, too. “I’m your househusband,” he would tell her with a smile. “I love it, I swear.” But she could tell he was bored. Sometimes she would come in at lunch and he would be playing video games or asleep on the couch. They didn’t have any friends because not making friends had become a habit. So Cary was on his own most of the time.

“Maybe we should have a baby,” Lucky said one night, and the moment the words were out she knew she wanted this badly. She had never imagined arriving at a place where being so settled, where starting a family, would be possible. But she was there, the life she had dreamed of within reach.

“Anytime you want,” Cary said with a casual grin. “I’d love to have a family with you.”

One night, when she came in after work, there was a real estate brochure on the kitchen table. “What’s this?” she said, setting down the leather briefcase Cary had given her for her last birthday—the perfect gift, even if she was just toting papers between the garage and the house.

Cary poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. “I saw this restaurant on Thirteenth Street closed down and for sale. I just started dreaming, standing out there on the sidewalk. So I went in, and the real estate agent showed me around.”

Lucky took a sip of her wine. “Why would you want to look at a restaurant?”

He pulled out a chair and sat. He pushed the flyer across the table. “What do you think? Isn’t it perfect?”

“Perfect for what? I didn’t realize you wanted to get back into hospitality. Things are just starting to get going with my business. I’m not sure we have the money for a down payment for something like this just yet.”

“I get that, babe. I do.” He stood to serve the risotto he had prepared, placed a steaming bowl in front of her, and sat again. “But the thing is… I need to get back in the game. You know that, because you know me.”

“But I thought, maybe a baby…”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “This would give me something to do. I liked running the club, back in San Fran. I didn’t expect to, but I did. I miss it. And—well, you know you could have a down payment on a property pretty easily, if you did things differently.”

Lucky frowned. “Differently how?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what he meant. “Listen, I’ll go look at the property with you. And then we can see if there’s anything we can figure out.”

In the end, they bought the restaurant—and went deep into debt starting it up. Over the next several months, Cary grew frustrated and stressed. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky, slightly bored guy he had become when they moved to Boise. He was at the restaurant late almost every night. He had insisted it would make him happy, but it did the opposite. Lucky knew it was probably selfish, but she found herself missing the quiet days when he was always home, waiting for her to come in from her office above the garage. The restaurant, the fact that they were both now working so hard, had seemed to drive a wedge between them.

“I need more money. I need to expand the patio so I can compete with the other restaurants on the street.”

“We don’t have it. We’ve already poured so much into this venture.”

“Venture? This is important to me, don’t you see? We could borrow the money from one of your investment accounts,” he said. “We’ll put it back in, once I earn it back… which I will. Come on, you’ve been telling me how much money some of these new clients of yours have. They aren’t going to come to you looking for their investment funds anytime soon. I promise, we won’t do it again. Just this once. It’ll be so easy.”