VenCo(29)

“It’s a starblanket,” a voice interjected, causing both Stella and Lucky to jump. They hadn’t heard anyone approach. “That one was made by my great-auntie Flora.”

A woman wearing a friendly smile leaned in the doorway. Her long hair was streaked with grey and looped up in a messy bun. She wore black jeans rolled up to her calves and a sage-green peasant blouse with the ties hanging loose.

“I’m Wendy,” she said, hand outstretched. Lucky shook it first, then Stella, who threw in an extra pump in honour of the way the Three Stooges closed business deals. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but you must be Lucky and Stella.”

“Yes, that’s us. Sorry, my grandmother, sometimes she’s a bit loud.”

“What, you’re supposed to whisper songs?” Stella was indignant.

“You should always give’r when you sing,” Wendy said, smiling at the old lady. “I just came to make sure you found your room okay. And, Lucky, here’s yours.” She crossed the space to a door they hadn’t noticed, because it looked just like the wall, complete with a watercolour sketch of ships at sea hanging on it. “Here you are.” She pushed on the top corner, and the door popped open.

Lucky walked through and into the next room. Her space was a little bigger than her grandmother’s, but it too had a twin bed and a chest of drawers. It also held a small round table and a lion-footed chair embroidered with purple violets. The walls were deep blue like the waves in the ship sketch.

“Perfect, this is perfect,” Lucky said. “I appreciate you making room for my grandmother and me with no notice.”

“Nonsense.” Wendy waved her off, opening the long grey panel curtains to let in the sun. “I had your rooms made up yesterday. It was no trouble at all. Meena told you about dinner?”

Lucky was confused. How had they known Stella was coming? Had she told them and forgotten? She just nodded. “Dinner . . . seven o’clock, right?”

“Great. I’ll see you both then.”

After she left, Stella came to check out Lucky’s view of the backyard, which was full of flowering trees strung up with round bulb lights. “Well, she was great. Of course, lesbians usually are.”

“Jesus, Stella, you can’t say things like that.” If Stella heard, she didn’t let on.

“Well, I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too—you look like shit,” the old woman shot over her shoulder as she sauntered back to her own room.

“Thanks, man.” Lucky closed the door behind her grandma and wished there was a lock to keep her out.

“Fuck me,” she said with a sigh, throwing herself onto the bed. “What am I doing?”



Her phone woke her up at six-thirty. That left just enough time to wash up and get dressed for dinner. She was about to go make sure Stella was awake and help her pick out something not-insane to wear. Then it occurred to her, maybe it was better if she just let her sleep so that she didn’t have to deal with elder care while she was also trying to impress potential new employers. Quietly, she slipped into the small bathroom and flicked on the light.

The room was tiny—a stand-up shower just big enough to turn around in, a toilet, and an old sink. There were no cabinets, so she balanced her face wash, toothbrush, and toothpaste on a narrow glass shelf above the sink. Then she stared at her face in the round mirror, at the dark circles under her eyes, her chapped lips and bedhead.

When she’d done her best to make herself clean and presentable, she got dressed in a thin black sweater, black jeans, and ballet slip-ons. Good enough, unless these women dressed for dinner. Oh god, they seemed like the kind of people who got dressed for dinner. She hadn’t brought anything fancier, though, so pulling her hair back in a sleek low ponytail and applying red lipstick would have to do. She dumped the contents of her pencil case, where she kept her meagre jewelry collection, onto the bed.

Some silver rings, a pair of beaded earrings, a pearl barrette she had never worn and would never wear but couldn’t throw out, a couple of silver bangles, the spoon she couldn’t seem to be without, and the worthless brooch made of coloured stones set in brass that Arnya used to wear when she wanted to be “all extra.” Probably swiped it from a thrift store. Or straight off the jacket of an old lady who’d passed out at the bar—Lucky wouldn’t put it past her. Still, it reminded her of Arnya, and memories of Arnya made her feel strong. She wrenched open the stiff pin and stuck it into the elastic that held her hair back and clipped it shut.

Just as she was about to leave, she grabbed her phone and the spoon and slipped them into her back pockets. She leaned to put an ear to Stella’s door. Loud, even snores carried through the wood. Perfect. She was free from obligation and looking as fly as she could after six hours on the road.

Freya was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, still dressed in her impeccable suit. Lucky was relieved—at least it wasn’t a fucking cocktail dress.

“Hey.” Lucky smiled at her.

Once again, Freya just turned and walked away, and once again Lucky assumed she was to follow.

“So, Freya’s a pretty name. Does it run in your family?”

“No, I got it from a book on pagan goddesses.”

Lucky had to jog to keep up. “You named yourself? What was it before?”

“Matthew.” She stopped then and turned to Lucky, wrinkling her forehead. “Do you think I should have just gone with Susan or Mary or something old-school? I considered Esther for a while.”