Lucky

by Marissa Stapley

  “Say it. Someone like you? Someone like your dad? You want to find someone you can pretend with, is that it? Someone who isn’t smart enough to see through you?”

  “I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

  She hung up.

  * * *

  Reyes was waiting for her father outside the boat when Lucky left the boat the next morning. “I broke up with him, all right? Are you happy?” Lucky snarled.

  Reyes looked startled. “Of course I’m not happy about this.”

  “Well, it’s what you wanted, right?”

  Reyes kicked at a splinter on the dock with her scuffed combat boots, which she wore even on the hottest of days. “I told you. Your dad asked me to look out for you. You were spending time with someone who wasn’t being honest with you. Priscilla found out, and that could be an issue. It’s what a friend does—”

  “You’re not my friend—”

  “I didn’t say I was your friend. I’m his friend. Your dad’s. And that’s why I did it. I don’t take any pleasure in this.”

  Lucky’s eyes were swimming with tears. She turned away from Reyes, not wanting her to see them. She started to walk away, but then stopped and turned back. “Now that you’ve ruined my life, you owe me one. Tell me what it is.”

  “What what is?”

  “What you and my dad do for Priscilla. Tell me. I deserve to know.”

  Reyes lowered her eyes back to the splinter. A long moment passed while she loosened it from the board completely. “It’s a charity,” she finally said.

  “A charity?”

  She looked up again. “For foster children. I’m the poster child.”

  “Are you in the foster program?”

  “Technically, no. I’m nineteen now. But I lived with Priscilla as a foster when I was a teen, and that’s how she came up with the idea.”

  “So… the call center is…?”

  “We get donations. But the foundation isn’t real.” Reyes glanced behind her. “And do you want to know something else? If we’re being honest? I’m getting scared. It’s turning into big money. And I know if we get caught, Priscilla will find a way to pin it all on us. I feel like we’re about to—”

  A noise behind them. John had come out of the boat. “Oh, hey, you two! Glad to see you getting more acquainted.” But then his expression changed. “Everything okay here?”

  “Oh, yeah. We’re all good. Come on, let’s go, John, the fifty-seven bus leaves in five.”

  Lucky watched them go. Her plan had been to go to the beach and read all day, but she suddenly realized she didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to run into Alex, or Cary, or whoever the hell he was. And also that after her unsettling conversation with Reyes, she needed more answers.

  She walked down the dock. There was a bike locked to a fence and she saw it had the kind of cheap lock you could crack by listening for the clicks; her father had taught her that ages ago. She looked around, but no one was nearby. It took her a few minutes, but she got the bike unlocked, jumped on, and headed for the bus stop, waiting at a distance while she watched her father and Reyes board.

  Then she rode along behind. Traffic was heavy, so she could mostly keep up. She observed from afar as Reyes and her father got off at Chestnut and Windermere. They crossed the street and entered a low-rise office building. She waited a few minutes, then crossed the street, too. The directory inside listed doctors’ offices and other businesses—and, there: San Fran Foster Kids Association, at the bottom.

  She crossed the street again, found a café, watched, and waited. A couple of hours later, Reyes emerged from the building and walked down the street. Lucky followed and caught up.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I followed you to work. I’m worried about my dad.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” Reyes said. “There’s nothing you can do. A few more months, that’s all, and then we’re going to shut it down. The best thing for you to do is to just stay out of the way. Go home.”

  Lucky hated doing what Reyes told her to, but she couldn’t think of an alternative, so she got back on the bike and returned to the marina.

  Later, she would come to wish she had done something more. But she didn’t. She just sat on the deck of the boat alone day after day, because she no longer went to the beach for fear of running into Alex. She tried to think of a plan to get her father out of this messy business he was embroiled in. But no ideas came to her—except the idea of taking off. And if they took off, she would have to let go of her dream of attending college.

  The day it happened began like any other. Lucky was on the deck, reading a book, when the cell phone her father sometimes left with her when he went to work rang. “Lucky, listen to me. I think we’re in trouble here.” Her father sounded panicked; he was talking fast. “You know where the lockbox is. The code is under my mattress. Find it, open it, I’ve left you an—Oh, shit, I have to go.” The line went dead.

  Lucky stared down at the phone in her hand, then jumped off the boat and ran down the pier, heading for the spot where she had hidden the stolen bike. She rode so fast she was soon gasping for air. But she kept going, until she reached the office building where her father had been working. She pulled her bike to the side of the road just as three police cars roared down the street, sirens blaring, and stopped in front of the doors.

  All Lucky could do was watch from afar as first Reyes and then her father were led from the building in handcuffs. No sign of Priscilla. Lucky got off the bike and wheeled it across the street, desperate to get closer. Her father, who was being led toward a police car, spotted her. He shook his head no. Go get the lockbox, he mouthed. Run. He ducked his head and got in the back of the police car. She couldn’t see him anymore.

  Lucky felt numb as she rode back the way she had come. It wasn’t sinking in yet; she half hoped her dad would be there waiting when she returned, telling her he had managed to talk his way out of trouble again. But he wasn’t. The boat was dark and empty. She felt around under his mattress until she found the code for the lockbox, disguised as a recipe. John’s Famous Cajun Rub, the paper said: 3 teaspoons cayenne, 1 teaspoon salt, 2 teaspoons dried thyme, 3 teaspoons garlic powder. Her eyes were blurred by tears so she could barely read it. If only he had ever been the kind of dad to have “famous” recipes he made for her, family dinners where she always knew what to expect. She finally managed to get the lockbox open. There was a letter on top of a stack of money.

  Dear Lucky,

  If you’re reading this, I’ve been arrested. I’m sorry. Take this money, go to a motel for now, then find a cheap apartment. There’s enough in here to at least pay for your first tuition installment, and I’m afraid I can’t say what you should do about the rest—but here’s hoping I’ll be around to help you again soon. Sometimes charges don’t stick. Whatever you do, do not tell anyone you are my daughter. Don’t try to help me. You’re better off on your own.

  I love you, kid. We’ll see each other again soon. Promise.

  Dad

  Lucky read the letter over and over, trying to find the part where he told her exactly what to do, and exactly why and how it was going to be okay—but it wasn’t there. There was no magic formula.

  She was on her own.

  She locked the box again and put it in her backpack. She packed clothes, as many books as she could fit, and that was it. Time to run. Alone.

  When she stepped off the boat, Cary was waiting on the dock. He had a puppy in his arms, brown and black, furry and wriggling, so skinny you could see her ribs.

  “This is Betty,” he said, putting her down. “I just picked her up from the ASPCA. The exact kind of dog we dreamed about. Remember? Shepherd, husky, a little of both.”

  “Go away. You’re the last person I want to see.” The puppy tumbled over the tops of Lucky’s feet.

  “My mom got arrested, too.”

  “Really? Because I was there, and I didn’t see her in handcuffs.”

 
; “They came to my house. They got her first, and then she told them where your dad and Reyes were.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “I’m sorry this is happening. I mean, I’m not sorry my mother is in jail, or Reyes, either—but I know how upset you must be about your dad. I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You think I’m a liar, but here’s the truth, okay? All of it. Months ago, my mom started talking about the guy who was working for her, how he had a daughter named Lucky and he was working to put her through school. I got curious about the fabulous, smart, apparently quite beautiful Lucky. I came down to the beach, and I found you—and I just, I swear, it was love at first sight. I didn’t want to tell you who I was; I thought that would weird you out. I also figured you didn’t like my mom much, because no one does. So I lied. It went too far, it became too late to come clean. But my feelings have always been real—which is why I kept lying. I was afraid to lose you.”

  Betty was weaving through Lucky’s legs, poking her skinny little nose all over her feet until she almost fell over.

  “She likes you. And she’s yours.”

  “You can’t buy me with a puppy.”

  “Well, I couldn’t afford a plane, so…” He smiled that lopsided smile she hadn’t seen in weeks, and she felt herself softening against her will. “We’re supposed to be together. Don’t you see that? We don’t have to be like our parents, we can just be us. Accept it. It’s destiny.”

  Lucky straightened up and tried to ignore the puppy. “I was supposed to be with a guy named Alex, but he doesn’t exist.”

  “Do you really want to be alone?” He stepped forward, looked down at her in that intense way of his. “Because your dad is gone, Lucky. He’s not getting out anytime soon.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  Betty yapped, and Lucky leaned down to pat her head. Cary crouched in front of her. “Come on, just look at this puppy. Betty needs you. Could you look at me?” he pleaded. “I want you to forgive me for lying to you when we were first together. And I want you to know that I swear on my life, on Betty’s life, that I will never lie to you again about anything, ever, not as long as I live. I need you, Lucky—and you need me. Supporting yourself through school is going to be next to impossible. I know how much you want it. And I want it for you. I love you. You love me, too. Admit it. You do.”

  “It’s not a good way to start a relationship, not knowing anything real about the other person.”

  “Why can’t we just make it up as we go along? Blank slate.”

  “I’ve been too many people now to ever have a blank slate.”

  “Are you sure about that? We can start fresh, whenever we want. And I’ll love all versions of you. I’ll love you no matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter who you are, always. And I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to be alone.”

  “I’m fine on my own,” she said. But she had never been alone in her life.

  “You know we can do anything, if we stay together.” Betty was wagging her tail, hard. “See? She agrees. And she’s a smart dog.”

  Cary put a finger under her chin, lifted her face to his. “I know all your dreams,” he said. “I know those were real, when you told them to me. And I want to help make them come true. Let me take care of you. Don’t walk away alone.”

  She stood. He handed her Betty’s leash, and together they walked away from the boat and toward The Hill, where there was an empty mansion waiting, and a brand-new life, too.

  * * *

  Later that summer, the arraignment for the “Foster Kid Fakers,” as Priscilla, John, and Reyes had been dubbed by the media, was reported in the papers. All the details about the fake charity they had been running were there. And Priscilla Lachaise was negotiating a plea bargain, the article explained. She had information on another case.

  “I’m worried,” Lucky said to Cary as she sat at the kitchen island in Priscilla’s mansion and pored over the article. “When she gets out, Priscilla is not going to be happy you used her bail money for my tuition.”

  Cary was making dinner. He tasted it, then turned to face her. “I didn’t think she’d do this. Didn’t think she had the guts. But she’s ratting out all my dad’s old drug and Mob associates in exchange for a lighter sentence. Which is crazy, because they’ll kill her the minute she gets out of jail. She knows that. She’s got a plan. I wish I knew what it was.”

  Lucky kept reading. “Reyes is a first-time offender, so she could go to prison for up to five years. And my dad…” Her chest tightened. “My dad could serve twenty-five years to life because he has two priors. I didn’t know that.”

  “Those are the rules in California,” Cary said, opening a cupboard and hunting around for spices. His tone was light. It grated at Lucky. Didn’t he care about her father at all?

  “I love my dad, and I miss him. It’s not like with you and your mom. He doesn’t deserve this!”

  “You think everyone always gets what they deserve?” Cary wiped his hands on a dish towel, then came around behind her. He started massaging her neck, but she held her body rigid. “Twenty-five years is a long time,” he said. “And that’s just the minimum. A huge chunk of his life. You’ll be a different person when he gets out, and so will he.”

  He was silent now, his hands no longer moving on her neck and shoulders. Lucky knew he was thinking about his own father. “You should forget about your dad,” he went on. “It’s the best thing to do. It’ll protect you from the pain. I’m telling you this because I love you.”

  She reached up and took one of his hands. “I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Now put that paper away and focus on your lecture notes, would you? You told me you got the hardest prof in business accounting. I’m making dinner so you can focus. And this new recipe is going to blow your mind.” Cary had taken an interest in cooking lately, and often when she came home he would proudly present her with some new dish or other. “And later, when we’re eating, I want to tell you about my plan to get ourselves out from under my mother’s roof by the time she gets out of jail so you don’t have to think about her anymore. It starts with me pretending to be a student at Stanford…” A grin, and that familiar sparkle in his eye. Lucky pushed the paper away and tried to forget about her worries. But when he talked this way, he reminded her of her father. Her worries were all around her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Priscilla’s Place was on a dead-end street in Fresno, a big yellow clapboard house surrounded by a high black gate. Lucky could see pod shelters in the back of the lot: they looked like little sheds, all painted the same cheery yellow as the house. There was a BEWARE OF DOG sign on the gate, and Lucky could see a massive doghouse, almost as big as one of the pods. But when she reached up and pressed the intercom, she didn’t hear barking. Maybe it was just meant to be a deterrent.

  The intercom buzzed. “Name, please?”

  “Jean.”

  “Come in the gate, check in with security, then come on through the front door to the waiting area.”

  Lucky was startled by a large man with a shaved head, dark sunglasses, and a leather Lakers jacket. “Name, please?” he said.

  “Jean.”

  “Last name?”

  “Fantine.”

  “ID?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  He studied her face and her heart rate accelerated, but then he said, “Go ahead.”

  Lucky did as she was told, and found herself inside a small reception area that smelled vaguely of dog. There was a reception window protected by thick glass; a woman sat behind it, her hair coiled in tight braids around her head. She glanced at Lucky, typed something, then stood and slid the window open.

  “Hello. Welcome to Priscilla’s Place. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for somewhere to stay,” Lucky said.

  “You’re currently experiencing homelessness?�
��

  Lucky nodded.

  “How long?”

  “A month.”

  “Name?”

  “Jean Fantine.”

  “I’m Sharon. Do you have any identification, Jean?”

  “No.”

  “Are you able to read and write?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’m going to give you these intake forms to fill out. Then I’ll process them and get you inside.”

  Lucky nodded again, then took the clipboard and pen and sat down. She looked around. There were two security cameras in the room, and a photo of Priscilla standing in front of the house, cutting a ribbon and grinning.

  After the intake process was complete, Sharon led Lucky through the house—which was divided into a large kitchen and eating area, and a living area and recreation room—and out into the yard.

  “You’re in unit twelve,” Sharon said, handing Lucky a key. “It’s a single. Get yourself settled in, okay? And dinner is at five, which is soon. Tomorrow, a few appointments are required. Counseling with me, and Priscilla likes to meet all the new intakes, if her schedule allows it. But that might be at dinner. She’s out walking her dog right now, but she’s around tonight and planning to make an appearance.”

  Lucky’s stomach dropped, but she maintained her smile. “Thank you,” she said. “See you later.”

  “See you later, Jean.”

  * * *

  Lucky stared at her food: butternut squash soup, salad, and fresh bread. It looked good, and she hadn’t had a proper meal in days—but she couldn’t eat a thing. She kept waiting for Priscilla to walk in. Her colored contacts made her eyes feel like they had sand in them.

  “I’m Janet,” said the woman sitting beside her. She had short hair, turned orange from bleach, and saucer-like blue eyes. One of her hands was shaking, but she still managed to spoon soup into her mouth.

  “Jean,” Lucky said, smiling once before looking back down, hoping her message was clear: I don’t really want to talk to anyone.