Gloria looked amused now, or at least not quite as angry as she had before. “Ah, hell, I guess people’ve been expecting me to fire Gus for years. What’re your credentials?”
“Er, waitressing, mostly, but I also managed a—”
“You got any references?”
“Well—”
“Résumé?”
“Not exactly.”
“You fixing to use this place as a hideout from some maniac ex who’s going to show up and cause trouble?”
The lottery ticket was tucked into Lucky’s bra; she could feel the smooth paper against her chest. “No. No maniac exes to speak of. It’s just me.”
Gloria took a step closer. Lucky could smell something fetid, either her breath or the stench of the plunger she held in her hand. “And what’s yer name?”
“Sarah Armstrong.” She searched for a reaction to the last name Armstrong after she said it, but there wasn’t one.
“Sarah, this is a fishing camp and trailer park. It’s none too fancy—and those horses aren’t any great shakes.” Lucky nodded and stayed silent. “And it’s no damn fun, working here. No damn fun at all. You got that? In fact, to prove it to ya, if you really want the job, your first task is to unplug the goddamn toilet in the bathhouse. Up for it?” She extended the plunger and Lucky took it.
“If I can unclog it, am I hired?” Lucky asked.
“If you unclog it, you got yourself a deal. Ya get cash payment. Fifty bucks a day, paid weekly. And before you complain about that, lodging is included, which I’m assumin’ you need. I’ve got an empty cabin. Toilet doesn’t work, but you can use the bathhouse. Like I said, as long as you manage to unplug it.”
“Deal.” Lucky took the plunger and stalked toward the bathhouse. That is my mother, she thought, watching Gloria speed away in the golf cart. My mother has just asked me to unclog a toilet. She didn’t know whether to laugh or not. If you’d never had a mother, how were you supposed to know what to feel?
* * *
After Lucky succeeded at unblocking the toilet—an experience she did not want to relive, let alone repeat—Gloria returned and motioned for her to get in the golf cart. She led her toward a tiny cabin near the water with peeling white paint and green shutters. Then Gloria hit the brakes hard. Lucky’s eyes ended up full of grit. She wiped at them, trying to clear her vision.
“You okay?”
Lucky nodded and coughed.
“Well, then. Day starts early. Six thirty a.m., report to the office trailer. There’s a sign on it says ‘office,’ you can’t miss it, it’s thataway. See you tomorrow.” She sped off again almost before Lucky had retrieved her backpack from the back of the cart. Lucky stood and watched her until she was out of sight.
She went inside the cabin. The toilet didn’t work in the dingy beige bathroom—everything was beige, including the plastic shower curtain, and everything was stained with mineral rust—but the sink did. She turned on the water and waited for it to turn hot. When it did, she scrubbed her hands with soap all the way up to her elbows, then left the bathroom and took her bag to the bedroom, which was small and faux-wood-paneled, with a tiny window up so high she couldn’t see out of it. There was a strange smell, like rot covered up with air freshener.
She began to unpack her meager belongings, tucking her few pairs of underwear and bras into a drawer that protested with a shriek as she opened it. A few wire hangers clung together in the closet, then jangled objections as she hung up a shirt.
She retrieved the lottery ticket from her bra, smoothed it out, and checked it for rips before folding it carefully and putting it in her wallet. It took only a minute to unpack; then she walked from the bedroom into the rest of the cabin, which consisted of a living room–kitchen combo. It was sparsely furnished: a couch upholstered in nubby army-green fabric, a stuffed pike affixed to a board hanging above it. There was a wooden chair next to the window, and a tin-topped table in the kitchen with two mismatched chairs. White-painted cupboards contained a motley gang of cups and dishes. She knew it wasn’t much, but it was a roof over her head. Somewhere she could be alone. And her mother was out there. Lucky was going to get to know her—and then she was going to tell her about the lottery ticket. It was all going to come together. This was the start of a new and better life.
There was a corkboard by the back door with a list of rules:
No smoking inside. No candles. No open flames. No moving the furniture. No parties. No loud music after 10 p.m. or the police WILL be called. Fish gutting happens in the gut house ONLY! Not on the back deck. Not in your kitchen!
Lucky’s empty stomach groaned, even at the unappetizing thought of gutting fish. She didn’t have any tackle to catch anything with, anyway. But frankly, she wished she did. She opened the fridge out of habit. It was empty. She stood in front of it, letting the cool air hit her face and body for a moment before closing it again.
A door in the living room led out to a wood-planked deck. It overlooked the river and was flanked by pine trees. She stepped outside and her toes landed in a wodge of pine sap that had dripped down from the trees. She looked at the slow-moving river for a while, trying to distract herself from her hunger.
After, she went inside and slid her shoes on. She walked back out of the cabin and along the dusty drive. Just before she veered off toward the road, she paused to say hello to the horses, all gathered at the fence. She petted one’s soft muzzle, made a mental note to ask Gloria their names tomorrow. Then she followed the main road that led to the nearest town. It didn’t take long. The sign said it was called Duvoyage, and had a population of 534. Downtown consisted of a gas station, a shuttered gift shop, a grimy-windowed pizza parlor, and a grocery store.
Inside the grocery store, Lucky took a basket and meandered through the cramped aisles, picking up coffee, peanut butter, some battered and bruised apples that were on sale. She kept the tab under twenty dollars in her mental calculations: a loaf of bread, some boxes of macaroni and cheese, a bagged salad, granola bars, and milk.
“That’ll be $19.11,” the cashier said, and Lucky handed her a twenty. Then, when the woman opened the register, Lucky pulled her final twenty out of her wallet. “Can you make change for this? In fives?” she said.
“Sure.” The cashier counted out four fives, handed them to Lucky, and turned back to the register. Lightning fast, the way her father had taught her, Lucky folded one of the fives up her sleeve. “Oops, sorry. You only gave me fifteen,” she said, fanning out the three fives.
“My apologies. I could have sworn I counted out four fives,” the cashier said. “But I can’t open the register now, so you’ll have to wait.”
“S’alright, Carla,” said another voice. “Here, you take my five, and Carla can square up with me after.”
Lucky turned. It was Gloria, and her eyebrows were raised. “Take it,” she said, and Lucky did, feeling her cheeks start to burn with shame. Gloria had seen her shortchange the cashier, she knew it.
“Thanks,” Lucky said. “See you back at the camp.” She picked up her paper bag of groceries in one arm and walked out. But Gloria paid for her own groceries quickly and followed.
“Hey,” she said, coming up behind Lucky. “I’ll give you a ride.” She pointed to a dull red pickup. “There’s me.”
Lucky climbed in. Gloria turned the truck on and pulled out of the parking lot. “Where’d ya learn to do that?” she asked as she signaled to turn left. “ ’Cause there’s only one person I know who could shortchange a person so fast you almost didn’t know if you saw it. And his name was Armstrong, too, just like you. John Armstrong. You related? We were married. God help me, we still are, though I haven’t seen him in more than a few decades.” Gloria pulled a flask out from under the seat, took a sip as she drove, then pointed it at Lucky. “Want some?”
Lucky’s heart was beating fast. She took the flask. Whatever it was burned its way down her throat and she tried not to sputter and cough. She had hoped it would give her courage,
but she had to take one more gulp before she could say, “Yes, I’m related to John Armstrong.”
“I didn’t think he had any people still alive. Lost his family in a car crash when he was little. God, haven’t thought about him in years. How is he?”
“In prison.”
“Can’t say as I’m surprised by that.” Gloria tipped the flask her way again, but Lucky shook her head. “You see much of him, ever visit?”
“I’m his daughter.”
Gloria hit the brakes and the truck skidded on gravel. She turned down the lane toward the camp. “His kid?” She parked the truck in front of her trailer.
Now was the time. She had to do this. Lucky lifted the crucifix out from under her T-shirt, turned to Gloria, and held it up. “I’m your kid, too. The one you left behind, in Queens.”
Gloria looked down at the crucifix on the chain around Lucky’s neck. “What the hell are you talking about, and what the hell is that?”
“I’m your daughter. This necklace is all I have of you. He said you were—” It sounded so ridiculous now that she had met Gloria, but still she pressed forward. “He said you were very religious. This crucifix was yours. And you left it for me, when you had to leave us. Because you had postpartum depression and couldn’t stay. I forgive you, I just want to get to know you.”
Gloria let out a barking laugh. “He told you that, hey?” She reached forward and touched the cross on Lucky’s chain, holding it in her calloused fingers before letting it drop. “Girl, I am not your mother, or anyone’s. Got an infection when I was a teenager and had all my internal lady bits removed. John said he didn’t mind—but then he got to hankering for a kid, and one day, he came home with one. You, I guess.”
“Me… you guess?”
“That’s why I took off on him. It was the craziest thing, just picking you up like that off those church steps. He should have called the police.”
Lucky stared at her. What was she saying? That John had found her somewhere?
Gloria squinted down at the crucifix. “He came home with you in his arms and was rambling something about finding you on some church steps, telling some nun you were his, and the nun giving him that necklace so he could buy you some baby formula and diapers. He came home with a lot of things that weren’t his—but a baby was a goddamn first.”
Lucky didn’t want this to be true. She reached for the door handle, her cheeks hot with a shame she couldn’t trace the source of, tears welling up behind her eyes. Damned if she was going to sit in Gloria’s pickup truck and cry over the truth about where she had really come from.
“Wait,” Gloria said. “Don’t go. You’re shocked. I get that. But you wouldn’t have come to me unless you had no place else to go. Right? Maybe we can team up.”
“Team up?”
Gloria tilted the flask her way; Lucky shook her head, numb. “I’m getting sick of this place, sick of this life, ya know? And—and seeing you, thinking about John, as bad as it was with him, is reminding me of some big dreams I had, once. It just seems there’s only one way to make those dreams come true at this stage in my life, and that’s the fast track. If you were raised by John Armstrong, then you know what I mean by that.”
Lucky clutched the crucifix with her fingers, then pulled on it. She wanted the chain to break, but it held fast.
“The people who live at the camp, most of them are older. Makes me wonder if there’s any way to skim a little extra off them without anyone getting suspicious. You know? But without a partner, it’s hard to do. Except now, here ya are. John Armstrong’s daughter, with a fast hand at shortchanging. I’m sure he taught you a few other things, too. Right?” she pressed.
This time when Gloria passed the flask to Lucky, she took it, and let a big gulp burn and sear its way down her esophagus. “He sure did.”
“So whaddya say? Got any ideas on how we can pair up and make some fast cash?”
Lucky hated it, the way that bubbly, excited feeling surfaced against her will and started coursing through her veins again. The way she suddenly felt alive, the way she suddenly believed she had the chance to be something, to be someone. The way even though she knew Gloria was not her mother, she had wanted to be loved by her for so long, she could do nothing but clutch at this chance.
Picked up off some church steps.
She closed her eyes, briefly. She was nothing but trash.
“I’ve got tons of ideas, Gloria. There’s always a brighter future ahead.” It was true, wasn’t it? There just might be.
* * *
A few mornings later old Al Hinch, who lived in trailer number 11, peered at Gloria and Lucky with his rheumy eyes and frowned as they stood on the deck of his trailer. “You’re sure?” he said.
“ ’Fraid so, Al,” Gloria said. “Sarah here, my niece, just graduated from architecture school, and I asked her to come have a look at everyone’s trailers round here as a favor.” Lucky frowned now, too, because that wasn’t exactly what they had discussed. Architecture was too vague; Gloria was supposed to say structural engineering but had clearly forgotten. Al didn’t seem to notice. He lived alone with a rakish dog named Mutt, and the day before he had smiled and waved hello when Lucky passed his trailer. Now Lucky was grateful she was wearing sunglasses, because she couldn’t meet his eyes. But she needed to do this, needed to work with Gloria a little so she could figure out whether she could trust her with the lottery ticket. So if she asked her to go cash it in for her, it wouldn’t feel like she was trusting a stranger with the most important thing in her life.
“We’re going around and checking out everyone’s place. And Sarah and me are going to do the work on our own, so you’ll get a deal on materials and labor. Six hundred, flat rate. Pay us cash and we won’t charge you no taxes.”
A sigh. “All right then. I’ll get you the money by the end of the week.”
“Sounds good, Al. And we’ll get started on fixin’ your skirting ventilation right soon.”
They moved along to the next trailer, knocked on the door, poked around underneath it, and declared it to be fine—even though it was in the exact same shape as Al’s had been. Two more trailers were given the all-clear before they found two more in a row with the same supposed skirt ventilation issue.
It took a few days to get through all the trailers on the property, and only two residents started arguing and said they were going to call in their own professional to take a look. “They won’t bother,” Gloria told Lucky. “And they’ll get worried when they see all their neighbors getting the fix-ups. They’ll do it. Trust me, I know these people. Honestly, what a fabulous idea. You’re brilliant, girl.”
“Thanks,” Lucky said, and felt a dull pleasure at the compliment.
“Want to have dinner with me? I’m no chef, but I got a lasagna in the freezer and some beer in the fridge. Maybe even a little vino. Yeah?”
“Oh. That would be nice.” Lucky thought of the wilting bag of lettuce in her fridge. “I could bring a salad…”
“Nah, no need. Tomato sauce is a vegetable, right? Why don’t you just come sit on down here on the porch while I pop it in the oven? We’ve had a long day, we need refreshments.”
Gloria’s front deck looked out at the horse pasture. Lucky sat and watched the animals in the fading light. The pony was trotting back and forth on one side of the field while one of the little girls who lived in the trailer park hung on the fence and watched her. The three horses were hunkered around the hay pile.
Lucky heard one of the floorboards creak on the porch. Gloria was back, a bottle of Blue Moon in each hand, an orange slice shoved into the top of each one. “Ya see that, I got fancy for ya. It’s not often I have a guest.”
Gloria popped the orange slice inside the bottle and took a swig, and Lucky did the same. “Saw them do this at a restaurant once, thought it tasted pretty good when I tried it,” Gloria said.
Later, Gloria brought the lasagna out on plastic plates with a floral pattern around the edges, plus p
aper napkins and knives and forks for them to eat with on their laps. She also had a dusty bottle of wine she said had been a Christmas gift from someone who used to live at the camp. “Been saving it,” she said. “But I never have company.”
It tasted sour, but Lucky drank it anyway. She was nervous. She kept imagining herself telling Gloria about the ticket, asking for her help. Once it was out, she wouldn’t be able to take it back. But who other than Gloria could help her with this?
“Hey, ya know what?” Gloria said a little later. “I got some pictures of John, from back then, when we were together. I know he’s not really your dad—but did you want to see them anyway?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She went inside and came out with an envelope, opened it to reveal a handful of old snapshots of Gloria and John almost thirty years before. Gloria had been surprisingly attractive, pert-faced and trim, smiling up at John like he was the best thing she had ever seen. He was looking at her the same way—but he could look at every woman like that, if he wanted to. Lucky knew that.
Gloria put down the photographs and sipped her wine. “I sure was in love with him, for a while. He used to tell me there weren’t nothing we couldn’t do together, that I was all he had.”
Lucky drained her wineglass; Gloria refilled it. “He used to say the same thing to me,” Lucky said.
“I’m sorry,” Gloria said. “It’s a shitty deal you got. I wish I could help you out more than I am.” She shook the nearly empty bottle. “Want me to go in and get us something stronger, something that’ll really take the edge off?”
“Sure, why not?”
A few moments later, she accepted whatever moonshine Gloria handed her, slugged it back, and held out her glass. “Attagirl,” Gloria said. “This will make it all better.”
Gloria’s lips and teeth were purple from the wine and her hair was even more askew than usual. She settled back in her chair and kept talking. Lucky tried to focus on her, but whatever had been in the glass was strong. Her vision blurred as Gloria spoke. “I told him he needed to take you to a police station, you know, and when he refused, I left him. That was it for us. Never saw him again—though I did sometimes wonder what had happened with all that. Hoped, for once, that he had decided to do the right thing. Figured he’d have a few days of diapers and no sleep and change his mind. Apparently not.” She kept on talking and Lucky closed her eyes. Eventually, Gloria’s words just became noise, blended with the chorus of crickets and hum of cicadas and trucks speeding past out on the road. At some point, she felt Gloria putting a blanket over her knees, and then it was silent and dark and Lucky was asleep.
Lucky Page 17
