Windfall

by Jennifer E. Smith

  “I brought some cash too,” he says, patting his back pocket, where he stuck his wallet after stopping at the ATM. “I know it’s not enough, but I figure we have to start somewhere, right?”

  I nod, still stunned. “Right.”

  “So?” he says, bending to pick up the bag, then glancing in the direction of the church. “You ready?”

  I surprise myself by reaching out and taking his other hand. But I can’t help it; he looks so hopeful right now, so earnest. I smile at him, and he smiles at me, and we stand there like that for a long moment. Then I nod, and together we make our way across the lawn, dazed and happy and eager to share our good fortune.

  It’s strange to see the apartment coming undone after so many years.

  There are cardboard boxes everywhere, full of stacks of yellowing books, and dishes wrapped in newspaper, and piles of poorly folded clothes. On the walls, bright blue squares have replaced the many photos of Teddy, and below those the dust bunnies have come out of hiding, drifting across the wooden floors like miniature tumbleweeds.

  I’m supposed to be packing a shelf full of framed photos, but I keep pausing to look around, astonished to see this place—which has always been so familiar, a second home of sorts—looking so completely different.

  “Change is good,” Teddy says, winking as he walks by with a box in his arms. He makes it a few steps past me, then backpedals until we’re face-to-face and leans in to give me a quick kiss.

  From across the room, Leo rolls his eyes.

  But we’re getting used to this now and it’s easy to ignore him.

  “Thanks,” I say to Teddy, who gives me a lingering look, the kind that makes my heart beat too fast, then readjusts the box in his arms and heads off to stack it near the door.

  Change is good, I think, testing the words, letting them roll around in my head like a pinball. Then I think it again, more forcefully this time: Change is good.

  But I’m not quite there yet. Maybe I never will be. It’s hard to imagine going through life convinced that all change is for the better. Too much has happened to me for that kind of optimism, that type of blind faith. But I’m trying.

  Change can be good, I think, which feels closer to the truth.

  The door swings open and Katherine walks in, shuffling through a pile of envelopes. “Mrs. Donohue’s been hoarding our mail again,” she says as she sets it on the counter. When Teddy reaches for one of the letters, there’s a faint rattle. He tears it open and three green Skittles fall into his hand.

  I laugh, surprised at the sight. But Teddy only stares at them.

  “What are those?” Katherine asks, her face a picture of confusion.

  “Skittles,” he says. “Green ones.”

  She frowns. “I don’t get it.”

  “Greens are good,” he says, looking up at us with a smile.

  “But what does that—”

  “They’re from Dad,” he says, and just like that she seems to understand. Nobody says anything; we’re all looking at the candy in Teddy’s palm as if it might hold some kind of answer. And for him I can tell it does. It’s not much, but it’s something: a sign that his dad is trying, that perhaps he’ll even be okay. That they both will.

  I think of the receipt I saw on Teddy’s desk the other day for a donation to Gamblers Anonymous, and how hard it must be when the one person you most want to help in the world has no choice but to help himself. All you can do is wait. And hope.

  But for now, green is good. And that’s a start.

  Teddy tips the pieces back into the envelope. Then he walks over to a box marked Memories and tucks it inside.

  Katherine glances down at her phone when it starts to buzz. “Shoot,” she says. “I’m supposed to be meeting with the contractor now. We’re picking out cabinets today.”

  “Thrilling,” Teddy says, and she laughs.

  “Believe it or not, it is. To me, anyway. All of it is.”

  This makes him smile. Just last week Leo and I went with them to see the progress on the new place, the two of us hanging back as they stepped around piles of wooden planks to stand in the very spot where they used to live. I know they must’ve been thinking about the way their lives have unfolded since then, the way things changed for the worse, and then—just as suddenly—for the better.

  “Thank you,” Katherine said, drawing Teddy into a hug. Then she looked over his shoulder at me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you both.”

  Now she grabs the keys to their new home from the counter. “Don’t forget I’m heading to the hospital afterward,” she tells Teddy, waving as she closes the door. “But I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

  When she’s gone Leo turns to Teddy. “I thought she was cutting back her hours.”

  “She did. And no more nights.” He shrugs. “I keep telling her she can quit altogether, but she doesn’t want to.”

  “She loves what she does,” I remind them. “She’s lucky.”

  But Teddy is no longer listening. His attention has shifted to the TV, which has been on in the background with the volume turned low. It’s tuned to a morning show, where the host, a man with jet-black hair and a deep tan, is doing an interview with a woman who sits nervously on the couch opposite him, her leg jangling.

  “Turn it up!” Teddy says, so loudly and so suddenly that Leo drops the wooden spoon he was about to toss into a box. “Where’s the remote?”

  “I don’t know.” I scan all the usual hiding spots, which are in various states of disarray. “Why?”

  “Because,” Teddy says, dropping to his knees in front of the couch and fishing around underneath it. He emerges with the remote and aims it at the TV, punching at the volume button so many times that the people on screen are now practically shouting at us.

  “Teddy,” Leo and I both say at the same time, covering our ears.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles, lowering it again. “But look.”

  I squint at the screen, trying to figure out what exactly I’m supposed to be looking at, but it’s not until I hear the woman say farmers market that I realize who she is.

  “Whoa,” I say, moving closer to the TV. “That’s the chicken lady.”

  “Do you really think you should be calling her that?” Teddy teases me, but I just wave a hand to shush him, moving closer to the screen.

  “I thought it was a mistake at first, so I didn’t do anything for a while,” she’s saying. She looks different with all the makeup, older somehow, more grown-up. But it’s definitely her, and she’s definitely talking about Teddy. “I thought someone left it by accident or that I’d get in trouble if I spent it, because they might want it back. I couldn’t imagine anyone would do something like that for a complete stranger, you know?”

  “You think she means you?” Leo asks, walking over to join us, so that we’re all three standing in a row in front of the TV, arms folded, eyes trained on the interview.

  “How many other people do you think left her a thousand-dollar tip recently?” Teddy asks, though he’s smiling and his ears have turned pink.

  “But then your mother took a turn for the worse…,” the host prompts her, and the chicken lady gives a slightly startled nod.

  “Yes,” she says, blinking. “She wasn’t doing well, and I was having trouble paying for her hospice care, so I decided to use it.” She ducks her head for a second, then looks up at the camera through glassy eyes. “She died a week later.”

  “I’m so sorry,” the anchorman says, reaching out to pat her hand in a brisk show of sympathy. “But then something very special happened, didn’t it?”

  “Well, I decided to start volunteering at a hospice myself,” she says, sitting up a little straighter, and the anchor purses his lips.

  “Yes,” he says. “Yes, of course. Which is so admirable. So admirable. But can you tell us what happened the morning after your mother passed?”

  The chicken lady nods. “Right. Sure. Well, it had been a really hard night, and I needed to get out, so I d
rove to get some coffee the next morning. And even though I was sad, I kept thinking about how grateful I was that she got the care she needed that last week of her life, and how it wouldn’t have happened without the kindness of that stranger, and I wished I could pay it forward somehow.”

  The anchor nods and gives her an encouraging look.

  “But I don’t have that kind of money, obviously, and the only thing I could think to do in that moment was to buy a coffee for the person behind me in the drive-through. So I did. It wasn’t anything big. Nothing like that tip. But it was something, you know?”

  “As it turned out, it was something,” the man says with a thousand-watt smile. “Something pretty big. Because after you did that, the person behind you was so grateful that they decided to do the same. And the person after that. And so on.”

  The chicken lady nods. “I found out later that over six hundred people kept the chain going all day long.”

  “Six hundred people!” the anchor says. “That’s certainly a lot of coffee.”

  As they continue to marvel over the miracle at the drive-through, Teddy turns to us, his face lit with excitement. “See? It’s already working.”

  “Yeah, coffee for everyone,” Leo jokes, but Teddy shakes his head.

  “No, did you hear what she said before that? She started volunteering. At a hospice! All because of that tip.”

  On the screen they’re still talking about coffee. But the idea that this is only the beginning—that we’re going to get to do more of this, that the ripple effect of such a simple act of kindness could be so boundless and lasting, longer even than the chain of cars in that drive-through—is enough to keep us standing there for a very long time.

  It’s nearly noon when Leo stops what he’s doing—which is sitting on the kitchen counter, systematically working his way through his third sheet of Bubble Wrap—and looks around. “Are you guys gonna be okay if I take off?”

  “Why,” I ask, “are those bubbles getting to be too much for you?”

  He makes a face at me as he pops another one. “I’m supposed to meet Max for lunch,” he says, surveying the sea of scattered boxes and overstuffed plastic bags. “But I feel a little guilty leaving. Though I guess you are a multimillionaire, so if you really needed the help you could’ve hired someone to do this.”

  “It’s more fun making you guys do it,” Teddy tells him. “Plus, it leaves more money for the people who actually need it.”

  “I think you’ve been brainwashed by Alice,” Leo says, then holds up his hands in defense when he catches me shooting him a look. “Which isn’t the worst thing. But while you’re putting all this money aside for the nonprofit, don’t forget to save a little for something fun too. It’s not every day you win the lottery.”

  “He’s right,” I say, and Teddy looks over at me in surprise. “I mean, I’m really impressed with everything you’re doing, and I’m really proud of you, but—”

  “I think what she’s trying to say,” Leo interrupts, “is that it’s good to be a little more like Alice. But don’t stop being Teddy either, okay?”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you guys say that,” Teddy says, dropping onto the couch, “because there’s one thing I wanted to—”

  “I knew it,” Leo says immediately. “You bought an island.”

  “Not exactly,” Teddy says with a smile. “But my twelve-year-old self would be pretty disappointed if I didn’t at least try to make some of our childhood dreams come true. Which is why you’re now the proud owner of a puppy. And why my mom has her new house. Which, incidentally, will have a pool table and pinball machine in the basement.”

  “Naturally,” I say as I sit beside him on the couch, taking his hand in mine. It still feels so strange to be able to do this and to see his face soften when I do, his eyes resting on me with a focus that still makes me a little dizzy and probably always will.

  “I got you a thousand colored pencils too,” he says, turning back to Leo, who laughs.

  “A thousand? Literally?”

  “Literally,” Teddy says. “I’d never short-change you on something as important as art supplies. You can even count them. I figured I’d wait and have them sent over to your dorm whenever you get assigned, since that’s probably where you’ll be doing most of your drawing from now on. Oh, and I took care of that too.”

  “Of what?”

  “Paying for your dorm,” Teddy says with a grin. “And your tuition.”

  Leo opens his mouth, then closes it, completely at a loss. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean…wow. Thank you. Really. That’s…so much better than an island.”

  Teddy laughs. “I’m glad you think so. I actually put some money aside for me too. Just in case.”

  “Really?” I ask, sitting up. “For college?”

  “It wouldn’t be till next year,” he says quickly, “and that’s only assuming I even get in somewhere—”

  “I have a feeling you’ll be fine,” Leo says with a smirk. “You’ve got some pretty solid material for your personal essay.”

  “I’m gonna be really busy with the nonprofit,” Teddy continues, clearly nervous that my hopes are already too high, “so it might not work out anyway. But I’ve been thinking about the whole coaching thing, and I guess there’s still a part of me that wonders if maybe—”

  “Teddy,” I say, and he stops. “I think you’d make a great coach one day, if it turns out that’s what you want.”

  He smiles, his whole face lit up. “Thanks,” he says, then clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s me and Leo. But you…you were the toughest to figure out.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s always been hard to get any wishes out of you,” he says, and I smile, because all I’ve ever really wished for was this: family and friends, safety and love, the sun streaming through the window on a Saturday morning. Just this.

  But Teddy twists to reach behind the couch, producing a package wrapped in newspaper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your wish,” he says with a smile, and I hold my breath as I peel pack the pages of the sports section. When I see what it is, I burst out laughing.

  “An ostrich?” I ask, holding up the stuffed animal.

  “What can I say? Just trying to make all your dreams come true.”

  Leo is staring at us with obvious confusion. “I don’t get it.”

  “Big ostrich enthusiast,” Teddy says by way of explanation, which only makes Leo’s frown deepen.

  I turn the stuffed animal over in my hands, examining the glassy eyes and downy feathers. “Thank you,” I say, thinking about that morning in the snow, the two of us talking as Teddy dug through the dumpster for the ticket that would go on to change everything so completely. “I love it.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he says, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it over to me.

  When I open it and see the word Kenya printed across the top, my throat goes tight. I scan the page, thinking about the photograph of my parents there, the setting sun and the lone giraffe and the way they were looking at each other, as if they were all alone in the quietest place on earth.

  “Kenya,” I say softly, waiting for the pang of it, the sharpness, that too-hot feeling that sweeps over me whenever I think of them, of the things they once did and the things they would still be doing if luck hadn’t intervened.

  But it doesn’t come.

  All I see is Teddy right now: his hopeful smile, the crease between his eyebrows that spells out his worry, the weight of his hand on mine.

  “How did you know?”

  “That picture in your room,” he says. “I’ve seen the way you look at it. But I wasn’t sure if it would be something you—”

  “Yes,” I say, and then I say it again: “Yes.”

  He grins at me. “Yeah? Good. Because we’re gonna do a week of safari—hopefully
we’ll see some real ostriches at some point—and then a week of volunteering at a children’s home over there.” He pauses. “I took a wild guess that you’d probably be okay with that.”

  Almost without meaning to I let myself fall into him, and he circles his arms around me so that I can hear the steady pulse of his heart. “I can’t think of anything better,” I say, smiling into his shirt, and he laughs.

  “Even an island?”

  “Even an island,” I say, sitting up again.

  Across the room, Leo slides off the counter. “Kenya?” he says with a kind of forced casualness. “Wow. That sounds like fun. A lot of fun. When do you leave?”

  “Two weeks,” Teddy says. “We’re gonna stay in this awesome safari camp with these tents that look out over the savanna, and you get to see lions and giraffes and zebras and elephants and—”

  “Fun,” Leo says again. He stands and walks over to the door, kicking aside some newspaper to find his shoes, then tugging them on. “That’s really, really fun. I’m sure you guys will have an amazing time.”

  “You know you’re coming with us, right?” Teddy says, and Leo spins around again, his expression wary.

  “I am?”

  “Of course. How could we go to Africa without you and Max?”

  Leo’s eyes widen. “Max too?”

  “Max too. If that’s what you want.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “This,” Leo says, jogging over and tackle-hugging Teddy, “is going to be epic.”

  “It is,” he agrees, laughing. “Now get out of here. Go tell Max.”

  Leo hops up again, practically bouncing on his toes as he heads over to the door, and I can’t help smiling as I watch him, because I feel the same way: giddy and excited and wildly, impossibly happy.

  “Hey,” Teddy calls out, “how are you getting to lunch?”

  Leo shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably the bus.”

  “Here,” he says, grabbing a set of keys from the coffee table and tossing them over to Leo, who stares at them.

  “The convertible?”

  Teddy nods. “It’s all yours.”

  “What?” Leo asks, freezing.