She saw a sign ahead for the Daisy Mart convenience store and picked up her pace.
“Can I get a printout of the winning lottery numbers for this week’s Multi Millions draw?” she asked when she was inside, at the front of the line.
“Sure thing.” The cashier picked up a sheet beside the register. “Lots of people have been asking. I printed a bunch out. Here you go.”
Lucky glanced at the sheet, then looked up. 11-18-42-95-77. She knew those numbers. Those were her lucky numbers.
“Are you sure these are the right ones? For this week’s draw?”
“Positive, lady.”
Lucky rushed from the store and out onto the street. She stood, heart racing, palms sweating. She needed to go somewhere private and check the ticket against the printout, needed to see for herself that the numbers did indeed match.
There was a McDonald’s up ahead. Inside, she caught a glimpse of a television in the seating area, tuned to CNN. $390 MILLION LOTTERY TICKET SOLD IN IDAHO CONVENIENCE STORE STILL UNCLAIMED read the banner on the screen.
Lucky made her way to the restroom at the back of the restaurant. She closed and locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her breathing ragged, her body shaking.
She took the lottery ticket out of her wallet. There it was, an artifact from a world she had believed to be long dead, staring her in the face. You’re special. You’re magic. You’re lucky. There’s no one like you.
11-18-42-95-77.
She took the printout from the Daisy Mart out of her pocket and compared them.
11-18-42-95-77.
She had the winning ticket.
Lucky wanted to scream—but not in the way a person who had just discovered they had won the lottery normally would. If she came forward, she would be arrested. What good would the lottery ticket be then?
She folded the ticket and put it inside her shoe. Then she stood, staring at herself in the mirror in that familiar stance, the one that meant she had to think of something: a new identity, a new plan, a new path toward this glittering dream, something, anything.
Think of a name. Think of a story. Think.
But all she could do was stare at her own face. “Lucky.” She spat it at the mirror. She walked out of the restaurant and back onto the dark street, trying to move as if she had purpose—even though she felt more lost than she ever had before.
March 20, 1993
BELLEVUE, WASHINGTON
Her father’s Buick backfired as it pulled up in front of Steph’s house. It was a roomy split-level ranch-style home with a manicured lawn and a long driveway, exactly how Lucky had pictured it. There were mountain peaks in the background; the sky was a watery blue, fading into dusk. The streetlights flickered to life and the kids who’d been playing catch or throwing sticks to dogs began to make their way inside—but a few of them stopped to look at the Buick, wary of its size, its rust, its rattles and booms. When it backfired again before her father turned it off, Lucky wanted to crawl under the back seat and hide forever—except crawling under the back seat would mean missing this: the way the setting sun reflected off clean windows; the way the butterflies meandered toward bushes, then rocketed back as if that were the last thing they had intended to do; the good cooking smells in the air, not onions and lard like the rooming houses she had lived in, but instead the scent of steaks on the grill and pies in the oven.
“All right, Andi,” her father said, cocking an eyebrow. “You ready?”
Lucky got out of the car. The front door had opened and she could see Darla, Steph’s mom, outlined in the doorway. There was the sound of a dog’s bark, and then a golden retriever was bounding down the driveway toward her. This had to be Blossom, the dog Steph had said her mom bought after her dad had his heart attack, to make them both feel better. And it had helped a bit, Steph had admitted. A puppy helped with everything. Blossom stopped barking and nuzzled Lucky’s hand.
“Virgil?”
“Darla,” her father said, his voice full of emotion even Lucky almost believed was true. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me for taking off on you like that? I got scared. I fell so hard for you, so fast, and it didn’t feel right. So I ran away. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m even more in love with you than I was last summer. I’ve thought of you every moment of every day since.”
“Oh, Virgil. Me too. I never stopped believing I’d see you again. And now here you are.”
Lucky felt sick. Her father was lying to Darla, again, and Darla was falling for it. Why wasn’t she suspicious? Why wasn’t she staying mad, at least for a little while, and questioning a man who had taken off in the night and not said goodbye? No, instead, Lucky could hear the sloppy, gross sounds of the adults kissing as she knelt down and buried her head in the dog’s fur so she wouldn’t have to listen anymore.
“Andi?”
She looked up. Suddenly it was all worth it.
“Oh my God, I seriously thought I was never going to see you again!” Steph exclaimed, running down the driveway toward her. “Did they work? Did you get them? The treatments?”
Lucky took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “I’m one hundred percent better. They said it was a miracle.”
Steph grinned, then whooped. “Really? That’s amazing! And now you’re…”
“Here,” Lucky said. “Now we’re here.” The parents had walked away together, around the side of the house, where they could continue their reunion in private. Steph rolled her eyes, but then looked at Lucky and grinned again. Blossom still stood at Lucky’s side, wagging her tail.