“Fall apart,” Lucky whispered. “Yes. I’m scared of that. I’m scared there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it.”
“You need to let us take care of you. We’re family now. It’s kismet that we met, don’t you think?” That was Steph’s favorite word right now, kismet. But no, it had not been kismet. It had been bad luck. Lucky knew this and Steph didn’t, and it had driven a wedge between them, all at once, as thick as one of the pickets in the fence. “My mom wants you to see my pediatrician,” Steph said. “She told me to try to talk to you about it, but I hadn’t yet. Just to make sure you’re okay. Maybe bring it up with your dad, okay?”
“I will,” Lucky said, decisive. “I’m going to talk to him right now.”
She left Steph standing there and walked into the yard, passing Darla, who was still sitting alone in the dark, without saying a word. But then she paused for a moment and looked back. She saw Darla watching her, her expression expectant and open. She didn’t know anything, didn’t suspect.
“You all right, Andi? Want to talk? Come sit here with me.”
“I need to go talk to my dad,” Lucky said, and turned away from Darla.
She found him in the master bedroom, sitting on his side of the bed. “Listen, kiddo, I wanted to stay here longer, I wanted to do that for you, but things are getting a little—”
“Just send me to the pediatrician. He’ll look me over and find me in perfect health, no sign of any illness—which is exactly right, and true, and miraculous. They’ll be so happy. And then we can stay. Maybe forever. Please, Dad? I really want this.”
“You don’t understand,” he said in a low voice. “It’s not that easy. No matter what, we couldn’t be happy here. Not forever.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not human nature to be satisfied. Your happiness would unravel eventually—even if it weren’t already at risk of unraveling because of all the lies we told to be here.” We. Complicity. Partners in crime.
“I’m just a kid,” she said, but the words didn’t ring true. She had never had the chance to be just a kid. That’s why she wanted to stay here. To be a kid who maybe, just maybe, could grow into a regular person. A person like everyone else. Not a thief, not an eleven-year-old con artist.
“You love her a little bit, don’t you?” she asked. “Darla? The way she loves you?”
He looked sad when he said, “No. I can’t. You get it, don’t you, the way it feels with a mark?” Lucky refused to nod. “I feel disdain for her. For being so trusting. When a person falls for something like this, hook, line, and sinker—well, I could never, ever love someone like that. You get it, Lucky.”
“No.”
Except she did. She felt the same way about Darla and sometimes, in dark, upsetting moments, she even felt that way about Steph, wanted to shake her and say, Hello, aren’t you paying attention? Why are you just buying all this?
“You could go, and I could stay,” she whispered. “You could just… take off.”
He switched on a lamp, and she could see his face. He looked sad, and she felt guilty for suggesting they part ways. “Kiddo. I understand how badly you want this. But do you really think she would treat you the same if I just took off? She’d look at you and think of me.”
“Never mind. Forget it.”
“You and me, we need each other. You know that.”
Lucky swallowed hard. But the lump in her throat now felt permanent. What if lies wedged themselves inside you and turned into something ugly? What if she really did get sick? “I do know that,” she said. “But I just want a year. One whole year in a single place, being Andi. And then we can go.”
“The longer we stay, the harder it will be.”
“I don’t care,” Lucky said. “I don’t see how it could be any harder than it already is. Every day, I wonder if you’re going to tell me it’s time. I need an end date, and I need it to be a long enough time that I at least feel… that I at least feel like this really happened.”
During his long silence, she was sure he was thinking of a million different excuses, all of the explanations airtight and impossible to argue with. But instead he said, “All right, leave it with me. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you,” Lucky said, and she turned and left the room feeling, for the first time in her life, like she’d won the lottery—and it wasn’t going to be enough to sustain her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucky stood still, arms out, as the guard patted her down just inside the tall barbed-wire gate of San Quentin State Prison. The lottery ticket was tucked into her wallet, perfectly innocent.
“All right, that way,” the guard said when he was done, and Lucky moved forward with the rest of the crowd. She followed the gravel path inside and was soon in a reception area where she was to present her ID for a second time. She was Sarah Armstrong, John Armstrong’s niece. She lived in San Francisco, worked at a bank. She had been using this ID to visit her father for the past decade. He had served less than half his sentence so far.
The guard glanced at the driver’s license, then back up at Lucky. “Haircut?” she asked. Lucky nodded. “He has another visitor. She’s just gone in. So you’ll have to wait in the area outside the visiting room until it’s your turn.”
Lucky sat down in a cracked plastic chair. Who was visiting her father? She clenched her jaw with frustration as the minutes ticked past.
Nearly an hour later, a woman emerged from the visiting room. It had been nine years since Lucky had last seen her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a low, stubby ponytail, shaved underneath. She was wearing loose jeans and a tank top, and work boots with scuffed toes. Marisol Reyes. One of her father’s former “business partners” from the grift that had landed him in prison.
“Lucky?”
She stood. “What’s up? Recruiting John for another risky job, if he ever gets out? Are you even allowed to be here, Reyes?”
“My parole doesn’t restrict prison visits. And no, of course I’m not recruiting him.” She was reaching into her pocket.