“CAN I GET two of the Lucky Day scratch-offs, please, Mr. Gary?” Madison said, fidgeting with the blue fishing lure charm bracelet on her wrist. The air-conditioning in the gas station was on full blast, making her shiver even though it was eighty degrees outside. “And two coffees,” she said, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. As Mr. Gary turned around to get the lottery tickets, she glanced down at the Snickers bars. “Oh . . . and these, too,” she said, placing two of the candy bars on the counter, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt at all she’d stolen over the years.
“How’s your daddy doing?” he asked, pushing his Coke-bottle glasses up on his nose.
“I’m actually goin’ to see him right now,” she said, grabbing the paper coffee cups he handed her. “He just got done with his chemo session so I’m gonna keep him company while Mama’s workin’.”
“That’s good of ya, darlin,” Mr. Gary said over the Shania Twain song playing on the background speakers. “These tickets for him?” He pointed to the two scratch-offs sitting on the grimy counter.
“Well, yeah,” she said, pouring the sugar into her cup and tightening the lid. “You know that’s the only way to actually cheer that man up. I’m just his puppet really. He says, ‘Mads, I wanna see you,’ but that’s really code for, ‘Mads, bring me my lotto tickets.’?” She smiled because as much as her dad loved her, it wasn’t completely far-fetched.
Mr. Gary chuckled, rubbing the front of his black and gold Saints T-shirt. “Okay, wait,” he said, turning around again. “Take another one on me. Tell ’im ol’ Gary hopes he strikes it rich.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gary!” She put the tickets in her bag and zipped it up. “He’ll be thrilled.”
He waved good-bye. “Drive safe, ya hear?”
Madison nodded. “Bye now!”
She started up her truck and hit SHUFFLE on her phone’s iTunes. As she backed out of the parking space, the first song to play was Cash’s acoustic song, “Hurricane.” It was the one that he wrote and recorded when they were sophomores, shortly after they started hooking up. Even though Cash would never admit it, she knew the song was about her. He had written it after their first breakup, a result of some drunken argument at Billy Prejean’s sixteenth birthday party.
You shoulda come with a warning / Strong, fierce, wild in the morning
I never thought I’d survive / but oh, oh, baby, you make me feel so alive
We got one chance to get through this night
And if the tears don’t dry out tomorrow
Will we give up this fight
For I’ll take the thunder strikes and all the rain
If we can make it through, if we can make it through
This hurricane . . .
The song stopped just before she turned down her parents’ street. She put her hand on her chest, hoping the aching feeling there would go away, but it didn’t. She took some deep breaths and opened the truck door slowly. In a few seconds, she’d be sitting with a man who was literally fighting for his life—she needed to forget about Cash and her own problems just this once. Connie said Allen needed some cheering up, and that’s what she was going to do.
“Hello?” she said into the empty house, walking through the living room to her parents’ bedroom. Allen was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked miserable—even more miserable than the time when she was ten and he snipped the tip of his middle finger off with the chain saw while cutting down a tree in their backyard. He’d been in so much pain, but she still managed to cheer him up: “At least when you flip people off, it’ll be even more gnarly,” she’d said.
“Hey darlin’,” he moaned.
“Daddy,” she said softly, kneeling down. His skin was pale and his lips were cracking. Her stomach went sour seeing him in this state. “You look terrible.”
He put his frail hand delicately on her face. “You don’t look so good yourself,” he said, pinching her cheek. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t even get me started,” she said, shaking her head. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” he said quietly. “This stuff they put in me isn’t natural. I dunno if I’m gonna do any more.”
“Um, yeah you are,” Madison said with a strict tone in her voice. “That’s the only way you’re gonna get better.”
“Hell, I was doin’ fine until your mama made me go see the doctor in the first place. It’s been downhill ever since.” He let out a hacking cough. “Just look at my dad—lived ’til he was ninety-three, and that man didn’t go to the doctor a day in his life. Smoked a pack a day, drank his gin like it was water, completely fine ’til he just up and died from old age. He said, ‘I’ve had it with this place, I’m gonna go to sleep now.’ And that’s the way to do it.”
“But you’re not ready to go to sleep yet,” Madison said, touching his arm. She was trying to be strong, but his words pained her. “Mama’s not ready for that yet and neither am I. You’ve gotta fight it.”
“I am,” he said, lowering his head. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I brought you coffee,” she said, handing him the warm cup that she had placed on the bedside table when she walked in. “And these . . .” She pulled the three scratch-offs from her bag. “Gary sent you an extra one.”
“Well, that’s awful kind of him,” Allen said, struggling to sit up.
Madison plopped on the bed next to him and gave him a quarter. “Go for it,” she said, handing him the first ticket.
He scratched off the golden horseshoes, which gave him numbers eight and seventeen. He tried desperately to find a match, but with each scratch-off, all he got were the little gold flakes that fell onto his white cotton undershirt.
“Try this one,” she said, handing him the one Mr. Gary had sent over. Allen continued with the scratching, but their hopes waned with every nonmatching number he uncovered.
She sighed and began scratching off the last one. With every horseshoe she uncovered, it became clearer that they weren’t even going to win a dollar. As Madison scratched off the final horseshoe, a weird squiggle began to appear—something that didn’t look like a number. Her heart jumped and she scratched harder.
“Oh. My. God.” Madison could barely speak.
“What?” Allen looked over at the ticket.
She pointed to the final slot on the card, which contained a symbol neither of them had ever seen in their lottery-playing career.
“Is that the pot of gold?” her dad screamed with excitement.
She nodded as disbelief raced through her. “We just won fifty thousand dollars!” she said, giving her dad a long hug.
Winning the lottery was something Madison had fantasized about happening since she was a little girl, but through the years with every unlucky scratch, her dreams faded. This win, though, seemed like proof that good things could happen to her—that she wasn’t destined for a life of bad breaks and misery.
“I can’t believe it!” he cried.