Lucky Girl by Jamie Pacton (novels for beginners txt) 📕

As soon as the words are out, I clap a hand over my mouth, wishing I could shove them back inside. Mom collapses onto one of the broken armchairs, as if my words dropped her like an anvil. We don’t talk about death. Or marriages that end in death. Or anything vaguely in the realm of any of that.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s nothing.” Mom hops up and waves her hands in the air, as if she’s clearing away a cloud of ghosts. “Don’t just stand around. Let’s get this stuff into the truck!”

I stay silent for a beat, giving her the space to say more if she wants. She doesn’t, and I let out a long sigh. It’s not that I want to get into our deepest feelings on the side of the road at midnight, but we probably should say all these unsaid things that have been building up for years between us. Someday, maybe we will. But not tonight.

“Which pieces do you want?” I ask.

Mom moves from box to box, then back to the armchair, then back to the dresser. “All of it! We’ll go through it at home. Hurry, hurry. There’s much more to be collected around town!”

Mom grabs the wedding gown from me, cradling it closely to her chest. She lays it carefully on the front seat, where it sits like a ghostly bridal passenger. And just like that, I know she has a new mission: to save every wedding dress she comes across.

Shit.

With a long sigh, I push down any thoughts of my dad or who my mom was before he died, and I start loading boxes into the truck bed.

We make ten more stops before Mom’s ready to go home. The wedding dress sits between us, and I pull my elbows in as I drive so I don’t touch it. Along the way, Mom babbles about the lotto winner. I keep my mouth shut, letting her talk.

“And then I told Doris there was no way someone in our town has the ticket. Because if they did, they’d surely have come forward by now!” Mom lets out a giddy laugh, exhilarated by the night of rescuing things and the idea that the lotto winner could actually be someone in town.

Doris is the owner of Sammy’s Storage Solutions (the place where Mom works) and Mom’s best friend. Doris’s husband was Sammy, a not-great guy who took off a few years ago with a twenty-two-year-old he met in a bar. When he left, Doris hired Mom full-time, which was both a good and bad thing. Doris shares Mom’s passion for finding treasures in the trash, though she considers herself an expert on the level with the Storage Wars folks, so she only keeps items that she can sell.

The upside of their friendship is that Mom has someone in town who she can talk to besides me. The downside is that Doris lets Mom go through unclaimed or past-due storage lockers, which gives her a literal treasure trove. I wonder sometimes if they go around opening lockers during the day, just to see what’s inside.

This is why I can’t ask Mom to cash the ticket. She’d probably split the money with Doris, and they’d buy out all the storage lockers in the US or something. I’m so grateful I didn’t say anything earlier.

Mom keeps talking until our house comes into view. We left the porch light on, and ghoulish shadows from all the discarded toys fill the yard. The back of the truck rides so low, it scrapes the ground as we pull into our gravel driveway. My arms ache from hauling things out of piles and lifting broken stuff into the truck. A wide yawn splits my face as I turn off the engine.

“Any chance we can unload this tomorrow?” The clock on the dashboard reads 1:30 a.m. I have to be up at six if I’m going to finish the math and English homework I didn’t get to earlier.

Mom shakes her head, like I’ve suggested something utterly ridiculous. “You know the routine, Fortuna. We have to get it into the house.”

“But there’s no room in the house!” I burst out, my aching body and exhaustion bringing all my frustration to the surface.

“Nonsense,” Mom says, carefully picking up the wedding dress. She opens the passenger-side door. “We have loads of space. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it: Your room could always use a bit more stuff.”

“Absolutely not.”

She shoots me a calculating look, like she’s trying to figure out what she’d have to say to me to get me to relent. But I’m not budging on this point.

“If you put any of this crap in my room,” I say firmly, “I’m moving in with Grandma.”

Mom laughs then. “She doesn’t have room for you in that tiny apartment!” Her voice is almost gleeful. “But don’t worry, you’ll be off to college soon enough.”

“I literally cannot wait,” I mutter under my breath.

If I can find someone other than Mom to cash my $58 million secret for me, then maybe I could get out of here sooner. But if I did that, whispers some part of me, then who would help Mom? Or remind her to eat?

With a weary sigh, I untie the ropes holding the stuff in place in the back of the truck and start unloading.

I FALL INTO BED AT TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING, FEELING LIKE I’ve run wind sprints or played back-to-back soccer games. I did, at least, change out of my filthy clothes, but facing a shower was too much. Hating myself a little for skipping brushing my teeth, I check that the lotto ticket is still in its place—it is, thank God.

With clumsy fingers, I set my phone alarm for six. At least I’ll get a few hours of sleep.

When my head hits the pillow, something rustles underneath it. Has Mom shoved something in here? Personalized stationery or a stack of unused wedding invitations? I swear, if those