Chapter 7 – Must Be Your Lucky Day

By ten on Saturday morning, Luke had put away the last of the morning’s deliveries. He looked back at the dock.

He’d started at Atlantic Gateway after his father died, when having somewhere to be and money coming in had been enough. He still worked two shifts a week. Every time he considered giving one up, he found something useful to do with the pay.

He’d always liked disappearing into work and leaving a crowded dock empty. Lately, he was grateful for it. For a while, he could stop wondering whether something was wrong with him. A load went where he put it. When he remembered moving it, he had.

He went to find Kevin and see what was next.

Kevin stood in front of the receiving desk with both hands behind his back.

“Pick a hand.”

“Uhhh.”

“Left or right.”

For a second, Luke waited for something.

Nothing came. He caught himself wondering whether looking harder would help. Could he make it happen, or did he have to wait?

“Right.”

Kevin brought out a chocolate bar.

“There he is. Lucky Luke.”

Luke took it. “What’s in the other hand?”

Kevin brought his left hand forward and revealed an identical chocolate bar.

“You had one in both hands.”

“A magician,” Kevin said slowly, “never reveals his secrets.”

“Some trick.”

“Next time you can pick me some lottery numbers.”

“If I knew those, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, you would.”

Luke laughed and put the bar in his shirt pocket.

“What’s next?”

Kevin pointed toward the loading lane. “Start with those.”

Luke took the scanner from its charger. A row of cartons waited beside a wheeled cage. He checked each label and loaded them into the cage, keeping the heavier ones underneath. Only one cage would fit on the first pickup. The cartons left over would go that afternoon.

Halfway along the row, he stopped beside a plain brown carton with a strip of white tape across the top.

He checked its label. Right destination. Nothing marked urgent. He’d put it there himself.

He scanned the next carton and lifted it into the cage.

Then he looked back.

The brown one needed to go on this pickup.

He didn’t know why he’d thought that. It could go that afternoon with the others. That was what the second pickup was for.

He turned back to the cage and made room for another carton.

His eyes went to the brown one again.

There was no picture. No voice. He couldn’t remember opening it or handing it to anyone. He just disliked seeing it there, waiting to be left behind.

Luke set down the scanner.

He moved two cartons aside and carried the brown one to the front of the row.

The feeling eased before he’d even let go.

“That one special?” Kevin asked.

Luke looked down at it.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Kevin went back to the desk.

Luke kept one hand on the carton. He could put it back. He’d moved it for no reason, and now Kevin had seen him do it.

He lifted it a few inches.

Immediately, he wanted to set it down again.

He stood holding it, annoyed with himself.

It was a box. Either truck would take it to the same place.

He set it down at the front.

“All right,” he muttered.

He picked up the scanner and finished the row.

When he reached the last carton, he considered taking out the notebook. Was this something he should write down? He moved boxes all day. Maybe he would have moved that one anyway.

Except he’d nearly put it back.

Ethan had told him to write what it felt like.

Luke wrote:

Brown carton. White tape across top. Felt it needed to go on first pickup. No picture. Moved it to front. Felt better. Tried to put it back and didn’t want to.

He read the entry.

It sounded like something he would have laughed at if someone else had written it.

He nearly added that it was probably nothing. Then he closed the notebook and put it away.

The driver came in with his collection sheet. Luke loaded the brown carton into the cage and filled the remaining space. He wheeled it out to the truck, leaving the last few cartons for the afternoon pickup.

He watched the driver secure the cage.

Nothing about the box looked different now.

For the next few hours, Luke unloaded deliveries and cleared the loading lane again.

At the end of his shift, he returned the scanner to its charger. Kevin raised a hand from behind the paperwork.

“See you next week.”

Luke headed for the parking lot.

* * *

At home, Luke made coffee and opened the message to Skyhook’s owners.

I’m ready to move forward. Let’s open registration.

He read it again.

He wanted the outdoor climbing days. He wanted to teach without watching the clock because he had another shift across town.

The trial might pay less than his two jobs. His savings would cover the difference for one season. After that, enough people had to sign up.

He moved the pointer onto Send.

His phone rang.

“Have you decided?” Ethan asked.

“How did you know what I was doing?”

“Because you were doing it yesterday.”

Luke took his hand off the mouse.

“Sophie and I are going to the fair,” Ethan said. “Come for an hour.”

Luke looked at the unsent message.

“An hour.”

* * *

At the gate, Sophie took one of Luke’s hands and one of Ethan’s. She asked them to lift her over a patch of mud, then began identifying additional patches that were largely grass.

By the time they had been on a ride and bought lunch, the hour was gone.

Luke checked his phone.

“Look,” Sophie said.

He put it away and followed her toward a row of painted horses climbing vertical tracks. The water-gun game had eight stools. Above the attendant hung stuffed animals large enough to require their own seat on the way home.

A boy in a striped shirt occupied the second stool. His father stood behind him with a hand on the rail.

The bell rang. Water struck the targets. Sophie stopped to watch the horses rise.

The boy leaned forward, both hands locked around his gun. His horse climbed halfway, stopped, then began again. A girl at the far end reached the top first.

The guns shut off.

“Again,” the boy said.

His father crouched beside him. Luke heard the answer through the music from the next booth.

“That was the last of it, mate.”

The boy looked down into a small wallet. He opened the other side, although there was nothing there either.

Then it happened.

Luke saw the boy with an orange tiger pressed against his face. One stuffed paw hung below his knee. He was sitting at the fourth gun, turning sideways to show his father, unable to keep the animal from sliding off his lap.

Then the fourth stool was empty.

The boy was still at the second one. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and bent over the wallet.

Luke stopped walking.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“Something…”

The attendant was straightening the guns. He called for the next players, lifting a tiger by its scruff to show the crowd.

Luke reached into his pocket. His fingers caught the notebook before finding his wallet.

He could write it down. Boy. Tiger. Fourth seat.

The father was helping the boy off the stool.

Luke stepped closer.

“Would you mind if I bought him a go?”

The man shook his head automatically. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. If it’s all right.”

He waited.

The father looked at his son, then at the money in Luke’s hand.

“One,” he told the boy.

Luke put five dollars on the counter and rested his palm on the fourth seat.

“Could you play this one for me?”

The boy looked at his father again. His father nodded.

He climbed onto the stool. Luke stepped away before the attendant had finished collecting the other players’ money.

“Aren’t we watching?” Sophie asked.

Luke glanced back. The boy had both feet braced on the rung. His father stood beside him.

“We can.”

But he had already started toward the edge of the path, making room for a family with a pushchair. There was no knot in his stomach, no need to keep looking back. He knew what the tiger would look like in the boy’s arms.

The bell rang.

They stopped beside the next booth. Sophie rose onto her toes to see between the adults.

Water hissed against the targets.

Then the winning bell sounded, and the boy shouted so loudly that Ethan turned before Sophie pointed.

The attendant handed over the tiger. It immediately tipped sideways, nearly pulling the boy off his stool. His father caught it, laughing, and pushed it back into his arms.

There it was. The orange face against his cheek. The paw below his knee.

Luke felt a broad, almost foolish happiness spread through him.

The boy held up the tiger for his father to photograph.

Luke looked along the booths. There must be something else he could try.

Then the boy spotted him and lifted the tiger higher. Luke raised a hand.

“You did that,” Sophie said.

“He did the aiming.”

Ethan was watching Luke.

“The fourth seat?”

Luke shrugged.

“Did you know?”

He could still see the boy turning on the stool before he’d ever sat there. It had been so simple. Five dollars. One question. No carrying a cake from room to room while everyone wondered what he was doing.

“I had a pretty good feeling.”

Ethan smiled slowly.

“I’ll say.”

Sophie tugged his sleeve. She wanted the duck game, where every duck had a number underneath and nobody had to beat anyone else.

While Ethan bought her a turn, Luke took out the book and wrote:

3:18 p.m.

WATER GUN. BOY WITH ORANGE TIGER. FOURTH SEAT.

Writing after. Ethan saw.

Across the path, the tiger was being carried toward the rides. The boy had one arm around its neck and the other around his father’s hand.

Luke closed the notebook. There was no difficulty remembering how it had happened this time.

Sophie returned with a small purple snake. She wound it around his wrist and announced that it lived there now.

He wore it for the rest of the fair.

* * *

Ethan took Sophie to the toilets before they left. Luke waited near the gate with the jackets over one arm and the last of his water in the other hand.

He was still smiling when a woman walking toward the gate caught his eye. She smiled back, slowed, and stopped beside him.

“You look pleased with yourself.”

“Been a good day.”

“Apparently.” She glanced at his wrist. “Is that one of the prizes?”

The purple snake had worked its way around his watch.

Then he saw.

Her head tipped forward as she laughed. Her hand settled on his forearm, warm against his skin. He was smiling at something she’d said.

But her hand was back at her side. She was still looking at the snake, waiting for his answer.

Luke glanced at his forearm. He could still feel where she’d touched him.

It felt oddly private, knowing she was going to do that.

“A temporary arrangement,” he said.

“Looks fairly committed.”

“She’s eight. We haven’t discussed an exit strategy.”

The woman smiled. She had a paper tray with two doughnuts left in it and a streak of sugar on the front of her jacket.

“My niece made me carry a balloon animal for three hours. Every time I tried to hand it back, she said I was upsetting him.”

“What was it?”

“We disagreed. I thought dog. She thought horse.”

“Hard to know whose feelings you were hurting.”

She laughed, tipping her head forward.

There it was.

Luke felt himself smile.

“Did the balloon survive?”

“Right up until the car door.”

“Oh.”

“It was quick.”

He laughed, and she touched his arm.

For a moment he forgot to compare it with what he’d seen.

“Do you want one?” She offered the tray. “I bought six because apparently that’s cheaper than four.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“I’m beginning to suspect it.”

He tucked the water bottle under his arm and took a doughnut.

“I’m Luke.”

“Anna.”

“Are you here with your niece?”

“My sister took her home. I said I’d follow after I’d eaten these somewhere nobody could ask for one and then only eat the sugar.”

Luke looked at the doughnut in his hand.

“I can give it back.”

“You’ve touched it now.”

They moved aside to let a family through the gate. Anna asked whether he lived nearby. He told her about the climbing center, and she said she’d been meaning to try it for approximately four years.

“That’s the usual preparation period,” he said.

“Will I be terrible?”

“Probably.”

“Excellent sales pitch.”

“You’ll improve.”

They talked until Luke spotted Ethan and Sophie coming down the path. Sophie was explaining something with both hands. Ethan carried her purse.

“My people,” Luke said.

Anna looked toward them.

“Temporary snake’s owner?”

“The very one.”

“Well.” She shifted the tray into one hand and took out her phone. “Would you want to get coffee sometime? You can tell me how terrible I’ll be in more detail.”

“Yes,” Luke said.

It came out quickly enough that they both smiled.

She opened a new contact and handed him the phone.

Luke entered his number. There was sugar on his thumb. He wiped the screen with his shirt before giving it back.

“I’ll text you,” she said.

“I’d like that.”

She left through the gate as Sophie reached him.

“Who was that?”

“Anna.”

“Did she give you a doughnut?”

“Yes.”

Sophie looked at Ethan.

“We should have stayed here.”

Luke finished the doughnut on the walk to the truck. Sophie spent the journey to Ethan’s explaining why the snake was technically still hers even though Luke was responsible for it.

At Ethan’s, Luke unwound the snake from his wrist and handed it back.

“You can visit,” she told him.

“Thank you.”

She carried the snake and her jacket up the walk. Ethan stayed beside the truck.

“Did you write down what happened with the boy?” Ethan asked.

“Afterward.”

“Good.”

Ethan looked toward the house, then back at him.

“Tuesday,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Bring the little book.”

“I will.”

“And Anna?” he asked.

“She asked for my number.”

Ethan grinned. “Must be your lucky day.”

Luke laughed.

On the drive home, he glanced at the empty place around his wrist. He could still feel Anna’s hand on his arm. She had asked for his number. He hadn’t seen that coming.

At a red light, he laughed once, alone in the truck.

“This is fucking great.”

* * *

The gas station on his way home had a lottery sign in the window.

Luke drove past it.

Then he thought of Kevin, standing there with a chocolate bar in each hand.

Next time you can pick me some lottery numbers.

Could he actually do that? Maybe he just needed to practice.

His laptop was still open on the kitchen table. He’d gone out for an hour. He should go home and give the owners an answer. The figures weren’t going to get any kinder.

But a ticket would take five minutes.

Why not?

When the light changed, he took the turn that would bring him back to the gas station.

Five minutes later, he was standing in front of a lottery machine, looking at the choices on its screen. He could pick his own numbers or let the machine pick them.

Picking his own seemed to be the point.

One ticket. He only wanted to find out whether he could.

He pictured leaving Gateway without having to count how many months his savings would last.

He tried to picture himself checking a ticket tomorrow. Six numbers printed across the top. He imagined looking down at them and knowing he’d won.

Nothing.

He tried again.

A blue backpack was under a row of metal seats. One strap was twisted beneath it, caught where a chair leg met the floor. Someone was walking away.

He remembered reaching down.

Then he was standing in the gas station again.

Luke looked at the machine.

No numbers.

He glanced around. A man was paying for coffee at the counter. Behind him, the refrigerated cases hummed. There were no metal seats. No backpack.

Luke stepped away from the machine and took out his notebook. He wrote the time.

Blue backpack. Under metal seats. Strap caught beneath chair leg. Someone walking away. Reaching down.

He nearly added station. They had looked like station seats, but he hadn’t seen a platform, a train, or a sign.

He left it out.

Luke read the entry again.

He’d been thinking about lottery numbers. He was sure of that.

He looked back at the machine.

Then he bought a quick pick.

On the way to his truck, he took out the ticket and looked at the numbers.

He didn’t recognize any of them.

He put the ticket away.

The blue backpack came back to him. Under the metal seats, one strap caught beneath a chair leg.

His stomach tightened. He stopped beside his truck with the keys in his hand.

He needed that bag.

He looked back toward the gas station, then across the parking lot. It wasn’t here. He knew that. But standing still felt wrong.

He had no idea where to go.

He just knew he needed the bag.