by Jamie Pacton
“Hi,” I say. My voice is clipped. I stare across the dark expanse of our little lake. A pair of streetlights cast yellow globes on the sidewalk by the beach, but otherwise, the trees and water are an inky mass, moving in the wind.
“Did you decide what to do?” Holden asks. The lights also accentuate the planes of his face, making him look almost like a statue.
I turn to him then, looking deeply into those deceitful blue eyes. We’ve already been over this, but my anger at Holden bubbles over. “I did, but before I tell you, I have to know: Why are you doing this? A week ago we were out on the lake, accidentally kissing.”
Holden shifts his eyes to the side, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah …”
“You were being nice,” I push on. “You gave me a sweatshirt and coffee. What happened to that guy?”
“I’m still that guy, Jane,” Holden says.
“That guy wouldn’t be blackmailing me over a lottery ticket!”
“It’s not like it’s a little bit of money,” Holden bursts out. “It’s millions of dollars! That could—it will—change my life.”
“Or mine,” I mutter. “Even if there’s nothing between us. Even if that was all fake—”
“It wasn’t.”
“Shut up. I can’t deal with that knowledge from you right now. You know what the worst part is? I was actually considering giving you the ticket. Like, you’re not perfect, I know. But I figured you’re eighteen; you can change. Maybe you’d do the right thing with the money. But then you broke into my room and trashed it. That was the lowest thing you could’ve done.”
Holden lets out a long breath, like someone who knows they’ve picked the wrong course of action, but now that they’re embarked, they have to stay on it. “I had to, Jane. I need that ticket. I’ve got to get out of this town, and I wasn’t sure you were going to give it to me, so I took matters into my own hands.”
“I want out of this town too!” I practically shout. “But I’m not threatening my friends or someone I once loved to get there.”
“No. You’ve been lying to everyone and sitting on millions of dollars.” Holden makes a disgusted noise. “You don’t even deserve to win it. Like, what are you going to do? Donate it all to some ocean fund?”
That’s exactly my intention for some of the money, not that Holden needs to know it.
“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter if I deserve to win it or not. Luck doesn’t work that way.”
Holden slams the picnic table with his fist. “It’s not fair. I need the money!”
“You really don’t. Your family is doing fine. You have a car, nice clothes, and you’ll go to college, get a job, and probably still end up loaded.”
“Give me the ticket,” Holden says through gritted teeth.
“I won’t.”
“Do you have the ticket on you?” Holden’s voice has a dangerous edge.
He moves toward me, and it’s then that it occurs to me that meeting him out here, this late at night, was a terrible idea. But it’s not like he’d actually hurt me. Right? Or would he? I thought I knew Holden, but this blackmailing, angry guy? I don’t know him. Not even a little bit. He absolutely could hurt me.
“It’s in a safe place,” I jump off the picnic table and step away from Holden.
“I’m still going to release the information!” he says, grabbing my arm. His fingers dig into my flesh. “I’ll do it right now.”
I wrench his fingers off my arm. “Go ahead and try, but I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Phase two begins now.
I pull out my phone and open the link Bran sent me. It’s a video he just posted on his Instagram. In it, Bran stands in front of Wanda’s with my mom, who’s looking nervous and excited. She holds the lotto ticket in one hand and twists one of the buttons on her shirt with the other.
“Hi, folks!” says Bran. “You’re not going to believe it, but I’m standing here with Joy Lynn Belleweather, resident of Lakesboro and the winner of the $58 million lotto ticket!”
My mom waves to the camera.
Bran goes on, “Tell me, Mrs. Belleweather, what does it feel like to have won the lottery?”
Mom just blinks at the camera for a minute and then smiles. “It’s amazing. Like all my dreams have come true …”
The interview goes on, but I shut it off. I can watch the full thing later. Beside me, Holden has turned a nasty shade of purple, and he looks like he’s going to puke. Which is delightful.
“You didn’t … Jane. You gave the ticket to your mom?” His hands are fists, and he slams one into the filthy picnic table.
“I did. I’d rather her spend it all on random crap than give you a cent. You broke my heart, Holden.”
Holden lets out a high, cold laugh. Like a villain in a cheesy movie. Good grief. “I don’t even care,” he says. “You were a shitty girlfriend, and you’ll never find someone to love you.”
His words cut through me, but somehow they don’t hurt quite as much as they would have a few days ago. Maybe my heart is healing. Maybe I have better armor. Maybe I finally see him for who he is.
“You’re wrong, Holden. I have lots of people who love me, and there will be many more. And even if I don’t, I’m more than enough for myself.” I start to walk away.
“I’m still going to release the photo of you buying the ticket!” he calls out.
I turn around and shrug. “Go ahead. But it’s not going to prove anything. It’s just a picture of me holding a lottery ticket. No one will know if I actually bought it or if it was just a scrap of paper I found lying around. And if you release that picture, you’re basically admitting to breaking into Wanda’s.”
Holden lets out a frustrated breath. He knows I’m right. Check and mate.
We have nothing more to say to each other, so I get into Mom’s truck and drive away. For the first time since Holden broke up with me, I don’t look back.
AT LAST! LUCKY LOTTO WINNER FOUND BY BRANDON KIM
The small town of Lakesboro was delighted to discover the big lotto winner had been in their midst all along. Joy Lynn Belleweather, 42, has come forward as the lucky winner, and I got an exclusive interview with her. When asked about why it took her so long to come forward, Belleweather said, “I’ve been thinking of what to do with this ticket. It’s a lot of money, and I needed some time to wrap my head around all the possibilities. But I’ve got a very solid plan now.”
Belleweather plans on cashing the lotto ticket first thing on Monday morning, and we wish her all the best as this exciting new chapter of her life begins …
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MONDAY AFTER SCHOOL, I COME STRAIGHT HOME. MOM CASHED THE ticket today, and she texted me a picture of the lottery office in Madison, where she went with Grandma as soon as they opened. We told Grandma everything, and once she was able to speak again, she heartily approved of our plan. Mom also texted me a picture of herself holding a giant check, and she was on the news in Madison this afternoon.
Some part of me is a little bit sad that I’m not the one holding the giant check and getting interviewed, but I’m also grateful Mom is handling all that.
I open the door of my house and let my eyes adjust to the gloom in the front hallway.
“Mom! I’m home,” I call out.
“Hi,” Mom says, walking in from the kitchen. She has two cups of steaming tea in her hands. There’s a lightness to her step, and she smiles when she sees me.
“Hi,” I say. “How are you? Is everything going as planned? Did you run into any trouble with the legal stuff?”
This is phase three of my plan: get Mom to give me the money legally, and then I can figure out how to spend it.
I drop my bag on the floor. It makes a pounding noise, reminding me of all the homework I still have to do, and that’s when I realize that the hallway and the stairs aren’t covered with layers of stuff like they usually are. They’re bare, and I can see the hardwood underneath in places, something I haven’t been able to do in years.
I look around. The entire entranceway has been partially cleared, and all the photos are off the wall beside the staircase.
“Mom. Holy shit. What did you do?” I say, turning in a slow circle.
My feet move me into the living room before I can stop them. Mugs, mouse pads, and personalized gifts with other people’s faces still line the shelves, but all the wedding and prom dresses are gone, and there’s a photo of Mom, Dad, and me on the mostly empty mantle.
“I got rid of some things,” Mom says in a quiet voice. She plops down onto the couch, which now has two cushions cleared off. She pats the cushion beside her, inviting me to sit next to her. “Well, I didn’t get rid of them. Not yet. But I moved them. So that’s something.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “When you say ‘moved them,’ what does that mean? Are they upstairs? In the garage?”
Mom lets out a breath. “They’re in Grandma’s old room for now. But I’m working on getting rid of them for good. Just moving them out of here feels like a big first step. I feel like some weight has been lifted off me.”
It takes the wind out of me. She’s right. It’s a huge first step.
I drop down onto the couch beside Mom. “But why did you do it? Why now?”
“Well, I was talking with your father last night …”
“Mom. No. Tell me you’re not seeing ghosts or something.” I can’t even process this new stage of her grief. Not when we’ve had such a breakthrough.
“It’s not like that.” She smiles at the look on my face. “Okay, I know it’s been a bad few years. And I am so, so sorry. But I promise, it’s not like that. It’s just that when I’m really missing your dad, I still chat with him sometimes on Facebook.”
She pulls out her phone and opens up the app. There’s his profile and her messages to him. Hundreds of them over the last few years.
“I talk to him on there too,” I admit, disbelief making my voice smaller than I expected.
Our messages to Dad have been running in digital parallels for years. They’re just missing the person who could connect them. We’re like two swimmers in side-by-side lanes, each focused on our own laps, not realizing how close we actually are.
Mom puts a hand on my back. “It’s the only real connection I feel to him sometimes. I love these old posts, videos, and photos. Read the last few messages I sent him.”
“Mom, I don’t need to read your messages.”
“You do.” She hands me her phone. “Read them, or I’ll read them out loud to you.”
I make a face. “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely will.”
“Fine, fine. If you insist.” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice. How long has it been since Mom and I joked around like this? Too long.
I flick through the messages. My name comes up many times, along with some heart-wrenching confessions of loneliness and grief that I quickly skim. I pause on the most recent messages, a long chain sent since yesterday.
Daniel, I wish you were here. I’ve been trying to keep your memory alive, but I’ve lost my way somehow. You’d really be proud of our Jane. I know you would. She’s grown up to be so much more than either of us could’ve imagined. She’s lovely and strong and kind …
A sob catches in my throat. I look up from the phone. “Mom, why are you showing me these? I don’t need to read your letters to Dad. And I’m not showing you mine.”
“That’s fine,” she says, taking the phone back. “I just want you to know that I talk about you all the time. Just with the digital ghost of your father. And I think he’d be so proud of you. Like I am.”
I hug her then, hopeful that we can make this work. That she can get better and that our lives are really about to change.
“This is for you.” Mom reaches into her pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. It has the logo of our bank on it. It’s for a checking account, and is blank except for my name and a familiar number—$58,642,129.00—both written in blue pen in Mom’s handwriting.
“Mom, what is this?”
She points to the name on the slip: Fortuna Jane Belleweather.
“It’s your new bank account,” she says. “I’m putting all the lotto money in an account for you. Of course, it’ll take a while to process, and taxes will have to come out, so this is entirely symbolic for now. But the money is yours.”
I clutch the slip of paper, feeling a huge sense of relief. It was always our plan that she’d give me the money, but I wasn’t sure she’d actually go through with it. “Can I buy a car? And maybe get you a new truck?”
Mom laughs. “Yes. You can buy whatever you want. I know it’s a lot of responsibility and a lot of money, but I trust you to do the right thing with it. All I ask is that you finish high school. Then you can do with your life as you want. And I’ll be here to support you as best I can.”
My hand trembles as I hold up the slip. “Are you sure you want to give me all of it?” It was part of the plan, but suddenly it seems unfathomable that all this money is mine.
Mom nods. “I’m absolutely sure. It was your ticket in the first place, and I’ve got a lot of my own stuff to figure out. In case you haven’t noticed.” She gestures to the house and the yard. “But I was thinking we could start by unlocking our bedroom doors and trying to tell each other things. Maybe we could even to do some things in the world together.”
“I’d like that,” I say. And that’s the truth.
She gives me another hug. “Now, go get ready. We’re meeting your grandma and Doris soon. Doris has been calling me all day, and I told her I’d treat her to a fancy dinner and explain things.”
I hug Mom again and then head up to my room. I’m still stunned that the millions of dollars are mine, but I’m also absolutely ready for wherever this ticket will take me.
EPILOGUE
Dear Dad,
I think this will be the last message I ever send you. Not because I won’t be thinking about you, but because I’m working really hard to live in the present and look to the future. I miss you. I will every day, and I’ll never stop wishing we’d had more time together. But I’ve got to live my life without you in it, and I’m finding a way to be okay with that. Though it still sucks.
I’m sure Mom has told you some of the things that have happened, but seven months have passed since I won the lottery and Mom turned in the ticket and gave me the money. I’m now filthy rich and trying to be smart about it. I graduated high school a few weeks ago, which was both exciting and anticlimactic. As I suspected it would be, given the fact that the last year has been so weird and exciting and terrible. School wasn’t always easy, but people got a lot kinder toward me when they realized how I was going to spend some of my (well, officially Mom’s) winnings.
I guess I should tell you what I did with them:
After I got the money, I gave a huge chunk of it to Bran. He’s been here for it all, and he’s the best friend I could hope for. Then I put half of my portion aside in investments and savings, so I can live on that for the rest of my life. I gave Mom and Grandma both a few million, and I took the rest and gave it away. I donated a bunch of money to Sylvia Earle’s ocean fund, and I set up a trust for other charitable donations in the future. I also funded a bunch of GoFundMe campaigns from the Lakesboro Facebook group, paid off people’s medical bills, and helped set up some scholarships. I sent Bea and Cheryl, the witch couple I met at the Harvest Festival, enough for an amazing vacation, and I even threw a huge party for my entire senior class. It was really fun, and though I certainly don’t see myself as some kind of savior, I’m glad I could at least I could do a little bit of good with this money.
Mom’s doing well. At least I think so, and Grandma is keeping an eye on her. Mom has been in therapy for months, and she quit her job at the storage place (Doris was super sad to see her go and also baffled that she didn’t tell her about the ticket, but they’re still besties). Also—hallelujah—Mom cut off all her grief hair. So that’s a good thing. She has also cleaned up some of the house
—really, she has. We video chatted the other day, and she took me on a tour. You wouldn’t even believe it was the same house as before. (The hallway is clear, and all toys in the yard are gone!) Mom also used part of her lotto money to buy that old abandoned grocery store in town. She’s been fixing it up and will open it later this year as a play area, community center, and trampoline park for kids of all ages and their families. I’m proud of her. She’s no longer collecting people’s memories but rather helping them make new ones. You’ll like this, Dad: Mom’s calling the center Daniel’s Place, after you. Which makes me cry a little bit every time I say it.
I’m living in Maui now—I took the first plane out of here the day after graduation. Actually, Mom, Grandma, and I came here in December over Christmas, and I bought a condo on the beach. (Just like that, cash sale, it was incredible.) I love watching the sunset every night, and I’m learning to surf. I’m also volunteering at the humpback sanctuary, and I’ll start a bachelor’s program in marine biology at the University of Hawaii in the fall. Which means I’ll move to Honolulu for that, but I’ll be back here in Maui every chance I get (especially to see the whale migrations in December and January!).
Mom worries about me, saying I’m going to get lonely living on an island in the middle of the ocean where I don’t know anyone. But it’s an island chain, and I’m already making friends (including a surfer girl who might be more than friends, we shall see). I’m still pretty wary of dating after all that Holden stuff last year, but I’ve also learned that no matter what happens, I’m strong enough to walk away from a bad relationship. I got a tattoo on my forearm that says I am enough, just to remind me of that daily. Speaking of Holden—he ended up staying local for college, which gives me a bit of satisfaction. Though I’m sure he’ll find his way to Wall Street eventually. Also, please know I didn’t give him any of the lotto winnings. Not a penny. Though I did get him a yearlong subscription to a glitter-bomb delivery service, which I’m hoping has caused him much distress. Because, c’mon, I’m not a saint.