Chasing Lucky

by Jenn Bennett

  “He took over his family’s business.” She gives me an uncomfortable, awkward look. “On Lamplighter Lane.”

  The portal to hell. The place mom avoids. It’s not the root of all evil in town—it’s the place where she left her broken heart.

  And I know exactly one business on Lamplighter Lane.

  The blacksmith where Lucky is apprenticing.

  “Drew … Sideris,” I guess.

  She nods. “Lucky told you?”

  “No,” I say. “Actually not. He’s apprenticing for him, though, and I think he must know, because he’s been cagey about it.”

  “The night of the boatyard window breaking, Kat told me that Lucky was learning metallurgy, so I kind of figured …” She shrugs, face pulling to one side. “Drew’s parents live down the street from the Karrases. They’ve done a lot of the ironwork around Beauty. His father made Salty Sally out front,” she says, gesturing toward the bookshop door. Then she crosses her arms and sighs. “Beauty’s a small town. Everyone’s trees are growing over each other’s fences.”

  Maybe knocking a few fences down.

  “So … Lucky got lucky, huh?” she says.

  “Mom.”

  “Sorry,” she says, turning her head to give me a soft smile. “Do you need to … talk about anything? He for sure used a condom, right?”

  “Yes, and no, I don’t need to talk about anything. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “I mean, I know you were angry when you said it on the tugboat, but I guess I kinda did hope you’d wait until you were married, or whatever the right way to do things is.”

  “Is there a right way?”

  She throws up her hands. “You’re asking me? How would I know? I’ll tell you what, though—there’s definitely a wrong way. That, I know. The wrong way is when you immediately think, ‘Oh crap. I’ve made a huge mistake.’ Did you think that afterward?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Not a bit.”

  “That’s good.” After a long moment she admits, “To be honest, I’m glad it was him. He’s a good kid. I like him.”

  “Pfft. You do not.”

  “He’s funny and smart. And he’s hardworking, which I like. Plus, he was also good to you, even when you were kids. Guess I misjudged him when we first came back to Beauty.”

  “Rough exterior, soft on the inside,” I tell her. “I like him, Mom. A lot.”

  She nods slowly. “Maybe I was being overprotective of you because I don’t want you making the same mistakes I’ve made. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I stare at my mother, silhouetted in the window, golden headlights from the road shifting shadows across her, and it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time. As if I’ve spent the last few years only looking at her through a camera lens that was smudged with grease and dirt, and now I’ve wiped it clean and can finally see her clearly.

  A mama bird with a broken wing, trying to find a safe nest.

  Swiping right, trying to find something she lost, or maybe to forget.

  A car pulls up to the curb outside the bookshop. I turned off the light on the shop to get the spotlight off the stupid nude poster of Mom, so between that and the display of Revolutionary War sailing books, it’s hard to make out what’s going on … but it looks like a taxi.

  “What’s that?” I ask, coming up behind Mom as she stands on tiptoes to peer out the shop window.

  “Oh no. No, no, no …”

  “Mom? You’re scaring me.”

  “Shit! The poster—it’s still on the door.”

  “It’s fine. I covered it up.” Sort of.

  She cradles the sides of her face. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  Panic flicks to life inside my chest and trickles into my limbs, making them go numb. My throat goes dry. I should do something, but what that is, I don’t know. So I just stand there, stock still, side by side with Mom, watching in horror as the bookshop door darkens, rattles, and then finally, after a set of keys is inserted into the lock, oh-so-slowly creaks open.

  The ticking time bomb walks into the bookshop.

  BEAUTY REGIONAL AIRPORT: Small, private airport mainly used by people who can afford to own their own planes or charter private jets and can’t be bothered driving for less than an hour to get to the closest international airport in Providence, Rhode Island. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

  Chapter 21

  Diedre Saint-Martin stands in the open door of the Nook, silver hair in a long, tight braid that’s tucked into the front of a lightweight gray jacket, and drops a colorful, bulging backpack on the floor in front of her near a pair of worn hiking boots.

  “What in the living hell is that?” she says, pointing a thin finger behind her at the door, where my Aunt Franny is cautiously entering, along with the taxi driver, who is helping to lug several pieces of luggage labeled with white airport tags.

  “Hello, Mother,” my mom says through tight lips. “It’s nice to see you. Been a year since we’ve breathed the same air? Here’s your granddaughter, by the way.”

  “Josephine,” Grandma says, gesturing for me with outstretched arms. “Come here. I’m too tired to walk. The drive from the airport was complete and utter misery, and I haven’t slept for an entire day. Come hug your poor grandmama while your mother tells me why her naked body is plastered all over my shop like we’re a brothel in Amsterdam.”

  Aunt Franny, who is a several years older than my mom and quite a bit lankier—or maybe Nepal has taken a toll on her—pretends to strangle my grandmother behind her back. I don’t know how to react to that. Aunt Franny is prim and proper. Most definitely not Wild Winona. What the hell happened in Nepal?

  I’m torn. I want to hug my grandmother, but my head’s full of things I need to sort out. Plus she may have come back from the airport, but did she get stranded on an island and rescued? I think not. And that’s on top of the fact that I HAD SEX FOR THE FIRST TIME.

  The bookshop door opens again, and Evie races inside. “Mama!”

  Aunt Franny pulls Evie into her arms, and they embrace tightly. “You smell funny,” Evie says.

  “Cold showers and yak milk,” Aunt Franny says. “I just want my bed back.”

  “Your bed is occupied,” Mom reminds her sister. “Your house is still being rented by a family of four. Where is everyone staying?”

  “Here, of course,” Grandma says.

  One, two, three, four, five. Five people, three bedrooms.

  And half of us aren’t on speaking terms.

  “We don’t fit,” Mom points out.

  “We’ll find a way. Franny, pay the driver,” Grandma says bluntly.

  Aunt Franny grumbles under her breath.

  “For the last time, and before we do anything else,” Grandma says in a louder voice, “why is there a naked photo of my daughter on the front of my shop?”

  “Adrian Summers put it there!” I shout.

  Everyone looks at me.

  “Adrian Summers?” Grandma says. “Levi’s boy? Why in the world would he do that? He’s at Harvard. That’s preposterous.”

  I look at Evie. She broke up with Adrian, and this isn’t her problem anymore. It’s mine. It’s always been mine. Now it’s time to own up to it.

  “Because,” I tell Grandma, exhaling deeply, “he somehow got that photo online and thinks it’s me.”

  “Why would he think that?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “But he showed that photo to a bunch of Goldens at a party and bad-mouthed all the Saint-Martins, and I got mad, so …” I turn to my Mom. “So I threw a rock and smashed his father’s department store window.”

  “You what?” Grandma says.

  “I got taken into the police station, but not arrested,” I tell Grandma. “Lucky took the fall for me. His family’s lawyer negotiated with Levi Summers to pay for the window. I’ve been paying him back out of my paycheck every week.” And to my Mom I say, “I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth from the start.” />
  Mom’s shoulders slump, as if there’s a physical weight to what I’ve just told her. “Dammit,” she mumbles. Not mad. Just defeated. “Josie …”

  “What in the world is happening here?” Grandma asks. “Police?”

  “Mom, stay out of this,” my mother warns.

  “I wanted to tell you,” I say to her in a low voice. “Lucky asked me to keep it secret, because he thought if you knew I was the one who threw the rock, that you’d be furious at me, and you’d make us leave town like before. I think—I think he was afraid we’d be separated again.”

  “Winnie,” my grandmother says to my mother. “I’d like an explanation, please.”

  Mom curses under her breath.

  At least I was honest. At least I communicated. But I may have also just lit the fuse on the ticking time bomb, and I don’t have a plan to run for cover. No plans whatsoever.

  “I leave for six months, and this entire place just goes to hell?” Grandma says, her face pinched. “Six months! That’s all it took for the two of you to turn my life’s work upside down? Nude photos … vandalism? Police station?” Grandma says, throwing a hand in my direction. “And now Levi Summers is involved, the pillar of our community? His son is going to the Olympics. He wouldn’t have done this.”

  Oh my God. Et tu, Grandma?

  “He did it,” Evie confirms, Cleopatra-rimmed eyes on mine in solidarity.

  Thank you, cuz.

  “I was at the party with Josie when he flashed the picture around,” she continues. “He definitely is trashing our family name around town and spreading gossip, and I know because we’ve been seeing each other off and on for months.”

  “Then he got mad at Lucky when he was drunk, and he broke the boatyard window with a crowbar,” I tell Grandma. “No one in town believes he did it, but he threatened Lucky, and I saw him drive past. He’s all but admitted it, and he doesn’t care because his dad owns this town.”

  Evie concludes, “And I think the poster outside is revenge because I won’t sleep with him anymore. He’s an asshole. I just didn’t see it soon enough.”

  “Hey, it happens,” Mom says.

  My grandmother puts a hand over her heart. “What in the world … ? What is happening to you girls? Franny. Did you know about this?”

  “It’s why I wanted to come home, Mom,” Aunt Franny admits. “I want to be with my daughter.”

  “Well, bully for you.” Grandma looks around at all of us, stunned. “I can’t believe any of this. Everything was fine until we left.” She narrows her gaze at Mom. “Until you came back.”

  Whoa. Hey now. Okay, wait. If anyone’s to blame here, it’s Adrian Summers. Did we not just explain? WHY DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND THIS, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE?

  Mom turns to me and a calmness sweeps over her features. “Shutterbug? I’m going to tape a piece of butcher paper over the door to cover up the poster. You go upstairs and pack. We need to find a motel before it gets too late.”

  Everything inside my head empties at once.

  Nothing but blank, empty space. Shiny and bright to match the empty cavern inside my chest. The only thing I feel is a strange buzzing all through my body—one that’s so loud, it drowns out the sounds of the shouting in the shop. I half-hear what’s being said, but I don’t really feel it.

  “You’re leaving?” Grandma shouts. “Like cowards? Is that what you’re doing? Tucking your tails and running, like you did before?”

  “Run the shop tomorrow by yourself, Mother,” my mom says. “I’ll text you the new safe combination. Great seeing you again.”

  My chest feels too hot. Is it warm in here? Why is there no air conditioning in this stupid store? I’m going to pass out. I thought Mom and I were finally on the same page. I did the right thing and admitted my guilt. I told the truth about the window. It’s all out in the open. No invisible walls.

  But here we are.

  I soldier past the rest of the Saint-Martins, Evie clinging to Aunt Franny, Grandma shouting at Mom, and I head outside the Nook. I walk around the building and head up the rickety staircase to the above-shop apartment, through the living room of our stuff mixed with Grandma’s things, and I enter my bedroom.

  I can pack in ten minutes. I’ve done it before. In the middle of the night, even. Just like this. But I can’t seem to make my legs move. I can’t quite put my adrenaline to work. The panic is there, but it’s not fueling anything. My body is just spinning in place. Empty. Bright.

  My gaze lights on the Nikon F3 sitting on my bookshelf.

  Prized possession. Gift from my father.

  What a goddamned joke.

  I don’t think—I can’t. My head is empty. I just stride to the bookshelf, snatch up the camera, and smash it against the wall.

  Over.

  And over.

  And over.

  Until the metal and plastic and glass break and shatter.

  Until shrapnel flies off and scatters around me.

  Until footfalls pound the floorboards, and my mother pries what’s left of it from my shaking fingers.

  “No, baby, no,” she says, pulling me into her arms as she drops the broken camera on the floor. “Why did you do that? I didn’t want you to do that. I don’t want you to hate him.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but there’s no stopping the deluge.

  “These aren’t sad tears,” I tell her. “These are angry tears.”

  “I know … I know.”

  She holds me for a minute, until we both pull ourselves together. Then she clears her throat, looks around at the mess I’ve made, and says, “Okay. Look. Get your purse and leave the rest. We’ll figure this out later. Let’s just go find someplace to sleep tonight, okay?”

  It takes me a second to realize what that means. And then I do.

  Leave the rest.

  If we leave our stuff, we’re coming back.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “Shutterbug, I honestly don’t have a damn clue.”

  Fair enough. I’ll take it.

  I grab my purse, and we head back outside into the night air. Aunt Franny and Evie are huddled near the Pink Panther with two large pieces of luggage. “Can we come with you?” my mom’s sister asks. “I can’t spend another night with our mother, and my car’s in storage.”

  Mom holds out her arms to Franny and hugs her, and I reach for Evie’s hand. I don’t have to say anything, and she doesn’t either. We’re all good. She squeezes my fingers, and like magic, everything is healed between us, all the tension from her breakup with Adrian is erased.

  Family is funny that way.

  “Pile in, ladies,” Mom says. “Don’t know where we’ll go …”

  “I do,” Aunt Franny says. “Marblecliff.”

  “Marblecliff ?” the rest of us say in chorus. That’s an old-school posh resort in the historic part of town. Suites for wealthy tourists who think the yacht club is too gauche.

  “Jeez, Franny,” Mom says. “Talk about a town scandal if we show up there.”

  Evie snorts. “Who cares anymore. We’re already the town hags. Cursed, remember?”

  “After what I’ve been through, if there’s one thing my late husband would want, it’s for me to have a hot shower and a feather bed right now,” Aunt Franny says, voice quivering. “I’ve slept on dirt floors, I’ve climbed literal mountains, and I’ve had to tolerate my mother’s never-ending petty demands for the last six months. So tonight, I will spend my savings how I see fit, and none of you will argue with me. We’re going to Marblecliff.”

  Mom looks half surprised, half impressed. “You heard her, ladies. Let’s hit the road.”

  We’re barely able to fit in the cramped car, but we somehow manage. And as Mom pulls onto the bumpy setts—the only vehicle on the quiet night road—none of us look toward the Nook, but I can feel Grandma watching us from the window. And it makes me … sad. How’s that for irony? I think I should hate her right now, but I don’t, and I can’t figure out why. />
  Before the Pink Panther can pick up speed, someone shouts at us from the sidewalk. Not from the Nook, but from the other side. For the first time, I realize that the boatyard’s office lights are still on, and I catch movement on the sidewalk, running toward us.

  “Stop the car!” I shout at my mom.

  “What?” she says in panic, slamming on the brakes. “Why?”

  I roll down my window as Lucky races up to the Pink Panther, breathless.

  “You’re leaving town?” he shouts into the car, slamming both hands on the window before I can get it down all the way. His eyes jump around the faces in the car, and I know it doesn’t escape him that Evie’s mother is sitting behind me—maybe he’s even watched what’s been happening from across the street.

  “My grandmother came back—” I try to explain.

  “No!” he shouts. “You promised, Josie. You can’t leave.”

  “Hey, Lucky?” Mom lowers her head to peer across me while she speaks to him. “I appreciate that you were trying to help, but we’re going to have sort out this window thing with your parents. Josie’s told me the truth about what happened the night of the party.”

  He looks astonished. All the color drains from his face. “Please don’t make her leave.”

  “Whoa, Lucky—” she starts.

  And then in the distance, his mom calls out to him, leaning from the boatyard office doorway. “Lucky! Get inside. Let them be.”

  A car behind us beeps their horn and swerves around us.

  “We need to go,” Mom says.

  “Hey,” I tell him quickly, covering his fingers with mine. “Look at me. We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we’re not leaving town tonight. You have to trust me. Please, Lucky. Trust me.”

  He stares at me intently, face lined with worry and dark shadows.

  Then he sticks his head through the window and kisses me. Firmly. In front of both my mom and his … our relationship now boldly out in the open. He kisses me like it might be the last time. Like he wants to trust me, but he’s filled with doubt, because how do you do that when you’ve got scars and a history of being left behind?

  And the worst thing is, I’m not sure I blame him for worrying.