The Hand You're Dealt

by Paul Volponi

  There wasn’t a single bead of sweat on Abbott as he left. And to see him and Ms. Harnish walk out with their noses in the air, you’d have thought they used Caldwell’s share of the Vegas money to feed starving orphans in Calcutta.

  The last service at Saint Bart’s was at noon, so the tournament didn’t start up again until three. I was supposed to work the two o’clock shift at White Castle. But that couldn’t happen. I called the manager and made my voice so hoarse and scratchy that he told me to stay home before I got all the customers sick.

  I had to leave the house by one thirty so Mom wouldn’t get wise, and unless she suddenly caught a craving for belly-bomber burgers I figured I’d be safe.

  I killed time in the park watching some elementary school kids play baseball. One father was out there with them, running the show. I knew right away which kid was his, because he got to do everything first and had the longest turn at bat. They weren’t playing a real game or anything. It was just practice. And I don’t know why, but I kept rooting against that man’s son and loved it every time he screwed up.

  After a while, the wind kicked up and a wave of black clouds came rolling in. Then I heard the first clap of thunder, so I headed into town. It was lightning that caused that big brushfire—after a long dry spell.

  I remember the tall flames, and how the sky looked like it was on fire. Thick black smoke was everywhere, and Mom made me hold a wet handkerchief over my face to breathe into. Dad was hosing down our house, and he had the lawn sprinklers going full blast. Then the state police evacuated most of the town to a Red Cross camp in Pike County. Everybody slept in tents pitched out on a high school athletic field, and even there, Dad found a card game.

  “Didn’t know the whole town had a campin’ trip planned. Did ya, son?” Dad joked.

  But I could see how worried him and Mom really were.

  “I hope the only thing that burns down’s the junior high,” I said that first night, trying to be funny.

  Mom booted me in the behind for that, saying, “You don’t appreciate what you got till it’s gone.”

  None of the police or radio reports were good, and it took six long days for that big brushfire to finally get put out.

  Coming back into Caldwell was like getting bumped out of a bad dream and into a nightmare. Nearly half the people in town lost their jobs when the auto parts plant burned down. The line of burned-out houses stopped four and a half blocks from our place. And on the way past, between Dad, Mom, and me, we knew the name of every family that lived in those spots.

  Even grown men broke down crying in the street over everything they’d lost. And the only time I ever remember having a worse feeling in the pit of my stomach was the day that Dad died.

  “The Bible tells us God made the world in six days,” Father Dineros told people. “Now, to many of us, he just took away what we think is our whole world in the same amount of time. But he didn’t really, because he didn’t take away our faith.”

  It had rained heavy all this spring, and the caution-alert for brushfires was low. But nobody in Caldwell liked to hear it thunder anymore. Nobody.

  When the storm hit, I was two doors down from Dad’s old shop. There were already a half-dozen people under the big awning out front, and I found a small patch of space between them. The sheets of rain ripped straight down in huge drops and sounded like a thousand jackhammers pounding the concrete. That’s when I turned around and saw Audra step into the window. I thought about bolting, but I hesitated. Then her eyes met mine and I was paralyzed.

  Audra was modeling a yellow sundress, and I could see how nervous she was. She wasn’t sure where to keep her eyes or how to hold her arms. But she still looked beautiful.

  “She’s a senior at school,” a girl whispered to her mother. “She’s pretty, but she’s not a model type.”

  “No, she’s not. She’s not tall enough,” the mother answered low. “They couldn’t be paying her. She’s probably doing it for the experience.”

  I leaned back behind those two, making a talking motion with my hand. When Audra saw it, I pointed to them, then back to Audra. I gave her a big thumbs-up, like they’d said she could be the winner of America’s Next Top Model.

  Audra let loose a wide smile and started to look a lot more comfortable.

  It was going to be a gamble, and I wasn’t close to being sure of myself. But I realized this was my chance to break through with her, and I couldn’t let it pass.

  All the time Audra was in that window, I kept my eyes on hers. Then, when she looked back at mine, I acted embarrassed, like she couldn’t stop staring at me. And I wouldn’t back off.

  A few minutes after a woman in a frilly bathrobe took her place, Audra stepped out of the store. I’d already put on my shades and cap. The rain was still barreling down, so I took the umbrella right out of Audra’s hand and opened it. Then I held it over the two of us and said, “I know you’re not gonna leave me out here to drown.”

  I’d never seen Audra so self-conscious, walking with her eyes down on the river at our feet. She was waiting for me to say something about her modeling. But I wouldn’t mention it for anything and kept telling her how the rain had snuck up on me while I was out running errands.

  She had no clue where we were headed. I turned down the different streets and she’d fall a step behind, before she caught up again and ducked back underneath the umbrella.

  Finally she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Forget the rain,” she said, frustrated. “How’d I do? Was it all right?”

  That’s when I knew I had her.

  “Oh, I thought you were great,” I answered.

  “The truth,” she said. “That was my first time. I know it coulda been better.”

  I pushed my lips together tight and took a long breath.

  Audra looked like she was walking a tightrope, waiting to feel which way the wind would blow next.

  “Once you got settled, you were almost a professional,” I said. “But I knew I’d see you in that window one day. I remember you saying how you wanted to model on the side when you went to college.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud more than once or twice in my whole life,” Audra said, wiping the rain from her forehead.

  I lifted my shades and said, “I listen to every word out of your mouth.”

  She even blushed over that.

  I stopped us outside the rec center.

  “Wait! Why’d you come here? You working at the tournament?” she asked as I left her with the umbrella.

  “I’m late,” I answered, almost nodding my head. “I’ll catch up to you soon.”

  Then I walked off without looking back, like she was lucky to get those few minutes with me.

  I was flying on the inside from the way I’d handled Audra, and I got into a long line of players waiting to pick up their chips from the day before. A few minutes later, Abbott walked in with his wife and went straight to the front of the line. And there were catcalls from plenty of people over it too.

  “Where’s our split from the Vegas money, you moochers?” “He’s a teacher but he’s got no class!” “Don’t give him a thing ’less he waits like the rest of us!”

  But the tournament directors gave Abbott his chips anyway.

  “Talent has its privileges!” Abbott barked back. “Get used to it!”

  Ms. Harnish started rubbing Abbott’s neck and shoulders, like she was a trainer getting a prizefighter ready to step into the ring. She whispered something into his ear, and Abbott’s nostrils flared. Then she gave him a peck on the cheek and went to sit on the side with a thick Sunday newspaper stuffed under her arm.

  She’d been in Caldwell for just six months before marrying Abbott. The rumor around town is that she was the first woman Abbott ever got a second date with, and that he’s completely under her thumb.

  Even the kid who delivers their newspaper swears he heard her call Abbott “Mr. Harnish” from inside the house one time.

/>   “He came into my shop today for a shave. That lunatic math teacher—first time,” Dad couldn’t wait to tell me when he got home one day. “Somebody’s just getting out of my chair, and he climbs into it. Three people were already waiting, but nobody says a word ’cause they don’t wanna hear his bullshit any longer than they have to.

  “So I get the lather on his face till he looks like Santa Claus wearing shades.

  “‘Don’t anybody take this personally,’ he says—serious now. ‘But no one in Caldwell can play poker with me. Not unless they get every card and I don’t. My wife knows it, and you’ll see too. This teaching gig’s just to pay bills, while I sharpen my game even more. When I become a famous pro in Vegas, ESPN will probably send a TV crew here, talking to people ’bout how I got started. Then this speck-o’-dirt town will be remembered for me, and not some brushfire.’

  “Now I got a straight razor at his throat, and everybody sittin’ there’s wishin’ they could trade places with me.

  “‘Customer’s always right,’ I tell him.

  “But every time I stop to wipe the blade clean, I put this silver watch up to his ear and let its tick-tick-tick do all my talkin’.”

  Instead of going straight to his seat, Abbott walked the length of the line, past everybody he’d just insulted. He took his sweet time, too, carrying two huge stacks of chips, like they were so heavy he couldn’t move any faster.

  I knew lots of people wanted to smack him, and somebody even pretended to stick a leg out and trip his royal ass.

  That whole walk, I had my eyes on Dad’s watch till Abbott got so close I could read the time on it. Then I looked at the chips in Abbott’s hands and realized I’d need a couple of stacks that size if I was ever going to win.

  That’s when Abbott stopped dead in his tracks. I stressed, thinking he’d recognized me, and even shot up on my toes to make myself taller. But he hadn’t. It was all about him.

  “You can stare at ’em all you want,” he said, shoving his chips in my face. “It’s not Christmas, kid. I won’t be givin’ anything away.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in, and by the time I was ready to open my mouth he’d walked off, grinning.

  I was blind mad and swore I’d never let Abbott get off another cheap shot like that again. Then I got my chips and almost walked right into Father Dineros with them. He took a giant step backward, and I felt like he could see straight through me.

  “Good luck with everything, Mr. Huck,” Father Dineros said.

  chapter five

  ALL THOSE DAYS DAD was unconscious in that hospital bed, I knew he could die. But I wouldn’t let myself believe it, and I don’t think Mom did either.

  The doctors said we should talk to him because he could hear us, and that every word needed to be positive.

  Mom hardly ever left his side. But the times she did, I’d pull a chair up close to Dad, dealing us out a hand of poker. And I swear I could see his eyes moving under their lids at the sound of me shuffling the deck.

  “The tournament’s goin’ on this week,” I’d tell him, squeezing his wrist as the second hand on the watch kept turning. “I don’t know how anybody’s gonna claim they’re the winner without beatin’ you. So I guess I’m the only one with a chance at bein’ the new champ now.”

  Then I’d peek at Dad’s two hole cards and try to figure out what he’d do. I could hear his voice in my head saying, Anybody can play aces. That’s easy. When you can win with rags, you’ll be somebody.

  That whole morning before Dad died, Mom and me could still see the outline of the watch on his bare wrist.

  “That’s the Pope’s blessing,” Mom said. “The bastard Abbott couldn’t steal that. It’s still here, and I know it’s gonna protect him.”

  But it didn’t, and when Dad stopped breathing I wasn’t sure what I believed in anymore. Mom kept calling out God’s name, wrapping her arms around me. Only there wasn’t any answer.

  Losing Dad was the biggest thing in my life, and I hated Abbott for any part he had in it. I hated him for the pain he’d put Mom through. And I started to hate myself, too, for not being man enough to stop him.

  The Great Zucchini filled Calc’s empty seat, and we had eight players at our table again. Zucchini was a professional magician. Growing up, I’d seen him at a dozen kids’ birthday parties doing all kinds of card tricks. Everybody in Caldwell knew about his skills, so the tournament directors would only let him play in a short-sleeved shirt.

  “Nothing up my sleeves,” joked Zucchini, reaching for his cards.

  Lots of players use card protectors—something to keep on top of your cards so they can’t flip over by accident, and the dealer can see you’re still in the hand.

  But I just kept a single chip on top of mine.

  Mrs. Emerson had a fortune cookie sitting on her hole cards, and Zucchini put a rabbit’s foot on top of his.

  “Lucky for everybody but the rabbit, huh?” Tony smirked.

  Tony was in a hurry to get back the money he’d lost Saturday. We all noticed how he was playing fast when he had good cards, pushing chips into the pot like it was a race.

  “You got a bus to catch?” Rooster needled him.

  Dad taught me to play at the same speed all the time. It shouldn’t matter whether you’ve got a full house or garbage in your hand. That’s one less read people can have on you.

  “Good thing there’s so few traffic lights in this town,” said Sammy, folding his hand and letting Tony take the pot. “There’s nothing to slow you down.”

  “Yeah? Maybe I was bluffin’,” said Tony, collecting only half the chips he probably could have. “You didn’t pay to see my cards, so nobody knows but me.”

  But Tony was as easy to read as a STOP sign.

  In between hands, a guy from another table came over, saying something to Rooster on the low. Then Rooster took a deep breath and pulled a money clip from his pocket.

  “This is all I can spot you,” said Rooster, prying loose a pair of fifty-dollar bills from the mouth of a metal cobra.

  The guy had greasy black hair and a face full of dark stubble that looked sharp enough to grate cheese. He tapped Rooster on the shoulder and pushed his chin toward the Knockout, who’d changed her pink halter top for a blue one.

  Rooster cleared his throat and announced, “This is my friend Stani. He’s staying with me from out of town while the tournament’s on. He used to live in Caldwell and was a real hero during that brushfire.”

  Stani ignored the rest of us and reached out to shake hands with the Knockout. But even that big buildup Rooster gave him didn’t help.

  She put three fingers halfway into Stani’s palm, with a look on her face like she’d been forced to pick up a dead rat by its tail.

  “Hero or not, when the plant burned down I had to leave to find work,” he told her. “But I still know where the hot spots are around here. How ’bout I give you a guided tour sometime, sweetheart?”

  The dealer sent everybody new cards, and the Knockout grabbed for them quick, without answering. Then Stani just slithered off.

  A few tables over, somebody took a real shit fit, screaming at another player.

  “I got big CA-JON-ES!” he roared, holding both hands cupped open. “You got little tiny ones.”

  Then the dude pinched two fingers about a quarter inch apart.

  “Your CA-JON-ES are like this!” he kept on, pushing his fingers even closer together.

  “Jaws!” jeered players from almost every table.

  I remembered Jaws from the last tournament Dad played, and how he blew up the same way.

  “Just two types of players in this tournament!” Jaws shouted at the crowd. “Those who are scared of my ass, and those who are really scared of my ass!”

  Then Jaws dropped an F-bomb, and one of the tournament directors gave him a ten-minute penalty for cursing.

  “Like that’s the only cuss word anybody heard tonight, or is that rule just for me?” screamed Jaws, sto
rming out of the gym. “This is supposed to be poker, man. Not church!”

  And for every hand that got played at his table during those ten minutes without him, the dealer took an ante from Jaws’s stack for the pot.

  “Jaws is a crazy man, but he can play poker,” said Sammy. “He’s been to the final table before. Yes?”

  “That’s right. He’s not just here to gamble, either. Jaws wants to win that watch bad, and have people call him ‘Champ,’” said Rooster. “Most players round here are scared shitless to go up against him, ’cause he can embarrass you with his cards or his mouth.”

  “He sounds like Abbott, that Jaws guy,” said Tony. “What a reputation. Who needs him?”

  I had a rep too, even if it was just inside my own house.

  Dad had called me Huck for a reason, and if players like Abbott and Jaws were ever going to be scared shitless of me, maybe I had to jump-start that rep myself. So on the next hand, I pushed chips into the pot all the way up to the last card. Everyone else but Tony folded, and I was left head-up against him. There were three spades showing on the table, and I was playing like I had two more in the hole to make a flush.

  “I don’t believe you’re holdin’ two spades, Huck,” Tony said, slow.

  “Maybe not. But I’ll pick one up. I own the river,” I said with confidence. “I’m right out of that book about that boy Huck Finn. That’s how I got this name. I hitched a ride here on one of those riverboats with the big wheels, just to bust you wide open.”

  “That’s some story.” Zucchini laughed. “Can I borrow that for my act?”

  But I stayed serious and never cracked a smile.

  The dealer turned over the river, and it was the six of spades.

  “All in!” I said, as fast as I could get it out of my mouth.

  Tony had already won a small stack of black chips from side bets on that hand. He was just crawling back to even from yesterday. But if I busted him for his tournament stack, he’d have to go home.