by Naomi Niles
“In this country, if you have more than five hundred in savings you’re doing better than most,” Sean pointed out.
“True, but it won’t be enough to save Lori’s bakery. If we had managed to get away with the entire winnings, it would’ve really helped.”
Sean nodded unhappily. “Anyway, I’m sure they’ll be pissed when they realize we took a substantial cut.”
“I just hope you’re right and that they can’t find us.”
I went on staring at the ceiling, wishing there was some way I could go back in time and undo just that one moment. If we had only gotten in the car a little faster, if we hadn’t been so high on our victory that we had paused in the parking lot to celebrate, if we hadn’t been hopelessly outnumbered… but River was right, no matter how we had done it, we would never have escaped with the money. And it was useless to beat myself up over something that I couldn’t undo.
The Vegas invitational was still over a month away, and it was unlikely I would be able to acquire another hundred thousand within the next few days. Tom and River and their gang were the only guys in the city who played for that much. I had ten thousand in my shoe and another fifteen thousand in savings, but that still wasn’t enough to save Lori’s business.
“What happened to all your money?” asked Sean. “I remember you saying you had close to a hundred thousand in savings, or were you just trying to impress me?”
“No, that was the amount I had—at one point.”
“What happened? I know girlfriends are expensive, but they’re not that expensive.”
“This one would be, if I hadn’t just given nearly all my money to my mom. They were getting ready to tear down their barn and build a new one. She said it was going to cost about fifty thousand, and you know me: I like to help out with my family. They’ve been good to me.”
“See, and if you hadn’t done that, it would’ve solved all our problems.”
I nodded soberly, feeling annoyed with myself for my short-sightedness.
“That’s why you never lend money to family,” said Mr. Wood. “I loaned ten thousand to my brother back in 1972, and he promised he’d have it back to me by the end of the year. I still haven’t seen a dime of that money.”
“That is a sad story, Grandpa,” said Sean in a tone of mild sarcasm.
“It is.” Mr. Wood’s eyes blazed with indignation. “The moment he gets out of prison, I’m coming after him.”
“Well, anyway,” I said, lowering my legs onto the floor, “I don’t have any regrets about helping out family when they needed it. I just wish we hadn’t lost all the money we won last night, and that Lori and Sam weren’t facing the end of their business. It seems like anytime you start to get ahead in this world, there’s someone waiting to pull you back.”
***
I checked out of the hospital that night at around sundown. The first thing I did when I reached home was to call Mom.
She and Dad were just finishing making dinner: vegetable lasagna served with a warm, buttery baguette, chilled artichokes, and roasted red peppers. In the background, I could hear the faucet running, the clink of dishware, and a dog barking, and for a moment I was transported back home to East Texas.
“How’ve you been?” Mom asked. “Me and your dad were about to sit down and watch World’s Most Amazing Budgerigars.”
“I’ve been okay.” I decided it was best not to mention the bruise on my head or the circumstances in which I had acquired it. “Lori and I went out for dinner again a couple nights ago.”
One of the great and unnerving things about my mom was that she could always tell when something was wrong. “You sure? You don’t sound okay. Have you been taking medication for your allergies? I know it gets really bad in the spring.”
“It’s not that.” I could see there was no way of avoiding the subject; when Mom sensed trouble, she was relentless. “Lori’s business is about to go under. She has exactly two days before she has to pay this guy $70,000 or she loses the right to her building. She doesn’t have that much money, and she can’t afford to move to a new location.”
“Why does she have to pay him?” Mom asked in a tone of concern. “Are you sure that’s legal?”
“We’ve checked, and it is legal. Lori was prepared to go to court to avoid having to pay the fee, but then Sean looked over the documents and said they were perfectly within their rights to demand the money.”
“Oooh.” Mom was quiet for a moment, as though thinking. In the background, I could hear a sitcom with a laugh track on it, something I couldn’t recall hearing since the late ‘90s. “Hang on a second.”
She set the phone down and walked away. There was silence for a moment while I pulled into the driveway, the beam of my headlights cutting through the haze of twilight.
I climbed out of the truck and unlocked the door. By the time I had reached the kitchen, Mom returned to the phone.
“I’ve talked it over with your dad,” she said, “and we’ve decided to send back the money you sent us.”
In my surprise, I dropped a bottle of French mustard. “Are you for real? Why are you doing that?”
“Because it sounds like Lori needs the money a lot more than we do. We don’t have to repair the barn immediately, but if she doesn’t get help, she’ll be out of a job. I know how important her bakery is to her and to that community, and I know how important she is to you.”
I was speechless for a moment trying to process this new turn of events. “Mom, you really don’t have to do that. That’s a lot of money!”
“Yes, and it’s your money,” she pointed out. “You gave it to us, and now I’m giving it back to you. Use it to help someone who really needs it; and if I ever need a favor from you in the future, I’ll let you know.”
She hung up the phone, and I fell back against the counter, my head buzzing. Lori and Sam weren’t going to lose their jobs after all; they were saved. I tried to picture the looks on their faces when they found out we had the money. I couldn’t wait another moment; I wanted to tell them immediately.
Leaving the mustard bottle where it lay on the floor, I grabbed my keys off the counter and ran from the house.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lori
“I don’t know what I was expecting when I went into his office,” I told Sam, “but it wasn’t that. I’m actually kind of furious that he made me like him so much.”
I was seated at the front counter fidgeting idly with an empty napkin-holder. Sam had found me crying outside and led me back into the store. She now stood in the kitchen making me a strawberry and orange mango smoothie. Outside the sun was slowly setting, steeping the parking lot in a gray twilight.
My breathing was still shaky, and my hands trembled. I probably wouldn’t be over the shock of our conversation for another hour or more.
“I can almost understand why so many people like him now.” I raised my voice over the whirr of the blender. “He’s charming. He has a way of making you feel loved and cared for. And maybe it was just an illusion, but it felt utterly real at the moment.”
Sam murmured to let me know she was listening.
“He seemed to understand my ambitions—which is weird because we had never talked about them. He knew how important this job is to me, but it was more than that. It’s like he could sense my desperate longing for greatness, and he spoke to that.”
“It sounds like a lot of flattery, honestly,” said Sam. Placing the lid on my drink, she turned and handed it to me. “He’s using the same tricks on you that he uses on the rest of his followers. Now you can see why so many are susceptible to it.”
I sipped my drink eagerly, thinking. “You paint him in such sinister colors. And I get it; I was doing the same thing up until about an hour ago. But I’m beginning to wonder if maybe we’ve misjudged him.”
Sam froze where she stood and gave me a look of suspicion. “How?”
“I just mean, all we know about him is what we’ve seen on TV and read online.
We’ve never actually attended one of his services. We’ve never talked to him face to face, until now. Maybe we’ve misjudged him.”
Sam grimaced uncertainly. “I don’t know about that, Lori. I’ve done some pretty extensive research on the guy, and he sounds shady. Plus, you’ve seen the effect he has on people like Alvin.”
“I think you could say the same about any politician or public figure.” I felt myself wanting to defend him. If the circumstances had been different—in another life, perhaps—we might have been friends. “I just feel so bad for every mean and terrible thing I’ve ever said about him.”
“He was that nice, huh?”
“He was genuinely kind. He took the time to listen, and he let me rant without throwing me out of his office. He even tried to encourage me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been starved for kindness in my life that an old man’s gesture of understanding reduced me to tears. I don’t know. I just know that I walked into that office prepared to do battle and walked out feeling like he had seen into my soul.”
“Wow, maybe I should go in there and talk to him,” said Sam.
“I’m serious, though. His beliefs might be weird and a bit off-the-wall, but after that conversation, I have no doubt that he’s sincere, and that he means well.”
“Huh.” I could tell Sam wanted to argue but didn’t think I was in the right emotional state. I had known her long enough now that I could tell by the look in her eyes what she was thinking, and she was thinking that in an hour or two, I would calm down and forget my strange new respect for Mr. Gustman.
“Anyway,” I said with a shrug, taking a sip of my drink, “it doesn’t solve any of our problems, but it made me feel a little better about losing our jobs. At least we’re not leaving the building in the hands of total monsters.”
“Was that ever true, though?” asked Sam. “Nobody’s a total monster. Even Hitler had his moments of humanity.”
I was still thinking of my response when I heard the roar of an engine. Peering through the window, Sam said, “Looks like your boyfriend is here, and—wow! He looks terrible!”
But before I could protest, Marshall came stomping in. It was hard to deny Sam’s assessment: a white bandage covered the back of his head, and dark rings surrounded both eyes. His face was the color of a plum that’s been out in the sun for too long and has started to spoil.
“Marshall?” I asked, as if not entirely sure it was him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, never better,” he said with fervor. He grabbed me by the wrists and pulled me close. “Listen, all your problems are over—all of them! Everything you were worried about, you can forget it.”
“What are you talking about?” I was beginning to feel nervous.
Sam regarded him warily from the other side of the counter. “Do you have a concussion?”
“I’m fine,” said Marshall. “Don’t worry about me. Listen: I’ve got the money, all of it.”
“What?” came two voices at once.
“How?” asked Sam.
Marshall smiled. “Mom decided she doesn’t need the barn rebuilt as much as she thought she did. She heard the bakery was in trouble, and she’s sending the money back. She asked me to give it to you. It’s yours, and you can do whatever you want with it. You can stay here, or you can relocate. It doesn’t matter. It’s your money!”
I was so surprised that for a moment, I stood there transfixed into silence. Then, not knowing what else to say, I threw my arms around him and drew him into a long hug.
“How am I ever, ever going to repay you for this?” I said low in his ear.
“Don’t even worry about it,” he said. His eyes gleamed in the half-light. “I can always make more money. I’m just thrilled that you’ll get to keep living your dream for a bit longer.”
I placed a hand on his chest, repressing a fierce urge to kiss him in front of my sister. I was practically dizzy with all the emotions of the last couple hours: first finding out that we were about to lose our jobs, then the shock and remorse of my visit with Pastor Gustman, and now this final surprise. It was all a bit much for a single day; it would have been a lot even spread out over a single week.
“Marshall,” said Sam, shaking her head fiercely, “your drinks are free until the end of time.”
“Seriously!” I exclaimed, placing a finger over his mouth when he began to protest. “I’d better not ever see you pulling out your wallet in this bakery. Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” said Marshall, smiling shyly. He seemed almost embarrassed by the warmth of our reception.
I reached up and brushed my hand against the back of his head. “Now are you ever going to tell us how this happened?”
He laughed. “I was actually planning on saving that story for dinner tomorrow night.” In a more serious tone, he added, “Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Of course! What, did you think I was going to say no to that?”
“No, we’re a long way from me having to use card tricks to get you to go out with me,” said Marshall. “I’ll pick you up at your place, tomorrow at seven—but this time, you’re paying,” he added with a sly wink as he turned toward the door.
He was likely kidding, but there was no way I was letting him pay for our meal, not after what he had just done. He lingered in the doorway for a moment as though waiting to see if there was anything more to be said. There was much that I wanted to say, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Well,” he said finally. “Good night.”
“Good night, Marshall.” That would have to do, for now. I followed him with my eyes as he crossed the darkening parking lot toward his truck.
“You’d better sex him good tomorrow night,” said Sam, and for once I didn’t argue.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marshall
I spent the next day in a haze of anticipation. To celebrate our success, and because I was running desperately low on groceries, I went shopping on Saturday afternoon. I spent about an hour wandering the aisles of Food Lion, and picked up enough pastas, summer sausages, and sandwich helpings to get me through the next week. Yet the entire time, my mind was on Lori: the look in her eyes when I gave her the news, her whole body vibrating with quiet gratitude.
On my final lap around the store, I walked past the wine aisle and snatched up a mini-bottle of champagne. I set it down in the basket; but then, thinking better of it, replaced it with a full bottle. Tonight, there would be no skimping on celebration.
When Sean came over for lunch that day—beer-battered chicken fried chicken, fried okra, and collard greens with benne seeds—I told him about my conversation with my mom the night before and my subsequent meeting with Sam and Lori.
“That bodes well for tonight, I think,” said Sean.
“It does. Two or three weeks ago, I was having the hardest time getting her to talk to me. Now I don’t think I could get rid of her even if I wanted to.” I didn’t want to say this out loud, but when I had turned to leave the night before, there had been a smoldering look in her eyes that suggested I had won her undying loyalty.
“Have you told her about how you ended up in the hospital yet?”
I shook my head. “There was too much else going on last night. Plus, I didn’t want her to worry about me.”
“You ought to tell her. That’s the sort of thing I think she would like to know about.”
We were quiet for a moment while I cut up my steak into smaller bites. I still hadn’t decided where Lori and I were going to go that night. At this point, we could eat sandwiches under a bridge, and I wouldn’t mind too much. When we had first met, I asked her out on a whim because I thought she was kinda cute, but in the intervening weeks, she had come to mean quite a bit more to me than that.
“You know I ran into Annie at the auto parts store yesterday?” said Sean.
“Oh yeah? What did she want?” It had been a while since I’d even thought about our old friend who was so su
re she was going to be famous.
“Still writing songs. She actually brought her guitar into the store and played me one. It wasn’t great, but it was a notable improvement over some of her earlier ‘hits.’” He shook his head. “I know we make fun of her a lot, but if she keeps plugging away at it, she might be a competent artist one day. I don’t know; I guess there’s just something admirable in the way she keeps at it, even though everybody in the world makes fun of her. Not many people have that kind of persistence.”
“Not many people are that delusional,” I pointed out.
“No, but at this point, I get the sense that it’s more about her devotion to music. It’s inspiring.”
“And what about you?” I asked. “Have you been practicing your songs?”
“Yeah, I’ve been spending a few hours each night down in the garage. I figure if Annie hasn’t given up on her dream, then neither should I. Last night I was up at Montreux when ‘Mr. Brightside’ came on the radio. And I remembered the first time I heard that song when I was eighteen, how it opened up a whole new world for me. And I remember thinking to myself, ‘All I want in my life is just to write one perfect song.’”
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Even The Killers never managed to write another song as good as that one.”
“No, but they wrote that one, which is more than most artists manage to achieve in their lifetime. Of course, Brandon was like, twenty-one when he wrote it, and I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Well, don’t give up yet,” I told him sincerely. “You may get there someday.”
Sean regarded me silently for a moment. “You know, there’s something different about you these last couple weeks.”
“How do you mean?”
Reaching for the ketchup bottle, he slathered ketchup all over his chicken. “There was a time when you wouldn’t even pretend to listen when I talked about my music. It feels weird to say, but I get the sense that you actually care now.”
“I suppose things have changed.” My eye fell on the stack of books piled up on the sofa. “I didn’t give all that money to Lori just because she’s my girlfriend, although that was certainly part of it.”