Good Luck

by Whitney Gaskell

  Then I saw a familiar face, and another rush of nerves overtook me. My pulse jumped and skittered, my stomach twisted, my mouth went dry. I hastily stood up and tried to arrange my mouth into a smile, even though my face felt stiff. What would I say? How would this go? Would everything between us be permanently changed by the separation?

  But then our eyes met.

  “Lucy!” Maisie called out. She bounded toward me, looking much as she had when we were fifteen and she’d run across the lawn that joined our two houses to tell me that Jason Carlisle had kissed her, and suddenly I knew everything would be fine.

  Maisie reached the table and threw her wiry arms around me.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you! I’ve missed you so much!” Maisie said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

  “I’ve missed you too,” I said, and even though I couldn’t stop smiling, my throat and chest tightened, and tears flooded my eyes. “Thank you for coming!”

  “Are you kidding? A free trip to London! How could I say no to that?” Maisie said.

  She laughed as she spoke, but her words cut too close to the reason we hadn’t spoken for months: the lottery money. We both realized it at once and broke apart, staring at each other for a long moment.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Maisie said. “Let’s catch up first, before we get into everything else.”

  “Deal,” I said. “I want to hear all about the twins.”

  Maisie oohed and aahed over the sumptuous surroundings of the Palm Court, and a pot of hot Darjeeling tea arrived, along with a three-tiered serving tray filled with tiny sandwiches, scones, and pastries. We ate and drank, and Maisie told me about the boys, who were resisting potty training and who had recently started swim lessons. Joe had acquired a landscaping contract for a large apartment complex. Maisie was considering returning to her law practice part-time when the twins entered pre-K next fall.

  “So that’s about it for us. Now it’s your turn,” Maisie said.

  I shrugged. “I told you most of it on the phone. I’ve just been traveling.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that ‘I’ve just been traveling’ garbage. I spent fifteen minutes telling you about the twins’ pooping progress, and you can’t give me any details about what you’ve been up to?” Maisie exclaimed.

  I laughed. “But I’d so much rather hear about the boys.”

  “Start talking, Parker.”

  “Okay, fine, but you asked for it. Just be glad I didn’t bring any travel slides with me,” I teased. And I told her about France, Italy, and the other places I’d been, trying for her sake to make it all sound exciting. Maisie sat in rapt attention, her eyes widening as I detailed the sites I’d seen and museums I’d toured.

  “But what about men?” she finally asked. “I was hoping you’d meet some gorgeous foreigner and have a torrid love affair.”

  “Torrid love affair?” I repeated, amused. “You mean like Lucy in a A Room with a View?”

  “Did that Lucy get laid?”

  “No. She was emotionally repressed.”

  “Then no, that’s not what I meant,” Maisie said.

  “Well.” I hesitated. “There was someone…someone I met back in Palm Beach.”

  “Oooh, tell me all about him!”

  But thoughts of Mal—of his pale blue eyes, the angular line of his jaw, the sweet curve of his lips, the low rumble of his laughter—just depressed me. Maisie must have seen my face cloud over, because she leaned forward, her expression etched with concern.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me he turned out to be another Elliott,” she said.

  I laughed at this. “I don’t think there could be another Elliott.”

  “Oh, there’s always another Elliott out there. The world is thick with them,” Maisie said darkly.

  “How can someone so happily married be so bitter about men?”

  “Who said I’m happily married?” Maisie asked. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

  “Aren’t you? No, don’t tell me if you’re not. I don’t think I could bear it. You and Joe are my shining example of idealized couplehood.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s no such thing,” Maisie said, popping a cucumber sandwich into her mouth. “Mmm, I like this one. Watch out for the salmon ones, though. They’re a bit fishy.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “Maybe it’s a cultural thing, and the English just don’t mind fishy-tasting fish,” Maisie said.

  “No, I wasn’t talking about the sandwiches. I was talking about your marriage.”

  “Oh, come on. Surely you weren’t under any delusions about how perfect Joe and I are. Remember the fight we had at his Super Bowl party, where he asked if I was PMS’ing because I was so irritable and I dumped the bowl of Doritos over his head? I really wanted to dump the bowl of queso dip on him, but it was just a bit too hot, and although I was annoyed, I didn’t want to send him to the ER,” Maisie said.

  “I remember.” I started to laugh. “And you really were PMS’ing.”

  “He still shouldn’t have mentioned it. We’ve been married for seven years; he should know better by now,” Maisie said.

  “I know you guys have the occasional fights and problems.” I stopped; we were back to the money issue. I took a deep breath and soldiered on. “But the thing is, you’re hanging in there together. Look at the sort of guys I end up with. Elliott, who cheated on me. Drew, who, okay, wasn’t a bad guy, but he didn’t love me either.”

  “Who the hell is Drew?” Maisie asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

  “And then there’s Mal,” I continued, ignoring her question. “Who’s out of my league.”

  “Of course he isn’t out of your league!”

  “You don’t even know him,” I pointed out.

  “That doesn’t change my opinion,” Maisie said.

  We smiled at each other. “Are we going to get around to talking about the money?” I asked.

  “Do we have to? We’re having so much fun. This is just like old times. Except for the part where we’re in London and having tea at the Ritz,” Maisie said, gesturing at the picturesque scene around her. As if on cue, a man in a tuxedo sat at the piano and began to play.

  “Why didn’t you take the money? I wanted you to have it,” I said, my grin fading.

  Maisie studied her teacup. “I felt like it would ruin our friendship if I accepted it,” she finally said.

  “But how would it do that?”

  She looked up at me, her pixie face more serious than I had ever seen it. “Because from then on, we’d always be indebted to you. Every time I bought something stupid—a silk blouse I’d never wear because it was dry clean only, or a book I had no intention of reading—I couldn’t tell you about it, because you’d think, There she goes again, wasting my money,” Maisie said.

  “No, I wouldn’t!” I protested. And I was just about to get angry when I remembered my last conversation with Emma and how, right before she attempted to wrangle more money from me, I had been critical of how she’d spent the money I’d already given her.

  “Damn,” I said softly.

  “I’m sorry,” Maisie said quickly. “I know it upsets you that I couldn’t take it, and I know that not being able to accept it is a personal flaw of mine. How I always have to control everything, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said. I sighed deeply. “I am judgmental about how people spend money. I do it all the time.”

  “Everyone’s judgmental,” Maisie said.

  “Not everyone. And even so, it doesn’t excuse my doing it,” I said. I glanced up at her. “How come you didn’t mind accepting the plane ticket to London I sent you?”

  “You said you needed me,” Maisie said simply. “Of course I’d come.”

  I swallowed back the knot forming in my throat. “Thanks,” I said hoarsely.

  Maisie’s grin turned impish. “And how could I say no to a first-class trip to
London? Oh, and by the way? Flying first class has permanently spoiled me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fly coach again.”

  I laughed. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Liked it? My seat reclined into a bed! It was nicer than sitting in my living room. Although, considering my living room, that probably isn’t saying much.” Maisie beamed at me, and then her smile faltered. “Are we okay, then?” she asked tentatively.

  I nodded. “We’re great.”

  “Good. Because I just remembered I have some gossip to tell you,” she said portentously.

  “What?”

  “Well…there’s a rumor going around about Matt Forrester.”

  I stiffened. “What about him?”

  “He’s in rehab,” Maisie said triumphantly. “His parents are trying to hush it up, but of course it’s gotten out. That’s one of the beautiful things about living in a small town—nothing stays secret for long.”

  “Rehab, huh?” I considered this. “I have to say, I’m not surprised.”

  “But don’t you see? This totally vindicates you!”

  “How so?”

  “Who’s going to believe the allegations he made against you now?” Maisie said.

  I shrugged. “Everyone. People always want to believe in the scandal. And a teacher seducing her student is a much juicier story than a troubled kid telling a lie.”

  Maisie frowned. “When I was still at the prosecutor’s office, this was the sort of news we’d love to get about an adverse witness. Evidence of drug or alcohol abuse always destroys credibility with the jury.”

  “Maybe. But this isn’t a court.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of the court of public opinion?”

  “Yes. And in that court, I’ve already been tried, convicted, and the angry mob is just waiting for me to be drawn and quartered in the public square,” I said.

  Maisie looked stricken. “Does that mean you’re not coming home?”

  I sighed, feeling weary again. “I don’t know, Maisie. I don’t see how I can. Could you live somewhere where everyone thought you were into seducing teenage boys?”

  “No. But I can’t imagine not living near you. You’re the sister I never had,” Maisie said earnestly, reaching across the table to rest her hand on my arm.

  I looked at her. “Do you really think that?”

  “Of course! You know that, don’t you?”

  “Well, to be honest, when you sent that money back…I thought maybe it meant…that you didn’t want me to be too close to your family,” I said, stumbling over the words.

  Maisie frowned, and then her face transformed into an expression of fierce intensity. “Lucy, you are a part of our family. I know Joe and the boys feel the same way. We all love you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. But this time I couldn’t keep back the tears. They spilled from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, salty and hot. Maisie quickly handed me the white linen napkin, which I used to mop up the tears. I tried to smile at her. “Sorry. I’m just so glad you’re here. I’ve been really lonely.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” Maisie said. And then, both of us watery-eyed and sniffling, we hugged again.

  Maisie stayed for a week, and for the first time since I’d arrived in Europe, I started to enjoy myself. We went to museums and churches and even took some day trips out into the countryside to see Bath and Cambridge. I’d booked Maisie a suite at the Ritz, thinking she could do with the time alone after three years of wrangling the twins, but she insisted on staying with me at my rented flat instead. I was glad. It took me back to our girlhood, when we spent nearly every weekend sleeping over at each other’s house.

  We enjoyed ourselves so much that, the day Maisie was leaving, I woke up feeling a sense of desolation that I couldn’t shake.

  “You should come home with me,” Maisie urged, as she stuffed clothes into her battered suitcase.

  Reluctantly, I shook my head. “I can’t. Not just yet.”

  Maisie looked up from the sweater she was folding and shot me a shrewd look. “Because of the Lottery Seductress crap or because of the tennis pro?” she asked.

  Caught up in the spirit of reconciliation, I’d told Maisie all about Mal, not bothering to sugarcoat the story to make myself sound better. Now I was starting to regret it. She was, of course, disapproving of how I’d run out on him without explanation. But, even worse, Maisie had—without ever having met Mal, as I kept pointing out to her—decided he was The One. I told her over and over that he was way out of my league, the sort of guy who dated thin girls with perky breasts. Men like that, I said over and over, don’t end up with dowdy schoolteachers. Since it hadn’t yet sunk in to Maisie’s rocklike skull, I repeated it yet again.

  “But you’re not dowdy,” Maisie exclaimed, tossing the sweater into her suitcase.

  “That’s only because of the hair,” I said.

  “No, it’s not. Although, honestly, I think I liked you better with your curls,” Maisie said. “You don’t look like you with your hair blond.”

  “Dowdy, you mean.”

  “No. Honestly, Lucy, you are so hard on yourself. You never looked dowdy.”

  I snorted.

  “Okay,” Maisie said. “The new clothes are definitely an improvement, I’ll give you that.”

  “Hayden gets credit for the wardrobe. She picked everything out for me.”

  Maisie scowled. “Don’t even say her name. I still can’t believe she was stealing from you.”

  I shrugged. “Hayden just got in over her head. She didn’t mean to hurt me.”

  Maisie, not ready to forgive and forget, just rolled her eyes. “Have you heard from her?”

  “Yeah, I got an e-mail from her yesterday. She said she’s hoping to get engaged soon.”

  Maisie’s eyebrows arched up and her eyes went round with surprise. “Engaged? To that old guy?”

  I nodded.

  “But didn’t they just start dating?”

  “I suppose it’s been a few months now. And they were both spouse-shopping, so it’s not that surprising it would happen quickly. He wants a trophy wife, she wants a fat bank account. Really, if you think about it, it’s a perfect match.”

  “Please. I give it a year, tops.”

  “Don’t you always say that all of the most successful marriages are based on shared goals?” I teased her.

  “I don’t think one spouse having money and the other spouse wanting money counts as a shared goal.”

  “Believe it or not, I hope she’s happy,” I said, shrugging.

  “Why wouldn’t I believe that? You’re a nice person. Much nicer than I am. I hope she’s miserable, the conniving little snake.”

  “She’s not a snake. Not really. She just has a lot of problems,” I said, thinking of the gambling debts and the fact that she’d traded in Ian, whom I thought she might truly have loved, for a man I knew she didn’t. Life would not be easy for Hayden, even if she did marry Trip and his oil money. I wondered if, ten years from now, she’d still think it had been worth it.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you changed the subject away from Mal,” Maisie said, zipping up her suitcase and tipping it upright.

  “You’re the one who asked if I’d heard from Hayden.”

  “Seriously, Lucy, don’t you think you should at least call and talk to him?”

  The truth was, I did want to talk to Mal. But every time I worked up the courage to call him—sometimes even going so far as to pick up the phone, my fingers poised over the numbers, ready to dial—my pulse would start to pound and my stomach would twist up, and I’d lose my nerve.

  “The thing is, you don’t know how he feels about you,” Maisie continued. “You keep assuming that he was never interested in you—”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I fully acknowledge that there was chemistry there,” I interrupted her.

  “I think it sounds like more than chemistry. I think it sounds like the two of you fell in love,” Maisie said, fixing me wit
h a prosecutorial stare.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said irritably, my eyes dropping. “Sexual attraction is not the same thing as love.”

  “I didn’t say it was. But I know you, and I can tell you thought of this guy as more than just a one-night stand.”

  “One-afternoon stand,” I corrected her, my mouth twisting up into a humorless smile. “And even if I have feelings for him, that doesn’t mean that he returns them.”

  “But you haven’t given him a chance to tell you that he does!” Maisie exclaimed. “Or is that it? If you don’t tell him how you feel, he won’t have the chance to reject you?”

  “I don’t have such a great track record when it comes to relationships,” I said, feeling anger corkscrewing up inside of me.

  “You can’t judge other guys by the Elliott standard,” Maisie said flatly.

  “That’s the only standard I have to go by!” I said, flaring back at her.

  We stood there, staring at each other—my arms folded protectively across my chest, Maisie’s hands planted aggressively on her hips. Finally I shook my head and turned away from her.

  “I don’t want to fight. Your taxi will be here in a half hour,” I said.

  Maisie hesitated but finally relented. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll drop it—for now.”

  I decided it was time to change the subject. “Do you think the twins will like the toy rockets?”

  “God, yes. They’ll love them,” Maisie said. “Is it terrible that I don’t want to go back yet? I miss them terribly, Joe too, but it’s been a dream being able to sleep in and eat out and swan around London with you.”

  “Then stay longer! Yay! We’ll change your ticket!”

  “I can’t.” Maisie sighed. “I have to get back to real life. And the boys have been staying with my mom while Joe’s at work. I could tell when I talked to her yesterday that she’s at the end of her rope. She started pushing potty training on them too hard, and the twins revolted and flushed their training pants down the upstairs toilet. They flooded her bathroom.”