Lucky 13

by Rachael Brownell

  “I need you to trust me, trust my grandma.” I hope he hears the sincerity in my words.

  “My mother does. I can tell. She’s not nearly as on edge as she was before you showed up this afternoon.”

  I noticed that earlier, too. She had a small smile on her face when I asked if we could go into town. I can’t imagine she would have let him wander that far away from her if she didn’t feel confident he’d be safe.

  “Here,” I say as I reach into my pocket and pull out the friendship bracelet I found in my drawer when packing my bag last night. I don’t remember who it’s from. I can’t even remember what city I was leaving when it was given to me. What I do remember is the feeling that I wasn’t alone in this world when I shoved it in my pocket. Someone cared about me. Someone was thoughtful enough to give it to me. I wish I could remember her name. I’d write her a letter and thank her. “Take this. I may not be around, but anytime you get worried that your dad is going to find you, just remember what I said. You can trust my grandma.”

  After placing the bracelet in Joshua’s free hand, I close it tightly. When I look up to smile at Joshua, I’m met with a look that I can’t quite describe. I don’t have time to think about it as his lips descend upon mine, and the butterflies that had gone dormant in my stomach come to life. My eyes close, my heart skips a beat, and I’m lost at what to do next. Both my hands are occupied holding his.

  I’ve never been kissed before, but I can only imagine, as far as first kisses go, this is pretty amazing. Joshua’s lips are gentle against mine. I feel his warm breath against my cheek, and even that sends my heart into overdrive.

  It doesn’t last long enough. Not for me. When he pulls back, I let out a breath and slowly open my eyes. Joshua is staring at me, grinning. The look he was giving me before is gone and has been replaced with one I can describe. Happiness.

  Turning, I focus on the sunset that’s begun without us noticing. I can’t stop smiling, and out of the corner of my eye I can see he’s smiling, too. When I arrived here today, I felt empty and alone. I don’t feel either anymore. I feel alive.

  It’s not until we’re at the end of Grandma’s driveway that he breaks the comfortable silence that has descended upon us. Turning toward me, he takes both of my hands in his and looks directly into my eyes. What I see causes me to draw in a swift breath.

  “How did I get so lucky at only thirteen? I found the girl of my dreams, and I wasn’t even looking for you. Do you really have to leave?”

  Knowing I do and we won’t ever see each other again, I lay all my feelings out on the table. “People always tend to find each other when they least expect it. I never expected to meet you or to feel this way only days after losing my mother, but I do. I wish I didn’t have to leave. I’d love to spend more time with you, but that’s not in our cards. Neither of us will be here tomorrow. I’ll be headed to the beach with my grandma and then off to Germany. You’ll be headed to your new life with your mom, a better life, where you’ll be happy and safe. I’d never want to take that away from you. Even if it meant seeing you again.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” I can hear the hope in his words.

  “I hope so,” I reply.

  “I’ll find you, Madison. It may take me another thirteen years, but I will find you.” The conviction in his words sends a shiver down my spine.

  “I’ll be waiting.” The same hope I heard in his voice is now in mine. I want to promise him we’ll find each other again, but I don’t, knowing some things in life are not possible, no matter how much hope you hold.

  Chapter 1

  There’s black all around me. Dresses. Suits. Hats. There’s even one lady with a black veil hiding her face, her black handkerchief held tightly by her black gloved hand. Not an inch of her skin is showing.

  Then there’s me.

  I’m wearing plum and gray, and standing out amongst the crowd.

  It wasn’t planned that way. I grabbed the first two dark colors I had in my bag and threw the outfit together. The plum of my blouse is almost dark enough in the soft lighting to look like it’s black—until I stand next to someone who’s actually wearing black. My gray pencil skirt is what really makes me stand out. Or it could be the black flats against my bare, porcelain white legs.

  I could have gone shopping for something more “appropriate,” but I knew my grandmother wouldn’t care what I was wearing. In fact, she would be proud of me for going against the grain. She was my biggest cheerleader in life, and I’m going to miss the hell out of her. My heart is heavy. Heavier than is was when my mother died.

  This trip wasn’t planned. I came home from the library to a bag had already been packed, and my father impatiently waiting for me in our living room. He told me my grandmother was sick and that we needed to visit. He didn’t have to tell me that it was urgent. The bags sitting by the door was a clear sign.

  I had spoken to Grandma a few days earlier and she sounded good. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be concerned about. We talked for over an hour, planning my trip to visit that was supposed to happen next month—the same week every summer. We always made big plans and followed through on none of them. Trips to the ocean would turn into trips to the ice cream store. No matter what we did, though, we always had fun because we were together.

  This visit was going to be different. We planned to go on a road trip. Grandma wanted to help me look at colleges—something that my father wasn’t interested in doing. She wanted to make sure that I had options. Almost every college in North Carolina was on our itinerary. She wanted me to be closer to her in case I needed anything.

  That’s what I loved most about Grandma. Her life wasn’t about her or her own happiness. She was focused on the safety and happiness of others all the time. She did whatever she could to ensure everyone around her had a great life. If everyone around her was happy, she was happy. For her, it was the little things, like having me attend school in the same state as her, instead of in California where my father and I currently lived.

  Hearing my father clear his throat, I redirect my attention to the front of the church. My father’s not wearing black either. He’s dressed to the nines in his military dress blues, every medal and ribbon he’s earned worn proudly over the left breast of his coat. I sat in the living room with him last night and listened to him practice his eulogy while he tediously sewed each piece on—I had no idea my father could even thread a needle.

  “Good Morning, everyone. Thank you all for coming. My mother would be in awe right now at the sheer number of people who’ve come out to celebrate her life today.”

  He pauses a moment and looks down to the piece of paper sitting on the podium. I’m not sure why, dramatic effect maybe, since he knows the entire speech by heart.

  “My mother was a loving woman. If you met her, you would know this. She went out of her way to take care of others. It was her one goal in life, and I’d say she accomplished it with pride a long time ago.

  “She started the Thompson Foundation almost forty years ago and has helped countless women and children find a new start in life. Her own story is not one that is known by many, but I’m going to share it with you now.”

  Another pause, and now I’m sure it’s for dramatic effect. If my father had emotions to show, this wouldn’t be necessary, but he’s a brick wall. I’ve never seen him cry, and I’ve never seen him smile. His face remains unchanged, not fazed by anything. The one emotion he does have and doesn’t hide is anger.

  “When I was about seven years old, my mother and I left my father. We landed in New Bern a few days later with nothing but the clothes on our back and the little bit of money that my mother had been able to save. There was a woman, Sherry, who was a little older than my mother. She took us in and we lived with her until my mother was able to get on her feet. You see, like many that she’s helped over the years, my mother was in an abusive relationship. She felt that her only option, if she wanted to survive, was to leave.


  “Now, as loving and caring as my mother was, she was also an angry woman when she was younger. She held onto that anger for years until it finally consumed her. Another woman, looking lost and tired, sat at a table in the café where my mother was working. My mother knew all the signs, she knew exactly what that woman was running from. We took her in, and she stayed with us until she was able to be on her own. My mother said that paying it forward was the best feeling she had ever had. That’s the day she decided to start the Foundation. She managed to touch the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands of people in her lifetime. She lived a meaningful life, a life she was proud of, and when she passed, she had a smile on her face because she knew that her work would continue, even though she wouldn’t be able to be a part of it any longer.

  “She loved this town, she loved her work, and she will always be grateful to the woman who changed her destiny by showing her compassion and kindness.”

  Looking down at his eulogy again, he folds the small piece of paper and tucks it into the pocket of his pants. Directing his attention back to his captive audience, my father finished his speech.

  “Pastor Henry is going to lead us in prayer and then everyone is welcome to join my daughter and me back at my mother’s home to continue celebrating her life amongst friends.”

  As my father takes his seat next to me in the front row, Pastor Henry asks every to bow their heads. His prayer is short and sweet. He concludes with a few nice words about my grandmother, a parishioner here since she first arrived in New Bern. His respect for her is apparent in every word he speaks. It makes me wonder how she touched his life over the years they’ve known each other.

  I shake the hand of every person in the church. I listen to each of their kind words. The women hug me tighter than necessary, and the men put their hands on my shoulder, telling me how much I resemble my grandmother. Her spirit will live on in this community, long after her ashes are spread along the river. I can only hope that one day I will have an impact on one person’s life as great as my grandmother did on this entire community.

  I sneak up to my room for a reprieve. People are everywhere. You would think my grandmother was hosting one of her charity fundraisers downstairs, instead of my father hosting her wake. I’ve talked to more people today than I have in my entire life. People I’ve never met, but who have the greatest respect for my grandmother and her work.

  Moving my fork around, I pick at the plate of food I grabbed. It all looks delicious, but I don’t have the stomach for it. I haven’t eaten in almost three days, since the day I said goodbye to my grandmother in her room down the hall. Cancer is a bitch. She didn’t want to worry me or my father, so she didn’t tell us when she was diagnosed last spring. Although they gave her a year, the cancer took her in less than five months. It still angers me that someone as healthy as Grandma, who never smoked a cigarette in her life, could die from something like lung cancer.

  Air. I need fresh air. Keeping my emotions in check all day long, I have yet to shed a tear today. I was strong, for Grandma. I held it together, but I can feel my resolve on the verge of shattering. When it does, I want to be alone. It’s not going to be pretty.

  The front door is open, a small breeze blowing in as I exit the house. Closing my eyes, I let the cooling night air blow across my face, causing me to shiver. Turning toward town, I will my feet to get me there quickly. I know exactly where I want to go, where I need to be right now.

  As the gazebo comes into view, my lips turn up, a small smile making its presence known. Grandma used to bring me here every time I would visit. I feel closer to her here than anywhere else, especially in her house with over a hundred other people milling about.

  I’ll always be able to remember her here, celebrate the time I spent with her and the memories I’ll keep in my heart forever. She was an amazing woman who accomplished many things in her lifetime, but nothing was more important to her than her family. And I was her only grandchild. Because of that, she always made sure I knew how much she loved me, how special I was to her.

  Stepping inside the gazebo, I close my eyes. She’s here, I can feel her. I knew she would be. It was our spot. No matter what we planned to do when I came to visit, we would end up here as the sun set over the river. It’s the most beautiful sight. Opening my eyes, I see that it’s almost time.

  I take a seat on the bench, bringing my knees up and tucking them under my chin. I watch as the sun sinks below the tops of the trees and the sky lights up. Oranges, reds, and yellows stretch as far as they can for as long as they can. It only takes a few minutes before the darkness touches the light and the light begins to fade.

  I sit there well after the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon rising higher and reflecting on the still water of the river. I’m not ready to leave. I’m not ready to say my final goodbye. Grandma will forever be in my heart wherever I go. We’ll always have this place, but things will never be the same. A single tear escapes and drips onto my blouse. I try to brush it away, but I’m not quick enough and another forms in its place.

  The tears begin to fall in rapid succession. I wipe them away the best I can, but it’s a losing battle. I finally give up, rest my head on my knees, and silently cry. I promised Grandma I wouldn’t. I promised her that I would be strong and resilient. Those promises will be kept starting tomorrow.

  A noise from behind startles me. I attempt to jump to my feet, assuming that I need to be able to defend myself. My legs get caught in my skirt and I tumble to the ground instead. When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I scramble to my feet, brushing my skirt back down into place. Turning toward the source of the noise, I stop short when I catch sight of the intruder.

  “Hey. Sorry if I scared you. I saw you sitting up here alone and wanted to make sure that you were okay. You sounded like you were crying.”

  His voice sounds deep and sensual. He’s at least five feet away from me, and with the rising moon at his back, I can’t make out anything other than a shadow of a figure. He’s tall and lean. The ball cap he’s wearing is pulled low over his eyes. I’m intrigued. I can’t tell how old he is with night having now fallen, darkening the inside of the gazebo. The lights should flicker to life soon.

  “No problem.” I stand up a little straighter hoping that I exude a little confidence. I’m not sure how well he can see me, but I probably look like a frightened little kitten. I’ve never been down here alone before, and I don’t know the town very well yet. Time will change both of those things. I have a feeling that I’ll be down here often. As for getting to know the town better…

  “Grant,” he says as he extends his hand toward me.

  I take a small step toward him and reach out. When our hands meet, I’m overwhelmed with a feeling I’ve never experienced before. My breathing speeds up and my heart feels like it’s trying to hammer its way out of my chest. I pull my hand back quickly, certain if I don’t I might combust at any moment.

  “This is usually the part where you share your name with me,” he teases.

  “Madison,” I murmur softly.

  “Nice to meet you, Madison.” He looks back over his shoulder before continuing as if he’s expecting to find someone standing behind him. “Where are you from?”

  His question catches me off guard. How does he know that I’m not from here? Not to mention, it’s a loaded question if there ever was one. It would be easier to tell him where I’m not from. As the daughter of a Marine, I’ve lived more places than I can remember. This is our last stop. Hopefully. For now at least, he promised.

  I’m not sure I’m ready to share my life story with a complete stranger. Not today. It’s been mentally trying already and I don’t need to add to it. If I answer his question there will be more that follow.

  The lights flicker to life and I turn my head to shield my eyes so they can adjust.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that,” I say, turning back around.

  As I get my first real look at him, I’m not
disappointed. He towers over my five foot nothing frame easily. He’s more built than I originally thought. Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, he resembles most of the guys I go to school with. There’s something about him, though. I can’t put my finger on it, but he seems like anything but your average high school boy.

  “I called out to you, but you must not have heard me.”

  I turn toward town, away from Grant. His proximity has my skin tingling, my knees weak, and my stomach turning with anxiety. If my father even knew that I was alone with a boy, in plain sight of others or not, he would tan my hide. I don’t date. I’m not allowed. Not until I’m eighteen. Only a few more months and the chains will be removed. Until then, I need to be cautious with my decisions so he doesn’t change his mind.

  “I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Grant. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.” Bouncing down the steps, I start toward home.

  As I start to walk away, I hear him call my name softly. I stop but don’t turn around to face him, unsure what he might say. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

  Taking a deep breath, I put one foot in front of the other. I try to clear my mind of all things Grant, but fail miserably. He’s probably just a nice boy with no friends to hang out with. Why else would he be down by the river this late on a Friday night alone? It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again anyway.

  The house is silent. Not what I was expecting. I figured it would still be full of people drinking and sharing stories about Grandma. Pushing the large, heavy door closed behind me, a loud thud echoes through the foyer. I expect my father to appear after hearing the noise but he doesn’t. It’s Eloise who peeks her head around the corner to see who’s arrived. Smiling when she sees me, I wave as I make my way up the stairs to my room.

  Fourth door on the left, just past the library. It’s the same room I’ve had since I was born. It’s changed over the years, of course. Grandma had a mural painted on the walls when my parents found out they were having a girl. Butterflies and rainbows. It was beautiful. Once I hit my teen years, she let me paint over it. Days like today make me wish I hadn’t.