If You're Lucky (9 page)

Lucky stood in the foreground, waving at the camera. His friends looked on from behind him, laughing.

“Hey, everyone! Here I am Down Under. As you can see.” He gestured behind him. “I've fallen in with a disreputable bunch of scallywags, clearly not worthy of my company, but I took pity on them, poor disparate souls that they are.” The video was all shaky and the audio was pretty garbled.

Jesse turned the camera around to his own face, which appeared comically huge.

“Cocky, isn't he? And did he say ‘Down Under'? I reckon we ought to take the bugger down a notch or two.” He turned the camera on a group of guys who piled onto Lucky, knocking him down into the sand.

“That's it, lads,” yelled Jesse from behind the camera. “Show that Yank some Aussie love!”

My eyes welled up.

Jesse kept yelling and laughing from behind the camera.

The video had arrived by e-mail early this morning with this note:

George,

Came across this terrible video I took of all of us. I know it's not much, we were just mucking about, but I thought you might like to have it. I recorded it a couple of hours before Lucky died. Apologies for the quality and for all the swearing. Cheers, J.

I paused the video on the pile-up of Lucky's pals in the sand. I quickly located Fin in that pile. It was so strange to see his familiar face right next to my brother's. I clicked “play” again.

“Get off me, you drongos,” yelled Lucky.

I got back into bed with my laptop. I pulled the covers up over my head, making a tent, and watched the video over and over. It was only a few minutes long and it ended with all of them grabbing their boards and heading into the water. I couldn't stop watching that part where Lucky spoke to the camera. Having him here and alive and safe in my bed with me made me hang on every precious word. How many times had I told him to shut up? Now I wished he would just keep talking. Every time I pressed “play” again I hoped he would say a bit more. I wanted just a few more minutes with him. Then the tears finally came, rolling down my cheeks, soaking my pillow. I heard Rocket's toenails clicking across the wooden floor. I pulled the sheet back and he pushed his face into my tent. He cocked his head to the side when he heard Lucky's voice. I played the video again and he barked and wagged his tail. He smudged my laptop screen with his wet nose and then he tried to lap up my tears.

“I know, right, boy?” I patted his head.

Since Dr. Saul had reduced my dosage, my headaches were fading. The vice-grip on my skull had been replaced by a pressure against the back of my head, sort of like a hand pressing down, but not so hard that I couldn't bear it. The world seemed to be coming into a sharper focus. The edges of things had returned. I loved the way I was starting to feel, like I was slowly unthawing after being numb for years. I wanted to feel a lot more like that. Not being drugged was like a drug. I was waking up. It didn't matter that it hurt sometimes, the way it hurt to watch the video. I embraced it. And I wanted more of it.

Late the night before, while the house was quiet, I had pulled a steak knife from the cutlery drawer in the kitchen and taken it into my room. I closed the door and sat at my desk. I meticulously sawed several of the little white pills in half, being very careful not to crumble them. Dr. Saul told me never to cut the pills. I didn't care. I put the tiny half-moons back into an empty prescription bottle and hid it inside a pair of socks in my sock drawer. As of this morning, I was down to one and half pills a day. It wasn't like I was going cold turkey. I would reduce the dosage slowly, gently. My body wanted this. A new me was emerging.

I wondered if I should show Jesse's video to my mom, but lately she'd been doing so well, I didn't want to ruin it. Ever since the night Fin dropped by it seemed that everything about her had lightened: her mood, her clothes, she even seemed lighter on her feet. The deep lines of pain on her face had started to soften and she'd found her smile again. She was wearing her colorful scarves and necklaces too. She hummed while she worked and she was eating again. Our family routine, which revolved around my mom's work, was falling back into place. I couldn't help but think that Fin had something to do with it. To my mom, Fin was probably a lot better place of refuge than Lucky's clothes or his bed. After all, Fin was a friend, a “good” friend of Lucky's, but something about all of it seemed wrong to me.

I decided not to show her the video.

I was late for work. Katy would be calling. The store should have been open ten minutes ago. I finally closed my laptop and got out of bed, but I wanted to watch that video all day.

I got myself to the store and spent the day loathing my job. Fortunately, the store required little of me in the way of interacting with the customers. The candy speaks for itself. It's over there. Help yourself.

I dialed the new, improved Sonia's number. I wanted to tell her about the video. I thought she might want to see it. She picked up after several rings. She sounded sleepy.

“Hi George.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I have to get up. What's up?”

“You know Jesse, Lucky's friend in Australia?”

“Sure.”

“He sent me a video.”

She was quiet a few seconds. “Yeah? What kind of video?”

“Of Lucky and some friends, on the beach. Fin's in it too.”

“Yeah?” she seemed nervous.

“Hang on.”

A customer, a very large flushed woman wearing flowered capri pants and a hoodie from the Monterey Bay Aquarium stood in front of me.

“Can I help you?” I asked, holding my hand over the phone.

“Yes. Do you have the nutritional information for the taffy?”

“Uh, nutritional information?”

“Yes, you should have it available to customers. It's the law.”

“I'm sorry. I don't. No one's ever asked me for it before.”

“It's the law.”

“Yeah. You said that. I can call my boss if you like.”

She looked annoyed. “It should be posted. Some people have food allergies.”

“Would you like a kite instead?” I offered.

I uncovered the phone. “Hey, I've gotta go. I'll send you the video, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

The woman drifted off toward the taffy bins and started filling up a bag.

“Hey, Georgie.” My dad grinned at me from the driver's side window of his truck. “Hop in.” He was wearing a wool beanie and polarized sunglasses.

I crossed in front of the truck and jumped in next to him. The cab smelled like the ocean when the ocean smells bad. I kissed his stubbly cheek.

“You looked lost in thought,” he said, as he steered the truck up the long hill to our house.

I shrugged “Nah. Just trying to remember if I set the alarm at Katy's.”

“You want me to swing past?”

“No. I'm pretty sure I did. What's new at the farm?'

He sighed heavily. “Busy busy. Can't complain about the business but it's a lot of work this time of year . . . tourist season. Most restaurants are doubling their orders. I guess I got used to your brother turning up every year around this time to help out. You know, I used to think that he would show up when he ran out of money, but now I realize that he showed up right when I needed him most.” He was quiet for a few seconds, like he was considering that. “Yeah, I'll probably hire someone. I should have thought of that but I just . . . I don't know.”

I did that too. I kept expecting Lucky to show up at the breakfast table. My dad expected him to pull up in his beater at the oyster farm.

When we got to the house, Fin's truck was parked in our driveway again. My pulse quickened. My dad was oblivious. Here in False Bay, unexpected visitors are a matter of course.

“Looks like we've got company,” he said. He pulled up beside Fin's truck and I jumped out and peered into the cab.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

There was a tennis ball on the seat, Rocket's, and a bright green scarf, Sonia's.

“I think I smell lasagna,” my dad said, pulling open the back door.

We heard my mom's laughter coming from the kitchen. She was in the middle of telling Fin a story about a trip our family took to Mexico when Lucky was nine and I was five.

“. . . and then we finally locate our nine-year-old kid and he's pulling himself up the side of this sheer cliff with a bunch of these crazy Mexicans who've been drinking tequila on the beach all afternoon. I started shrieking like a madwoman, running down the beach, waving my arms, and the little bugger, he waves at me and he yells something like,
Hi, Mom, watch
me jump,
though I can't hear him. So off the cliff he goes, arms flapping like a baby bird. I almost had a heart attack. Theo and I trip over ourselves to get to the water, ready to dive in, and his little blond head pops up like a cork and he swims to shore like an Olympian.” She laughed again and then she stopped abruptly and took a sip of her wine. She looked over her shoulder at us. “Hi, guys. Look who stopped by.”

My dad shook hands with Fin. I said hi, though I wanted to say,
Why
?
Why do you
keep showing up like this?
It was pretty obvious he wasn't here to see me. He smiled that smile I'd become all too familiar with.

A vase of freshly picked wildflowers sat in the middle of the table with a bottle of red wine next to it. My mom took another sip from her glass. There was another glass of wine in front of Fin, who was sitting in Lucky's chair at the table. No one had sat in that chair since Lucky died. Fin was wearing a brown sweater. The cuffs were stretched out and it looked soft and worn. It was the kind of sweater that you're compelled to touch even when a stranger is wearing it, even if it's someone standing in front of you in line at the grocery store. It was all I could do not to reach out. Fin's hair was tucked behind his ears, making him look especially earnest. In spite of everything, I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me right that second.

“Hey, I made lasagna,” said my mom. “Fin's staying.” Her cheeks were flushed from the wine.

Fin looked up at me again with a wide grin that seemed to say
I'm in.

“I'll check on that lasagna.” I retreated to the oven.

Over dinner, I started to understand how he did it: how he skillfully deflected any questions that might connect him to a place, a family, or a home, or a past. He responded with
here and
there
and
around
and
this and that.
He asked a lot more questions than he answered and he seemed keen to know about other people's lives, which was disarming and charming at the same time.

“I hear you're playing with the Hot Club,” said my dad. “Those guys are pretty good. Where'd you learn to play guitar like that?”

“Oh, uh, Julliard,” said Fin, as though he were saying
community college.
Julliard?
He went to
Julliar
d
? How in the hell did he go from being a street kid to Julliard?

“Fin, that's a wonderful school. I'm very impressed!” said my mom.

Fin shrugged and refilled my mom's wineglass.

I wanted to file that piece of vital information for later, but at the moment it was clanging around my head like a pair of garbage can lids.

“I used to play a little myself but I'm not sure I can keep up with a Julliard graduate,” said my dad.

“Course you can. I'll bring my guitar over next time.”

“I'll have to dust mine off. I'm not even sure where I put that thing. The strings are probably dead.”

“I'll restring it for you if you like,” said Fin.

Things were getting pretty cozy. I changed the subject. “Is Fin your real name?”

Fin took a sip of his wine and shot me a bit of a dark look. “It's a nickname. You know, because I'm in the water a lot.”

But he
wasn't
in the water a lot. As far as I could tell, he hadn't been surfing once since he'd arrived.

Fin started a conversation with my mom about her art. Then he asked my dad about oyster farming. More wine was poured and soon the room was filled with laughter and my parents were treating their new friend like he was their long-lost son. My jaw started to clench. My dad started pulling out all his favorite jazz CDs and putting them on. He was getting excited, remembering concerts and clubs he went to “back in the day.” Fin was right there with him. He knew music even better than Lucky had. I gathered up the empty plates and carried them to the kitchen. As I set them down on the counter, it occurred to me again that Fin had slipped right into Lucky's life like it was a vacant parking space. He hadn't counted on resistance from Lucky's little sister, though. I sat down again at the table and Fin's knee brushed against my thigh. I kept my leg there, with his knee pressing into my thigh. I stared at him, daring him to move it. He held my gaze. It seemed like he was physically trying to coax me onboard with everyone else who was falling for him.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Then I slipped into my bedroom and opened my laptop and looked around till I found a site for Julliard alumni. I typed in “Abel Sacula” and clicked “search.” Suddenly he was there on my screen, staring out at me with those dark eyes. His hair was a lot shorter, but he was the same guy who was sitting at my table with my parents right now. The contact part of his bio was blank. Everything else seemed to match up, though. The dates made sense. He was a Julliard graduate all right. Laughter and music drifted in from the other room. Then it got quiet. I looked up. The knob on my bedroom door turned slowly and the door opened. Fin's face appeared.

“Oh, sorry. I thought this was the bathroom.” He looked at my laptop and I resisted the urge to slam it shut.

“It's the next door down.”

“Okay. You coming back? Your mom's got pie.”

“I'll be right there. Just checking my e-mail.”

His eyes lingered on mine for a few seconds and then he slowly closed the door.

I listened for the bathroom door to close but I heard nothing. I tiptoed across the floor and turned the doorknob quietly and opened the door an inch, peering out. The bathroom was empty. The door stood wide open. Then I heard footsteps on wood. Fin was in Lucky's room. I carefully closed my door and waited. I heard a drawer slowly slide open and then closed. Several minutes later I heard him walk back up the hallway. Had he taken something of Lucky's?

When I finally got back to the table, they'd polished off a second bottle of wine. My mom was in the kitchen, slicing up homemade blackberry pie. I watched as my dad offered Fin Lucky's job at the oyster farm. I felt powerless at what was happening under everyone's noses. Something snapped in my brain. I had to say something.

“Really, Dad,” I said. “Lucky's job? Isn't it bad enough that he's sitting in Lucky's chair, eating dinner with Lucky's parents with Lucky's dog at his feet? Next thing you know he'll be sleeping in Lucky's bed. Can't you see what's happening here?”

The room went silent. All three of them stared at me with varying degrees of shock. My mom held a plate with a slice of pie on it in midair.

Fin's lips curled slowly into a smile. “Wow, George, did you take your meds today?”

My mom looked at Fin and then back at me. “Honey, he didn't mean anything by sitting there, and your dad needs someone at the farm. I think you should apologize to Fin.”

My dad looked confused.

I was humiliated. My face went hot. Fin darkened when I looked at him again. The smile had vanished. He seemed to be telling me to stop this . . . or else. A flutter of fear ran through me. I stood up and pushed my chair back. I left the room.

I heard my mom apologizing for me and explaining that I'd had a tough time lately. Fin responded graciously. No one seemed to see what had just happened. Not the way I saw it, anyway.