Blind Luck (28 page)

Dave locked eyes with Otto. “What do you look so stressed for? You just made five million dollars.”

Otto shook his head. “You are a lucky son of a bitch.”

Dave put the towel over his face and smiled the smile of a man with fifteen million dollars and his freedom.

Thirty-Five

Dave called Amy ten times, but she didn’t answer, and her voice mail didn’t pick up, so he went to her house. Enjoying the possibilities that the money brought wasn’t an option without making amends with her. He tried to tell himself to relax, that she would answer the phone eventually, but the compulsion to see her shunned reason. He wanted to hear the perfect note of her voice, to smell the sweetness of her skin, and to see a look that cared when he stared into her eyes. He hailed a cab on the corner and stepped inside to see the first female cabbie of his life. She looked more feminine than he expected. With a dirty-blonde ponytail, green eyes, and a black jump-suit hoodie, the exhaustion under her eyes was the only thing tough about her. He gave her Amy’s address, but she didn’t drive right away. Instead she examined him through the mirror before holding up a cigarette.

“Is it a problem if I smoke?”

“No.”

She pulled onto the road, and just the motion of moving made Dave feel less anxious.

The cabbie looked at his arm in sling. “What happened?”

“Skiing.”

“Uh-huh. When she leave you?” she asked and exhaled a thick stream of smoke.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve got eyes like mine, and my husband left me two months ago. When did she leave you?”

“She didn’t leave me.”

“Okay, when did you fight?”

Dave rubbed at his face without responding. She took another drag. He had never seen anyone smoke that hard.

“I’ve got a piece of advice for you,” she said. He didn’t respond the way she wanted, so she waited for the next red light and turned to face him. “I’m just saying, I’ve been in your situation, and I know what men don’t do that they could do to make everything better.”

“What’s that?”

“Tell her you’re sorry you upset her. Saying you’re sorry about whatever you fought about is obvious. You both are. Tell her you’re sorry you upset her.”

Dave nodded. The cabbie pulled up in front of Amy’s, and he tipped her forty dollars.

“A forty dollar tip?” she asked, stunned.

“For the advice.”

He pressed Amy’s buzzer and waited for her to answer the door. Just before he pressed the buzzer again, he heard footsteps approaching. He took two deep breaths and the door opened. He wanted to hug her, but the look on her face warned that she didn’t feel the same, until the sling finally caught her attention, and the anger in her face turned to concern.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m free.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to, and you don’t need to be angry. I just want to see you. I’m sorry I upset you. Everything we talked about needed to be discussed, and a lot of it still does, but it didn’t have to stress you, and I’m sorry for that.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Something amazing happened to me, and there’s no one I want to share it with more than you. Can I come in?”

Amy turned, and he followed her inside. A small battery-powered lamp was the only light on in the house. The temperature was as cool as outside, and all of the drapes were shut tight.

“I can prove you’re not unlucky.”

Her eyes stuck on him like he couldn’t have said anything more annoying. “You’ve already told me how you feel about that, Dave.”

“Yeah, but I think you’ll like this example.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it.”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words stopped his flow, and flashes of responsibility, miracles and lineage flashed through his mind. “Pregnant?”

“The condom didn’t work.”

A smile filled Dave’s face as he thought of odds, chance and the creation of life. “That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

“I thought you’d be upset.” Amy’s lips began to move so fast, the words left her mouth with the rhythm of an Uzi. “I’ve had four miscarriages, and we’ve only know each other for…”

“I think it’s amazing. And the timing couldn’t be better.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like perfect timing.”

He extended an envelope, and she stared at it for a moment before taking it from his hand.

“Go ahead, open it.”

She tore one corner and removed a cheque. “I don’t get it.”

“Read it.”

“It’s a fake cheque for a million dollars.”

“There’s nothing fake about it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I inherited money. The man I worked for left his money to his employees, and I’m the only one alive.”

“What?”

“You’re right about me. Something is working in my favour, and while I’d trade it in a second to bring my colleagues back, I can’t. So the best way to honour them is to live.”

“Why would you give me money?”

“Because now you can’t ever say again that you’re unlucky, and because I want you to be happy. I’ve been thinking about how much you believe you’re destined to have bad things happen to you, and it drives me crazy, because I’m proof that you aren’t unlucky. How can you possibly be cursed with anything negative when you’re able to make me feel better than I’ve ever felt in my life?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Dave smiled, and Amy locked eyes with him.

“What about my brother?”

“He’s not interested any more.”

“Just like that?”

Dave nodded. “I don’t know how he’ll feel about seeing me, but it’s not about me or him, it’s about you, so we’ll figure something out.”

She held up the cheque. “This is real?”

He nodded. “We can bring the concerts to you now.”

She smiled and let out a primal squeal of happiness. If he believed he was lucky, then she could believe
she
wasn’t unlucky, and it felt great to react without thinking.

“Try to tell me you’re not lucky now.”

He considered the statement. He couldn’t tell her he wasn’t lucky, because he
knew
he was, and he knew that it took taking risks to discover luck’s power.

Dave walked into 29 Palson with an empty suitcase in each hand.

“Sign in here please, sir,” the receptionist said and spun a clipboard towards him.

“Actually, I’m signing out. Jack Bolden is scheduled to leave by the first of the month, and we’re going to do it today.”

Jack didn’t notice that Dave was carrying suitcases as he entered the room. “Did you bring today’s line?” he asked without taking his eyes from a billiards match on television.

Dave removed a photo from the side pocket of his jacket and held it at eye level.

“What I brought is better than the line.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Dave put the photo in dad’s closest hand.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the new cottage.”

“I want the old cottage.”

Dave smiled. “So do I, but we’ll have to settle for a new one.”

“Is there bird shit at this cottage?”

“Not that I know of.”

Jack inspected the photo. “This isn’t the old cottage.”

“No, it isn’t. But it’s a long way from here.”

He began to pack his dad’s belongings, and it occurred to him that he was his dad’s payoff. After sixty years of hustling, calculating odds, and playing the systems, the man could finally have whatever he wanted. Ten million dollars. Dave didn’t know what money meant to his dad any more, but he knew that he could buy him the freedom to do whatever he wanted with the years he had left, and that peace of mind made the whole journey make sense.

My thanks to Matthew Stone for placing the book with DarkStar Fiction, for your rare insight and invaluable notes. To Benjamin Gilbert for reading everything I’ve ever written long before it was worth reading, and for making all of it better. Christopher Sandy for your passion for knowledge and attention to detail; Mark Adriaans for your irreverence and Matthew Deslippe for your understanding of character. Thank you to the encyclopedia of music, Steve Dalrymple, for giving the book its rhythm. My respect to Simon Gilbert for making being smart cool as a kid, and to Eddie and Debbie Gilbert for introducing me to the arts. To Skye Bjarnason for our late night literary discussions. My appreciation and thanks to my editor Allister Thomson for your passion and precision; to Sylvia McConnell for your support of the project and for your guidance during the process; and to Emma Dolan for designing a groovy cover.

Scott Carter was born in Toronto and raised in the Beach neighbourhood. He has worked in the book publishing industry and is now a high school English teacher.

Scott is also a screenwriter who has worked on numerous feature films and short films with various companies, including his own Sad But True Entertainment, founded in 2007.

He lives in Toronto’s Riverdale district with his family.