Getting Lucky (The Marilyns) (3 page)

“Absolutely." Yep, she was so rich that all of the assets she legally owned fit into the trunk of a Camaro. At different times in her life, she’d been wealthy and dirt poor. People who thought that money wasn’t everything had never gone to bed hungry or worn the same clothes day after day because it was the only set they had. Being rich certainly kicked poor’s ass every time.

They exited onto Cesar Chavez. The traffic wasn’t too bad, and they made it all the way to the hike and bike trail before things backed up.

“Hey, isn’t that a statue of your husband?” More commentary from the backseat. Either Kylie or Morgan was observant in addition to being annoying. “Wow, what happened to the hand?”

“Yep, that’s Ricky.” Lucky glanced over as they slowed down in front of the statue of Austin’s most famous musician. The city had decided that a larger-than-life statue was the perfect memorial to her husband, so they’d commissioned a bronze, slapped a couple of benches around it, and called it a memorial park. Now that she saw it in the daylight, it was more of an alcove than a park on the Lady Bird Lake Hike and Bike Trail.

The bastard shouldn’t even have rated an alcove.

“It’s missing a hand. That’s weird.” Reyleigh squinted to get a better look.

Traffic continued to crawl.

“Looks like it was vandalized.” It was hard for Lucky to not sound sarcastic. “That’s too bad.”

A couple of months ago, in a fit of sugar-induced rage, she’d gotten the bright idea to remove Ricky’s head. In the dead of night, she and her two best friends, Betts and Charlie, had attempted to behead the Ricky Strickland Memorial. It hadn’t gone well…. Ricky’s statue had been anatomically accurate—thick neck and all. She smiled to herself. They’d settled for a hand, which resided in Lucky’s trunk along with the rest of her worldly possessions.

Five minutes later, Reyleigh pulled into the circle drive of the 5 Fifty Five condos in the upper floors of the Downtown Austin Hilton. “This is nice.”

“Yes, nothing but the best.” Her dear brother-in-law liked nice things, and thanks to Ricky, he could afford them. “Just pull into the circle. The front doors are over there.”

Whatever game Will was playing—holding her car hostage until she lost her mind and agreed to a new reality show—she wasn’t in the mood. Six more months of poverty, and then she’d be back on top. No more selling her beloved things and lying to her friends so they would think she was okay.

“Thanks so much.” Lucky was sincere. These girls had been happy to help her out … no strings attached. She owed them, and she couldn’t live with that. “Here.” She slid her favorite white Dolce and Gabana sunglasses off. “Take these.”

“Oh my God!” Reyleigh’s baby-blue eyes went huge. “Are they the sunglasses your husband wrote about in that song?” As if they were the prince regent’s royal scepter, she gingerly took the glasses.

The song was named “Sunglasses That Hide the Mirrors to Your Soul” and had, in fact, been written ten years before she’d bought these. “Absolutely. Wear them with pride.”

“Oh my God!” Reyleigh, Kylie, and Morgan all oh-my-God-ed at once.

Lucky opened the door, tucked Lana under her arm, and stepped onto the asphalt. “Thanks again, and have a wonderful day.” She closed the door and didn’t look back. Just once, she’d like to meet a female who wasn’t a Ricky Strickland fan.

With her head held high, she sauntered over to the front doors.

“Good to see you again, Ms. Strickland.” The doorman, Jose, smiled as he opened the door.

She gave him a quick hug. “Good to see you too. How’s your wife and baby girl?”

He looked stunned that she would remember and ask after his family. “Maria is good, and our little one, Marisol, is almost three.” With his right hand, he held the door open while his left went to his back pocket. Out came his cell phone. He touched the screen. Air-conditioned air poured out the open door. “Here’s a picture with Marisol and the giant teddy bear you gave her. She loves it.”

He held out the phone with a photo of a little girl wearing a red dress with little white flowers and sitting in the arms of a five-foot teddy bear.

“She’s absolutely adorable.” Lucky smiled at the photo. “When I saw the bear, I hoped she’d like it.”

“If you’re looking for Mr. Brodie, he sublet his condo and moved out.” Jose shuffled the phone back into his pocket.

“Oh.” She took a step back. “When? Where did he go?”

“It was about two months ago, and he didn’t say where he was going. Sorry.” He straightened his uniform. “I can check with Mike at the concierge desk.”

“No, that’s okay.” She looked over her shoulder. The girls were still parked. “Thanks, Jose. Give Marisol a kiss from me.”

She turned and waved at Reyleigh. “Would you be up for doing me another favor?”

Screw Will. Lucky was going home…. Well, to her house. She’d pick up a few things, including a different car, and she was out of here.

“Wow.” Reyleigh turned onto the gravel of Lucky’s private driveway.

Lucky’s heart beat double time. This was her house, but it didn’t feel like home. She hadn’t spent a night in this house since Ricky had died. She told herself it was because she hated him, but she was beginning to suspect it was because she couldn’t face the house without him in it. Sure, she’d been in and out to pick up things, but never to stay. Ricky had been a shit, but he was a larger-than-life shit. The house had felt lifeless without him.

“Wow. All of this is yours?” Kylie or Morgan awed from the backseat.

The car meandered down the mile-long drive.

Will had lost his mind if he ever thought she’d move in with
her
and the kiddos and live happily ever after. What woman in her right mind would lay down her dignity for the sake of money? Lucky glanced out at the freshly mowed Bermuda grass, manicured oak and cedar trees, and the other various drought-tolerant plants she’d overseen the installation of to make her dear husband happy. Then again, Ricky had trampled over her dignity for the better part of their fifteen-year marriage.

Reyleigh pulled into the circle drive and stopped directly in front of the double front doors. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m at Ricky Strickland’s house.” She pulled out her smartphone and started snapping pictures.

Lucky opened the door, place both booted feet on the gravel, grabbed Lana, and stepped out.

Morgan and Kylie scooted out of the backseat, pulled out their smartphones, and snapped away.

“Let me take your picture in front of the house.” Lucky stowed Lana on the VW’s hood, held the phone sideways so she could get the widest shot, and snapped the picture.

“I want a selfie with you.” Reyleigh giggled and rushed up to Lucky, squeezed close to her, held the phone out in front of her, and snapped a picture.

“Me too,” Morgan and Kylie said in unison.

“Help,” cried a small, high-pitched voice off in the distance. “Hel…”

Lucky looked at Reyleigh, trying to decipher where the voice was coming from.

“Help!” There was a faint splashing.

Lucky’s heart lodged in her throat. The pool. She took off in a dead run, motorcycle boots pounding in the granite until she made it to the backyard. A little girl, Dawnie, floated on the bottom of the deep end.

“Call 911!” Lucky screamed as she jumped in and swam for all she was worth. She grabbed the little body around the waist and kicked with everything she had. The little girl didn’t struggle. It took years before Lucky broke through to the surface.

Reyleigh stood on the gravel pool decking. “They’re on the way.”

Fear pounded with every heartbeat. Lucky dragged the little girl out and laid her flat on her back on the pool decking. She knelt down, opened her airway, and started chest compressions. Ever conscious of the tiny body, she made sure not to use too much force.

After two compressions, the little body twitched, and she sputtered and coughed up a mouthful of water. “Help…”

Tears burned the inside of Lucky’s nose and stung her eyes. She was alive. Dawnie was alive.

“Lorna didn’t help me. Why didn’t Lorna help me?” Dawnie shook as she clung to Lucky. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Lucky’s voice squeaked.

“You’re Lucky.” Dawnie’s appraising eyes scanned Lucky. “Cute shirt.”

“Um … thanks. Who’s Lorna?” Lucky cradled the little body close to hers, picked up the little girl, and carried her to the nearest chair.

“She’s over there.” Reyleigh nodded to a chaise lounge farthest from the pool.

A small woman with a wild mass of gray-blonde hair lay sprawled out on the chaise lounge. What the hell?

After Lucky took care of Dawnie, she would take care of her. Who was this woman, and why wasn’t she paying attention? Where was Dawnie’s mother?

“She’s got her earbuds in,” Reyleigh called over her shoulder. “Looks like she’s asleep.” She walked over and kicked the woman.

The older lady jumped about five feet in the air. “What?”

“The little girl fell in the pool,” Reyleigh yelled as she reached for the earbuds and yanked them off the older woman.

Reyleigh was fast becoming one of Lucky’s favorite people.

“Huh?” The woman yawned.

Dawnie shivered and wrapped herself around Lucky. “I’m scared.”

“I know, baby.” Lucky patted her back. “You’re going to be fine.”

Lucky turned to Lorna. “You’re fired.”

“And who the hell are you?” Lorna had the nerve to look shocked. “You can’t fire me.”

“I just did. Now get your skinny ass out of here.”

“But you owe me for today.” Lorna turned indignant. “Mr. Brodie is the only one who can fire me.”

Lucky turned mean eyes on Lorna. “Lady, this is my house, and I can do whatever I want. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops. You have two seconds to leave before I throw you out.” When Lucky used her calm, even, I’m-gonna-rip-you-apart tone, people listened.

“Fine.” Lorna stomped toward the house.

“Girls.” She glanced at Reyleigh, Morgan, and Kylie. “Go with her and make sure she doesn’t take anything that doesn’t belong to her and that she actually leaves.”

“Done.” Reyleigh and the girls followed Lorna into the house.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Help is on the way.” Lucky continued to pat Dawnie.

“Don’t leave me.” Dawnie turned her huge, frightened blue eyes—Ricky’s eyes—on Lucky. “Promise.”

It was another stab to the heart. She and Ricky had wanted three little girls. They were going to name them Amanda, Vivian, and Dawn … but he’d had them with someone else. “I promise. Not leaving you.”

Still holding Dawnie, she sat down on the closest chaise lounge. “How do you feel?”

Lucky inspected her from head to toe. Please, God, let her be okay. The urge to hug her tightly and never let go was so strong, but this wasn’t her child and would never be hers.

“I’m cold, and my head hurts.” Dawnie studied Lucky. “You’re my daddy’s wife.”

Not really sure what to say, Lucky went with a nod.

“He’s dead…. Did you know that?” Dawnie was all childhood innocence.

That tore at her heart.

“Yes.” More warm tears streamed down Lucky’s cheeks.

Dawnie reached up and wiped them away. “Don’t cry. He’s in heaven. Uncle Will says that he’s watching us from the clouds all of the time.”

Lucky didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t sad, just happy this precious little girl was okay.

They both looked up at the cloudless sky.

“I bet he’s still watching even though it’s a clear day.” Lucky wanted it to be true for Dawnie’s sake. The sirens got closer. “Sounds like help is on the way.”

Thinking of Ricky as a father was uncharted territory. It seemed both perfectly normal and hard to believe.

“My mom died too.” Dawnie continued to stare at the sky. “Think she can see me too?”

She
was dead? That kinda took the fun out of wanting to kill her. How had Will kept her death out of the press? Or maybe he hadn’t. Lucky went out of her way to avoid news, especially the gossipy kind. These days, all of her gossip came in the form of emails from her friends, Charlie and Betts. They certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it.

Lucky bit her lip. This poor child had lost a mother and a father and nearly her own life, and Lucky was being petty and selfish. She hugged her closer. Hatred for a dead woman warred with sympathy over the loss. Her own mother had died when Lucky was ten. “Yes, I’m sure she’s looking out for you right now.”

A part of her wanted to shoot the finger heavenward, just in case
she
was watching, but she didn’t. Besides, chances were that she’d need to point that finger down instead of up.

Dawnie slid her arms around Lucky’s neck. “I don’t like shots. Am I getting a shot?”

Best not to dwell on the dead parents.

“I won’t let them.” She wasn’t sure of the medical procedure following a near drowning, but she hoped it didn’t include needles.

Two paramedics from the Bee Cave Fire Department, both carrying neon orange duffle bags, came running from the side of the house. “We got a call about a drowning? Where is the patient?”

“Here.” Lucky waved. “I heard her yelling for help, and by the time I got here, she was unconscious. I started CPR, and she spit out lots of water.”

One paramedic pulled out an iPad while the other pulled out a penlight.

Mr. Penlight flashed it in Dawnie’s eyes. “My name is Jack, and the guy with the iPad is Earl. Can you follow the light with your eyes?”

Dawnie followed the light.

Jack spoke over his left shoulder to Earl. “Pupils are normal.”

Earl typed.

Jack looked up her nose, down her throat, and took her vitals. “Normal.” He un-looped the stethoscope from around his neck, tucked the ends into his ears, and listened to Dawnie breathe. “No fluid in the lungs.”

“What is your relationship to the patient?” Earl finally spoke.

Lucky looked down at Dawn, and she looked up at Lucky. “Stepmom.” The word stuck in her throat like day-old bread.

Earl and Jack exchanged a look. It was all Lucky could do not to sigh.

“The answers are yes, I am; no, I didn’t; and yep, he’s really dead.” Her life had become a look acquaintances shared—a spark of recognition that she was the unfortunate wife of a bastard.