Jackpot: Chapters 16–22

Feeling a little awkward now. (Which is definitely a step up from like a filthy blight on the pristine Montgomery home...but still.)

Just dropped back into the feeling that me and my rags don’t belong on this side of town, let alone inside this house on this immaculate piece of furniture with the illustrious Zan Macklin.

Just dropped back into the feeling that me and my rags don’t belong on this side of town, let alone inside this house on this immaculate piece of furniture with the illustrious Zan Macklin.

Yes, when we do have Alexander between us, we often wind up sweat-soaked and twisted beyond recognition—he tosses about more than a skiff caught in a hurricane on the open ocean—but that is better than this...destitution.

And if Alexander’s fevered dreams of his father pushing him off cliffs or locking him into cages or chasing him down with chains are any indication, things aren’t exactly hunky-dory in that parent-child relationship either.

“Yes, you’d had a little to drink, but you seemed pretty lucid. If I’d known you wouldn’t remember anything, I would’ve sent you home with Jess.”

Really go off on him for thinking about the stupid quest or whatever he called it when my life is clearly in shambles.

It’s disorienting, but what isn’t these days?

Not sure what’s more shocking: that the church is so close, or that he knows the exact distance between our respective homes.

“Man, they weren’t lying about it being multicultural,” Zan says.
He’s right. It’s like we’ve stepped into a UN summit. There are saris and dashikis and hanbok...even a guy in a kilt.

“Man, they weren’t lying about it being multicultural,” Zan says.
He’s right. It’s like we’ve stepped into a UN summit. There are saris and dashikis and hanbok...even a guy in a kilt.

Also fascinating: there are tons of luxury cars in the parking lot, but also a slew of people crossing the street from the nearby bus stop.

In addition to the ethnic garb, there are people standing around the perimeter of what I guess is the lobby holding various national flags.

Kenny opens his mouth to say something else, but a petite lady with big, bright eyes and the most stylish tapered bob I’ve ever seen materializes at his side (thank God).

Blondie picked me up—real warm hands though her cuticles were a little worse for the wear—shook me a few times over her smothered, covered, and chunked extra-crispy hash browns, set me down, took a bite, and shut her eyes as she hummed in ecstasy.

Mama and Jax have both been relatively healthy, Mama’s truck’s running fine, and there are no outstanding bills to fret over.

The local middle school is named Pinckneyville, so the warm-ups they’re wearing have PMS BASKETBALL emblazoned across the front.

As she walks off, I slip into the office, trying not to hyperventilate.

I take in the foyer (that’s what these areas just inside the front door of a big-ass house are called, right?), and though everything looks sort of antique and unassuming, I bet my britches this lady could bathe in hundred-dollar bills.

There are a couple of winged-looking chairs, a long velvet couch, and a fancy-shmancy chaise lounger thing all arranged around a squat coffee table with bowed legs in the center of a massive rug—surely Persian or some such.

There’s an ornately framed mirror hanging over the mantel and a brilliant blaze roaring in the fireplace.

“Lucinda made tea and a sampling of cookies.”
This is an understatement. There are three pots of tea and six varieties of home-baked cookies on the table.

“I had a liaison between my first and second marriage,” she goes on.

“I’ve ventured away here and there, but there’s no staying gone. My friends and family are here, my church is here—”

“I’ve been a member of Victorious Faith Chapel since its inception fifteen years ago.”

“Not to toot my own horn, but since I took over, the guest-to-member conversion rate has increased eighteen percent.” She smiles demurely and bats her eyelashes.

Well...I work at a—consignment shop, and a lady brought in a bag of clothes the day before Christmas Eve.

“Do you think you could give me Ethel’s contact information? I’d really like to get her bracelet bac—”
“I thought you said brooch?”

We follow suit, and I jab him with a good glower—don’t see a point in the façade now.

But then my focus shifts to the unsightly crack in the table. The hole in the upholstery of the one unoccupied chair. The grungy carpet beneath us and yellowed linoleum in the kitchen.

Despite my panicked swirl of money-related emotions and my irritation with Mama over the rashness of this little jaunt we’re on, I don’t say a word once we hit the road.

As we set up on the sand the morning of our second impromptu vacation day and I gaze out over the water, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be Zan Macklin. To never have to worry if spending money on Friday will affect grocery shopping on Monday.

He’s a nicer kid than the last one who owned me—didn’t let me out of his sight for the whole trip—and I know life is transient or whatever, but it’d be cool to keep him around.

"Come in." And I step aside so she can imbue our little domicile with magic just by entering.

"Come in." And I step aside so she can imbue our little domicile with magic just by entering.