“10. 11. 31. 41. 44. 14. 24.” The numbers hung on the above-the-bar screen for several seconds, long enough for Amy to dig her lottery ticket from deep inside her bra, a bit withered by sweat.
She smoothed the paper ticket and looked at the string of numbers, lined like kids at recess, waiting to be picked for the team. She glanced back up at the TV, then back at her ticket. Christ on a bicycle, she’d punched a lucky set of numbers!
Was the room spinning or was it just me?
Holy Mother of God and all the saints seemed to be ringing in the church of her youth, as if Amy was late for a service she shouldn’t shun. Incredulous! Did the universe love her that much? $536 million dollars’ worth! Amy had instant status and cred. Now she stood tall without even trying. Being an ex-con was feeling better and better… she might just swoop staked Life!
Amy clamped shut her gaping jaw as the reality registered. She felt her face flame from within. Her lottery numbers were her personal combination to Fort Knox. She was golden. She was rich, incomprehensibly rich, zanily, crazily rolling in dough.
Revenge will be sweeter than wine and all mine, all mine, all mine! her mind chanted in-between the clanging of bells. Amy palmed the ticket and gripped the edge of the bar.
Travis slid a few feet down the bar to take a couple of customers’ orders, a blessing in the moment because she feared he’d hear her heart pound. It felt like it would no longer fit in her chest. Amy’s brain was popping with images of all the things she could buy.
The assortment pack of Tootsie Roll Pops she’d watched the popular girls swing by their sides at recess, so near, yet so far, from her...