“A plan,” I say flatly. “And what’s that?”
“I’m in Atlantic City.”
“You’re in Atlantic City.” I walk to the very back corner of the stock room. The part where the light doesn’t fully reach. “Like, right now?”
“Just ’til Wednesday.” Dad’s tone switches back to upbeat. “I showed up at brunch right as they brought out a new hunk of roast beef. My luck changes today. I can feel it!”
An hour ago, I might’ve said,Same. But this? What’s happening right now isn’t lucky. It’s very, very bad. So much so that I’m starting to think Logan’s and my luck flipped back.
Great. Now I’m officially in too deep thinking that Logan’s theory is real.
“I’m going to win back enough to cover at least a portion of the payments,” Dad says when I’m quiet.
He’s probably using what he took out in the refinancing to fund his trip. This is like the time he took the money my grandparents left us in their will, which only covered one college tuition, and tried to double the money. He lost every penny.
Have I learned nothing from the past? Of course this was going to happen again.
I bite the inside of my cheeks. Hold back everything I don’t know how to say. He sounds happy.
“I’ve put too much into it. I can’t stop now. I’m due for a win,” Dad adds. “And don’t worry, I’ve got a strategy. Jim’s with me, too.”
Jim. His pocket-size golden toad he carries with him for luck. He’s had it for so long that Jerry named his van, Frogger, after it.
I don’t mention how trinkets won’t save him. Or how his odds are the same every time he gambles. Putting in more money doesn’t mean better chances. He never hears me when I say this. Special strategies, good feelings, hope, and wishes will not result in wins.
“A strategy,” I mutter. “Are you working?”
“Not at this exact moment, no,” Dad jokes. My silence must speak volumes because he adds, “I’m in between jobs right now. I’ve got a lead.”
I rub my temple with one hand. “Okay, well, right now we need to sort this out with Frances. This is serious—”
“Can you talk to her?” he says. “Last time we talked, she threw me off my game. I’m in a good place right now. There’s something in the air, too.”
I don’t want to leave Bank Frances hanging, especially when she might be our only hope. And I don’t want either of us to be the reason why Dad’s high comes crashing down. That’s the last thing he needs in Atlantic City.
I pick at the fraying ends of the ribbon. “Sure. I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s my girl. What would I do without you?” he asks.
Question of my life.
“Game’s almost over. When I’m rolling in dough, you’re the first person I’m calling, okay?” he says. “Promise.”
I nod at the corner I’ve tucked myself into. “Yeah, sure. Bye.”
The call disconnects. I don’t want to move. Don’t want to think. I just want to stay here in the half darkness. Let everything fall apart. Even when I try to keep it together, it still breaks. What’s the point in trying when it always comes down to this? I can hardly keep my head above water as it is. It’s even harder when Dad keeps dragging me down.
I stand there for who knows how long, my eyes going blurry as I stare at a toppling pile of boxes filled with ribbon and candy. To the right of that is Emma’s filing cabinet. Corners of bank statements and contracts poke out of the drawers that won’t close. The side is dented, the black metal etched with long white scratch lines. The key lock is missing, making the entire point of having it useless. This part of the store is a disaster compared to the orange creamsicle just past the door.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. There’s a pile of shredded ribbon on the ground.
Logan (5:01 PM):Toffee is so hangry right now omg
Logan (5:02 PM):And he escaped down the hall and made it to the second floor somehow??
Logan (5:02 PM):Then he started using my cast as a scratching post when I carried him back up
Logan (5:03 PM):This cat, I swear
