“It was fifty million dollars, Carter.”
His legs become Jell-O and almost collapse out from under him. He catches himself on the side of the couch, then he doubles over, hands on his knees, practically hyperventilating. “Are you fucking serious?”
I hold up my palms. “As a heart attack.”
“Oh my God.” He sits. “Oh my God.” He says it over and over, the words coming out with a little more excitement each time, as if he thinks perhaps all of our lives just changed and we’ll never have another care in the world.
But then something shifts. “Oh my God, Kenna,” he says again, this time in utter fear. “That’s why Cyrus is after you. He’s threatened to kidnap Amelia for ransom hasn’t he?”
“Not in so many words. And honestly, I don’t think it would ever come to that. But I was stupid. I gave in to him after I got the first payout. Now he thinks he’s entitled to more.”
His eyes are glazed over. He takes a long drink of wine, then refills his glass. “I’m going to need you to start from the very beginning.”
I drain my own glass and do exactly what he asks.
“Eighteen months ago, I found out about Cyrus’s gambling debts. You already know that. And you know our divorce was finalized sixteen months ago thanks to him fast-tracking it.” Ipull my legs up on the couch, all the way up to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. “What I didn’t tell you is that fifteen months ago, I walked into a grocery store, did my weekly shopping, and had two dollars left over. I bought a lottery ticket. I’d never purchased one in my life up until then.
“Two days later, it was all over the news that someone local had won. I didn’t start to get excited until I read where the ticket was purchased. Even then, I was sure it couldn’t be my ticket. I’d never been lucky in my life—my amazing kid aside. I checked the ticket a thousand times. More than that. I could see it with my own eyes and still couldn’t believe it. I had no idea what to do.
“An internet search revealed I should sign it, make a copy, hire a lawyer, and put it in a safe deposit box until I claimed the prize.” I stand and begin to pace, staring at the ceiling as the nervous anxiety of that time creeps back in. “Other than signing the ticket, I couldn’t follow any of the recommendations. I had no copy machine. No safe deposit box. No money to retain a lawyer. By that time, we were living in a fleabag hotel just outside the city, my credit card was maxed out, and I was back to taking on odd jobs like cleaning anyone’s house who would let me bring Amelia.
“So, two days later, early on a Monday morning, as soon as the lottery office opened, I went in and claimed the prize, choosing the annuity over the lump sum.” I sit back down, farther away from him than before because I just can’t get a bead on how he feels about what I’m telling him. “I didn’t get any money that day. It took about ten weeks. But with the promise of it, I made do.”
My story done and the room now so quiet you could hear a pin drop, I pick at a hangnail, waiting for his reaction.
He stares at me in that same heavy but hopeful disbelief as when I stared at the ticket. The memory is still so fresh in my mind it’s like it happened yesterday.
“Jesus Christ,” is all he says.
He slumps forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
When he looks back at me, the incredulous look on his face turns into anger. “And he’s been after you this whole time?”
“Sadly, in New York, they are allowed to release details about lottery winners. Name. City. Date of win. Prize amount. And I was required to participate in a photo shoot when they presented me with the ceremonial check.”
His phone comes out in an instant. It doesn’t take him long to find a dozen articles. His eyebrows shoot up when he comes across the photo of me accepting the check. “You dyed your hair? And I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
I shake my head. “I wore a wig and fake glasses. I’d read stories about how people were hounded for money. I didn’t want to be easily recognized. Still, anyone who knew me personally, or even just in passing, knew it was me. It’s why I immediately changed my and Amelia’s last name to one I’d never used before: my mother’s maiden name. I thought at least in doing that, anyone new wouldn’t put two-and-two together.”
He gives me a stern look. “What did you mean when you said you gave in to Cyrus? You gave him money? Paid off his debt?”
“I was so naïve.” I look away, embarrassed about how gullible I’ve been. “He was nice enough about it at first, simply claiming I owed him for all the rent I didn’t pay and the other money he’d spent on us. Still, I resisted. He wasn’t my husband. He had no claim to the money and no right to ask.”
“But…” he says, looking slightly ill.
“But he kept coming back. And he became so passive-aggressive. I moved to avoid him, but he found me. He promised to leave me alone if I just paid off his debt. So I did.”
“How much?”
I cringe. “A hundred thousand.”
“Fuck. And that wasn’t good enough for him?”
“I thought it was. He left me alone for a long time. Nine months. But it was a long nine months.”
I’m quiet for a long moment, running it all through in my mind. Again. For the hundredth time. Wondering if I would have—shouldhave—done things differently. If it would have mattered.
“I lost all my friends. Not that I had all that many to begin with. There was Tina, the girl I grew up with, and a few new friends I’d made when taking Amelia to the park. Every single one of them seemed genuinely happy for me. But eventually, one at a time, they all asked for something. And I quickly learned that if I gave any money to one of them, the rest were pounding down my door. None of them were as bad as Cyrus, but everyone had a sob story. A relative needing medical treatment. A huge student loan choking them. Being laid off from a job. After giving Tina a generous amount, but then not any more, she told some of my childhood friends, who all then sought me out.”
