Lottery (8 page)

Unlike the Tonga Room, the customers in this place looked down and out. Most of them with shaggy, unkempt hair, and the aroma of bad breath turned his stomach. Misery loved company.

“Get rid of the trash,” Caleb heard faintly, and quickly twisted his head to look at the man sitting on his left.

“I’m sorry?” Caleb asked.

“What ya sorry ‘bout?” the heavy-set man with deep craters in his cheeks and forehead garbled.

“I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Me?” The drunk slapped a hand over his flowered shirt, which had the top three buttons open to reveal a swirly nest of gray chest hair. “Didn’t say nuthin’, buddy.”

Caleb turned his head to his right, but no one was there. He found the bartender at the other end of the bar.

Jesus. He
was
losing his fucking mind. He downed the drink, paid his bill, and set out for his condo. He was drinking too much, just like he had when Katherine had left him. The stress of meeting McKenzie was getting to him.

He opened the door to his condo and stepped inside, fighting the urge to open the cupboard and take out the gin.

After he showered, he gave in, took out the bottle and carried it up to the deck off his bedroom.

Standing in his boxers, Caleb took a swig straight from the bottle and leaned over the railing. Good old San Francisco. It all looked so perfect. The buildings looked like stair steps going down the hill and ending at the wharf; the occasional loud clang of street cars, and the full moon above, cast a welcome aura over the city. Caleb had been lucky until McKenzie fucking Price had come into his life.

He took another gulp of gin.

“Only one way out of this, O’Toole.”

Petrified, he broke out in a cold sweat. “Who the hell are you?” He turned in every direction.

When he didn’t see anyone, he rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “Shit.” He held up the bottle and looked at it. “Gotta stop this.”

He heard a laugh that sounded familiar. A chill raced down his spine. Caleb put his hands out to his sides, the liquor bottle dangling from his hand. “What do you want from me?” Caleb shouted.

“As Nicholson would say, Jackie’s back,” the deep voice said.

“This is a fucking joke.” Caleb was infuriated, his heart racing. “Is that you, McKenzie? You trying to drive me crazy?”

“’Fraid not,” the voice answered.

Oh, God, he knew that voice. He muscles tightened, his head jerked in every direction. “I asked you who are you. Where are you?”

“I’m right here. It’s your old friend, Weber.”

The bottle dropped out his hand and the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces echoed into the dark, still night.

wenty-three-year-old Jenee Rager felt like she had just been kicked in the stomach. “What do you mean?” she asked her gynecologist.

“I mean the biopsy showed the tumors are pre-cancerous.” Dr. Hansen looked at her over the top of his glasses, his face solemn.

Her heartbeat quickened. “And?”

The physician cleared his throat. “Given your family history, my opinion is we do a complete hysterectomy.”

The news took her breath away. “A hysterectomy? But Justin and I want more children.”

The doctor stood, and took a few steps to Jenee, who sat on the end of the bed in one of the examination rooms in his office. He laid a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “There’s a chance you might not be around to raise Baileigh if you don’t take care of this.”

Jenee bowed her head, trying to absorb what he was telling her. “When? If I have the operation, when would it be?”

“I’d like to schedule it for this coming Monday.”

Jenee was in shock. She had had no idea the news would be this bad. She’d stored all of her three-year-old daughter’s baby
toys, newborn sleepers, and receiving blankets in the third bedroom that she’d hoped would become a nursery. She and Justin had been trying for two years to get pregnant, and Jenee had gone to the clinic just to see if everything was all right. She swiped a tear off her cheek.

Jenee and Justin lived in Topeka, the capital of Kansas, where they had both grown up. The city, which had a population of a little over 125,000, was three counties away from touching Missouri, and two counties south of bumping into Nebraska. While many of the girls in Jenee’s high school class had left Topeka soon after graduation, Jenee had never had the desire to pull up roots. Topeka was her home; the place where both her family and heart belonged.

She and Justin had grown up next door to each other, so falling in love had been a natural progression; he’d pulled her pigtails when she was six, held her hand in junior high, pecked her cheek at thirteen, and had made love to her in the back of his truck when she was seventeen.

They were married the summer after high-school graduation, and both families agreed they were perfect for each other. Justin had been nineteen when he’d started a small car business that fixed everything from carburetors to flat tires, and Jenee kept the books. Their daughter, Baileigh, had been born a month after Jenee’s twentieth birthday, and life had been simple and uncomplicated … until now.

Driving home, Jenee felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. She couldn’t wrap her head around what she’d just been told. After she drove into the driveway of the story-and-a-half home, Jenee put the older Honda into park and turned off the ignition. She put her head down on the steering wheel, thinking about her two aunts that had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. One of them had died from the disease. It had never crossed Jenee’s mind that she might have the same genes.

Drawing in a breath, she leaned back in the seat and tried to think positively; after all, she hadn’t been given a death sentence. However, with a complete hysterectomy she was losing her ovaries; the organs that could bring new life into the world. She and Justin would never create another child. Even though Justin had never said anything, every man wanted a boy to fish with—toss a football back and forth with—carry on their name. “Damn.” She hit the steering wheel with an open palm. It wasn’t fair.

She’d promised Baileigh she would have a brother or sister, and now she was going to have to break her word. Jenee didn’t know whether she felt more, anger, hurt, or devastation. Grappling with the array of emotions coursing through her, she opened the door, and walked trance-like up the few steps to the back door.

As she stepped into the small, square kitchen, Jenee remembered when she and Justin had bought this home three years ago. They’d been so excited when they moved into the well-established neighborhood. Century-old oaks shaded the house in the summer and brought a truckload of leaves to rake in the fall.

Baileigh loved playing on her swing set and in a sand pile in the corner of their fenced-in backyard. In the summer, when Justin’s band wasn’t playing, he spent his time holding a can of beer while he cooked hamburgers or hot dogs on the charcoal grill. How would she tell Baileigh there would never be a brother or sister to play with? And how could Jenee tell Justin that their dream of having more children was never going to happen?

Silent tears flooding her cheeks, she took the tea kettle off the stove and put it in the sink. She’d dropped Baileigh off at her mother’s before she went to her appointment, but wasn’t ready to pick up her daughter yet.

She turned around and leaned back against the counter, her eyes moving over the black and white tiled floor to the gunny sack curtains she’d dyed red and tied back so the cascading philodendron that hung from the ceiling above the sink would have enough light. She and Justin had worked hard to make this house a home. Why had this happened to them? Why, God? But she knew there’d be no answers. Jenee turned back around, filled the kettle with water and set it on a burner.

When the tea kettle sang out, she poured the boiling water into a mug and then swirled a tea bag into the water until it turned a deep brown. Taking the cup with her, she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. After they’d moved in, Jenee had painted the small living area a light gray, and then had swirled a darker gray over the top using a technique she’d learned at Sherwin-Williams.

Strolling past the wood-burning brick fireplace, she could almost smell the apple wood that filled the air during the holidays. She sat down in the bay window where Baileigh often watched the older kids ride their bicycles down the street. The neighborhood was filled with other young couples; couples that, unlike her and Justin, would have more children.

Jenee stood and walked the few steps to the stairs. Holding onto the oak railing Justin had refurbished, she went up to the second floor landing and into Baileigh’s room. She ran her hand over the top of the bright red dresser she’d found at a garage sale and painted it in Baileigh’s favorite color.

In the hallway, she stared at the closed door to the smaller bedroom that would have been the nursery. She was feeling sorry for herself, she thought as walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. So many women had full-blown cancer before it was discovered.

After Jenee opened her purse, she took out her cell. “Mom,” she said when her mother answered. “I know I was going to pick up Baileigh, but would it be okay if she stayed the night?”

“Everything okay? Did your appointment go all right?” her mother asked, the concern noticeable in her voice.

“Fine,” Jenee fibbed. “I just thought it might be nice to have a quiet dinner with Justin.”

“Of course Baileigh can stay over. I love having her here.” She heard Baileigh giggling in the background.

“Thanks.” Jenee paused. “I’ll pick her up for preschool at 8:30.”

“You sure everything went okay?”

Jenee hesitated. “Yes.” She’d tell her mother the news after she’d told Justin. When Jenee’s father died last year, his death had paid a heavy toll on both her mother and Jenee. Ben Rager had been the backbone of their family, kind of like a real, larger-than-life John Wayne character. Jenee didn’t want her mother worrying.

It wasn’t even noon so she’d have time to make Justin’s favorite meal; pork chops, mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn.

She took out the chops from the freezer and then picked up her phone. She needed to talk to someone before she told Justin, if only for support.

“Hey, Britt?” Jenee asked when Brittany answered.

“What’s up, girl?” Brittany said cheerfully.

“I … I need to talk to someone,” Jenee told her emotionally.

It had taken all of ten minutes for Brittany to pull into the driveway. Her best friend threw open the back door and found a weeping Jenee, her head down on her hands that lay on the kitchen table. Brittany knelt beside her, placing her hand on Jenee’s arm. “God, Jen, what’s the matter?”

Jenee brought her head up and sniveled. “I have to have a hysterectomy.”

“Oh, no, hon.” She pulled a chair next to Jenee and sat down. “Are you sure? Maybe you need a second opinion.”

Jenee shook her head. “The biopsy showed that the fibroid tumors were pre-cancerous.”

Brittany stood, snatched the Kleenex box off the cupboard, and brought it back to the table. She pulled a tissue out and handed it to Jenee and then pulled one out for herself. “I’m so sorry.” Brittany swiped the tissue underneath her eyes. “Have you told Justin?”

Jenee shook her head. “I needed to talk to you first.”

Brittany placed her hand on top of Jenee’s. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Jenee whimpered. “You know how much we wanted more children.”

Best friends since junior high, rarely did the two women go a day without talking to each other. Jenee was quieter than Brittany who had a way of turning a dark situation into a laugh fest.

“It could be worse,” Brittany said softly.

“I know.” Jenee wiped her eyes. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

Brittany stood and took a few steps across the floor. “We’re going to have a toast.” She took out the only bottle of wine in the cupboard.

“Huh?” Jenee looked up.

Brittany opened a drawer and pulled out the wine opener. She cupped the opener over the top of the bottle, and then pushed her long ebony hair with streaks of bright red and blue back off her face. “We’re celebrating the death of your ovaries.”