Lucky turned the knob, eased the oak door open, and stepped inside. No hiding the tremor in his hands and legs.
A patchwork quilt covered the iron-framed bed, and the lamp sported a lop-sided, hand-crocheted shade—one of Charlotte’s earlier works.
Great-grandfather’s clock sat on the mantel, likely placed there by the man himself after he’d built the house. The faint hint of tobacco lingered—not from smoking, but from a man who’d spent his whole life planting and harvesting the stuff.
His father cleared his throat.
The man seated in a chair by the window appeared older than his years. His illness had taken a toll. The same furrow often found on Lucky’s face formed a permanent trench between his father’s eyes, and hair once the same color as Lucky’s bore a smattering of white.
Daddy gripped the arms of the rocking chair, fingers stained and work worn. “Your sister says I wouldn’t be sitting here now if it wasn’t for you.”
Lucky stayed quiet. So far so good, and talking might break the winning streak.
“Why?” How’d Daddy manage to pour so much suspicion into one word?
“Why what?”
Curious eyes met Lucky’s own. “Why did you let them cut you open? For me.”
“You’re my Daddy. I couldn’t let you die.”
“Nice to know family still means something to you.”
What? Daddy turned his back, not Lucky. “It always did. I don’t know what it means to you, but I talked to a lot of dial tones.” He hadn’t really expected open arms, but he hadn’t expected hostility either.
“And my son let me believe he died.”
“I spent the last twelve plus years eating Christmas dinner alone.” And the last one he’d eaten in a greasy spoon restaurant, but not alone. Never alone again. Not with Bo in his life.
“And there was an empty chair around the family table.”
“I’d of been in that chair if you’d’ve let me.” Ah, hell. Lucky never should have come here. What did he expect from a man who’d turned his back? Stubborn mule never admitted to being wrong or even listened to another’s point of view.
Bo might comment about the apple not falling far from the tree.
What now?
Neither said a word, sizing each other up from a few feet and a thousand miles away. His father spoke first. “You look pretty good for a dead man.”
Lucky flushed all the way up to his ears. “I’m sorry ‘bout that, but honestly, at the time, I didn’t figure you’d care.”
“What kind of father do you take me for?”
Lucky clenched and unclenched his fist. “That kind who hangs up whenever his son calls. Every time I called, you slammed the phone down. Victor dead, me facing years in prison. I needed you.”
“I thought you’d hurt Daytona.”
“And you never bothered to even ask? At least I got a trial with the law. With you I got condemned and sentenced without saying one damned word.” Maybe Lucky should leave and pretend this conversation never happened.
Daddy stared out the window. “I drove down to Durham for your trial.”
“I didn’t see you.” Lucky leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.
“I stayed in the truck. Couldn’t bring myself to go in. I was mad. And yes, at the time, I thought you were where you belonged.”
Ouch. “It wasn’t only you. Mama, Grandma and Grandpa, my brothers. The only one in this whole family who stood by me was Charlotte.”
If Lucky hadn’t known the man so well, he might have missed the wince. “I told them about you, how you made your living, you being more than Victor’s employee. I didn’t tell anybody but your mama about you sending drugs to Daytona, just said to leave you alone.”
The man might never know the amount of pain he’d handed down. He’d forfeited any right to make Lucky watch his mouth. “They could have told you to fuck off.”
Daddy nodded. “I made sure they didn’t.”
Anger and pain ripped at Lucky’s insides. “Then I’m not sure we have anything left to say to each other.” He turned and reached for the doorknob.
So quietly Lucky barely heard, his father said, “Please don’t go. I’m sorry, I’m screwing this up. Sit. I need to talk to you.” He gestured toward the bed. Lucky stayed put.
Daddy sighed. “Your mama did what I told her, even though she didn’t want to. I warned her not to see you, call you, or answer your calls.” He met Lucky’s eyes. “Do you remember how we used to be? Me and your mother? When my friends told me stories about their wives cheating, spending too much, or drinking, I remembered how blessed I was. We loved each other dearly.”
His parents’ affection gave Lucky a model to work toward with Bo. But, “Loved?”
“Ever since I put my foot down, things have been tense, her resentment growing every day. Then… Then we got word you died. She came to me, said, ‘You cost me my son. You don’t get to tell me anything anymore.” Daddy wiped at his eyes with his fingers. “She moved upstairs to Bristol’s old room, hung that picture of you on the wall right outside the door, and dared me to say anything. I believe if I hadn’t gotten so sick, she would’ve left me outright.”
Holy hell. “Charlotte didn’t know?”
Daddy shook his head. “No, we didn’t talk about our personal problems to our kids, but we didn’t talk to each other anymore either. Daytona found out when he moved back home, as Charlotte did when she came to stay.”
Of all of Lucky’s feared homecoming scenarios, he’d never imagined anything like this. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything yet. But my stubbornness is coming home to roost. My parents took your Mama’s side, now they’re not speaking to me either. And all because I judged my son.”
Hard to feel sorry for the man, under the circumstances. “I know I’ve done my share of terrible things, but you never gave me a chance.”
“And I’m paying the price. I just found out my living son is dead, and my dead son’s still living. And is the reason I’m still breathing. Thank you for that, by the way. ‘Specially under the circumstances.” Dad drew in a harsh breath. “That had to be a hard decision.”
“Not at all.” Lucky parked his ass on the edge of his father’s bed, much as he’d done years ago during heart-to-heart talks with this man. “How much did Charlotte tell you?”
“That it wasn’t you sent Daytona drugs. Most likely Bristol done it.” Daddy stared out the window. If he didn’t already know about the life insurance policies, Lucky wasn’t telling. Not the time or the place.
Broken. He’d expected pride, stubbornness, anything but his idol fallen from a pedestal and smashed in pieces on the ground. Must be Bo’s influence, the sudden bout of compassion. “I… I missed you, old man.”
“Wasn’t a day gone by I didn’t miss you.” The man Lucky still wanted to admire lifted his head, gave a sniff, and blinked hard. “I hear you’re some kind of cop now.”
“I’m a senior agent with the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. I put away guys like me.” Oh crap? Had Lucky actually straightened and held his head higher?
“Guys like you used to be. Charlotte also said you done bought a house and built a nice life for yourself.”
“Yeah, Daddy, I did.”
“You’ve turned into one hell of a man. A better man than me.” Again with the staring out the window.
Silence lasted long enough to make Lucky worry if he should leave.
“Are you a good enough man to forgive me for being a stiff-necked fool who turned his back on his own son?”
Wait! What? “What did you say?”
Pain shone in Daddy’s glistening eyes when he turned Lucky’s way. “What I did, there’s no excuse for, no matter what reason I thought I had. But if you can’t forgive me, hate me all you need to, but please don’t hold my stupidity against the rest of the family.”
“You mean that? You’re really sorry?” And all these years Lucky’d simmered in self-hate for having deserved his shunning.
“I’ve never been sorrier.”
“Look—”
Daddy held up a hand. “I know I’ll never be able to say or do anything to make it up to you, but if you’ll let me, I’ll try.”
For years Lucky had clung to guilt for Victor’s death, and the certainty he’d lost his parents by his own actions. “I’m a stubborn ass myself, but there’s a man out in the kitchen with Mama who’d have a few choice words for me if said no.”
“Then he must be a good man too.”
“None better.” For a one-time consummate liar, the truth fell so easily from Lucky’s tongue these days. But Daddy? Sorry? “You have no idea how bad your turning your back hurt me. Especially when I had no idea what all you blamed me for. I thought it was ‘because I got arrested and I deserved to lose my family.”
Daddy shook his shaggy head. “I’m learning. I’m getting a dose of my own medicine. It don’t taste none too good.”
Outside a goat cried out. When Lucky lived here, he’d be making sure the critter hadn’t gotten its fool head stuck in a fence.
Weathered skin and recovering health aged Clarence Lucklighter, his arms permanently browned by countless hours spent working in the sun. “You should know that when the doctor told me I didn’t have long if I couldn’t get a transplant, a part of me wanted to call it quits. I’m glad I didn’t. Even if you never speak to me again, and I’d understand if you didn’t, it’s good to see you again, son.”
Son. A sliver of ice chipped off Lucky’s innards. “It’s weird being back.”
Dad scrutinized Lucky long enough to make Lucky squirm. “I’m glad to have you back. Even if…”
Even if he had to lose Bristol. Lucky kept his mouth shut.
“And all this time I was convinced you’d sent Daytona drugs when he’d just gotten out of rehab.”
“I didn’t, and I wouldn’t.” How could his own family believe he’d supply his brother’s habit for even a moment?
“Seems you’ve done well for yourself.” Nice to hear pride in the man’s voice. No matter what happened between them over the years, the little boy in Lucky still wanted his father’s approval.
But the grown man in him, the one who no longer crawled, needed to punch the crap out of something in a boxing ring. “I have.” With Bo and Walter’s help.
The skin around his father’s eyes crinkled. “You do understand I’ll have to give this man of yours hell, see if he’s good enough for my boy, right? It’s the Lucklighter way.”
Maybe now, but where was this protectiveness when Charlotte married the undisputed prince of assholes? Dad could have saved her a lot of beatings and a cross country move to escape. Victor came to her rescue, not their father.
Bo was a better man than Lucky could have dreamed of, no matter what Dad thought.
“Bo’s a good man. The best. Take that as a given. Besides, he won’t give you a chance to not like him.” He’d have Daddy Lucklighter eating out of his hand in no time. Mama probably already was. Stress from the last twenty-four hours pressed down. Lucky needed sleep, and didn’t want to consider his father’s words until more of his brain worked.
Daddy flapped a hand. “Now, go on and get out of here. I’m sure the rest of the family wants time with you.”
Lucky stood. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Probably best I don’t. They’re not very happy with me right now, and I don’t want to meet your man if I’m never going to get to see him again. Maybe later, under better circumstances.” Dad rose and gripped Lucky in a hug. “I love you, son. I want you to know I never stopped loving you, though I know I had a piss poor way of showing it.” He gave a final squeeze and let go.
“I know, Daddy. I know.” Saying the words right now seemed shallow, a kneejerk response to Dad’s own declaration. Not that he didn’t, but… His thoughts churned, making too little sense at the moment. An anchor. He needed his anchor. Lucky stood at the door, watching the man who’d once been his hero—might still be his hero—shuffle to the window and gaze outside. He might be down, but not out. Lucklighter stubbornness came in handy at times.
Lucky followed voices into the kitchen, rich with the scents of bacon and fresh baked biscuits. May Bo forgive him for the food sins of the next ten minutes.
Dallas and Bo stood by the sink. They stopped talking when Lucky walked in. Dallas opened and closed his mouth a few times. Nothing emerged.
Words needed saying, but maybe not today. “Well, lookie here,” Lucky said. “If it ain’t Little Dover Lucklighter, all growed up.”
“Don’t call me that.” Dallas’s grin called his gruff tone a lie.
They studied each other, Lucky tilting his head back to get a good look at the lone tall Lucklighter. Maybe he’d save calling the guy the mailman’s kid for when Mama wasn’t around.
The moment stretched. Dallas moved first, wrapping Lucky in a bear hug. “I’m sorry, man. I’m so, so sorry.”
Lucky wriggled enough to breathe again. “For what?”
“For believing the worst about you.”
“Brother, I got convicted and sentenced to ten years. I’m not exactly an angel with a bright shiny halo.” How dull would sainthood be? Besides, Lucky couldn’t take another person beating themselves up like Daddy just did.
“I know. But still…”
What could Lucky do to dry the tears in Dallas’s eyes?
As quick as he’d been twenty years ago—at least in Lucky’s mind—he grabbed his brother in a headlock and scraped his knuckles against Dallas’s scalp in a noogie.
“If you boys are gonna wrestle, take it out to the barn,” Mama said, echoing what she’d uttered many times over the years. She opened the oven and removed a pan of biscuits, nice and brown on the top.
Folks always said everything changed. Thank God, some things stayed the same.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Mama bustled around the table. “Bo, sure you don’t want some bacon?”
Out of habit, Lucky and Dallas took their old places at the table. Bo took the spot normally reserved for Daytona. No one so much as glanced at Daddy’s place at the head chair.
“I’m sure. But I will have a biscuit or two.” Bo raised his brow at the meat Mama piled on Lucky’s plate. Lucky shrugged. Couldn’t let Mama down, could he? He tucked in, avoiding Bo’s eyes.
“Richmond, Bo here tells me his Mama died when he was a young’un.” Mama dropped the biggest biscuit onto Bo’s plate. “Tell me, Bo, are you any relation to the Chapel Hill Schollenbergers?”
“No, ma’am. Not that I’m aware of. I’m closer to my mama’s family than my daddy’s. They’re Cleggs. My Aunt Becky raised me and my brother.” Bo spooned strawberry jam onto his biscuit. One taste of Mama’s jam and he might rethink his stance on avoiding sugar.
“Any kin to—”
“He’s from Arkansas, Mama,” Lucky said. Good Lord. Why did Southerners have to play Six Degrees of Separation with everyone they met?
Mama passed around a bowl of scrambled eggs. Lucky grabbed another slice of bacon.
“What part of Arkansas?” Leave it to Mama Lucklighter to search and search until she found someone she and Bo knew in common.
Bo swallowed a mouthful of biscuit. “Pine Bluff.”
“Oh! Then do you know—”
Lucky and Dallas both blurted, “Mom!”
“I was just curious.” Their scolding kept her quiet all of a minute. “The Stevensons. They used to run a hardware store there.”
“I’m afraid I don’t, ma’am.” Bo shot Lucky wide “Help me!” eyes.
A car engine rumbled ever closer up the driveway. Mama stiffened, then relaxed. The engine sputtered and quieted, a door slammed, and Lucky tracked footsteps across the front porch.
Mama, Bo, and Dallas jumped up and busied themselves cleaning the kitchen. Uh-oh. What did they know that Lucky didn’t?
The front door slammed. Daytona strolled in and claimed the last biscuit.
Lucky’s youngest brother dropped into a chair next to Lucky and took a bite of biscuit, keeping his eyes focused on his food. “I figured you might be here when I saw that Durango out front.” He ripped the biscuit into tiny pieces, raining crumbs onto the table. “I know it ain’t right of me, but I need some time, okay?” He raised his eyes then. “I’ve spent so many years hating you, blaming you. Yeah, Bristol egged me on a bit, but I should’ve known you wouldn’t do me like that.”
Lucky stayed quiet.
“Anyway, I’m sorry, but I need to figure things out. Everything I believed turned out to be lies.” He shook his head. “Now Bristol’s dead. I gotta think. You always did say I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.” His forced grin wouldn’t fool anyone. “So, anyway, I’m going to my room. Maybe next time you come visit we can talk.”
Daytona dashed out the door, his footsteps pounding like thunder on the stairs.
Lucky’d gotten his family back, but maybe not all. “Day, wait…”
Mama murmured, “Let him go.”
Dallas put a hand on Lucky’s arm. “He’ll come around. He always does. He’s just a little slow about it at times. After all the things he’s said about you over the years, he’s carrying around a load of guilt.” More quietly, he added, “We all are.”
“Shouldn’t I go talk to him?” Lucky started toward the stairs.
“I’ll go.” Charlotte disappeared out the door.
Lucky carried his plate to the sink. His family stayed quiet, probably straining to hear anything from Daytona’s bedroom, directly above the kitchen.
Footfalls tapped down the stairs. Mama and Dallas sprang into action, rushing around the kitchen and trying way too hard to look like they hadn’t been concerned.
Charlotte entered the room. “He’s on the phone with his sponsor. He’ll be okay.”
Maybe Lucky had been selfish to come here and disrupt lives so used to not having him around. “As long as he don’t start using again, he can take all the time in the world.” Damn. The years had not been kind to the Lucklighter clan.
Still so much needed saying. And Lucky might never tell his folks about Bristol taking out life insurance on Dad. Nothing good would come of him implicating Bristol in Uncle Ned’s death. He’d work with Charlotte to settle his brother’s affairs and keep the details to a minimum.
They’d been through enough already. Lucky rinsed his coffee cup. “Mama, me and Bo got to get back.”
“What? You just got here. I planned to make up your old room.”
He exchanged a glance with Bo. “We got work to do.” And thoughts to sort out.
One more hug couldn’t hurt. If he woke to find he’d dreamed this reunion, he’d at least have something to remember. Damn, but having his mother’s arms around him felt good.
She’d changed. Hard to imagine her and Daddy no longer being an unbreakable team.
Her eyes glistened when she stepped back. She latched onto Bo. “Now, don’t be a stranger. And keep Richmond in line, okay?”
Bo grinned his most evil. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“You are coming to the funeral, right?” A tear spilled down Mama’s cheek.
“If I can.” Lucky hugged her one more time.
Time to go. But one day soon he’d be back. When he could stay longer. And under better circumstances.
Lucky took his place in the Durango, watching his family retreat into the house.
Bo put the truck into gear and started turning around.
Movement caught Lucky’s eye in the side mirror. “Bo! Stop!”
Bo slammed on brakes. Lucky hopped out of the truck, hiding an impact wince when he hit the ground a bit too hard.
His dad hit equally hard, clutching Lucky in a death grip, his blubbering mangling his words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Daddy’s tears mingled with Mama’s on Lucky’s shirt collar.
His father hugged him from the front and Bo from the back. Together, they might’ve exerted enough force to fuse the long-broken pieces of Lucky’s heart.
“I hope you’ll come back and see us soon,” his father said.
“I will, Daddy, I will.” Maybe after Lucky worked some shit out in his head.
His father shuffled back toward the house. Lucky watched him leave, leaning into his partner for support.
“Let’s go.” He climbed back into the Durango.
At the end of the driveway Bo’s phone rang. “Schollenberger. Oh shit. Really?” He let out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
He hung up the phone and pulled the truck onto the road. “I’m so sorry, Lucky. That was Jimmy. I gotta drop you off and get back to work. But I promise, come hell or high water, I’ll be there for the funeral.
Fuck.