“That’s a shame, isn’t it, Uncle H?” India pushed. “Buying lottery tickets.”
“A crying shame. And you can get it from the saints and the ain’ts.”
Dara knew she was standing on the edge of the line that she knew better than to cross. Why not? India had already started something.
“Daddy, what would you do if one of your church members won the lottery and wanted to pay their tithes and offerings?”
“My church members wouldn’t play the lottery,” Hunter, Sr. said, protecting his flock.
There were other things Dara’s father thought his church members wouldn’t do, but Dara had seen some stuff with her own eyes. Deacon Troy shouldn’t have been lighting up cigarettes, but Dara had seen one dangling from his lips on more than one occasion when he didn’t know anyone was looking. Once he was supposed to be out behind the church washing the church van, but he’d also been taking a smoke break. He’d come back inside the fellowship hall sucking a peppermint and with breath that smelled as if he’d swallowed an entire bottle of mouthwash. Until then, Dara had thought he kept handfuls of candy in his pocket so he’d have some to divvy out to the children who behaved in Sunday School class.
Dara wanted to use that story as an example, but Deacon Troy’s cigarette smoking habit was his business. That was between him and God.
Hunter, Sr. was still ranting when everyone else had left the room, leaving him an audience of two—Dara and India.
“Lottery money is the devil’s money,” he said. “I don’t want anything to do with it, and I definitely don’t want it in the collection plate. Not at my church.”
Dara had forgotten how long it took to put out one of her father’s fires once she’d stirred up the embers and thrown sticks on it. But with this conversation, it was like she’d saturated it with gasoline and lit a match.
“We’d better get going, Daddy. We’ll see you at the house this evening. We won’t be staying too late because we need to get back on the road.”
“I’ll be home around five thirty. We don’t have any wakes tonight, believe it or not.”
Dara and India couldn’t get outside to the parking lot fast enough.
“More or less, your daddy just said you’re going to hell.”
“Me? You’re the one who bought the ticket.”
“You took it. Didn’t your parents teach you not to succumb to peer pressure? It’ll get you in trouble most of the time.”
“You’re living proof of that,” Dara said, hitting the keyless entry for the doors.
“Well, don’t forget to check your ticket tonight,” India said.
“I haven’t thought anything about that lottery ticket,” Dara said. “I changed purses, so as far as I know I might have thrown that thing away.”
“You could’ve thrown away a fortune,” India said.
Right, Dara thought. What are the chances of that?