Chapter 10 Piper
TEN
PIPER
“Are we going to win, Mom?”
I slid into the last available parking spot at the end of the old community center’s lot and glanced in the rearview mirror.
My sons were bright-eyed and hopeful. “Probably not,” I replied, and felt a twinge when my boys’ faces fell.
But I was a firm believer in telling them the truth.
“There are lots of tickets, so our chances are very low.”
Nate frowned at my response. “But we could, right? We have a ticket.”
“Yes,” I hedged, “but it’s better to just focus on having fun tonight. There will be games and food and all your new friends.”
Another week had passed in Lovers Peak, and I was feeling more settled in my new job and my new town.
As I joined the throngs of people attending the raffle-draw night, my faux pas in refusing to buy a ticket made more sense.
This wasn’t just a lottery that I was unlikely to win.
It was a yearly tradition, with all the locals coming together to celebrate the winner.
Mila told me that it started with a measly gift basket a couple of decades ago, and the prizes had gotten bigger and bigger.
The proceeds from the raffle went to the upkeep of the parks, the playgrounds, the library, and any other areas of town that needed some sprucing up.
This year, the community center would get the injection of cash.
As I glanced at the drab brown brick building, the overgrown strips of lawn out front, the scraggly trees, and the old-school, way-too-steep metal slide in the sad, rusty playground, I figured it was a pretty good candidate.
And one lucky winner would get a house. A shiver went through me; what if we did win? I was as bad as the boys.
“Ruth said her uncle won a hot tub,” Alec piped up to say.
“Ruth from your class?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That was lucky of Ruth’s uncle,” I replied with a smile. “Wouldn’t a hot tub be fun?”
“I’d rather get a house,” Nate pointed out.
“Me too,” I agreed. I didn’t want to dash the boys’ dreams, but I didn’t want them to expect anything outlandish either. I probably wasn’t going to win the home raffle. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t have a good time. “Should we go inside?”
The boys shouted their enthusiasm, and we all climbed out of the car.
I had a rental car while I waited for Georgia to drive my twelve-year-old hatchback over from Heart’s Cove, and I wondered if my car would survive a Colorado mountain winter.
Driving around here felt similar to driving in Clare, surrounded by gigantic pickup trucks, trailers, and the ranchers and farmers who drove them.
My car was teeny tiny, and it struggled with an incline sharper than a few degrees. But that was a problem for another day.
Maybe there’d be a car raffle for me to enter, I thought with a wry smile.
Following the boys toward the community center entrance, I reached into my purse and made sure my ticket was still there.
The edge of the thick, cardboard-like paper was getting a bit worn down from living in my purse for so long, but after tonight I’d finally be able to throw it out.
As my finger brushed the ticket, a tingle went up my arm. I shook it off, feeling silly.
I wasn’t going to win a home. People like me didn’t win raffles, and we definitely didn’t win whole entire houses. I just wasn’t lucky in that way. Everything I had in life, I’d worked my butt off for.
My relationship with my boys was the most precious thing I possessed, and it had been built off endless sleepless nights and day after day of showing up and being present.
This job had been a gift, but I’d gotten it because I’d put all those hours of work into upskilling myself with courses and certificates while juggling being a stay-at-home mom of two young kids with no support from my ex, then putting those skills to use with Georgia’s studio and the proposal I’d prepared for the ski lodge.
I’d shown that I was qualified and ready to work, even though there had been no guarantees and self-doubt clung to my back like a hungry vulture waiting for me to lie down and die.
My life now was something I’d fought for, and the cost had been an agonizing divorce after a marriage parched of affection and support. But I had hope. I had a future. I had a job, my boys, and a fresh start.
That would be enough. And if it wasn’t, I’d work myself to the bone to make it be enough.
Any luck, if I had it, was usually bad. Like finding my dream job and discovering the boss was an arrogant jerk. Or meeting and marrying the love of my life, only to discover he didn’t love me back quite so much when I started wanting more for myself than motherhood and housework.
So I didn’t think I was going to win the raffle. But a secret, hidden corner of my brain kept whispering, What if, what if, what if…
Nate pushed the community center’s metal doors open, and we stepped into a musty-smelling lobby featuring brown linoleum tiles and a water-stained dropped ceiling. Through another set of open doors, I heard the bustle of the raffle night.
Classic rock played in a low murmur, overlaid with the cacophony of many conversations, laughter, and the happy screams of children playing.
Nate and Alec sped up ahead of me, poking their heads through the interior doors before turning back to me.
I reached them a moment later, stroking the backs of their heads as I followed their gazes to the collection of carnival games set up with dozens of kids playing.
Adults milled around different booths, with a cluster near the snacks and drinks area.
There were a few familiar faces, but most were new to me.
“Go ahead,” I said, and the boys took off before I could remind them to be careful. I smiled, wandering over to the kids’ area so I could keep an eye on them, one hand clutching my purse like I was carrying something precious.
Feeling silly, I unclenched my fingers from the strap. That little worn-down ticket wasn’t going to secure my boys’ and my future. It would end up in one of the big metal trash cans dotted around the big room when someone else’s number got called.
But…what if…
“Piper! You made it!” Mila swept toward me and wrapped me in a hug.
She’d traded her rugged work jeans and smart button-down for a brown suede skirt and black turtleneck and had adorned herself in big, chunky jewelry.
The only incongruous item was a lanyard around her neck, on the end of which dangled a clear plastic sleeve.
In the sleeve were two raffle tickets on full display.
She squeezed me tight like we were old friends.
“This is amazing,” I said, sweeping my arm out toward the room.
“It’s gotten to be a big event,” she agreed.
“I should get one of those for next year,” I said, nodding to her lanyard.
Mila laughed. “Keeps them safe, in case one of them is the winner.” She patted her tickets. “That old house on Lovers Lane has always been one of my favorites in town.”
“Oh?” I asked.
She blinked at me. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even look up the house you might win!”
I huffed. “I’ve been busy, Mila.” Between work, settling in with the boys, and looking for our next place to live, I hadn’t had much time to do anything other than survive. Even my regular phone calls with my sister Georgia had fallen off.
Mila waved a hand, like my excuses were nothing but wisps of smoke. “You’ve been too busy to dream?”
The question sent discomfort squirming through my stomach. I’d reached my quota of dreaming when I applied for the Baldwin Consulting job and actually made the move to my new town. History had taught me that dreaming too big only led to disappointment.
Shrugging, I turned when I heard Nate yell for me. “Mom!” he cried, crashing into my legs. “We need tickets to play the games. Can we get some? Please? I want to try the basketball hoop! Look—you can win an action figure!”
Alec wasn’t far behind, bouncing on the balls of his feet as a flush bloomed over his cheeks. A swell of love went through me, and I reached into my purse. “Let me get my wallet,” I said, and the boys looked at each other and grinned, excitement brimming in their faces.
But when I reached inside my purse, my fingers found the raffle ticket again, as if they’d been drawn there by some supernatural force.
Frustrated with myself, I snapped my hand over to where my wallet lay at the bottom of the purse, excused myself from Mila, and marched toward the ticket stand next to the carnival games.
“Mom! Mom! Look!”
I followed Nate’s pointed finger to see a giant jar filled with candy beans. A handwritten sign with beautiful calligraphy called on anyone to guess the number of beans for the chance to win the whole thing.
Alec read the sign aloud—he was getting really good at reading independently—then whipped his head toward me. “I think there are a hundred!” he announced.
I smiled down at him as we shuffled along the line. “We’ll go over and submit our guesses after we’ve got our tickets.”
“There are way more than a hundred,” Nate proclaimed, shaking his head.
Alec hopped up and down. “A million!”
“Wow, a million! You think?” I asked, smiling. I had to take my own advice from earlier and focus on having fun tonight, not the infinitesimal chance that I might win a house.
The three of us looked over, and Nate started squinting as he lifted a finger and counted under his breath.
Despite myself, I started trying to estimate the number of candies myself.
The jar was about two feet tall and cylindrical, and the beans had to be about a half inch long…
How did you calculate the area of a circle, again?
I needed the diameter, which was hard to estimate from all the way over here.
Or, no, wait. It was the volume of a cylinder, so the height came into play…