Chapter 2
Kieran
“What were you doing on the stairs alone?” I asked, my voice sounding more panicked than intended.
I looked my grandfather over for more injuries.
“I would have helped you.” There was a red spot on his arm, and he rubbed his thigh where I was sure a bruise would form, but I was most concerned about his head and ran my fingers across his scalp, checking for bumps or tenderness.
“Don’t fuss. I’m fine.” He waved off my hand and sank into the office chair.
“Granddad, you’re not fine.” I tipped my head to the side to check his left temple. “You just fell down the stairs.”
“And lived to tell the tale,” he said, offering me a wistful smile, the left side affected after his stroke, but the right the same smile I’d grown up with.
“I’ve started my day at four in the morning for fifty years, and I’m ready to get back to work.
” He looked around the office, from the ancient desktop computer to the aging photos of my little sister, Lila, and me as kids.
I glanced toward the front, where I’d heard a customer call out.
They’d probably left, and losing customers was the last thing this shop needed.
Business hadn’t been great for a while, but it was worse now.
I hadn’t given him the full scope of how bad things really were since I took over tending the store.
He needed to heal following his stroke, and the stress would only make everything worse.
I shifted so my body would block the stack of medical bills and second notices arranged on the corner of the desk, along with the letter from my medical school informing me that the deadline was nearing for me to accept or decline my deferral.
Three months to make a decision and pay the outstanding bill.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “The doctors told you that you need to rest.”
“You can’t run this place by yourself, and Lila’s still in school.
And I’m not the one who looks like he’s heading for an early grave.
” He waved away my touch again and pointed to my face, as if he could see the evidence of my exhaustion written there.
“Admittedly, you didn’t like how I made my way down the stairs, but I’m here now.
Put me to work.” He stood but wobbled before straightening, and I caught his elbows as I took in the sheepish and frustrated expression on his face.
“Fine,” he said with resignation. “But this conversation isn’t over. ”
“No, sir.” I settled him in the chair, ran to the front, and placed the “Back in Ten Minutes” sign on the locked door. The shop was empty, so as predicted, that customer had given up on me. Jogging back to Granddad, I wondered if giving up was the right call.
I’d planned to be a doctor since I was eight years old, when I learned what it looked like for someone to make things better, for someone to have the power to see a problem and fix it.
I decided then that I was a person who would fix things.
Now, despite my best attempts to take care of everything, it was all still broken, and the man who raised me needed me to be better.
I let out a slow breath. He was right, and I wasn’t sleeping enough.
If I could get a full night’s sleep, I’d stop feeling sorry for myself and could figure out what seemed impossible—how to get us out of debt and how I could return to medical school.
“We hired a teenager to help a little,” I reassured him as we walked.
I didn’t mention that Chad was unreliable, that he listened to only half the things we said, and that we couldn’t afford him, but that seemed to give Granddad some comfort.
“We’re figuring it out.” I was careful to make sure my voice sounded positive and optimistic.
“We got an order from a new business client, and it’s on the counter right now for pickup. ”
“I hate that it’s all on your shoulders, son.
” He paused, gripping the railing and meeting my eyes.
We’d lived with him and my grandmother since social services took us from our mom, so he was the closest thing I had to a parent, and I knew that look.
It was the same one he’d given me when I’d quit music in high school after my grandma died and I wanted more hours to work in the shop.
It was the same look he’d given me when I’d skipped parties and going out with friends in college to stay in and study, and it was the same look he’d given me when he’d woken up after his stroke and learned I’d left school to help.
It was the same look I’d pretended to ignore all those other times.
“I don’t want that for you. Burdens can be shared. ”
I nodded and motioned with my chin toward the landing. “You ready to keep going?”
He nodded, and we took it one step at a time up to the apartment over the shop. “Hey,” he said as I unlocked the door. He pointed a shaky finger at the dingy linoleum. “There’s a penny on the ground. Why don’t ya pick it up? You know, for luck.”
“Sure,” I said, opening the door. “I’ll grab it on my way out.
” I helped him inside, getting him settled on the couch and making sure he had what he needed.
“Tom is gonna come by later, I think,” I said before leaving.
His best friend was a staple in our lives, and I was glad Granddad had some company during the day.
He and Tom got up to all kinds of trouble in their lives, but at least he’d have a hand down the stairs if need be.
“Don’t forget the penny,” he said, and I noticed how he was still breathing heavier from the exertion of the stairs.
Still, he flashed me a smile, began humming “Luck Be a Lady” by Frank Sinatra, and nudged me with his elbow until I sang a line with him.
“You could use the penny! And sometimes luck looks different than you thought it would.”
I closed the door behind me and swiped the penny from the floor.
It was hard to imagine this coin had ever been shiny and new.
It looked like it had spent its life forgotten at the bottom of a garbage can.
“But I could use a penny,” I said, picturing the mounting pile of bills, the notice that property taxes were going up, and the amount due for medical school before I could reenroll.
Jogging down the stairs, singing the Frank Sinatra song under my breath, I unlocked the front door and tossed the penny in the tip jar Chad would probably pilfer later in the day.
I settled behind the counter, only then noticing the note scribbled on a napkin by the register.
“I forgot my wallet. Will bring money later. Sorry!”
The two boxes of pastries were gone, and because Chad had taken the order, we had no phone number, last name, or credit card information, so were probably just out another thirty dollars.
The audacity of someone to just take them and leave a note like this.
They must have been the person who called out while I was helping Granddad after he fell.
That was the kind of irresponsible, selfish thing my mom would have done, assuming it was fine as long as her needs were met.
As I stewed, it felt like the penny was taunting me from inside the jar. I pressed my thumb to the spot between my brows. Luck wasn’t real—good things didn’t just happen to people, at least not to people like us.