Emilie Rose - The Lottery Winner

She groaned inwardly. He’d clicked into special agent mode, reciting the overprotective, stern lecture she now knew by heart.

“Brandon, please stop telling me that every time we talk,” she interjected when he paused for breath. “I heard you the first fifty-something times. You’re only contradicting yourself when you tell me to relax and have fun then try to make me scared of my own shadow.”

“I don’t want you to become a statistic.”

“I won’t.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t initially believed his warnings that lottery winners and their family members were exponentially more likely to be victims of violent crimes, kidnappings, blackmailing and lawsuits. At first she’d gone about her life as if nothing had changed, blaming his excessive paranoia on his job as a computer crimes investigator with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division.

Then, after the public announcement of her win, the media storm had hit and her life had exploded. Her back door had been kicked in while she was at work and her house ransacked. Many of her belongings had been stolen. And then her car window had been shattered—twice. One of those times had been the day after she’d gotten it back from the repair shop. Next there was a burglary at her school, specifically of her classroom, which had prompted the school board to demand she take a leave of absence until her presence no longer posed a danger to the students. But the final straw had been when her parents’ house had been broken into while her mother was home alone. At that point her brother and father had “strongly encouraged” Jessamine to take a long vacation for everyone’s safety.

So here she was. Stuck in paradise. And miserable.

“You still lying low?” he asked.

“Even you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Good. Alternating your routine?”

She winced and studied the hungry seagull easing closer. As much as she liked to experiment artistically, she was a creature of habit. Routines were soothing and comforting, and comfortable was something she hadn’t been since arriving here. So...she might have wavered on that edict a little—which Mr. Rules and Regulations wouldn’t appreciate.

“I’m being very cautious. So, what else is new?” she asked in an effort to divert him.

“Mom enrolled in the concealed-carry class yesterday.”

Yet another piece of normal chipped away. Jessamine sank onto a dew-dampened bench with her back to the hungry fish. Her mother detested guns. And now she was going to carry one. Because of Jessamine. “The burglar really shook her up.”

“Getting out of the shower and finding a strange man going through your bedroom drawers tends to have that effect on people. You, Mom and Leah need to be careful. You and Leah should take the CC class, too.”

That would mean having a gun in her house. She had no problem with firearms. She’d grown up around them. Her father and brother were avid hunters. They’d taught her to shoot a weapon competently and hit a target. But she didn’t need to own a gun. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Leah has agreed to take it with you.”

She rocked her head side to side to ease the tension knotting her neck muscles. “How can me winning the lottery ruin so many lives?”

“Nobody’s life is ruined, kiddo. Your notoriety is a temporary inconvenience. Once it blows over, you’ll be fine. We all will be, with some minor adjustments and a few extra precautions.”

She shooed the inquisitive bird. “How can you be sure?”

“Because Big Brother will be watching. Not just the guys in uniform doing drive-bys, but also with the security systems we’ve installed at the folks’ and your place.”

“Afraid to step outside is no way to live.”

“I hear ya.” He paused. “Jessamine, Dad and I have come to a decision.”

His ultraserious tone and the use of her given name rather than the hated nickname trapped the breath in her lungs. “One I’m not going to like, I gather.”

“Depends on how you look at it. Remember we used a chunk of your first check to rent that house for you for three months? Well, we want you to stay there for the duration. It doesn’t make sense to throw that money away when we’re still working the kinks out of security here.”

Her spine snapped straight. “But you said the only reason to pay for three months was because it was cheaper in the long run than renting week to week.”

“And it was—is. It’s also the only way to guarantee you’d be in the same secure place while you’re away.”

“You said a month. Six weeks at the most. It’s been that. I’ve already missed Thanksgiving.”

“Turkey is turkey. It tastes the same every year. Look, we can’t make you stay, but everyone in the family will sleep easier if you do.”

“But what about Christmas? And Mom’s birthday?”

“Dad’s taking her away somewhere secret for her birthday. He won’t even tell me where. She won’t be home. We’ll have Christmas when you get back, and then we’ll really have something to celebrate.” His radio squawked in the background. “I gotta go. Love you. I’ll check in again tomorrow before my shift.”

And then the phone—her only connection with home—went dead. She lowered her hand and stared at the silent device. Loneliness welled within her.

Christmas was only twenty days away. And her mother’s birthday was three days afterward. She’d never spent either day away from her family. Pressure built in her chest, rising up to clog her throat. She wanted to scream but settled for stomping her feet. The gull got spooked and flew away. She glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed her tantrum.

Everyone dreamed of winning the lottery. It was supposed to be a good thing. For her, it had been a curse. If she could’ve afforded to give away the money, she would have. But she couldn’t. Her parents’ health insurance premiums had risen so drastically in the past year that they’d had to drop coverage, something they couldn’t afford with her dad’s Parkinson’s disease. He needed to stay on his medicines to slow the disease’s progression. Jessamine’s unexpected windfall had allowed her to reinstate their policy and get her father back on his prescriptions. Her new income had also paid for the security systems each house had suddenly required because of her blasted win.

And then there was her job—or lack of one. Would the school board let her return to work when this media thundercloud blew away? She loved teaching and missed her students. But this last round of budget cuts had been hard on the noncore classes, and she’d felt vulnerable even before her temporary dismissal.

She bounded to her feet then, and with leaden steps resumed her route toward Trumbo Road. If she didn’t get moving, she’d start bawling. She’d been exiled from her home and job, cut off from her friends—although she wasn’t sure who the real ones were anymore—and even her church family. She’d attempted to find a church to attend down here, but folks in this surprisingly tight-knit community were too inquisitive of newcomers. After visiting three she’d quit looking and settled into her own Sunday morning routine of sorts. The weeks ahead loomed like an eternity. But she’d get through them. Somehow.

Maybe when she got back to the house she’d paint the Key deer. Again. Or the hibiscus. Again. The coconut palms? A dark swoop crossed her peripheral vision, then a bird splashed down. No. Her miserable mood would be better illustrated by painting the cormorants. A quartet of the prehistoric-looking black birds frequently parked on the end of her dock and spread their drying wings like gargoyles waiting to swoop in and carry her off. And their screeching calls to each other... She shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her skin. The avian squatters creeped her out. She avoided the dock whenever they were present.