Ingrid Weaver - Winning Amelia

“I thought I was being clever,” Amelia said. “It was a stupid idea.”

“Water under the bridge. What’s done is done.”

She knew they were disappointed. Who wouldn’t be, after the way she’d gotten everyone’s hopes up? Because of her, the whole family had been on an emotional roller coaster. It had been a brief ride, one sudden climb followed by an equally sudden drop, yet Jenny and Will were taking the reversal of fortune in stride. Hiring someone to search for the ticket had been Amelia’s idea, not theirs. They felt it was a lost cause. They preferred to accept what they couldn’t control and get on with their lives.

They’d been the same way when she’d arrived on their doorstep six months ago, divorced, flat broke and unemployed. There had been no words of recrimination. They’d helped her carry the few possessions she’d saved inside, and then Jenny had fixed her a cup of herbal tea while Hank had dug out extra bedding for the futon.

Jenny patted her hand. “I think that carrot’s done, too.”

A quick glance showed her the carrot was turning into a matchstick. She passed it to her sister-in-law. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. There’s less to chop.”

She had to admire Jenny’s glass-half-full attitude. Life probably would be simpler if she could master it herself. “Going back to the subject of paintings, I believe it’s safest not to tell Hank about the ticket, so I’d appreciate it if neither of you mentioned it to him.”

“Why?” Jenny asked. “You can’t be thinking he’d steal it?”

“People have been tempted by far less.”

“But you signed the back of the ticket, didn’t you?”

She grimaced.

“Amelia?”

“There was a long lineup at the Min-A-Mart when I bought the ticket on Thursday. By the time I got here I was in a rush to put away the groceries I’d picked up on the way home, so I just tucked the ticket straight into the painting. Once it was out of sight, I forgot about signing it.”

Will whistled. “That means anyone could cash it.”

“I know. Stupid move number two.”

“But Hank would be working for you,” Jenny persisted. “It would be against the law if he tried to keep that ticket for himself, whether he could cash it or not. You could take him to court...” She stopped. “Oh.”

“Right. Been there, done that, and couldn’t afford to buy the T-shirt. The law doesn’t stop anyone from taking what they want if they think they can get away with it. And the only people guaranteed to make a profit in court are the lawyers. I know mine certainly got rich off me.”

“She’s got a point,” Will put in. “It might be best to keep Hank in the dark.”

Jenny carried the cutting board to the stove and scraped the mound of diced carrots into the stew pot, then handed Amelia an onion. “You’re not being fair, either. You’re suspicious of Hank because of Spencer.”

Well, duh, Amelia thought. She picked up a small knife and jabbed the tip into the base of the onion. “You know what they say about once burned.”

“They’re two entirely different people.”

“So? They’re both male.”

“Hey,” Will said. “What am I?”

“You’re my brother, so you’re an exception.”

“Spencer Pryce was a lying crook,” Jenny declared. “He took advantage of your innocence.”

“You mean my gullibility.”

“You’ve known Hank since you were kids,” Jenny continued. “I think you should trust him.”

“I can’t. I used to think Spencer was a nice guy, too. We all did.”

“But—”

“Being fooled once was bad enough.” She pulled off a layer of onion peel. “I don’t intend to trust a man around my money again. Ever. Except for Will, of course,” she added.

Jenny pursed her lips. “Hmph.”

Amelia flinched again. This time it was from guilt. She realized it might be unfair to tar Hank with the same brush as Spencer, yet she had little choice. It wasn’t only men she couldn’t trust, it was her own judgment. “Our mother used to make that sound a lot, too. Do you learn it during childbirth, or what?”

Will snorted another laugh.

“Well, I think you’re making a mistake,” Jenny said. “There’s no excuse for lying.”

“Depends on the circumstances,” Will said. “Sometimes it’s the best way to handle a situation.”

“Don’t listen to your brother,” Jenny said. “He’s a bad influence. You owe Hank the truth.”

“She doesn’t owe him anything,” Will said. “Not after the way he treated her.”

Amelia sighed. So this was what lay at the core of her brother’s attitude toward Hank and his business. She should have expected it. Will could be as protective of his sister as he was of his wife. “That’s ancient history,” she said. “We were kids.”

“He hurt you.”

“Ancient history,” she repeated.

“Maybe, but I haven’t forgotten.”

“Try, okay? The past is irrelevant. My only concern is the painting, and Hank’s probably going to want to interview both of you.”

Will opened his mouth to respond when he paused and tipped his head toward the hall. Timmy’s voice drifted down the stairwell. It sounded as if he was rattling the sides of his crib. “Nap time’s over,” Will said. “I’ll get him.”

Jenny waited until they could hear Will’s footsteps pound up the stairs. She put her head close to Amelia’s and spoke quickly. “We made more than five hundred dollars from the yard sale.”

“That’s great.”

“You can use it.”

“What? Jenny, I can’t take your money. You need it.”

“It’s to pay Hank. I meant to give it to you this morning but you left before I could.”

Her eyes stung. She put down the onion. “You’re incredible. How can you be so generous?”

“I feel responsible because I sold that painting.”

“Please, don’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have noticed the ticket!”

“No one would unless they knew where to look. It was folded up and tucked pretty deep inside the edge of the frame. And thank you for the wonderful offer, but I’ve got some money put aside in my first-and-last fund,” she said. She was referring to the money she’d been accumulating in order to pay the deposit on an apartment rental when she moved out. It was only a little over three hundred and fifty dollars, which wasn’t much—it would scarcely cover an hour of her former lawyer’s time. “And I still have my job. Besides, I’ll have plenty to give Hank as a reward once he finds the painting.”

“Didn’t he want a retainer?”

“No.”

“What if he doesn’t find it? How will you pay him then?”

“He, uh, said he doesn’t want any money.”

Jenny stepped back to study her. “He’s working for free?”

She nodded.

“Then I was right! He’s still got a thing for you.”

“It’s your pregnancy hormones talking, Jenny.”

“Hmph.”

Amelia covered her flinch by checking her wrist, then glanced at the clock on the stove. “And speaking of money, I’d better get going or I’ll be late for my shift.”

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Amelia pulled open the back door of Mae B’s. A haze of kitchen smells rolled out to greet her. It was a potent mix: onions from the soup of the day, which was always onion on Mondays, fat from the deep fryer, fresh rolls, stale coffee, plus a trace of mustiness that seeped from the brick walls of the old building in humid weather. Her empty stomach rolled. She braced one hand on the doorframe and turned her face to the breeze. She could have grabbed a sandwich before she’d left her brother’s place, but one of the few perks of working for Mae was a free meal.

A petite woman jogged toward her along the alley from the parking lot. Shaggy, purple-streaked brown hair bounced against her neck and a small pink knapsack swung from her arm. She couldn’t have been much past her teens. “Are you on your way in or out?” she asked breathlessly.