Chapter 1
Wednesday evening was clear and crisp as Autumn and Emily Flowers cruised along the Pacific Coast Highway. A robust bear of a man, Autumn used one burly hand to guide their aging Subaru as the other attempted to dislodge slivers of chicken wedged between his teeth. So far the drive had been smooth, but the chicken was proving to be ineradicable.
Seated immediately to his right was Emily; his wife of nearly fifty-two years. Emily didn’t take exception to her husband’s finger-flossing, but only because she hadn’t been watching him. She was totally focused on the hypnotic orb retreating toward the inky Pacific. From her side window unimpeded moonlight infiltrated the vehicle, setting aglow the silver of Emily’s mane. And as Luna slowly submerged into the Santa Monica Bay, she held captive Emily’s every thought. The warm doggy bag of baked chicken resting across the woman’s lap sent a tantalizing aroma wafting throughout the vehicle. And while Autumn’s eyes delivered wanting glances toward the leftovers, Emily’s gaze suggested it didn’t exist. Her focus was as distant as the moon itself, her eyes reflecting childlike wonder as they explored the Sea of Tranquility.
Eventually, Autumn took notice of his wife’s trancelike stare. “Making a wish?” he asked.
Without turning, “You wish on a star not the moon,” she said.
“Really?” he asked, offering a thin smile. “Are you sure?”
“Hmmm Hmmm.”
Finally dislodging that stubborn thread of chicken, he spoke through a whisper, “Gotcha, yuh little shit.” After giving the tidbit splayed across his finger a quick inspection, he added, “Well, no wonder I haven’t won the lotto.”
Emily broke her gaze, turning with a smirk toward her husband. “No wonder indeed.” The words escaped with a snort. “Did you buy a ticket?”
Tapping the left side of his chest, “Yup, right here in my pocket,” he confirmed.
Emily nodded and sent her attention back out the window. “I’ll try to find you a lucky star.” Then, Autumn reexamined his finger, surprised to find nothing there.
About fifteen minutes later the Outback came to rest in the driveway of a modest yet well maintained home. Autumn wasted no time sliding out of the car and working his way around to the passenger side. After opening Emily’s door, he offered his hand. Accepting the offer, Emily popped out next to her husband while still clutching the remnants of dinner. Eying the bag, “Yuh want me to carry that,” he asked?
Emily rolled her eyes before firing back, “Forget it buster. I wanna put more than a bag of bones in the fridge.”
Autumn’s jaw dropped, “What! I wouldn’t…”
Emily cut him off, “I know you, Autumn Markus Flowers.” And she does. So Autumn just shrugged while flashing his familiar silly grin.
Strolling side by side along the brick walkway, Autumn warned, “Yuh know, that stuff’s hard to get off your teeth.” Emily threw him a knowing look. “Just sayin’.” Nearly at the front door, his eyes slipped from Emily to his watch. “Look at that. Almost time for the numbers.”
Emily stopped, walked back a few steps, and looked toward the sky again. “I found it.”
“What’s that?”
“Your star.”
Intrigued, he moved to her side, “My star?” Scanning the indigo canopy, “Where?” he asked.
Pointing northward, “Right there, over our gazebo,” Emily answered.
Autumn’s eyes followed his wife’s finger and spotted an exceptionally bright star low on the horizon. Emily’s discovery flickered just above the top of their gazebo and appeared to follow the arc of the big dipper. Its dazzling beam held him mute for several minutes. But eventually he managed a reply. “That’s mine, uh?” Emily was nodding when he sent his gaze back her way. “I’m glad you finally found it. Should I make a wish?”
Gently shaking her head, “I already made one for you.”
“Cool.” Autumn put his arm around Emily and they renewed their stroll back toward the front door. “Good thing you know what I want.”
“Your every desire. Oh, did you buy a lottery ticket?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Autumn unlocked and opened the front door. Moving into the front room, one would notice that the furnishings aren’t exactly Ethan Allen, but everything was clean and cared for. Emily removed her sweater and followed her hubby into the kitchen. Once within the kitchen, numerous Post-it notes stuck here and there immediately grab the eye—which was the point. Over the past couple of years Emily’s short-term memories had acquired a tendency of flying away like frightened birds. Sometimes they would return to their perch, but just as often they remained fluttering just out of reach. The colorful notes had become a big help.
Autumn, almost immediately, took a seat at the dinette table and started flipping through the day’s mail. Emily walked beyond the table and began to review a couple of the hand-written notes pasted onto the wooden cupboards. One sticky sent her to an adjacent cupboard where she pulled a vial of medication from a shelf. She quickly downed a pill and studied another Post-it. This time she went to the back door and let in Bud, their Corgi. Emily gave Bud a good scratching about his ears before reviewing one more note, which prompted her to grab her purse and a bottle of wine before heading for the door. “If you need me, I’ll be next door at Sophie’s,” she said.
Looking up from a bill, Autumn asked, “Bunko?”
“Hmmm, hmmm.”
“Have fun,” he said, pointing at the bottle of chardonnay. “And make sure you share with your friends this time.”
“Ha ha,” she replied with a playful sneer. “See you later.”
Almost to the front door, Emily froze when she heard Autumn yelling from the kitchen. “You forgot something.” A minute later, he met his anxious wife at the door, Bud right at his heels.
Emily said, wearing a puzzled expression, “What...? I took my pill, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
She glanced down at the furry brown face returning her gaze. “Bud’s in...” Looking back toward Autumn, she continued, “What’d I forget?” He stepped a little closer and slapped a Post-it on his forehead. Squinting hard at the note, Emily read the words printed in dark blue caps: “KISS ME.” Emily flashed a smirk as she observed Autumn’s puckered lips and closed eyes. Then, she belted him one in the gut. “Jerk.”
Autumn’s eyes flew open and he held his stomach in mild discomfort. “What’d yuh do that for?”
Wearing a blank face, sarcasm rolled from her tongue, “I don’t remember.” Without delay, she turned around and opened the front door. But a second later, she pivoted back around and planted a wet one on her husband. “See yuh later, sweetie.”
When the door closed behind her, Autumn stared down at Bud. “Yeah, I know: shouldn’t have closed my eyes. Come on shorty, let’s go grab a piece of chicken and check the numbers.”
Autumn returned to the kitchen and immediately opened the refrigerator. When his eyes focused upon the crinkled white bag that held his intended treat, disappointment rushed over his face. “Awwwww maaaan!” Unbeknownst to Autumn, while he was sifting through mail, Emily had placed a Post-it on the doggy bag. It read: “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!” He shoved the door shut, griping, “Boy, does that woman have trust issues.” Shaking his head, yet heeding the warning, he added,” Well, guess we’re watchin’ the lotto without a snack, Buddy.” The pair was moving toward the staircase when a rebound of optimism entered his voice. “But if we’re lucky tonight, I might buy you a steak.”
Autumn and Bud trudged up the stairs, stopping to inspect something resting on the third step from the top. Autumn grabbed a timeworn tennis ball. “What’s this doin’ here again, Bud?” The pooch threw a hopeful look up at Autumn before his master tossed the ball, causing Bud to bolt up the stairs.
About fifteen minutes later, Bud was lying up on the bed with that tattered tennis ball resting under his chin. Hurriedly brushing his teeth, Autumn entered from the bathroom wearing only a pair of pale blue boxers and flip flops. Stepping with purpose to the dresser, he turned on the television as he continued to scrub his disappointed molars. When the screen came to life, he dropped the remote with a grunt, an obnoxious fast-food commercial chasing him back into the bathroom. Still within earshot of the television, Autumn filled his water cup and started swishing away the minty residue from his mouth. After the fast-food ad came to a merciful conclusion, the animated voice of the lotto host filled the air. “Get your tickets ready because, here we go. Tonight’s first winning number is…fourteen.” Autumn bolted from the bathroom, one hand swiping his mouth and the other grabbing his ticket.
He looked at Bud, saying, “Hey, I got fourteen.”
His grin widened when he heard, “The next lucky number is…thirty-five.”
Just above a whisper, he said, “Lookin’ good.”
“And the third number is…twenty-one.”
The timbre of Autumn’s voice was seemingly changing by the second. “Whoa, three for three.” And after matching the fourth number, he started to nod his head. And then came the fifth number: another match. He stared intensely at the screen, his face in disbelief.
With agonizing anticipation, he watched the remaining balls aggressively fight for their position within the hopper. The seconds seemed to elongate as his unblinking eyes waited for that last number to reveal itself. And finally, after rolling along the guide rails, the last ball joined the other five. Autumn saw it and only managed to blink after the host confirmed his own observation. “And the final number is…seven.”
Glaring at his ticket, Autumn’s body began to sway as his jaw dropped. If an outsider were to have seen him in this moment, they would have thought he was having a stroke. But seconds later, he found himself in a state of absolute euphoria. “Yesss! Yess!” A backward somersault off the bed preceded a look toward the heavens. “I take back everything I said last week.”
Bud was still on the bed, but now he was sitting up. He looked confused.
Autumn threw Bud a massive smile. He walked on over, slipped his big hands under Bud’s front legs, and hoisted him atop his shoulder, like a big furry baby. Offering no resistance, Bud allowed Autumn to lead him in a dance around the bedroom. Autumn was singing one of his favorite Tom Petty tunes: “Even the losers get lucky sometimes.” Abruptly, he stopped, “Emily! We gotta tell Emily, Bud.” After he plopped his dance partner back on the bed, Autumn moved to a nearby bookcase. With only a moment’s thought, he pulled a wedding album from the bottom shelf. Opening the album to its last page, his eyes settled upon a picture of Emily’s hand within his own their wedding bands prominently displayed. Autumn placed the winning ticket right over their young hands. He then closed the album with a smile, confident that he’d found the perfect spot to stash that life-changing piece of paper.
Seconds later, Autumn was flying down the staircase with Bud, ball between his teeth, right on his heels. He flung open the front door and took a couple of steps down the walkway before the cool night air reminded him of just how lightly he was dressed. Giving his bare legs a quick glance, “Aww crap,” he groaned. Darting back up the stairs, Autumn disappeared into the bedroom.
Bud, with his stubby legs working overtime to keep up, decided to lighten his load. His jaws dropped the tennis ball, and right on the same stair where (thirty minutes ago) Autumn had removed it. After making it to the top, the little guy scampered into the master bedroom.
But only a moment later, California’s newest multi-millionaire flew right by him once again. Moving swiftly toward the stairs, Autumn pushed his left arm through the sleeve of a flowing plaid bathrobe and Bud threw on the brakes. Never slowing, Autumn started to descend the staircase while trying to slip his other arm into the less cooperative right sleeve. And without ever seeing it, the big guy stepped on that stupid ball.
