The Lottery Ticket
by Samantha Bradbury Koster
“What do you mean you lost the ticket?” Jerry asked, his voice cracking like a boy who was forty years younger. The married couple were in a rental black Lincoln on their way to the Lottery Headquarters in California.
“I don’t know, I lost it,” Carol fired back, “One minute it’s here and the next it’s not.” She said, while she conducted another pat down of her pockets and a dig through of her fake leather purse.
“You always do this,” Jerry said, “I should’ve known this would happen.” He hit his palm against the steering wheel. On the radio “Party in the USA” was halfway through.
“What do you mean I always do this?” Carol yelled, “You were the one who told me to hold onto the fucking ticket in the first place.” She rolled down her window and let the sea-soaked air brush her hair. The heat of California didn’t feel so bad this way.
Jerry paused for a moment before responding. He knew he needed to catch his breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot of money,” Jerry said, finally. He reached over to his wife of thirty-one years to place his hands on hers. She pulled it away instantly as if playing a game of hot hands.
“You don’t think I know that?” Carol said, “In my head I’ve already bought a trip to Greece and booked a villa on the beach.” She looked out the passenger window again, this time to hide the annoying tears that had gathered in her eyes.
“43.6 million dollars,” Jerry said, “just gone.”
“What do you want to do?” Carol asked. Jerry was looking at the road ahead. It was winding around sharp curves with towering mountain ridges looming to one side, choppy blue waves and a cliff's edge to the other. He said nothing.
“Are you sure it’s not here?” Jerry asked, breaking through the silence that was enveloping them in frozen wishes and solutions to problems that have long hung over their heads.
“I’m sure.” Carol said. And again, there was silence between them.
Jerry turned off the GPS, and canceled out of the pop-up message asking “Are you satisfied with this route?” and turned up the radio. They stayed on the winding road, looking out over the water, the mountains, and the landscape around them, silently agreeing to keep going until eventually a decision had to be made.
They came up on a large sign that read “Gas, Food, and Hotels Next Exit.” The car radio clock said 1:08pm. Almost as if on cue Jerry’s stomach growled audibly and Carol put her hand to hers. They decided.
The diner was classic with a large neon “OPEN” sign and an arrow pointing into the bright, pink building, framed by metal ribbed banisters. A classic truck stop diner, the kind that serves breakfast all day. Jerry was already thinking about ordering an eggs benny with hash browns, while Carol was hoping for a tuna melt on rye.
Inside the waitress behind the bar counter said, “pick anywhere you like, hun,” while wiping the counter down with a striped rag. “I’ll be with ya in a minute. Coffee?”, which they both responded in a nod.
Jerry and Carol slid into a window booth looking out onto their car and the road in which they came. The waitress placed a couple laminated menus in front of them with one hand and then two mugs she had been holding with the other. “I’ll be back in a minute but take your time,” the waitress said before walking back to the bar counter.
“What were you going to get?” Carol asked, looking over the large menu at her husband. She watched as he pulled his reading glasses from his front shirt pocket and then push them up his nose.
“An eggs benny, probably. You?” He responded, grazing over the options.
“That’s not what I meant.” Carol said, putting her menu down. “What were you going to get with the money? What did you want?”
“Well,” Jerry paused, “I think I would have bought myself a boat. I’ve always wanted one. Loved going out with my dad growing up,” he said, putting his menu down as well.
“Have we made any decisions?” the waitress asked, popping up at the end of their booth, little green notepad and pencil at the ready. They ordered and the waitress took their menus back, leaving them alone to their thoughts once again.
“Maybe we can get a little boat,” Carol said, “would be a nice thing to have during the summer when the grandbabies come to visit.”
“You think so?” Jerry said, raising his eyebrows in surprise, not quite believing what his wife just suggested. “And what about your trip? Not sure we can afford Greece but maybe we could travel somewhere.” Jerry said. He took a sip of his coffee, blocking the view of his wife briefly.
Jerry and Carol ate their lunch, both satisfied. Jerry with his eggs and benny, Carol with her tuna melt on rye. They left a good tip. Carol drew a smiley face on the receipt with a note that said “Thank you.”
Walking back out to the car, Jerry put his arm around Carol and pulled her in. “Same old, same old, right?” he said. “No fuss over something that won’t happen.”
“Right,” Carol said, leaning into Jerry. He kissed the top of her head. They released to walk to their separate car doors and Jerry smiled at Carol over the top of the car. Carol opened the passenger side door and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. There it was, hidden beneath her butt the whole time. “Jerry!” she gasped, “look!”
Samantha Bradbury Koster (she/her) is a 2020-22 MFA fiction candidate at the University of New Hampshire. She is a freelance writer, artist, floral designer, and an occasional farmhand. She is the author of the short story "The Heart of the Machine,” which received an Honorable Mention in the 2019 NYC Midnight Short Fiction competition, and was later published in Decameron Days. She is also the 2021 recipient of the Dick Shea Memorial Award for her short story "Seeking Advice," which was also a finalist in the 2022 Pinch Literary Awards and is forthcoming in The Pinch, Spring 2023. Samantha lives in the seacoast of New Hampshire with her husband Ben and their rescue dog Banjo. She can be contacted at sam.bradburykoster@gmail.com for inquiries and found on Twitter/Instagram at @sam_bradkost.