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assuming any place this far from Denver would have to have gas. The engine gave a weak cough, and her hands gripped the wheel.
her eyes had landed on a school picture of Chance taken when he was in second grade. Her son looked at her with his bright eyes and impish smile, and something came unhinged inside her. He’d given her life meaning, and when he had needed her the most, she’d failed him.
Without a high school diploma, Jess worked to pay her rent and eat, which usually left her no more than a couple of months ahead of broke.
She slumped forward under the weight of everything she had lost this year alone: her job, her apartment, Mr. Kim—the first friend she’d bothered to make in eight years.
“I’m Lucy,” she said, winking, “and I know things.”
She’d lived her entire thirty-two years within the same fifteen-block radius in Denver, poor and always one job away from losing everything.
Her fault that her eight-year-old son had been in the path of a car whose driver either didn’t see him or didn’t care. Her fault that he’d died cold and alone and in his Transformers pajamas.
“But I’ve learned to be patient with the things I don’t understand because often all that is needed is time.”
“It takes time for all the loose ends to be in one place, but once they are, things tend to move very quickly.”
“Sometimes the answers only make sense after all the questions have been asked.”
She’d told him they would bring him good luck because they were hearts. And that the heart was where love lived. And that love was magical.
Her only option was to move forward until she couldn’t move forward anymore.
