No Bus Fare
The scratch-off was the only birthday present they gave me that year.
It was sitting next to my plate when I came back from the kitchen with the cake. A little rectangle of cardboard. Bright green and gold. Lucky 7s Jackpot. The convenience store price sticker was still stuck to the back.
$2.00. Speedway #4417.
“Happy birthday, Margaret,” my daughter-in-law said.
I set the cake down in the middle of the table. Vanilla with vanilla frosting. I’d baked it myself that afternoon, while everybody was at work and school. I’d written Happy 73rd on top in blue icing, because nobody else was going to.
“Thank you, Jessica,” I said. “That’s very thoughtful.”
“Maybe you’ll win enough for bus fare,” Jessica said.
My son, Colin, chuckled.
My grandchildren laughed just because their parents did. Lucas, who was eleven, laughed without looking up from his iPad. Lily, who was eight, laughed and then looked at me to see if it was okay that she laughed.
I smiled at her. It was okay. It wasn’t her fault.
I sat down. I picked up the ticket.
Jessica picked up the knife and started slicing my cake.
I scratched the ticket with my thumbnail. The silver coating flaked off in little curls and fell on my placemat.
Colin stood up to pour more wine. His and Jessica’s. He didn’t ask if I wanted any.
Jessica put a slice of cake on her plate. She took a bite. She made a face.
“Oh, Margaret,” she said. “The frosting’s too sweet. You always make it too sweet.”
“Arthur liked it sweet,” I said.
“Well, Arthur’s not here,” Jessica said lightly. She pushed her plate away.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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