OLIVIA

Aunt Sarah’s official stance on the whole lottery fiasco is that she didn’t know about it. I texted her after work yesterday, and she said we’d talk about it last night and figure everything out. I don’t know what everything is, but last night I left before she got home, and this morning she had left for work by the time I got up. So when I get home from work, and her car is in the driveway earlier than usual, I know it’s because we have to talk.

But then I see the car parked along the street. I don’t have to see the out-of-state plates to know who it belongs to. It’s little and red, just like every car my mom has ever owned, except that this one is shiny and new, not dull and old like the others before. I’m floored my mother surfaced this quickly. It’s been just over twenty-four hours since the reporters showed up at River Depot. Prompt and punctual isn’t what I’m used to from my mother. I’m used to elementary school lunch bills so overdue that all the lunch ladies would give me was a stupid PB&J instead of hot lunch. Presents shipped three days after Christmas, sent straight from Amazon, unwrapped.

I don’t want to go inside, but when I finally do, Aunt Sarah is standing in the kitchen, her back against the refrigerator. Across from her, my mom looks nothing like the woman I last saw three years ago. Her shirt is fitted and her shoes match, and she isn’t lugging around some weird patchwork satchel that looks like a street vendor stitched it together out of old t-shirts or something. A gray leather purse sits atop the little island, resting against her arm. She looks like a normal adult. The kind that doesn’t leave you at your Oma’s house when you’re seven and then doesn’t come back for six months. But she still sounds like my mom when she says, “Hey, kiddo.”

Aunt Sarah pushes herself away from the counter like she may need to protect my mother from my response. “I invited your mom over, Liv.” She looks guilty as she says it. It’s ridiculous that she’d feel responsible for anything my mother does, but then I see the suitcase sitting a few feet away, in the living room.

I don’t like where this might be going—or the size of that suitcase.

“No.” I shake my head like I can will her out of the house. “No, no, no.”

“Olivia.” Aunt Sarah draws my name out into an exasperated sigh.

“You just won the lottery,” I huff. “You can afford a hotel, right?”

My mother rolls her eyes but she doesn’t look amused. “Yes, Olivia—”

“She can,” my aunt cuts in, “but my new job wants me to start earlier than I planned. I’m going to have to leave next week. So your mom’s staying here. Just to be safe.”