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My typical cleaning clothes weren’t helping the situation either. I had on a black Buffy the Vampire Slayer T-shirt Cody had given me as an early birthday present, dark-wash jeans, and my sparkly black Keds. Full-time cleaning staff had a much more professional uniform, but I never did any of these jobs long enough to warrant one.
But the real reason I got away with it was that, for better or for worse, I was afforded some extra privileges here as Miss Barb’s granddaughter. Most of the long-term employees had seen me grow up and had me firmly placed in a particular box, while the seasonal employees tended to view me as an extension of “the Man” and kept their distance.
It was FU all over again.
“Felicity, are you even listening to me?” she asked sharply, startling me back to the present. Even the hairs on my arms rose as if literally shocked.
Being called your deceased mother’s name will do that.
While Grandmother would’ve never missed the chance to correct me, I still had a habit of avoiding any scenario that would make anyone even maybe feel a little uncomfortable. With Grandmother specifically, my method of avoidance was to gloss over the entire situation. Promptly. And then retreat. Swiftly.
My relationship with Grandmother was practically littered with gloss-and-runs.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, studying my shoes.
“You know you are my number-one girl. My charm. I will always be proud of you, but I want to be even prouder. And I know you want to be proud of yourself too. Yes, ma’am?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I parroted. I couldn’t bear to meet her gaze right now because I knew how it would feel, and even though I knew better, I was still desperate to have faith in her love for me. To have trust in my only family member.
But ever since that scorching-hot high-limits slot machine had made her a bona fide millionaire, she had changed.
Anyone would, right?
She was no longer the woman who’d taught me how to cook the perfect Southern meal of cubed steak, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans. The grandmother who’d showed me how to lay out yeast rolls early on Christmas morning so they would rise perfectly by mealtime. The one who’d always insisted I give her a “neck hug” before she walked back to her log cabin right next door before the tides turned once again and change was thrust upon us like an unwelcome visitor.
I was loyal to the memory of that Grandmother.
I was loyal to many people who only existed in rose-tinted memories.
She reached for her slots and pushed a combination of buttons to make both reels spin before turning back to me, pursing her lips. My gaze caught on that movement, and my heart stopped dead in my chest.
I’d chosen the absolute wrong day for, well, any of this.
She was wearing her dark lipstick.
If only I’d already initiated step two of my gloss-and-run plan. I cursed my tired mind that had wandered and kept me here too long.
That specific shade of dark plum, “Medusa’s Sin”, only adorned her lips when she was having an especially bad losing streak. It was the shade that transformed her from Miss Barb to Barbara Ann.
Miss Barb was a wildly charming lady who enjoyed publicly praising her granddaughter—especially when there was an audience, which we lacked today—planning get-togethers with fellow high rollers, and hosting functions at Fortuna. Barbara Ann, however, wielded her words like the most precise and deadly of weapons, cutting through defenses and layers of self-esteem as if they never existed.
“I dined at The Bistro with Big Daddy this morning. He mentioned something I found quite interesting and, to be frank, disappointing. There hasn’t been a true Lady Luck showing in months, just appearances here and there with no real substance.”
I knew where she was going with this, though first I had to fight my reaction to a grown-ass man being called “Big Daddy.”
Nicknames were a hallmark of casino life. It was unusual for anyone to go by their given name and even rarer for you to spend any time on the floor without being given one. It was a casino-goer’s primary love language, second only to comp-gifting.
Sharp, repetitive slaps of Grandmother abusing the slot’s spin button brought me back to the present. “Did he?” I asked, much too late to cover my lapse, and doubled down on my stupidity with my next words. “I’ve actually been meaning to speak with him soon. My last few paychecks were a little off. There may be an issue with the system.”
“Do not talk about money. It is uncouth,” she shot back, incensed, her eyes narrowed. “Now, about your absence. I’m sure your sudden interest in cleaning rooms like a nobody is related to that unfortunate business at Christmas. It really is well past time for you to get back to claiming your legacy.” She pulled the lever aggressively and scowled at the result. “It’s time you took the lead in your life and reclaimed the role you were born to play. And you know….” Another pull, another punch. “The Juno boy is off doing great things. He only held you back when he was here. I’ve always said so. You are more than capable of greatness without him.”
All this time, I hadn’t thought she’d known about any of it—my personal Ghost of Christmas Past. And the fact that she, unlike me, knew where AJ was and what he was doing rankled me.
Gloss. “I visited with some of the high rollers just a few days ago!” Gloss. “Did you know that Mr. Earl is here this week?” Gloss. “He said his fifth grandchild was just born. He was trying to hit big so he could buy her a nice present.”
The words were right, but the delivery was not. It all came out in a jumbled ten-car pile-up of consonants and vowels. If Cody were here to read my aura, as he loved to do, he’d likely describe it as smoking hot—not in a good way—and full of lethal carcinogens.
“Of course I know. You know that the big wigs like for me to have eyes on the floor,” she responded haughtily, casting her gaze around at her fellow gamblers suspiciously, then added, “I also know that he had a bad run. The machines have gone cold this week.”
