Cherokee
With a green rabbit’s foot clipped on his belt loop, a silver four-leaf clover dangling from his neck, Danny has brought all the good luck he could find. As they drive past a billboard advertising Harrah’s Casino, his free hand caresses the rabbit fur, perhaps hoping luck really can rub off on you. Angie remembers a story about a magic lamp that, once rubbed, grants three wishes. Danny would settle for just one––make the one hundred and fifty-seven dollars in her handbag turn into a thousand.

“By what time Monday morning?”

“Ten,” Danny answers.

“Does the bank come and get it or do we take it to them?”

Danny shifts his eyes from the road and looks at her.

“We could win,” he says. “People do all the time. That woman from Franklin won 20,000 on a quarter slot machine.”

Angie watches the odometer slip from nine to zero. 56,240 miles. That’s 20,000 more than when they’d bought the truck. Yet the Ranger looks every bit as clean as when they’d driven it off the lot eleven months ago. Every Sunday, Danny vacuums the interior with a Dustbuster, then washes the exterior. The tires glisten with ArmorAll. We really can’t afford it, she’d told Danny that day at the Ford dealership. But she hadn’t stopped the smooth-talking salesman from taking out his calculator and showing them how with the right financing they could. She remembers how proud Danny had been when the last document was signed and the salesman handed him the key.

To read the rest of this article, please visit our online store to purchase a copy of the issue or order a subscription.