Chapter Sixty-Seven
Tony Jones walked into the recreation area and placed two large coffees and a bag of muffins on a table. He looked around curiously. Lucky had been meeting him there every morning for the last week, but was nowhere in sight. He smiled when he saw a familiar nurse. "Barb," he said conversationally. "Do you know where Lucky Spencer is this morning? He usually meets me out here for breakfast."
Barb looked over at Tony and nodded. "Hello, Dr. Jones," she said. Tony interrupted. "Call me Tony, please." Barb smiled. "Okay…Tony." She had an uncomfortable look on her face. "Lucky isn't feeling well this morning. He's still in bed, on an IV."
Tony's face fell. "Does he have another medical problem?" he asked tentatively. "What's going on?"
"Tony, there was a situation last night." Barb paused while she searched for the right words to convey the information without alarming Lucky's uncle. "Lucky broke a plastic utensil and cut himself rather badly on his side and arm. He received stitches and is on an antibiotic. He had to be heavily sedated last night and is still sleeping. I'm sorry."
"I need to see him," said Tony firmly.
"Right this way," said Barb cheerfully as she walked toward Lucky's room with Tony following closely behind. She felt encouraged at how much attention and love this patient received from his family members. So many patients never had visitors or anyone in their corner long enough to ask questions or make suggestions about their care.
Tony entered Lucky's room. The boy appeared to be sleeping, but his face looked strained and tight, as if he were in constant pain. "Lucky," said Tony lightly as he placed a gentle hand on Lucky's shoulder.
Lucky's eyes opened, and he smiled. "Hi, Uncle Tony," he said sleepily, drawing a hand over his face. He tried to move his body to sit up but winced badly and let out a tense breath. He lay back down very carefully.
Tony's face was serious and concerned. Will Lucky ever feel good again? "Lucky, Barb told me that you cut yourself again last night. Why would you do that?" he asked hesitantly "I don't understand."
"Because it feels good?" said Lucky sarcastically as he grimaced and placed his hand on his side. He held his breath as he tried to gain his composure so he could talk. "They gave me Tylenol, but believe me, it's not enough for this," he gritted out. "Oww," he yelped as he tried to move. My God, what have I done to myself?
"Are you hungry?" asked Tony. Maybe some food will take his mind off of his pain. "I brought us some muffins and coffee."
"Sounds great," replied Lucky. I can always count on Tony for some good eating!
When Tony returned, the two settled into content silence as they worked on their blueberry muffins. Lucky took a large sip of his coffee. "Thanks, man," he said happily. "I'm not supposed to have caffeine, but who gives a shit. I need it this morning."
"Oh, great," said Tony with exasperation "Now I'm your partner in crime. Why didn't you tell me you couldn't have caffeine? I could have brought decaf. It's not going to interfere with your medications is it?"
"Bite your tongue," laughed Lucky. "This won't hurt me, they just don't want me to get excitable," he said, rolling his eyes and scrunching up his face. "Crazy people need to be managed you know." I feel like an animal in a cage, gnawing at the bars to get free.
"Don't say that about yourself, Lucky, you're not crazy and you know it," asserted Tony. "Now, a pain in the butt, a world-class smart-ass, that I can buy."
"Stop," said Lucky. "You'll ruin my reputation. What's that you have there?" he asked, pointing at the letters that Tony held on his lap.
Tony looked down and placed his coffee beside his chair. "These are for you - there are three of them in fact. One from your father, one from Emily and one from Lulu. Would you like to read them?" Lucky's face brightened at the anticipation of contact from the outside world. As he reached out his hand and took the letters, the expression on his face changed several times from excited to nervous to pensive. He felt uneasy, like a few slips of paper held the power of life and death over him. Would the written words cut and sting or would they lift him up and make him feel happy? Did his family and friends care about him anymore, or were they disgusted with him? Would they crumple him up and discard him into the trash?
Lucky chose his father's letter first, and harshly ripped at the envelope to get to the letter inside.
~*~
Dear Lucky,
Help! S.O.S. I'm drowning in algebraic equations. I got a 'C' on my first test, but I have another one coming up, and I feel like I'm going to flunk it. I can't make heads or tails out of this problem. Here, I wrote it out. Maybe you can solve it for me, and then mail it back? That would be a lifesaver. I copied it onto the second page.
How's my boy? Are they feeding you well or do you suffer from the institutional slop like your old man? Last night for our special monthly dinner, they had an international fiesta theme,Olé! The meat was still unrecognizable. I hear there is a massive shortage of groundhogs in these parts. I wonder if there is a connection.
I'm still working in the library and enjoy it actually. It allows me to study during the down times. Of course, I keep putting off opening the algebra book. What will I do?
Thanks for your help, son. You saved my behind on the GED test that's for sure. I love you. You're my best and only son.
Your father,
Luke
~*~
Lucky smiled, then unfolded the second page and frowned. "Tony, can I borrow your pen?" he asked. "My dad needs help with an algebra problem." Lucky placed the sheet of paper on his bed, and started furiously writing numbers and symbols. He laughed as he wrote the final number in record time. "I still have it! I've got the touch," he declared. He turned over the sheet of paper and wrote a note to his father.
~*~
Dear Dad,
Here are a few tips on approaching these algebra problems. Don't let them freak you out. If you get upset, then you lose your reasoning abilities. Take a deep breath before you start one. Okay? Start with the easier problems first, then when you are comfortable, attack the larger ones. Take it in steps.
I have Tony to bring me all kinds of good junk food, so I'm surviving here. I won five candy bars this week from a doctor friend of mine. I hustled him over a few games of darts. It was funny.
I am still in therapy with Kevin. I don't know how it is going. I keep talking about things, but it doesn't make me feel any better. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode or something. But, I'm trying to do what they tell me. Maybe it will work. I just want to go outside, drive my car, hang out and do normal things.
I love you, too.
Your son,
Lucky
~*~
Lucky folded the paper in thirds and handed it to Tony. "If it's not too much trouble, would you send this back to my dad? He's upset about his algebra class. Maybe this will help."
Tony gave Lucky a relaxed smile. "Sure thing, kid," he said agreeably. "I'm sure he'll appreciate your note. Are you going to read those other letters?"
Lucky looked down at the two envelopes and sighed. "I want to save them for later," he explained. "For when I feel lonely or something."
"Let me know if you need me to give anyone else a letter," stated Tony. He seems so sad and downhearted. It just breaks my heart.
"Emily would be better off if she found another boyfriend," Lucky said bluntly. "Someone who could be there for her. Someone who's not damaged goods." Like me.
"I don't think Emily sees it that way," replied Tony gently. "She sees the good in you. Why don't you accept her love? Don't push her away." Oh, Lucky, will you ever trust people again?
Lucky shrugged as his eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. He looked away and fidgeted with the letter from Emily, turning up one corner, then twisting it down. His tense fingers carefully moved it a few inches away from his leg.
~*~*~*~
"Ken!" said Luke excitedly into the standard black prison phone. He sat down on his hard wooden chair and regarded with a twinkle in his eye the well-dressed man seated in front of him on the other side of the thick glass.
"Luke," replied Ken Rowe evenly. "I was surprised to hear from you - it's been a long time. I didn't expect to receive a letter from you. The last time we talked, you were adamant about not appealing."
Luke momentarily lost his smile and tapped his fingers nervously on the counter in front of him. He glanced down, and his eyes took on a faraway look. His cheek twitched once and then returned into a laconic grin. "I never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box, counselor," he laughed.
Luke sat back abruptly into his seat with a harsh whoosh of breath and looked Ken in the eye. "When I was first convicted, I felt like I deserved everything that the law threw at me," he admitted frankly. "I killed a man. My hands were dirty." Luke's eyes moistened, and he coughed and rubbed his nose several times to regain his composure. "I pushed everyone away, I isolated myself in this prison. Lock him up and throw away the key. That's how I felt and that's how I was determined to serve my sentence." Luke looked down at his hands and rubbed his knuckles.
"What's changed?" asked Ken pointedly. "Why do you want to appeal after all this time?"
Luke laughed bitterly and winced. His eyes filled with pain and sorrow. "I remembered that I have two children," he replied softly. "My boy, legally he's an adult, but he's in a bad way. He has some, um, emotional problems. And my little girl, she's only six, gorgeous little thing, she has been taken away from her mother. Both of her parents are now in prison. My ex-wife is serving a fifteen-year sentence. Who's going to be there for them? Their aunt and uncle have stepped in, but the children need a parent, too. So, I want to see if I can get out of here with less time served. What do you think? Are you up for it? Will you work for me again?"
Ken shook his head. "Luke, you are a royal pain in the butt as a client, but you got a raw deal. You never should have been convicted on second degree murder for a crime of passion. I'd be happy to file your appeal on the grounds that the PCPD conducted an illegal search and seizure. Evidence was definitely obtained illegally. They had a search warrant for your house only, yet produced a murder weapon from your automobile. Evidence was illegally introduced into court. It doesn't fly."
Luke smiled gratefully and sighed raggedly. "Thanks, Ken."
~*~*~*~
Dr. Ian Thornhart walked into the recreation room carrying a large paper grocery bag. Lucky was at a table, shuffling cards and playing solitaire. He looked up with a big grin on his face when Ian dropped the bag onto the table.
"Got my candy bars?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Dartboard Hustle Man, yes indeed," replied Ian with a wink. He handed Lucky five peanut brittle bars. "And no chocolate as you requested." Lucky picked up the bars and nodded his assent as he immediately removed one from its wrapper and munched down on it. As he reached for the other four candy bars, he winced and said, "Ow!" loudly.
Ian frowned with concern when he saw Lucky's pain and his IV bag hooked up and hanging on a pole beside him. "What did you do to yourself now? You didn't even stop by to say hello when you were in the ER. I'm hurt."
Lucky scrunched up his face at Ian. "I wasn't in the ER. I cut myself, and this is an antibiotic so I don't get an infection. Sit down, nosy doctor, and learn how to play poker from a pro."
Ian smiled sadly, ran a hand over his spiky auburn hair and pulled out a chair, straddling it and plopping down firmly. He rubbed his hands on his jeans. "And what constitues a pro in your book, Mr. Spencer?"
"Anyone who can win up to $2000 in one game," stated Lucky as he gathered the cards, shuffled them briskly and started dealing.
Ian raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh, mm-hmm. I see."
"What are we playing for?" asked Lucky. "You want to play penny-ante for starters?"
Ian reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out two bags full of separately wrapped mini candies. Lucky reached over to inspect them and snorted. "Ah, Dr. Sweet-tart. Couldn't you find anything else non-chocolate?"
Ian shifted in his seat. "Well, no actually, I couldn't. Are you going to spend all day being the candy inspector or are you going to finish dealing?"
Lucky sniffed. "Impatience will get you nowhere in poker."
Ian set his face. "We'll see about that, now, won't we?"
"You're too emotional," said Lucky. "I'll see every time you have a good hand."
Ian looked at Lucky with bright brown eyes and smiled.
~*~*~*~
One hour later…
There were Sweet-tarts all over the table. Half of them were placed in front of Ian and half of them were in front of Lucky. Lucky looked down at his cards and scowled. "I don't even like Sweet-tarts," he groaned.
"Is that your excuse for your miserable card playing?" Ian asked.
"Seems to me we're tied," said Lucky. "I thought you said you didn't know how to play poker."
"And I thought you said I couldn't bluff my way out of a paper bag," replied Ian with a wicked grin and a full house in his hand.
"You!" Lucky said as he smacked his cards down on the table.
"Ah, sorry my man," said Ian as he scooped away Lucky's pile and added it to his own. "It happened when I was a resident on call. Had to pass the time some way - we played poker."
"Let's play darts instead," suggested Lucky with one eyebrow raised.
"Ah, bloody hell," said Ian, pushing the candy back at Lucky. "Here, you take the candy. I don't like Sweet-tarts either."
~*~*~*~
Lucky sat alone on his bed and picked up the blue card. He smiled broadly at the little drawn cats, dogs and birds on the outside of the envelope. There was a handmade card inside. The front was cheerfully decorated with loads of stickers including every color and character imaginable. Lucky opened the card and laughed out loud. Printed in very large, shaky letters was, "LULU LOVES LUCKY!" There were smiley faces all around the words. At the very bottom was a discrete note from Bobbie saying, "Lulu is learning to read and write now."
Lucky grinned happily and reached for the other envelope. He turned the purple envelope in his hands several times and frowned. What if she says she wants to break up? Maybe she doesn't even think we're a couple. Tears built in his eyes as he bit his lip sharply and tentatively peeled away the envelope flap. He pulled out a card that had a bright, sunny Arizona landscape on the front with loads of blue skies, sand and cacti. On the inside was a short note. "Lucky, when you feeling better, let's take a trip to Arizona! You have my heart, and I hope I have yours. Love, Emily."
Lucky lay back on his pillows, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks. He relaxed for minutes, still holding the card tightly in his hand.
.