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JUST THE TICKET As a child, Hannah suffers loss, bullying, and isolation. Her Auntie Justice is always there to support, appreciate, and accept her for who she is - a smart and introverted soul. Together, they love to play the lottery and dream of striking it rich. Hannah's luck takes an unbelievable turn the day she wins it all. Suddenly, she's thrown into the uber-wealthy Malibu scene. To help her navigate this exclusive world, she enlists the help of her chauffeur, Brady, who knows just how to handle the intricacies of high society. As they spend time together, their friendship blossoms into something stronger, but they struggle to keep their secrets hidden. Will their bond prevail despite the pressures of their new lifestyles, or will it fall apart under the weight of their hidden truths? Discover this captivating story of love, loss, and the high stakes of winning the lottery in this gripping novel. |
CHAPTER 1
JUSTICE
“Get in here. It starts soon,” called Auntie J, her long red curls bouncing as she spoke.
Hannah wiped her wet hands on her apron, a part of the tan, brown, and black ensemble she nicknamed the poop emoji uniform.
“Just a moment,” Hannah replied, leaning back through the space between the refrigerator and kitchen counter into the living room. “I’m just now finishing the dishes, and I need to feed the girls. My ticket is ready on the coffee table.”
Matilda, the chocolate lab, and Eloise, the chihuahua, or the “twins” as Hannah called them, sat patiently awaiting their dinner.
She poured a hearty meal for Matilda who had gone on an hour-long run with her earlier in the day. Eloise never noticed the disparity in the amount of food in each bowl. She just loved to eat.
Auntie J had abandoned her work at her crafting table pouring tinctures into glass vials and applying their ornate labels. She also handmade scented soaps and candles, foraging most of the ingredients from the nearby forest. Times were tough and the competition great, so she sold her work at a deep discount online.
Hannah joined Justice, who was now watching the TV over her shoulder while organizing the contents of her purse. On the coffee table sat two lottery tickets, placed like bingo cards in a church hall.
“Ugh! The Women’s League is a mess right now. No one is getting ready to go to Helena. The boots on the ground there haven’t found us housing yet. Haven’t even rented the bus. How the hell are we supposed to save the world if we can’t get our butts to where the real work is happenin’?”
Hannah smiled at her politically active aunt. She took solace in the fact that Auntie J never changed, always unapologetically her authentic self. She never backed down from giving her opinion, no matter how unpopular it was in Moose Lodge, Montana, population 1,309. Hannah never had the guts to get out there in the streets with a sign in hand. And just the thought of being in a crowd looking for attention, albeit only about twenty people, made her sick to her stomach. She much preferred staying home and reading, or watching a Jane Austen series on the BBC.
A clap of thunder sent the women’s eyes to the window, to each other’s, and then to the television, just in time to see the picture grow smaller and then disappear into darkness.
“Damn dish! When will they get us some flipping cable lines out here?” Hannah was impressed that Auntie J controlled herself from actually swearing this time.
Hannah grabbed her phone and scrolled until she came to what she was looking for.
“Okay, they called it. The numbers are 3, 28, 18, 8, and 42.”
Auntie J looked at the tickets and then back to her and she knew right away. “Next week,” they said in unison.
The astronomical odds of winning were not lost on Hannah, but the two-dollar-a-week cost made it worth all the hours of dreaming about what she could do with the winnings. She fancied herself dressed like Audrey Hepburn twirling around the streets of Rome, multiple shopping bags in her hands swinging through the air.
Hannah put on her yellow galoshes and stuck her work shoes in her bag. She stood and grabbed the tan umbrella next to the front door.
“Want me to drive ya, Hon?” Auntie J offered.
“That’s all right. I love walking in the late summer rain.”
That wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t true at all. She disliked walking in the rain. After losing both parents in an automobile accident on a snowy evening, she was nervous about getting into a car during a storm. If she were being one hundred percent honest with herself, the weather most likely hadn’t played a role in the accident.
It didn’t take long before she passed the giant oil rig positioned on the land directly adjacent to her house. Once, the house had stood alone on its single plot. Now, the rig towered over the place like a massive ostrich bobbing up and down, both day and night. It was a massive albatross, indeed.
When she reached the crossroads, she took a moment to admire the old house previously occupied by the Trager family. It was large with good bones but had been abandoned years before she was born. Still, it was something of a romantic daydream to restore her to her proud former glory.
She sighed, popped her earbuds in, and opened the book app on her cell phone to the Anne of Green Gables audiobook. She appreciated not only having something to listen to on the walk to work but also the anonymity of reading what many would consider a children’s novel at twenty-four years old. The familiar words tamped down her anxiety, even if others might find her love of the book immature. As a child, this novel made her feel normal when her classmates teased her about her red hair and freckles. Throughout her school days, she had longed for a kindred spirit to take walks with over flower-dabbed meadows. She still did.
The diner was shadowy and moody with the lack of sun streaming through its greasy windows. Hannah ducked her head, attempting to become invisible, rushing to the backroom as she passed her boss, Burton. The storm had made her several minutes late. When he didn’t follow and chastise her, she was hit by a wave of relief. She dropped her bag in the backroom, not daring to take the time to change out of the dripping boots.
Pen and pad in hand, she hit the first table in her station.
A pimply faced boy in a letterman’s jacket leaned back in the booth, smirking at his girlfriend across the table. What a stereotype!
“Nice shoes. What’s the special today?”
The girl giggled. Hannah looked down at her yellow galoshes, no longer the “cute” purchase her aunt drove an hour and a half to the mall to acquire.
“Foie gras de canard in a red reduction sauce,” Hannah said with a straight face.
The smart aleck forced the menus at her: “Two burgers, well done, and two cokes.”
Placing the order with the kitchen staff, she rushed past the new server, Breechelle. “Is Burton always so cool when you’re late?”
“No,” Hannah stated, willing Breechelle to let her work in peace; however, she had no such luck.
The tables in her section needed tending to, so Hannah grabbed a tray of condiments and began to refill the salt and pepper shakers on the tables, Breechelle at her heels.
“This job kind of sucks, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t saving for college. I’m doing a couple of years at the JC, but only until I have enough to go to a four-year. What are you saving for?” she asked.
“I’m saving for food on the table and a roof over my head,” answered Hannah in embarrassment. She had desperately wanted to study English literature at University upon graduation from high school, but working at the Red Brick would never get her there. She didn’t want to burst Breechelle’s bubble, so she left it at that.
“Where you from? Sounds like you belong in Buckingham Palace having tea with the King.”
This wasn’t the first time Hannah had been told this. Most were not as polite, saying that the manner in which she spoke was snooty or condescending. Her accent was merely a side effect of reading so many English novels and daydreaming about living within the pages. “I watch a great deal of BBC television.”
At the end of her shift, the dark street was wet and empty, except for the one car with its headlights on and John Lennon’s voice blaring over the car’s speakers singing about giving peace a chance.
Hannah opened the door and hopped into the warmth of the Bronco. “Thank you, Justice.”
© No part of this text may be used without prior consent from the author, Lynn Lamb.
JUSTICE
“Get in here. It starts soon,” called Auntie J, her long red curls bouncing as she spoke.
Hannah wiped her wet hands on her apron, a part of the tan, brown, and black ensemble she nicknamed the poop emoji uniform.
“Just a moment,” Hannah replied, leaning back through the space between the refrigerator and kitchen counter into the living room. “I’m just now finishing the dishes, and I need to feed the girls. My ticket is ready on the coffee table.”
Matilda, the chocolate lab, and Eloise, the chihuahua, or the “twins” as Hannah called them, sat patiently awaiting their dinner.
She poured a hearty meal for Matilda who had gone on an hour-long run with her earlier in the day. Eloise never noticed the disparity in the amount of food in each bowl. She just loved to eat.
Auntie J had abandoned her work at her crafting table pouring tinctures into glass vials and applying their ornate labels. She also handmade scented soaps and candles, foraging most of the ingredients from the nearby forest. Times were tough and the competition great, so she sold her work at a deep discount online.
Hannah joined Justice, who was now watching the TV over her shoulder while organizing the contents of her purse. On the coffee table sat two lottery tickets, placed like bingo cards in a church hall.
“Ugh! The Women’s League is a mess right now. No one is getting ready to go to Helena. The boots on the ground there haven’t found us housing yet. Haven’t even rented the bus. How the hell are we supposed to save the world if we can’t get our butts to where the real work is happenin’?”
Hannah smiled at her politically active aunt. She took solace in the fact that Auntie J never changed, always unapologetically her authentic self. She never backed down from giving her opinion, no matter how unpopular it was in Moose Lodge, Montana, population 1,309. Hannah never had the guts to get out there in the streets with a sign in hand. And just the thought of being in a crowd looking for attention, albeit only about twenty people, made her sick to her stomach. She much preferred staying home and reading, or watching a Jane Austen series on the BBC.
A clap of thunder sent the women’s eyes to the window, to each other’s, and then to the television, just in time to see the picture grow smaller and then disappear into darkness.
“Damn dish! When will they get us some flipping cable lines out here?” Hannah was impressed that Auntie J controlled herself from actually swearing this time.
Hannah grabbed her phone and scrolled until she came to what she was looking for.
“Okay, they called it. The numbers are 3, 28, 18, 8, and 42.”
Auntie J looked at the tickets and then back to her and she knew right away. “Next week,” they said in unison.
The astronomical odds of winning were not lost on Hannah, but the two-dollar-a-week cost made it worth all the hours of dreaming about what she could do with the winnings. She fancied herself dressed like Audrey Hepburn twirling around the streets of Rome, multiple shopping bags in her hands swinging through the air.
Hannah put on her yellow galoshes and stuck her work shoes in her bag. She stood and grabbed the tan umbrella next to the front door.
“Want me to drive ya, Hon?” Auntie J offered.
“That’s all right. I love walking in the late summer rain.”
That wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t true at all. She disliked walking in the rain. After losing both parents in an automobile accident on a snowy evening, she was nervous about getting into a car during a storm. If she were being one hundred percent honest with herself, the weather most likely hadn’t played a role in the accident.
It didn’t take long before she passed the giant oil rig positioned on the land directly adjacent to her house. Once, the house had stood alone on its single plot. Now, the rig towered over the place like a massive ostrich bobbing up and down, both day and night. It was a massive albatross, indeed.
When she reached the crossroads, she took a moment to admire the old house previously occupied by the Trager family. It was large with good bones but had been abandoned years before she was born. Still, it was something of a romantic daydream to restore her to her proud former glory.
She sighed, popped her earbuds in, and opened the book app on her cell phone to the Anne of Green Gables audiobook. She appreciated not only having something to listen to on the walk to work but also the anonymity of reading what many would consider a children’s novel at twenty-four years old. The familiar words tamped down her anxiety, even if others might find her love of the book immature. As a child, this novel made her feel normal when her classmates teased her about her red hair and freckles. Throughout her school days, she had longed for a kindred spirit to take walks with over flower-dabbed meadows. She still did.
The diner was shadowy and moody with the lack of sun streaming through its greasy windows. Hannah ducked her head, attempting to become invisible, rushing to the backroom as she passed her boss, Burton. The storm had made her several minutes late. When he didn’t follow and chastise her, she was hit by a wave of relief. She dropped her bag in the backroom, not daring to take the time to change out of the dripping boots.
Pen and pad in hand, she hit the first table in her station.
A pimply faced boy in a letterman’s jacket leaned back in the booth, smirking at his girlfriend across the table. What a stereotype!
“Nice shoes. What’s the special today?”
The girl giggled. Hannah looked down at her yellow galoshes, no longer the “cute” purchase her aunt drove an hour and a half to the mall to acquire.
“Foie gras de canard in a red reduction sauce,” Hannah said with a straight face.
The smart aleck forced the menus at her: “Two burgers, well done, and two cokes.”
Placing the order with the kitchen staff, she rushed past the new server, Breechelle. “Is Burton always so cool when you’re late?”
“No,” Hannah stated, willing Breechelle to let her work in peace; however, she had no such luck.
The tables in her section needed tending to, so Hannah grabbed a tray of condiments and began to refill the salt and pepper shakers on the tables, Breechelle at her heels.
“This job kind of sucks, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t saving for college. I’m doing a couple of years at the JC, but only until I have enough to go to a four-year. What are you saving for?” she asked.
“I’m saving for food on the table and a roof over my head,” answered Hannah in embarrassment. She had desperately wanted to study English literature at University upon graduation from high school, but working at the Red Brick would never get her there. She didn’t want to burst Breechelle’s bubble, so she left it at that.
“Where you from? Sounds like you belong in Buckingham Palace having tea with the King.”
This wasn’t the first time Hannah had been told this. Most were not as polite, saying that the manner in which she spoke was snooty or condescending. Her accent was merely a side effect of reading so many English novels and daydreaming about living within the pages. “I watch a great deal of BBC television.”
At the end of her shift, the dark street was wet and empty, except for the one car with its headlights on and John Lennon’s voice blaring over the car’s speakers singing about giving peace a chance.
Hannah opened the door and hopped into the warmth of the Bronco. “Thank you, Justice.”
© No part of this text may be used without prior consent from the author, Lynn Lamb.
© Lynn Lamb. All rights reserved, 2024.<
