“Give me a single lottery ticket too, Wayne,” I said, putting the bill on the counter.
He took the bill and rang up the sale, then reached into a plastic cup of pens and handed me a cheap blue ballpoint pen.
“You need to sign the back of these right away,” Wayne said, sliding the white slip of paper toward me.
“People lose them all the time.”
I took the pen, its plastic barrel warm from the counter light.
I tucked it into my pocketbook along with the ticket and my ninety cents change.
That evening, Ryan sat at our dining table with his heavy muddy boots propped right on the spare wooden chair.
He was rotating a heavy gold-plated watch on his wrist, the metal clicking against his skin.
“You got the numbers, Brenda?” he mumbled, his eyes never leaving his phone screen.
“The draw is in twenty minutes.”
Brenda ignored him, checking her reflection in the glass of the china cabinet behind my head.
I reached into my pocketbook, took out the ticket, and laid it on the table.
I clicked the blue ballpoint pen I had taken from the gas station.
Carefully, using the edge of the placemat to keep my hand steady, I signed my full legal name, Maria Delgado, on the back of the ticket.
“What are you doing, Mother?” Brenda asked, her voice sharp as she finally looked over.
“Just making sure it is safe,” I said, sliding the ticket back into my zippered pocketbook.
Ryan snorted and stood up, letting his chair scrape loudly against the floor.
He looked out the window, his hand going to his watch again.
“Some guy called again about the track,” he muttered, looking at Brenda.
Brenda did not look back at him.
“I do not care about your friends, Ryan,” she said.
