THE PENNY

By VR Barkowski

Hugh and I left Ethan's party just before midnight. We lived ten-minutes away and hoofed it. It meant we could stay too late and drink too much, which we did. Tomorrow was trash day, and the neighborhood reeked of wet garbage. The night was, as my dad used to say, as cold as a well digger's backside—although I'm paraphrasing. Scoured raw by the November wind, my skin burned, and my eyes ran like twin taps.

Hugh borrowed a flashlight from Ethan. Its wedged beam scythed a path in front of us, and the frost laced sidewalk glistened like shattered crystal. Hugh reached for my hand. After fourteen years of marriage, he knew how clumsy I was sober. He was not about to trust my footing under the influence of Mr. Cuervo.

The penny lay like a tiny flame under the only working street lamp, defiant, refusing to be ignored. Hugh's hand tightened around mine. He saw it, too.

I know people who take heed of every superstition, but I am not one of them. I step on cracks, walk under ladders and break mirrors without fear of cosmic reprisal. Pennies are no more than spare change. Usually.

" See a penny, pick it up, all day long, have good luck. " Hugh sang the old rhyme, let go of my hand and bent to collect the coin.

"Leave it." The words escaped before I could call them back. Too late. The penny rested in the flat of Hugh's palm. He held it out to show me. I stared at the bit of copper and a bright, icy chill shimmied through me.

" See a penny, let it lay, have bad luck all through the day . Just hedging my bets, Lucy-girl," he said.

Even in the thin light, I could see the brilliant white of his smile, the spark deep inside his gentle green eyes. Something electric slid across the back of my neck. "Did you know that verse derives from pagan ritual?" I said. "The original verse talked about pins, though, not pennies. Pins were used in good luck spells."

"Since when are you superstitious? Ah wait, it's all that research you're doing for Braithwaite. Last month it was theosophy. This month it's pagan religious practices. You should write fiction, Lucy. Has to be more lucrative than researching this shit for other people. And you've got the imagination for it." He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

I grabbed the flashlight out of his hand and shined it in his eyes. "You are the one who picked that thing up."

He laughed. The sound was warm, dark and rich like Callebaut bittersweet. I could see his breath in the air.

" That thing is a penny," he said. "Are you really upset with me?"

"I don't trust fate. I don't pick up pennies, search for four leaf clovers, or carry a rabbit's foot. I make my own luck. I'm in control, Hugh. You should know that about me by now."

"What I know is, you need to lighten up." He shivered. "Let's get inside." He looked down at the coin, studied it, shrugged then tossed it away. "There. Control restored."

Fear dropped through me like a leaden weight. I'd had this feeling before, this absolute certainty that something had changed irrevocably, that the past was lost forever, and I could never go back. I'd felt it when I got my period for the first time, when I graduated high school, when my mom died. My eyes scoured the grass edging and sidewalk searching for the coin. But even with the flashlight, it was too dark to see.

When I spoke, the sound came from a long way off, as if the words belonged to someone else. "Why did you do that? Once you accepted the coin, you accepted the consequences. You can't throw back luck, reject it. It doesn't work that way. We can find it. Where did it land?"

He rolled his eyes. "What in the hell is the matter with you, Lucy? It's a penny, for chrissakes." He crossed the street ahead of me and strode up the path to our front door. I jogged to catch up.

I'd left the heat on and the warmth of the house hit me like a shout. The tension seeped from my muscles, and the panic ebbed. "Sorry, I don't know what got into me. It probably is that asinine research. Please don't be mad." I cocked my head, batted my lashes, and pleaded in my sweetest voice.

He bent and kissed the top of my head. "I'm not mad. Stunned, startled and dumbfounded maybe, but not angry. It's fun to be surprised by the old ball and chain once in awhile."

"I'll have you know, Hugh Randall Moffett, your wife is like black water, with depths you've yet to plunge, sides you've yet to explore."

He grinned at me. "You don't say? Think I'd like to check that out." He reached down and pinched my ass.

***

The phone rang a few minutes after three. Through slitted lids, I watched Hugh crawl out of bed and stagger toward the kitchen. I sat up, held my breath and listened. At three in the morning, the best case scenario was a wrong number.

The ringing stopped. I heard Hugh's voice then nothing. "Wrong number?" I called to him. No response. I called out again. "Everything okay?" Silence. I kicked off the covers, swung my feet to the floor and padded to the kitchen.

There was no movement in the dark room, only a wet, breathy sound that made my skin creep. I flicked the light switch. The kitchen was empty, the phone off the hook. I crossed the room, my eyes scanned down the length of black coil snaking the wall. There, behind the kitchen island, his back against a cabinet, the receiver cradled in his lap sat Hugh, his shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face.The sight of him went straight to my heart. I bent over and touched his shoulder. "What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong?"

His voice was wet and thick. "That was my dad. Paulie's killed himself."

The hairs rose along my arms. I heard him wrong. Must have. "What?"

"My baby brother hung himself, Lucy."

"He wouldn't," I whispered. My knees buckled. I grabbed at the counter for support then burst into tears.

Paul was just a year old when I met Hugh. He was my little brother, too. I wanted to say something, to make it better, but there were no words. I knelt beside Hugh, put my arms around his bent form and pushed away the words running over and over in my mind.

See a penny, let it lay…

"When?" I asked.

… have bad luck all through the day.

"A few hours ago. Mom and Dad heard a noise from his room, didn't think anything of it. Thought he was practicing judo. Can you believe it? Judo?" Hugh dropped his head, rocked back and forth and took a deep shuddery breath. "Mom woke up. Couldn't get back to sleep. She got out of bed to take one of her pills, check the house. That's when she found him. They're blaming themselves. Dad is convinced if they'd checked out the noise they could have saved him. I told Mom we'd fly out as soon as possible." He buried his face in his hands, and again his body shook with sobs.

I took him into my arms, held his head against my breast and stroked his hair. "We'll get through this."

I felt his body jerk and he pulled away. He looked at me, his gaze challenging. "You told me it would be bad luck to toss away that penny. You knew ."

"What are you talking about?"

"You knew something bad was going to happen."

"Hugh, that's ridiculous. I overreacted about the penny."

"Paul was a happy kid. You think it was coincidence he killed himself at practically the exact moment I tossed away that penny?"

"Yes, I do. Listen to yourself, to what you're saying. We don't know what was going on in his life. He lives three thousand miles away. He may have been upset over school, or a girlfriend. Maybe he got into drugs."

"My dad said he was fine, same as ever."

"A parent isn't necessarily the best judge when something is wrong in a teenager's life. You know that."

A hard flare of anger crossed his face. "I have to find that penny." He lifted himself off the kitchen floor.

"It's almost four in the morning. You can't go out there in the middle of the night. Wait until daybreak. Get some sleep."

"I can't."

"You have to try. Your parents need you, and they need you to be strong. Go back to bed. I'll bring something to help you sleep."

It was more than an hour before he stopped talking about Paul and drifted off. I lay awake beside him, listening to him breathe, remembering Paulie as a toddler and thinking about the penny. Finally, I disentangled myself from the sheets and walked to the computer in the office. I booked the first available flight out of SFO to Boston, an evening departure. We'd have all day to pack and prepare.

***

I fell asleep at half past six; the phone rang at seven. Hugh was still asleep. I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen.

"Hello." I said, trying to catch my breath.

"Yes, hello. This is Molly Reardon, I'm a charge nurse at Boston Medical. Is this Eve Moffett's, daughter?"

A cold sweat broke out under my pajamas and my muscles turned to water. "Daughter in-law, she's my husband's mother. What is it? Is Eve alright?"

"Mrs. Moffett wasn't up to making the call."

"Is this about her son, Paul?"

"No ma'am, your father-in-law. I'm so sorry, I wish I had better news. Mr. Moffett suffered a stroke last night."

I swallowed and closed my eyes to hold back tears. "Allen's not—"

See a penny, let it lie…

"He's in a coma. Mrs. Moffett really shouldn't be alone right now."

…All good luck will pass you by.

"We can't get into Boston until late this evening."

See a penny, let it lie…

"Is there any family nearby?"

…You'll be sorry by and by.

"No, we're it. Is Eve there? Can I talk to her?"

See a penny, let it lie…

"She's sedated. When she's awake, we'll let her know you're on your way."

…All day long you'll cry and cry.

I hung up the receiver and wept.

I shook Hugh awake at seven-thirty. Still groggy from the sleeping pill, he rubbed his eyes and blinked hard. I repeated my conversation with the nurse. He stood up, walked to the closet, and began to dress.

His silence was more terrifying than last night's tears. "Are you going to be okay?"

"It's daylight, I'm going to find that penny. Are you going to help me or not? Your choice, Lucy."

"Yes. Yes, I'll help, of course."

I pulled on jeans over my pajamas, threw on a jacket, and we walked to where we first found the penny. The morning was cold and clear, the sky a deep azure, the air like ice water. Everything bright and hard.

Hugh went down on his hands and knees and combed through every inch of grass. His fingers ripped at the blades, coming back muddied and empty. The longer we searched, the more frantic he became, his body twitched, his breath came in great heaving gasps. Had we found the penny, would it have made a difference?

"It's no use," I said.

"I will find it. I won't stop looking until I do."

"Hugh, listen to me. You know deep down that coin had nothing to do with either Paul or your dad."

"No, Lucy, I don't know that. If you don't want to help me look, go the hell back inside."

I wanted to cry. Why couldn't I make him see reason? "It's a terrible coincidence, Hugh, that's all."

"This is my fault; I have to make it right. Don't you understand? I have to find that penny. I have to." His red-rimmed eyes stood out like cigarette burns against his sallow skin. He wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy hand.

I took his arm and pulled him toward our front door. "Let's go inside for a while, get warm, take a break, rest."

"I can't. If I sit down to rest, I'll fall asleep. I have to keep searching."

"We have time before our flight. Go to bed, get some sleep. I have errands to run. I promise, as soon as I get back, I'll help you search."

I tucked him into bed and held him until he fell asleep. After a quick shower, I put on fresh clothes and left the house. I was gone less than two hours.

It was ten past noon when I turned from the Esplanade onto our street. A police car blocked the road. I pulled over. There were a half dozen police vehicles, an ambulance and fire truck parked along the curb. Police strobes flashed blue and red on the faces of the watchers lined along the sidewalk. A dark shiver slithered down my spine like a cold wind. I moved closer to the yellow ribbon that circled the area.

Hugh lay in the middle of street. I broke through the tape and ran toward him.

"Hugh!"

A police officer intercepted and held me back. I shrieked, struggled, fought to break his hold. "That's my husband I have to get to him. Let me go, god damn you."

Hugh hadn't moved. Why weren't they helping him? Lifting him into the ambulance?

I screamed at the officer. "Why isn't anyone doing anything? Help him!"

See a penny, let it lie…

"One of your neighbors witnessed the accident. It appears your husband entered the street to retrieve something. He stepped in front of that pickup." He motioned to a large black truck with a damaged front end. "The driver didn't have time to slow the vehicle. Ma'am, I'm very sorry for your loss."

…Some day soon you'll surely die.

"No!" I shook my head, tears blinding me. " I don't believe you. I want to see him."

The police officer guided me to my husband's still form. Hugh's side was crushed and bloodied, his shoe missing, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle. But his face looked peaceful, as if he were sleeping. I knelt beside him and held his clenched fist. In his fingers he clutched a gleaming copper penny. I choked back a sob, pressed his fingers tight around the coin and laid his hand over his heart.

"Lucy, come away," said a gentle voice. It was my neighbor, Sara. She and the officer helped me to my feet and walked me to the curb.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Sara said. "It must be a great consolation to know Hugh was at peace, that he knew he was going to a better place."

"Sara, I appreciate what you're trying to do, really, but Hugh was agnostic. He wasn't convinced of either God or heaven."

"You're wrong, Lucy. I saw the accident. I ran to him. Hugh spoke to me. I was by his side when he passed, and his soul was at peace."

"He spoke?" I stared at her, trying to focus through my tears.

She nodded, her smile beatific. "He did. His final words were, 'In God We Trust.'"