The Trust

Chapter 7: Windfall

The machine is freaking out. Alarms are going off and coloured lights are strobing out from it like a disco ball. I look around desperately for Mom, I don't know whether to go find her or stay in my seat. My heart's pounding like I stole something.

"Nice win," the older man says to me before grabbing his half-drunk glass of beer and rising from his chair. "Congrats."

"What do I do?" I'm starting to draw a small crowd who murmur approvingly.

"Sit tight, someone will come over with your winnings," he says, and then he's gone.

I'm stunned. Surely the old guy has it wrong, but there it is, staring me in the face. The words are huge, bright gold against a red background. MASSIVE WIN: $815.80

I pick my purse up and fish around in it for my phone with shaking hands. I forget about texting Mom; the woman wouldn't see it for days. I try to call her, but I'm so out of sorts, I can't remember her number and misdial several times. Finally, my fumbling fingers get the number right, but it goes straight to voicemail. She never turns on that damned ringer. Why does she even have that phone?

"Mom, I'm over by the bar and I think I've won some money," I yell into the phone, before realizing people are still watching me. I lower my voice. "Get over here and tell me what to do!"

I hang up, just as two security guards approach me. I get a sharp, fearful feeling like I've done something wrong, but they're smiling so I relax a bit.

"Congratulations," one of them says before glancing at the other one and up to the ceiling where I suppose they have cameras recording everything. One is a very tall woman with blond hair, and a shorter, rotund man.

They look at me, and I look back at them. After a minute, it's awkward.

"Hold out your hand please," one of them says finally. I stick it out straight, as if to shake hands.

"No. Like this." The woman presses her lips together to suppress a smile, and holds her hand out flat. "Oh!" I say, feeling dumb. "Sorry. I never won anything before."

"It's OK," she says before crisply counting out eight hundred-dollar bills, a ten, five and some change into my waiting palm. It is real, and it's a small fortune.

"Thank you," I say, stunned. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. Have a good night." She tips me a wink before they walk off.

I'm staring down at the neat stack of bills, still not believing what just happened. I fold them up quickly and tuck them away, looking around. I'm grateful the small crowd has dispersed. I'm suddenly aware that me and my elderly mother will have to walk out to the parking lot alone with a boatload of cash and the thought unnerves me.

When I was growing up, neighbours looked out for one another, crime was low and community spirit was strong. There wasn't really any crime because everyone knew everybody. Sure, there were some fights on Friday night after the bars closed, and people had beef with each other sometimes for whatever reason, mostly jealous shit. One time, my friend's father got drunk, stole a car and crashed it into the liquor store. Weird shit like that happened occasionally, but that was about it.

But things were different now. Rampant unemployment, rising costs and the opioid epidemic changed people; made them desperate. Crime was through the roof, fraud, burglaries, assaults were all on the rise — random stuff we'd never seen before on the Island. People locked their doors now, even in the daytime. It never used to be that way.

I'm nervous. Part of me is convinced I'm going to do something to fuck up this good fortune; I'm going to lose it, or someone's going to snatch it away from me.