The Winners Circle Read Free

dozen times. It’s ours. All ours.”
    “ Are you sure?” He let her run with it. Perhaps it was thousands and not millions. A few thousand seemed like millions to them.
    “ Didn’t you hear me?” She started to whisper. “No one even knows it’s us yet.”
    He recognized her resolve. His wife was thorough if anything. “Just us?” he asked, edging into belief.
    “ Yes.” She returned the ticket to her pocket.
    “ How much?”
    “ Thirty-two million,” she whispered even lower. Her eyes shifted side to side, as if she and Jerry were under surveillance and secret tax agents might fly from the curtains.
    Jerry let the big number bounce inside his head. His brain refused to process it. The heart monitor changed its tune. “Thirty-two?”
    “ It’s more than half of sixty, because you selected the instant payment plan.”
    He didn’t remember doing that. It was something that just happened because he didn’t specify. Like the numbers themselves, he took what Mojique at the Seven-Eleven gave him for a dollar. “It’s our money?”
    “ Get it through your thick skull, Jerry Nearing. You almost died a millionaire.”
    A warm sense of relief washed over him, like when he sunk in a steaming tub after a hard day of shoveling manure. No more arguing over which bills to pay first. Forget the menial jobs. He held still. A mixed cocktail of chemicals passed through his bloodstream. He floated above the mattress, sailing into another dimension.
    “ I guess I can fix the roof,” he finally said.
    “ Fix the roof?” Chelsea reached up to draw her hair into a ponytail. She fidgeted her hand behind her head. Her blue eyes stared off. She wasn’t herself, as if a rattlesnake had bitten her too. “We can hire someone to fix the roof. On second thought, let’s sell the dump.”
    “ I thought you wanted the farm?”
    “ I’ve changed my mind.”
    “ I know it needs work, but it’s our dream house.”
    She patted her uniform pocket. “That was before this.”
    He realized she wasn’t kidding. He waited for a better explanation, but a nurse stood in the doorway, watching them both, and their dialogue stopped cold.
    The attending nurse—shapely with deep-set eyes—stepped forward. She wore bright pink sneakers, which squeaked on the floor. Her nametag read Gina Spagnoli. “I see you’re awake.”
    “ He’s clear and cognizant,” Chelsea said.
    “ I can’t sleep forever,” Jerry added.
    “ I’d stay away from snakes,” Nurse Gina said. “Or that might happen for real.”
    “ If this place doesn’t kill me first.”
    “ Don’t blame us for stepping in a rattlesnake pit.” Gina’s humor was welcome, the attractive adornment of a young woman without worry. It offset Chelsea’s intensity, the missing ingredient in the room.
    Jerry relaxed. His arms went limp. The heart monitor assumed another rhythm.
    Gina checked his blood pressure. Her hands were cool on Jerry’s itchy skin, tiny points of relief. She kept glancing at Chelsea. “Where do you work?”
    “ Physical therapy.”
    “ Here?”
    “ No, Mercer.”
    “ Oh.” Gina turned away, discounting Chelsea as some people did. It didn’t matter that they were both medical professionals. Gina worked in Princeton and probably lived there too. She believed she was better.
    At least, Chelsea thought so. She scratched her nose, hooking a finger over her mouth. Jerry recognized her rising insecurity.
    “ I’ll get the doctor.” Gina scribbled on his chart. She winked at Jerry before leaving the room.
    He felt sleepy. He’d lost his train of thought. He asked Chelsea to draw the curtains and dim the light.
    The room smelled sterile and dry. He focused on the farmhouse. There was plenty of room along the south side to attach a baby nursery. They’d bought the place because of the acreage, and the way property values had expanded, they probably couldn’t afford to buy it again. “Good deal,” he said. He’d finally struck dumb luck. He might