Free Blind Luck by Scott Carter Page B

great story. I take it you know a lot about music.”
    “My life’s goal is to be a walking encyclopaedia of songs.”
    “That’s a big statement.”
    “It keeps my mind busy.” The song ended, and she lifted the needle from the record before turning back to Dave. “Grayson told me what you survived.”
    “Yeah?”
    She nodded.
    “Did he tell you why he asked me to meet you?”
    She nodded again.
    “And how do you feel about that?”
    She straightened her back against the couch. “Pretty stupid, but I’m willing to try anything.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m unlucky.”
    “What do you mean unlucky?”
    She answered without hesitation. She’d thought about answering the question so often that the words flowed. “I mean, I don’t eat peanuts because I’d choke, I don’t live in a place with stairs because I’d fall, and if I prepared food with a knife, I’d have no fingers left.”
    “I don’t believe in luck.”
    She looked at him like she’d expected a more engaged response. “You survived, didn’t you?”
    The words pricked him. “Survive” rolled too easily off peoples’ tongues. Her tone bothered him so much that he had to stand up and move a little to get his response right. “I came to work late because I had a hangover, and I went straight to the bathroom to pull myself together. Do you really believe this luck you and your brother believe in rewards irresponsibility and kills responsible people?”
    “It has nothing to do with morals.”
    “But this idea that there’s a force punishing and rewarding, it’s ridiculous.”
    “If you were me, you wouldn’t say that.”
    “Do you really think what’s happened in your life is a result of luck?”
    She looked at him full on for the first time. He had never seen eyes so tired, yet even in their drained state, their sky blue made him want to keep looking. “I’ve charted it.”
    “Charted it?”
    “Yeah, I’m negatively synchronized.” Dave looked at her like she was crazy, but he didn’t want her to stop speaking. “I’m in tune with the wrong rhythms.”
    “So nothing good ever happens to you?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Then maybe it’s the way you look at things. You’ve got to look for opportunities in life. For example, just when I came here, a neighbour of yours was staring at me like he was wondering why I was at your place.”
    “Which neighbour?”
    “Blond hair, about thirty. The point is, maybe he was watching me like that because he wants to ask you out and he’s trying to figure out if you’re dating anyone. The guy could end up being your husband.”
    “Or he could be a stalker.”
    “It’s that attitude that has you feeling the way you do. You have a few bad things happen to you and…”
    “Four miscarriages are more than a few bad things.”
    The flow of energy stopped. Dave felt the weight of his words. He liked talking with her, he didn’t want her to stop, and realizing the insensitivity of his dogma made him feel bad. Not guilty, but bad like he might have made one of those mistakes that you can never correct.
    “I didn’t mean to…”
    “You
are
special.”
    “What?”
    “I can feel it.”
    “Feel what?”
    “When you’ve been cursed as long as I have, you get in touch with rhythms, and yours are definitely special.”
    “You really believe that?”
    “Absolutely. Will you spend some time with me again?”
    Dave sat back down in the chair. “Sure, give me your number and I’ll call…”
    “You won’t call me.”
    “I’ll call you.”
    She reached for a napkin on the coffee table, wrote her number in the centre and passed it to him. “We’ll see.”

Ten
    Two weeks after Dave’s sixteenth birthday, his mother threatened his dad in a way that he remembered forever. She gathered up sports papers, betting lines, and every note on odds that she could find and threw them in the fireplace. She found the stacks of betting lines in folders in his briefcase, the notes tacked to