Page 61 of A Little Luck
“You don’t have to mask your feelings with jokes. It’s okay to feel afraid.”
“But it’s what I do.” She was the one who diagnosed my coping mechanism. “If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.”
“It’s okay to cry.”
“I don’t want to cry about the past anymore. I want to laugh at what bad luck I have. It can’t hurt me if I laugh at it.”
“The truth will give you freedom, Piper, and maybe Adam can change your luck.”
It’s an interesting thought I hadn’t considered before. In all my years of hiding, I never considered my luck could change, or someone would ever get close enough again to change it.
We finish up, and for a moment in my office, I sit, holding my phone and turning her words over in my mind.
* * *
“We needbriefs on the grand opening of Heaven Scent and The Human Bean.” I’m going through the notes on my phone with Jemima, who sits at a small desk in front of me in the main newsroom.
“And those are…?” Her blue eyes are wide and curious.
“Heaven Scent is an aromatherapy store, but I think they also have candles and body products.” I imagine the whole place smelling like patchouli. “The Human Bean is a coffee shop. Basically, a mom-and-pop Starbucks.”
“That’s handy having them right there together like that.”
“How so?”
“If you smell a lot of different fragrances, after a while you stop being able to smell anything. Sniffing coffee beans resets your nose. Haven’t you ever noticed how in perfume stores they have those little glass boxes of coffee beans?”
“No.” I continue down my list of notes. “We should also do a short profile on Henry Anderson. He’s the new veterinarian in Seamist. Something like where he came from, what his plans are, that sort of thing.”
“Thisis who you replaced me with?” Mom stalks into the newsroom wearing her usual overalls with her long hair braided down her back. “Isn’t she overexposed enough?”
“Excuse me…” I put both hands on my hips. “I didn’treplaceyou with anybody. You were never on staff.”
She stops in front of Jemima’s desk. “Shouldn’t you be at a football game or writing songs about your ex-boyfriends?”
Jemima looks from her to me totally confused, until understanding breaks across her face—almost like she’s used to dealing with crazy people, which she probably is, considering we have the messy mom connection.
“Sorry, Ms. Jackson, I’m not really Taylor Swift.” Then her face lights. “Hey, that was almost a song! I am for real…”
Mom is still scowling. “Is it one of your new ones? Or are you re-recording another album?”
“Ma, this is not Taylor Swift. It’s Jemima Dixon. Cass’s little sister?”
My mother’s brows tighten, and she studies my new reporter a minute longer. Then she breaks into a smile and throws out her arms.
“Oh my goodness, ofcourseI remember Jemima!” She gives her a tight squeeze. “Well, haven’t you grown into a beautiful young woman? And to think you were just a little bitty thing the last time I saw you with your mom. She and I were best friends, you know.”
“I do know!” Jemima hugs my mom back like nothing ever happened. “I also know you’re the famous headline provocateur.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Mom looks from her to me.
“Those hilarious headlines you wrote! They’re all over the internet.” Jemima taps quickly on her phone before turning it to where we can see. “You’re a viral sensation. Check out this article on theDenver Gazette website. ‘Small-town publisher has a way with words,’” Jemima reads. “Piper Jackson doesn’t need AI to create a buzz in Eureka, South Carolina…”
Mom’s face pales, and she waves her hand. “Tell them to stop. Take that down!”
“If only it were that easy.” I cringe at the thought of my name spanning the globe as the author of those headlines.
My luck hasn’t changed yet.