Page 3 of Lucky's Trouble

“It’s not a forever thing. Once we prove ourselves, we’ll go to Vegas and try out for the hundreds of different shows there. We’re damn good dancers; there’s no way we won’t get jobs right away.”

“Why don’t we skip the stripping and just apply for those jobs now?”

“We need to make quick money and establish ourselves first.”

“I don’t know, Tinny. It seems kind of cliché for girls who’ve been through what we have to fall into sex work.”

Her words push to the surface what we’ve both been trying so hard to keep down. The things we’re only allowed to speak about with each other since our parents barely acknowledged what happened, let alone allow us to talk about it or, God forbid, send us to therapy.

“It has nothing to do with that,” I say.

“Doesn’t it?”

I shake my head. “We wanted a way out of here, and I found that way. That’s it.”

Myla takes my hand. “I’ll follow you anywhere. You know that.”

“So, we can go?” I beam.

“How will we get enough money to move?”

“Neal said if we sign six-month contracts, we’ll each get a five-thousand-dollar bonus.”

Her head tips to the side, and her face screws up. “Neal?”

“He’s not a bad guy.”

Her gaze returns to the skyline for a long moment. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Six months. If I hate it, we walk.”

I tackle her to the ground in a hug, not caring that I’m scratching my arms up on the rough rock. “Six months. I promise.”

“And you won’t try and talk me out of leaving if that’s what I want?”

I pretend to zip my lips. “Not a word.”

She glances at her watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. We better go.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep the missionaries waiting,” I say, peeling myself off her and standing, finally feeling like I can get a full breath of air in my lungs.

* * *

“Amen,” Elder Young ends his prayer.

We all return the sentiment before passing bowls around the table, scooping pot roast, mashed potatoes, and salad onto our plates. Dad holds the conversation, asking the missionaries all the customary questions about where they came from and how many baptisms they’ve performed.

I tune them out, my thoughts drifting back to my conversation with Myla. Excitement fills me as I spoon potatoes into my mouth, not tasting it. Maybe I’m naive, but this feels right. Even more than that, it feels like our only option. I’d rather die here and now than spend my life devoted to a religion I don’t believe in, one that has done nothing but cause me pain.

Hearing my name snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see everyone at the table staring at me expectantly. “Sorry. What?”

Myla reaches under the table and takes my hand.

Fuck. What did I miss?

Dad sighs in annoyance. “There’s been a heaviness on you and your sister’s spirits. After speaking with the bishop, we asked these young men to come here tonight to share their testimonies and bestow a blessing on you.”

---