Page 5 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“There was also another matter I wanted to quickly talk to you about.” She looks down the length of her nose at me. “I know you applied for Program Librarian last year and were disappointed when you didn’t get it. And of course, there was Acquisitions Supervisor before that.”

“Right.”

“Well, the position of Children’s Librarian will soon become available. Ming is moving to Chicago.”

“Really? That’s wonderful news. Not about losing Ming, of course. But Children’s Librarian...that would be perfect.”

Patricia’s answering smile is more of a grimace. Like positive emotions aren’t really her thing. But I don’t care. I could hug the woman right now. Though that would be wildly awkward for both of us.

Take that, Good Witch Willow.Talk about being validated. I didn’t expect to have further proof that her late-night sidewalk prophesies were rubbish until the lotto draw tonight. But this is great. My boss has given me a heads-up, and she’s supporting my bid for promotion, going directly against what Willow said. It’s honestly like a weight has been taken off my shoulders. You know when you’ve been worrying about something in the back of your mind while telling yourself it’s okay the entire time? This is exactly that.

“It would be ideal,” Patricia confirms. “You tend to have more patience with our younger patrons than some. But while you’re of course welcome to apply, just quietly between you and me, I have already spoken to Brian about him taking on the role.”

The smile of relief falls straight off my face. “You’ve already decided on Brian?”

“Not officially, of course. But I would hate for you to get your hopes up.”

It’s like time has slowed down. As if I can suddenly hear a clock ticking, counting down the hours left in my days. “Let me get this straight. You’ve already passed me over for the promotion before I even applied?”

The woman sucks on her teeth. A solid sign of irritation. “Lilah, you have to understand—”

“What, that you don’t appreciate me and I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I have?” I say in a tone somewhere between stunned and surprised. “Shit. She was right about this too.”

“Of course, staying or leaving is your choice to make,” says Patricia in her most strident tone. “But I’ll remind you that getting any sort of job in the library system in this city is extremely competitive. There are plenty of people with their Master of Library Science who have been volunteering and applying for years for positions such as yours.”

The woman is speaking nothing but the truth. But she still lost me mid-rant.

How was Willow right about this too? It’s impossible and improbable and fucking ridiculous. What are the odds of Josh cheating on me and me being overlooked for a promotion all within such a short time span? There are coincidences and then there are clusterfucks. Which is what my life is suddenly turning out to be.

“Lilah?” Patricia asks impatiently. “Are you listening?”

“No.”

She splutters in outrage, and I ignore her.

My mind is a mess. A swirling, whirling storm of what-ifs. I can’tdiein eight days. I have things to do. Deep breaths don’t help, and calm thoughts do nothing. I am sweaty and stressed out to the nth degree. This might well be my first-ever panic attack. If I could just stop the downward spiral and think things through logically, it still might be okay. I mean, it all comes down to tonight’s lotto draw. Say I only get one or none of the numbers, then there’s my answer. It’s been nothing more than a couple of truly awful coincidences. But if I happen to get more right than that...

“You’re right, Patricia. I think I am coming down with the flu,” I say as I grab my bag. “I should go.”

She gives me the death glare reserved for rule breakers. Patrons who write on or dog-ear pages. But, alas, I am immune.

Death isn’t something I tend to dwell on. My father likes to point out that people worry about what happens after they die but don’t give much thought to where they were before they were born. A philosopher named Epicurus said as much. This always seemed kind of profound to me. Like if we were fine wherever we were before we were born, odds are we’ll be fine wherever we go after we’re dead.

I have approximately two hours until the lotto numbers are drawn. Until I find out my fate. Of course, my rational mind refutes all this nonsense. Won’t even give it the time of day despite the possible evidence starting to stack up. I sit in my old Prius in the parking lot and inspect my skull. Give it a good going-over searching for any lumps or bumps. Because if I cracked my head last night when I hit the pavement, it would explain a hell of a lot. A concussion can cause all sorts of problems and make you imagine the strangest things.

But there’s nothing. All I do is mess up my hair.

Time to calm down. I should go home and fill in the spaces left by my ex. Spread my belongings back around. It might help to give me a feeling of control. I turn on the engine, buckle up my seat belt, reverse out of the parking spot, and maneuver through the lot.

Home sounds good. I’ll read a book and rest my sore hip. Ooh. I could get takeout. Now there’s an idea. There’s nothing fajitas can’t fix.

When the radio starts playing a moment later, however, it’s a love song. Our song. The one that was on high rotation last summer when Josh and I met. Gah. Make it stop. Have I not suffered enough? The answer is apparently no, since stabbing hard and fast at the buttons only succeeds in cranking up the volume to a deafening level.

The thing is, taking your eyes off the road for more than a moment isn’t a good idea. It’s just not recommended. There’s a reason why you’re supposed to watch where you’re going. Because despite managing to shut down the damn noise, I look up to find myself deep in the shit. In the wrong lane with a car coming toward me. We’re so damn close I can see the man’s brows jump high in surprise above his sunglasses.

I screech as the car sensors start blaring. The muscles in my arms strain as I turn the steering wheel sharply to the side. Just veer the vehicle the fuck on over. And it would have been fine if I’d just gone back into my lane. But no. I turn the wrong way and crash straight into a concrete post with abang.

The airbag smacks me in the face, shoving me back against the car seat before deflating with a prolonged hissing noise. It almost drowns out the ringing in my ears. My nose hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken. All I can do is sit and stare at the crumpled hood. My poor car is ruined. Just absolutely trashed. At least I was still in the parking lot and not driving too fast. I have no new injuries—that I am aware of. It’s as positive a spin I can put on such a shit show.

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