Page 10 of Bad Luck Club

The front door opened, and Jack and Iris walked in with Maisie. They were all beaming, laughing about something.

“Just in time,” Adalia called out. “Dinner’s ready.”

They set the food on the table, and everyone sat down to eat. Lee was quiet while the rest of them talked and laughed, sharing a camaraderie that made him feel like an outsider. It wasn’t intentional, he knew, and they always tried to include Lee in the conversation. He made a half-hearted attempt to join, but he was just so incredibly exhausted. Everything took so much effort these days, and the thought of going to the brewery in the morning and learning a whole new job was overwhelming.

As soon as they’d all finished cleaning the kitchen, he excused himself to his room under the guise of studying his notes. Instead, he crawled under the covers and went to sleep, hoping he’d dream of a life where everything made sense.

Chapter Four

All morning, Blue had felt off-kilter. She’d accidentally poured egg substitute into her chai instead of milk though thankfully caught the mistake before she took a sip. She’d had to pick out a row of stitches in her work in progress, and a tourist had thrown up on one of the pieces in her workshop. And then she’d broken a hand mirror in her bag, which she knew would have had Bear stress baking on her behalf.

Restless and worried and full of anxiety, she paced around the workshop, cleaning (unnecessarily) as she went.

The problem, she knew, was Lee Buchanan. She didn’t know how to approach him.

Hi, Lee. You vomited on my shoes once. Your soul needs soothing, and I think your best bet is to join Bad Luck Club. Pick you up at two forty-five on Sunday?

No. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d go for that. He’d laugh off her invitation and make fun of the club like Maisie and Adalia had in the beginning, like they still would if Blue hadn’t finally told them about her past.

As if her ears were burning, Adalia opened the door, wearing her headband and overalls. She rented out part of Blue’s studio for her art, arranging her work schedule around Blue’s yoga classes. Adalia’s work added a lovely energy to the space, something her students seemed to feel too but didn’t remark on. Creativity fed on creativity, after all, like a river fed by rain, and Blue’s own work had blossomed since her friend had joined her in the studio. For that reason alone, and for the company, which she savored, Blue would have let her use the space for free. But the truth was she needed the money. Most months, she barely broke even with her yoga classes and her art. Some months she was in the red.

Adalia made a face as she came in. “Ugh, it smells like eucalyptus-scented dog vomit in here.”

Blue only used natural cleaners as a matter of course, and truthfully, they didn’t always do the job.

She slid behind Adalia and propped the door open. “Close,” she said. “People vomit. A tourist yakked on one of my octopuses. Thaddeus.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have needed Dottie to tell her she was lonely. A normal person didn’t name her creations.

A look of genuine horror filled Adalia’s eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. He took you days to finish.”

“Not joking,” Blue said with a shrug, trying not to feel the press of that. Seeing her work destroyed hurt in a visceral way most people wouldn’t understand. But Adalia was an artist too. She knew that a piece wasn’t the sum of the work and materials that had gone into it. The things they created had a life of their own—a life they, as the artists, breathed into them.

“Can he be saved?”

Blue had a sudden image of her father destroying a weaving her mother had made her for her birthday one year after the divorce. It had been a sunburst of bright colors. Apparently, too bright. He’d sat at the dining room table, methodically cutting and tearing while she cried and begged for him to stop.

No, she’d never throw one of her octopuses away willingly, not if it could be saved.

“I washed him,” Blue said, “but the stain’s not going to totally come out. I won’t be able to sell him.”

“Balls. Did you get the tourist to pay?”

The no-nonsense look on her face said she already knew the answer.

“Blue,” she continued, “that’s BS. They broke it, they bought it. And the same goes for Lee, actually. You should make him pay for your shoes. You’re too damned nice.”

She cringed at that, the comment hitting a little closer to home than Adalia had probably intended.

“I’m working on that.” But it occurred to her that Adalia had brought their conversation around to exactly the subject she needed to discuss with her. “Your brother…”

Adalia perked up like a daisy given water. “IthoughtI noticed something between you two yesterday.”

“What?” Blue said, dropping one of the miniature crocheted birds she’d been straightening. “No. No, no, no. Your brother is a mess. Hepukedon my shoes. Besides, I have Dan.”

Admittedly, she’d felt a little relieved when he’d texted this morning to say he was taking a last-minute fishing trip with his friends and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Part of her had wondered what kind of fishing he could be doing in the middle of winter, or why he’d want to sit outside in the cold for hours, but mostly she’d been relieved. Though that was only because she was stressed about the Lee situation. Right?

Adalia just made a face. “Okay. You raise good points. Except for the Dan thing, because let’s be honest—”

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