‘ Are you serious?’

‘ Sure, why not? I’ ll drive my car in a regular lane, and you and your boss can take the carpool lane. I’ ll even wear racing gear so it’ s obvious you’ re not going up against a little old lady. I’ ll look pro.’

This felt too good to be true. I waited for the other shoe to drop. ‘ It’ s next Friday at three o’ clock,’  I said cautiously, expecting him to tell me it wouldn’ t work.

‘ I’ ll be there. Count on it.’

Giddy, I gave the slot machine’ s arm another pull. I’ ll be there. Count on it. Aside from, ‘ No, no, I insist, you take the last piece of chocolate,’  are there any words that tug more at a woman’ s heart?

I was pondering this happy thought when Kitty and Gran walked up.

‘ There you two are!’  Gran said. ‘ We’ ve been over at the nickel slots. I’ m up fifteen big ones. You should’ ve seen it.’

‘ Way to go, Gran,’  Troy said. ‘ Although you might want to donate that to the fund we’ re starting. June is trying to win money for charity. In fact,’  he said, easy as pie, ‘ it’ s one of the items for the list. Marissa wanted to make a big donation.’

I glowered at Troy-did no one explain to him that mentioning the elephant was forbidden?

‘ Oh, how wonderful!’  Kitty exclaimed. ‘ Ma, we’ ll have to pitch in our winnings!’

Considering her outrage over the eight-dollar sandwich, I expected Gran to balk, but she said, ‘ Shoot, I’ d have played the quarters if I’ d known.’

Kitty turned to me. ‘ What charity?’

‘ She didn’ t specify. A lot of groups collect out here in the streets. Was there one Marissa was particularly fond of?’

‘ Drinks!’

The waitress returned and hefted Troy’ s beer and my coffee with whipped cream and-yes!-a parasol.

As I grabbed my drink and tossed tip money on the waitress’ s tray, I heard Kitty squeak, ‘ A parasol.’

‘ Hmmph?’

Kitty suddenly had that grayish, washed-out look I remembered from the funeral. ‘ A parasol,’  she mumbled. ‘ Marissa& she always loved parasols in her drinks. Even as a little girl, if we were at a restaurant, she’ d insist they put one in her milk. Who gets a parasol in her coffee? I’ d expect it in a fancy drink, you know& but coffee?’

Tears slid down her face, which seemed to have crumpled and turned into a wadded tissue before me.

Troy jumped to his feet and put his arm around her. ‘ It’ s okay, Mom. Everything is okay.’

‘ I’ m sorry,’  I sputtered. ‘ I didn’ t& I mean, that is, I-’

Troy pulled Kitty aside to comfort her while I stood there, dumb and confused.

Gran clucked. ‘ Here we go again.’

‘ I feel terrible,’  I moaned. ‘ I shouldn’ t have& ‘  What? Ordered a drink with a tiny umbrella? How could I have possibly known?

‘ Don’ t you fret,’  she assured me. ‘ You’ re doing the best you can. We know that. It’ s just, the little things sneak up on you. Kitty can brace herself for a weekend where we’ re going to see Wayne Newton to help complete a list& and by the way, I’ m quite excited about that. I’ m his biggest fan. But sometimes you get blindsided. She didn’ t see the parasol coming. No one could have.’

Gran went over to take Kitty’ s elbow and lead her away. Troy came over to me. ‘ My mom could stand to call it a night.’

‘ Of course.’

‘ See you tomorrow?’

‘ Sure.’

A lesser woman might have noted that surely Gran could have handled Kitty-that if they took Troy, too, I’ d be alone.

All alone.

In Vegas, surrounded by clanging machines and groups of people drinking and cheering.

Yes, a lesser woman might have felt sorry for losing a wild night of gambling and flirting-and a promise from Troy that he’ d stay and help win the pot of money.

She might have even mildly resented the sight of three bodies retreating toward the elevators while she stood there alone, cashing out the money left in her slot machine.

Two quarters made a tinny chink, chink noise as they hit the tray.

The stress of the day caught up with me then, pulling on my body. Sleep. I needed sleep. There was no reason I couldn’ t put off gambling until the morning.

But before I went back to my room, I wandered by the poker area. I needed to connect with someone. Anyone. I was starting to realize how hard this weekend was going to be, and I didn’ t want to face it by myself. And there was Martucci, still sitting at the five-card-stud table. I’ d never been so happy to see him.

‘ Martucci!’

He grunted a greeting toward me, not taking his eyes off his cards.

I stood behind him. ‘ Have you been here all night? How’ s the game going? Are you winning? Is that a good hand you have there?’

One of the other players tittered.

Martucci took a twenty-five-dollar chip from a pile in front of him and handed it to me.

‘ What’ s this?’  I asked.

‘ Go play something.’

‘ Wha-?’

He frowned at me. ‘ Parker, I’ ve got a game going here.’

‘ Fine.’

I stomped away, and upon not seeing Brie ( please, let there not be a sock on the door when I get upstairs), I gave up. It was time to close my eyes and put an end to this day. Cut my losses.

On my way to find the elevators, I passed the roulette table where I’ d lost my money earlier. There was a new dealer, and the bachelorette party was long gone. The only person at the table was the drunk guy, whose wall of chips had dwindled to an anthill.

What the heck. The dealer spun the wheel, and before the ball settled, I set down Martucci’ s chip. Number 11. Marissa’ s birthday. As the ball clattered to find a spot and the dealer waved his hand to indicate no more bets, I remembered, Shit! Her birthday was the twelfth! I’ ve bet the wrong number!

‘ Lucky number eleven!’  the dealer announced.

I’ d won.

Nobody was there to cheer. The drunk guy didn’ t even notice. I’ d never won that kind of money before, yet strangely, I felt nothing. I’ d gotten more excited the time I won a carpool mug in the company raffle.

The dealer slid me 875 dollars in chips without comment.

I’ d been to Vegas often enough to know it wouldn’ t be hard to spend my winnings. I stepped outside the casino, where crowds still bustled even at this late hour. The warm night air cuddled me like a blanket. I’ d barely cleared the casino entrance when I saw a nun in full habit holding a collection can that read, ‘ Fund for Abused Children.’

‘ You a real nun?’  I asked her. There were plenty of scams around here, but then again, there were plenty of genuine charitable organizations glad to take advantage of people who’ d lost all sense of the value of a dollar.

‘ Yes. I’ m with the St. Thomas parish here in town.’

A cop stood a few feet away, which seemed a good sign. Besides, the sooner I unloaded this cash to charity, the sooner I could cross the task off my list and be done with this day. That seemed as good a reason as any to trust her.

I held up my chips. ‘ You take these?’

‘ Absolutely.’

I slid the chips one by one into the collection can.

‘ God blesses you, my child.’

‘ Great. I’ ll take any help I can get.’

Chapter 20

W ith sleeping in and then taking our sweet time having breakfast the next morning, it was one o’ clock before we hit the pool.

‘ Goodness, it’ s a zoo!’  Kitty exclaimed, assessing the scene. To my relief, she was back to her old self-or at least the self who was trying to buck up as best she could.

Calypso music floated through air so thickly hot that you could almost see the waves of sound. We wove through a sea of bodies to a group of lounge chairs next to the pool. Brie had reserved them before she’ d stumbled in our room at eight a.m., waking me long enough to tell me that I’ d missed quite the party at the Hard Rock.

After a general jockeying for chairs, I wound up between Martucci and Kitty. Troy was on the other side of his mom, with Brie at the very end of our row. Gran had opted to take a nap in the hotel room rather than lie outside getting sunspots and risking heart failure in the heat-a choice we heartily supported.

Brie immediately collapsed facedown. ‘ Wake me in an hour. I’ ll need to turn over.’

I stripped to my swimsuit and was bending over to rifle through my bag for my book when Martucci gave me a hard slap on the butt.

‘ Hey!’  I protested.

‘ This, people, is the result of expert coaching!’  he boasted loudly. ‘ This body is entirely my creation.’

Before I could clock Martucci one, Kitty remarked, ‘ God may have had a little to do with it.’

‘ Well then, praise the Lord,’  Troy said.

His mother swatted the back of his head. ‘ Show some respect, young man.’

‘ I thought I was!’  He laughed.

With that, I started to wonder if I’ d somehow conjured my own form of hell: a place where a smart, cute, funny guy kept flirting with me but nothing could come of it, especially with his mother literally between us.

Plus, as part of this hell, Martucci was asking me to rub sunscreen on his back.

‘ Normally I say sunscreen is for pansies,’  Martucci explained, holding out the bottle, ‘ but I don’ t trust this desert sun. It does wicked things to the skin.’

He turned so his back was to me. Across the width of his shoulders was a tattoo of an eagle, which seemed to flap its wings as he flexed to lie down. Didn’ t it figure? Mere feet away was a back I’ d enjoy giving a good rubdown, and here I was, smearing lotion on Martucci, trying not to wince when I had to lift the rattail out of the way.

‘ There, done,’  I proclaimed moments later, even though he was still white with the lotion I’ d barely grazed over him. I grabbed my book-a trashy paperback I’ d bought at the hotel gift shop-and settled into my chair.