Shoshauna Shy
Lucky Stars
Ernest came to, then saw his wife, Nancy.
“Why’rnt our daughters here?” he managed to ask despite the tubes, the wires, his bandaged forehead. “What’s wrong with ‘em?”
“This woman here says she’s your daughter,” Nancy nodded toward the slim female dressed in a black pantsuit seated beside her.
“Pleased to meet you, Dad. My name is Chloë.” Chloë nervously raised a manicured hand in greeting.
Ernest glared. “Wha’? How old’re you?”
“Twenty in August, sir.”
He squinted, mouth twisting. “Mother Karla?”
“No–“
“Cindy?”
“Uhm–no–“
Nancy sighed deeply and stared down at her lap.
Chloë sat up straighter. “Amy. Amy Salter, sir.”
Ernest looked away from them and closed his eyes. “You look nothing like Amy. More like Janet. I should’a stayed with Janet,” he mumbled, then fell out of consciousness.
“Well, now you met him, you can leave,” Nancy stood abruptly.
Chloë didn’t budge.
“Will you please leave?”
The younger woman rose slowly to her feet, rubbing her upper arms as if cold. “Shouldn’t I stay? I mean, I missed out on so much!”
Nancy patted her shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, dear, his other daughters aren’t getting anything either.”
Chloë edged backwards toward the doorway, then halted. “That’s not what I meant; what I meant is it’s not fair! Those other daughters and you and my mother–the whole bunch of you– you all got to know him and I never did!”
“Well, what you got is a bunch of lucky stars,” a small laugh burst from his wife’s lips as she ushered Chloë out. “Go count ‘em.”
Where Boys End Up
1957
Nobody wants brothers, mine tells me when I say we should get chosen together. Nick explains that couples want boys who fit in, and brothers don’t “integrate” into families very well. Four years older than I am, he uses long words like that. Larkin House, up on the ridge, has bars on the windows. That’s where boys end up who don’t fit in, Nick says.
Weekend after weekend, Mrs. Emmert appears with wanna-be parents at our dining hall. They survey us while we eat our bologna sandwiches for lunch. Their tweed and fur coats eventually become light-colored jackets. The women always wear high heels. I force a smile if one of them looks my way.
Nick says if you convince parents out shopping that you belong with them, they’ll give you a brand-new name, maybe even a collie. When my bunkmate, Bobby-who-never-talks, obediently sets his milk carton down and rises to follow Mrs. Emmert to the foyer, we never see him again. Washing up at bedtime in one long loop at the sinks, somebody says they bet Bobby has a puppy by now. I picture Lassie bounding around him as he swings back and forth on a tire from a tree bough, singing at the top of his lungs.
“Come along, Howard,” Mrs. Emmert motions me at the end of the summer. I’m about to turn seven years old. I wipe milk off my lip with one sleeve and follow her.
It’s a Mr. & Mrs. I met a week before. They crouch down and tell me I’ll have a bedroom all my own, a Schwinn bicycle, Popsicle snacks, trips to Disneyland. In the bunk room, I throw my clothes into a cardboard box fast as I can so they won’t change their minds and pick somebody else. I hope they call me Ken or Ben or Dan.
Nick scowls in the doorway. “Better do good, Howie, so you don’t get dumped at Larkin.”
Dumped? My stomach flips. That’s how boys end up on the ridge?
Mrs. Emmert appears and guides me and my box to the foyer. The Mr. beams down at me, ruffles my hair, says I’ll have fun in the treehouse he built.
In the back seat of a big black car, Mrs. swivels around from the front and asks which do I want most–a slice of chocolate cake or a fudge brownie?
I look down at my lap. I don’t know which answer is the one I should say.
“Both! Right?” the Mr. laughs, steering us down the long driveway. The trees start rushing past the windows. I stuff all my words into my pockets and shoes. Squeeze the entire alphabet flat under my feet.
It’s Nick. I want Nick the most.
Author of five collections of poetry, Shoshauna Shy's flash fiction and micro-memoir has recently appeared in the public arena courtesy of Cranked Anvil, Five Minutes, Literally Stories and Flash Boulevard. She was a finalist for the 2021 Fish Flash Fiction Prize and earned a Notable Story distinction in Brilliant Flash Fiction’s 2022 contest, was long and shortlisted in the Bath Flash Fiction Award anthologies in 2022 and 2023, and shortlisted for the Flash Fiction Contest 2023 Awards conducted by South Shore Review.
