Love is the Winner

By Randi Hart

A young woman is thrust into unthinkable circumstances in this dramatic mystery-romance. For years, Marissa Stevens lived a simple life surrounded by a loving family. After her father dies, she discovers the winning lottery ticket for $248 million in his wallet. Nothing will ever be the same. 

Marissa soon finds herself in danger from an unknown source when her past comes rushing back at her. An untold love from long ago resurfaces. The complex ties between half-sisters and lovers can no longer be taken for granted as the line between love and money starts to blur...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Kasch
• Release date: Sep 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393024538

Book preview

Love is the Winner

Randi Hart

© 2012-2019 Andrew Kasch

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, religious bodies, corporate or governmental entities, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.

Contents

ONE

DADDY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?

TWO

WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY

THREE

ONE AND ONE MAKES FOUR

FOUR

HOME, SWEET HOME

FIVE

BABY, BABY, DON’T YOU CRY

SIX

MONEY TALKS AND MAKES THE RULES

SEVEN

THEY WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I’M GONNA DO

EIGHT

THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MARISSA

NINE

EVERYTHING NEEDS A SOLID FOUNDATION

TEN

NEVER SAY NEVER, EVER

ELEVEN

AH, THE SMELL OF LOVE

TWELVE

NOW WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?

THIRTEEN

PLEASE LOVE HIM, DADDY

FOURTEEN

BRING IT ON

FIFTEEN

THE BABY ISN’T CRYING ANY MORE

SIXTEEN

THE WINNING TICKET? WHAT A JOKE

SEVENTEEN

TOMORROW WILL ERASE THE PAIN OF TODAY

EIGHTEEN

THERE WOULD BE A TOMORROW

NINETEEN

NO MORE THE WHIPPING BOY

TWENTY

WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?

TWENTY-ONE

DEJA VU ALL OVER AGAIN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

DADDY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?

Marissa stared out the window, unable to focus or shut off the chatter in her head. Endless chatter. Like a parakeet out of control.

It had been five days since her father’s death. And five very long nights. She still could not piece together the turn he’d taken that ended his life. It was a routine surgery, one that doctors performed by the thousands every day.

He never really came out of it, never took one inch toward recovery. Instead, he was gone. Peacefully, much like his life, without fanfare, but gone.

Marissa knew she had to get a grip, take care of the legal business of her father’s life. He hadn’t exactly planned on never going home, so there was no will and no formality to anything.

She’d been sitting in her car in front of his apartment for over an hour, her long legs getting numb, realizing she could no longer postpone going inside. She couldn’t stop crying.  The key had already cut grooves in her hands. From her view, she could see his car parked in the car port and that upset her even more.

One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Just do it. Get it over with. She opened the door to his apartment and smelled cigarettes even though he had stopped smoking years earlier.

The drapes were partially open. She opened them all the way, then the windows. Air. Fresh air. Breathe it in. She walked around the living room, touching his things, sensing his presence, and could not fight the tears. The sadness was overpowering and she was angry.

God, if you really are there, how could you take him from us? He had so much to live for. He just wanted to live in good health and without pain. Why was it his time to go?

Marissa knew there was no answer, at least not one she wanted to hear. She was angry, especially at God.

Where to start? Probably with his legal papers, if any, and figuring out where things stood as far as bills and money.  She sat at his desk and remembered it from when she was a child. It was mahogany, kidney shaped. She used to play under it when she was a little girl. Sometimes her father would sit at the desk and pretend to not know she was under it. Even his six foot tall presence did not crowd her. He’d call to her and giggle, knowing she was right beneath his feet.

He was organized and everything he did was clearly marked. Each bill that had to do with his life was in neat order – cable, car payment, car insurance, electric, medical, etc. In his check book, Marissa noted a balance of several thousand dollars. She found a savings passbook as well; the balance was over ten thousand dollars.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do about this money. There was an envelope addressed to Marissa in her dad’s handwriting. Her hands shook as she opened it.

Marissa, if you are reading this, then I didn’t make it through the surgery. I’m sorry, honey. I love you and thank you for being the kind of daughter you’ve been. You’ve made my life so good and I am grateful. Be good to yourself. Continue on the path you’re on with your life. You are beautiful and smart. Do what is best for you, not others. 

The note continued:

Please give each of your sisters $2,000 and keep the rest for yourself.  Please give my car to your nephew, Devon. I made the last payment just the other day and all you have to do is transfer title to Devon. Do as you wish with any of my other things. I love you, Daddy

His letter gave her comfort and made her feel strong. She appreciated direction from him and went through the papers, packing up what to take with her.

The refrigerator was almost empty and she threw out what was left. All the small appliances were unplugged. Typical of her dad, she thought. She walked into the bedroom, again noting the order of it all. The bed was made. That made her laugh. He would never leave the house without making the bed, former Navy man that he was. On the nightstand was the book he’d been reading, Gibran, one of his favorites. His wallet was there, too. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened it, the smell of used leather wafting to her nostrils. A lottery ticket fell to the floor.

She picked it up and laughed. It was dated the day before he went into the hospital a week ago. She started to put the ticket back in his wallet, then changed her mind and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans. She would check it later from home.

Her dad had been buying lottery tickets for years, at least twenty years that she could recall. He teased Marissa and her sisters that some day they would be rich from a winning ticket. His system was simple, play their birthdays. And they teased him that maybe it was time to pick another system since he wasn’t winning, so stop with the birthdays already.

He had even done his laundry. Not one dirty towel or pair of underwear was in the hamper. Everything was put away. He died as neatly as he lived. Damn, then Marissa began to cry again. Can’t stay here, need to get finished and leave.

She didn’t have to do this today. His rent was paid for the entire month, so a little bit at a time would be okay. She just didn’t want to risk anyone trying to break into the apartment and taking anything, knowing the landlady would want to start renting it the next month. Maybe she would ask the landlady to hold off for another week or so, until they could get his things out. She checked the closet and dresser for any other important papers, noting that when all is said and done, life comes down to a small box of papers ... and a small box of ashes. That was all that was left.

She stared out the living room window for a moment, recalling the memorial service. An amazing process:  cremation, then scattering his ashes in the Pacific Ocean. Dad had many friends and there were almost 100 people in the church’s courtyard.

The readings were simple, poignant to his life and early passing, respectful to the man who was such a kind person, whose heart and soul were never questioned by anyone. In addition to many friends, Marissa noticed two of the nurses who were with him when he died. In a short time, he had given love to so many.

Scattering his ashes at sea was easy, but bringing the remaining ashes home in a container was not. Marissa thought that choosing a container for ashes was as ghoulish as picking out a casket. Her dad always said it was about money – funerals and burials. Some people want a pine box or pine urn; others wanted something elaborate and costly, in the tens of thousands of dollars. Marissa knew her dad would never want anything elaborate and expensive. He didn’t live his life that way, so why would he want that in death?

Marissa checked the answering machine and noted two messages, which she played. They were both from the hospital regarding pre-admission. She quickly hit delete, then decided to turn off the answering machine. Enough messages for a dead person. She’d call and have the phone disconnected.

Get it together, girlfriend; get out of here. She was starting to feel smothered, didn’t want to smell his smell any more or see his things. It was easier to think in the abstract, not being so close to him.

But she wasn’t ready to go home just yet and drove over to the coast. It was spring; a beautiful May day without a cloud in the sky, 80 degrees, and Marissa had a craving for an ice cream cone. She drove to a Baskin-Robbins and ordered her dad’s favorite - butter pecan, one scoop in a sugar cone.

She reached in her pocket for money and out came the lottery ticket. She paid for her ice cream and walked out to the patio, finding a chair in the shade to savor her treat. Then she looked at the lottery ticket and laughed again.

Okay, Dad, this must have been the last ticket you bought before you went to the hospital. I guess I’ll have to check it out and see what my inheritance might be. She stuffed the ticket back into her jeans. There would be plenty of time later to look at yet another wish that would not come true.

When Marissa arrived home, she cleared a space in the corner of her living room for her father’s papers. There had been enough emotions and business for one day. She turned on the news while whipping up an omelet for dinner, but couldn’t wrap her brain around anything the broadcaster was saying so turned it off.

All of the emotions were beginning to catch up with her and she was tired. Maybe tonight was the night she would finally sleep.

Her cell phone rang but she didn’t answer it, could see that it was a friend from work. She was not in the mood to answer a lot of questions, especially about how she was feeling or when she’d be back to work.

A quick look in the mirror made her realize that her normally lustrous, long, auburn hair was suffering from neglect and the dark circles under her eyes told a sad story. She was exhausted and got into bed rather than lying down on the couch. The clock said 9:00 p.m., but her body said three days without sleep. She turned her phones off. No one was going to get through to her tonight. The dishes were left in the sink; her legs could no longer keep her standing.

TWO

WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY

Marissa awakened and looked at the clock next to her bed. It was 3:00 a.m. and she’d been dreaming, not about her father, but about the lottery ticket. She got up and pulled the ticket from her jeans. The ticket was already a week old and she had no idea what game it was for or where to look to see if she’d won. Her father always said she didn’t need to buy one, that he bought the winning ticket, so she didn’t need to waste her money.

There was a phone number on the back of the ticket. She called it, listening first to the spiel about the lottery process, and then to the recording that announced the numbers:

two  –  twenty-one  –  eighty-four  –  five  – twenty-six  –  thirty-five

Marissa wrote the numbers down and hung up the phone. She looked at the ticket in her hand:

2 –  21  – 84  –  5  –  26  –  35

She began to shake, thought she was hallucinating and then looked at the numbers again. The room was suddenly spinning.

Two  –  twenty-one –  eighty-four  –  five  – twenty-six  –  thirty-five

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Marissa called the number again, sure she had written it down wrong. The line was busy. Damn. She kept dialing until it finally rang. Again, she wrote down the numbers just as she had moments before. They were the exact numbers she had first written.

This time she stayed on the phone long enough to hear the winnings – two hundred and forty-eight million dollars.

Two hundred and forty-eight million dollars.

She found the web site for the lottery people, shaking the whole time. Somehow, she found a way to navigate the process and arrived at the site for this game, this winning number and prize amount, and she could see before her own eyes what the phone message had told her.

Well, Daddy, you did it. You had the winning number after all. Twenty years of buying tickets every week, but this time, you had the BIG winning ticket. Two hundred and forty-eight million dollars. God, how could you do this to me, to him? How could you take him? Why now? She cried herself to exhaustion.

Marissa curled up in bed with the winning ticket in her hand. She slept for a couple of hours, then called the phone number again and re-checked the web site. It was all real. Two hundred and forty-eight million dollars.

Was the ticket hers? Did it belong to her now? She needed to get legal advice and think about whom best to talk to in her law firm. Working for lawyers often had advantages. She didn’t want to tell anyone until she was sure what she had to do. But she knew she had to keep the ticket safe.

She turned her phones back on and there were messages from her sisters and mother, as well as a couple of friends. This was a good time to phone everyone, a comfort level for them more than for her. It also eased her nerves, gave her time to think. She felt like a deer caught in headlights and didn’t like the feeling.

Then she phoned the Lottery Commission in Sacramento, wanting to know how long someone had before they must claim the prize or it would be lost. She also wanted to know if the law required the winner be identified in the press, how the money was paid out, and whether someone’s attorney could handle everything.

Marissa thought about who would be the most private and respect her wishes for secrecy, but also who would have the most knowledge about the legal process. The lawyer she had the most respect for personally and professionally was Rob Gates. She knew he would be the one to help her, give her sound advice, and speak for her if need be. She put in a call to him and he answered on the second ring.

Marissa, I’m so glad to hear from you. We are all so sorry about your loss. How are you doing?

Thanks, Rob, I’m doing better. It’s been a crazy time and the days have rolled into each other. It’s hard to believe my dad is not going to walk through the door tonight.

I know, I felt the same way when my father died. It’s like a bad dream you’ll wake up from eventually. How is your family?

They’re about the same as me. My mother and father were divorced for years, so it’s not as if there wasn’t separation, know what I mean? But it’s still hard.

Well, don’t come back to work until you feel like you can really handle it. Don’t let anyone else tell you what’s good for you now, okay?

Thanks, Rob. Yes, I know what you mean. Well, I need to talk to you about something that will establish a lawyer/client relationship between us. Is that something you are willing to do?

Absolutely. For you? Of course. What’s going on?

My dad bought a lottery ticket, several actually, every week. He always joked that he would buy the winning ticket one day and give us a gigantic inheritance. He played our birthday numbers. I finally got to his apartment yesterday to pick up his personal papers. There was a lottery ticket in his wallet and it’s the winning ticket for the two hundred forty-eight million dollar prize from last week.

Oh, Marissa, oh, my gosh. Wow. I know you’re sure; you would have made sure before you phoned me. Did you tell anyone else yet?

"No. No one. I’m afraid to leave my apartment with it. So let me spell out for you what I need to be clear about. My parents were divorced for twenty years, but we all were family. There was never any separation at holidays or birthdays. My two sisters were not his children, were born from my mother’s first marriage. But they lived as his children from the time they were nine and eleven years old. He treated them the same as he treated me. They