The Good Luck Shop

I walk through the door like I would on any other day, and the bells in the top corner of the doorway jingle. It’s early November, so the sun hasn’t risen quite yet but there’s that grayish-blue hue, that crisp stillness in the air. I carry a travel mug that holds steaming coffee with lots of cream and sugar in my right hand, and the key to the shop in my left, which I use to unlock and open this door.

The door is very tall, with emerald-green paint that could honestly use a fresh coat. There are some chips here and there. It’s a heavy door. Sometimes it almost feels too heavy, as if I’m being rejected by the store. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was actually the case. You see, above the door is a wooden sign that I painted myself (which is why the lettering is so crooked). It reads: “The Good Luck Shop.”

Ironic, considering that I myself happen to have terrible luck.

I flunked out of high school in my last month, and just barely managed to scrape up a GED two years later. I never bothered going to college because I knew I would be terrible at it and I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to go for anyway. I kept applying for various manual-labor jobs that didn’t require college education, but it always seemed like disaster followed me. Machines malfunctioned when I used them, heavy objects fell from dangerous heights and just missed people’s heads, and I was constantly tripping, stubbing my toe, pricking my finger, hitting my head, bruising my elbow, and all sorts of other fun things that made employers realize that I was a liability.

So finally, about a year ago, I started working for my grandpa in his trinket store. He’s had it for decades. He’s not quite as disastrous as me, but he isn’t exactly the luckiest man on the planet—he’s terrible at relationships. His first wife, my grandmother, walked out on him and their daughter one scalding summer day after falling in love with a man who worked in a vineyard. Ever since then Grandpa’s tried to move on many times, but he’d only ever been with Grandma. He didn’t know how to talk to other women, and his taste was… questionable. He fell for scam artists, cheaters, thieves, and once he narrowly escaped being the latest victim to someone the news called “The Married Murderess.”

Then one day, he found a six-leaf clover just outside on this abandoned building on the outskirts of town. It was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him, and he took it as a sign. He bought the building. He didn’t know what he was going to sell at first, until the next week when he gave the six-leaf clover to a friend, and the friend went to the gas station later that day and bought a scratcher that won him a hundred-thousand dollars.

It was then that Grandpa realized his true calling—giving luck to other people.

With practice, he developed a skill for finding items with good luck attached to them. Mostly trinkets that could be found in cluttered antique shops, but sometimes they would be wildflowers or cheese wedges—those were a little pricier since they were perishable items. He opened “The Good Luck Shop” and became very popular once people realized that the business was legitimate. Everyone who walked out with a good-luck charm found extreme fortune and happiness. One girl who bought a wildflower from him even went on to become a famous actress on Broadway. She still talks about it in interviews; she keeps the flower dried and displayed next to her Tony.

Once I started working for him, Grandpa taught me how to find good-luck charms. It was really hard at first. Especially for me. But the more I practiced, the more I could spot them. It started, like Grandpa, with clovers. Just four-leaf ones, but still!

I went to antique stores and scoured them looking for lucky trinkets next. The lady who owned the store was actually very familiar with Grandpa’s work, and was considered a loyal vendor. She helped me by gathering up items that she thought might be lucky and showed them to me.

It didn’t help as much as she thought it would.

But Grandpa did help me, and eventually I could see it. It was almost like an aura the item gave off—a near-invisible pulse emanating from each item. The more I sought these items out, the more they seemed to pull me towards them, as if they knew their value and wanted to meet it.

My first find, a small porcelain figurine of a unicorn and a fairy walking together, still sits on proud display on the front desk, next to the register. I put it there when I took over managing day-to-day operations. Grandpa’s still the owner, but he considers himself retired. He just comes in every now and then to check in on me. Today, I hang up my coat and sit at the front desk, petting the unicorn figurine’s head with my index finger. “Today’s going to be a lucrative day,” I murmur.

Then she walks in.

I’ve never seen her before, but I know her. There’s a youthfulness in her movements that doesn’t quite mesh with her snow-white hair and wrinkled hands. Her face is almost completely smooth, save for the crow’s feet on either side of her eyes and the smile lines around her mouth. She has my mother’s aquiline nose and my green-flecked eyes, not to mention the kind of poise and sophistication that I’d only ever heard of through Grandpa’s stories about her.

It doesn’t surprise me at all when she looks me up and down and says, “You’re Boone and I’s grandchild, aren’t you?”

I’m very still. Honestly I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do in this situation. I have no idea if Grandpa would want me to kick her out or not. When he talks about her, he doesn’t seem angry or even sad. Just kind of… wistful. I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say slowly. “My name’s Beatrix. Most people just call me Bea.”

The lady smiles warmly and extends her hand towards me. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Bea. My name is Fayola,” she offers. “Most people call me Fay.”

I shake Fay’s hand and then clasped both of mine behind my back. “How can I help you today?”

Fay takes in a deep, heavy breath and sighs it out. “You sell good-luck charms, I take it?” She looked around at the shelves of merchandise sitting on the walls. “Do you have any specializations? Specific kinds of luck?”

“Not really, just general good-luck charms,” I say, watching as Fay steps towards one of the shelves to get a closer look. “It’s different for each person, but everyone seems to be satisfied with the outcome.” I go to follow her, and my hip bumps into the corner of the front desk. “Ow,” I mutter under my breath.

“Oh, that’s good,” Fay murmurs to herself. “You see, I’m trying to find luck in love.”

That stops me in my tracks. “That’s awfully bold of you,” I mutter.

Fay turns to me with wide eyes. “Oh, darling, no!” she exclaims. She rushes up to me and takes my hands in hers. “I’m talking about your grandfather!”

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes suspiciously. “I figured. That’s still a pretty bold move, all things considered.”

Fay squeezes my hands. “Oh, I know that, darling Bea, but I have to at least try. Can you please sell me a good-luck charm?”

I shake my head, pulling my hands away from hers. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work the way you want it to. They can give you good luck, but they can’t grant a specific wish. Besides, I don’t know if it’s a good idea. You really broke Grandpa’s heart.”

Fay’s face deflates. “I know. I can’t begin to express how sorry I am for that. But at least let me tell you what happened, and then you can decide whether or not to sell me a charm. How does that sound?” She looks up at me hopefully, her eyes glimmering. Is this what I look like when I want something?

Finally, I relent, planting my hands on my hips. “Fine,” I mutter. “There’s some chairs in the back. We can talk there.”

Fay follows me to the back room. I have it set up pretty nice, at least compared to most of the break rooms I’ve seen at other jobs: the walls are sapphire-blue, with a brand-new fridge up on the far wall. Next to it is the counter, with a new microwave set up on top and all the supplies and utensils I could need in the cupboards below. There are pictures of me, Grandpa, and my cat Talisman hanging on the walls all around. The door to the bathroom is in here too, with a sign that can flip between “Occupied” and “Vacant.” It’s a little silly, considering I’m the only one here, but every now and then a customer might need it, so it just gives it a nice official-looking flair.

I glance at Fay with an apologetic smile. “I’d offer to make you some tea, but I’d probably set the microwave on fire. Again,” I added under my breath.

Fay sits down and looks up at a nearby picture of me and Grandpa at the fair. Grandpa’s wearing a rainbow propeller hat and sticking his tongue out playfully. Fay smiles, and for a moment I actually believe that maybe she still loves him. There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated warmth in her smile. “He’s still so handsome,” she breathes.

“More handsome than your boyfriend from the vineyard?” I ask innocently.

Fay bites her lip. “I should explain.” I sit down with my arms crossed and she continues, “You see, when I left Boone and your mother, I was confused. I had sworn to love my sweet Boone forever, no matter what, and yet here I was, so madly and confidently in love with someone else that I would pack up and run away with him.

“Months passed, and I only became more confused. In my head, I knew that I wasn’t the least bit compatible with this new man. We eloped, we lived together, and we saw each other every day, but we had absolutely nothing in common, and we fought constantly. And still through it all, I felt magnetically attached to him. Every time I even thought about leaving him, I would be so overwhelmed with shame and regret that I would become bedridden for days.

“Finally, I decided that enough was enough. I had to find out what was going on. I searched the entire house until I finally came to the basement cabinet where my new husband kept his tools. I was never to go snooping in there, and that day I found out why: he was keeping bottles and bottles of love potion in the cabinet as well!

“I confronted my new husband about this discovery, and he confessed everything. He had seen me walking near the vineyard one day and fallen deeply in love with me. He’d developed the love potion from a special fermenting method with the grapes he stole from his boss’s vineyard, and one day when I visited again, he offered me a glass of wine—only he’d spiked it with his love potion! In that instant, all my warm feelings for Boone and even for my daughter disappeared, replaced by a maddening infatuation with this new man, and from then on every time he offered me a glass of his wine, it was spiked with that same potion.

“Well, I refused to drink another drop of his wine, and eventually the love potion wore off. The second it did, I was nothing but disgusted with the man I’d married, and all the love I had for your grandfather and your mother came rushing back. My new husband was so ashamed at what he’d done, he didn’t even try to stop me when I packed my things and left him.”

Fay pauses, catching her breath with her hand on her chest. I take in her story, my brows furrowed. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t come back,” I comment. “Surely Grandpa would understand if you told him what happened.”

Fay takes a shuddering breath. “That’s the worst part. I did come back, many times in fact. But every time I wanted to reach out to Boone, he was with another woman. I can’t say I blame him for moving on, but it was still so heartbreaking. And I felt like such a coward, but I just couldn’t waltz back into his life when he seemed so happy…” At this point, she broke down crying, burying her face in her gnarled hands. “Can any of you ever forgive me?” she whimpered, her voice shaky and muffled.

I slowly reach out and take one hand away from her face, enveloping it in mine. I smile weakly. “I can’t speak for Mom or Grandpa, but I think I can forgive you,” I say. How can I not believe her story? She looks like a blubbering mess. “Something tells me you couldn’t pull off a lie that big, anyway.”

She laughs timidly. “You’re right,” she agrees. “I’m terrible at lying. I’m terrible at most things, really. The only thing I’m good at is hiding my own incompetence, but in reality I’m a clumsy, uncoordinated disaster.”

I laugh along with her. “I’m the same way,” I admit. “Maybe I got it from you!”

Fay snorts in an unladylike way I wasn’t expecting. “That’s probably the case!” she declares. “I haven’t eaten a home-cooked meal in months because I burn everything.”

“That’s terrible!” I snort, covering my mouth with my hand.

“It’s true! And the last time I tried to use a sewing machine, I accidentally stitched the skirt I was hemming to the skirt I was wearing!”

We laugh together, clutching our sides. It’s nice, talking to someone as hopeless as I am. For a moment, it really feels like I’m with family, and not just a stranger calling me her granddaughter.

I hear the jingle of the bells at the door, and a slightly gruff voice calls out, “Bea? Are you here? String Bean?”

My eyes widen. “It’s Gr—”

“Boone!” Fay jumps up from her seat, then slaps her hand to her mouth. She looks at me, her eyes wide with panic. “Do you think he’d want to see me?” she whispers hoarsely.

“I don’t know,” I reply in a hushed tone. “I’ll talk to him.”

I enter the front room with a smile. “What’s up, Grandpa?”

Grandpa stuffs his hands in his pockets and tilts his head. “Do you have a friend back there?” he asks curiously. “I heard another voice.”

I shrug. “Yeah, it’s just…” I see his face and my voice trails off. He looks so hopeful, so expectant, I know in an instant that he already knows. Of course he’d recognize her voice; it was ridiculous of me to think he wouldn’t. I take a short breath and nod my head. “It’s Grandma,” I confess.

Grandpa takes off his hat and wrings it in his hands. “Oh, dear,” he mutters. “Oh dear, oh dear, I don’t know if I can—”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It’s just—”

“I know. But she explained the whole thing to me, so I think if you just talk, maybe—”

“Maybe?” His eyes widen. He gazes at the door to the back, his eyes soft and desperate. “You think it’s possible?”

I huff out a stunned breath and crack a vague smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. But—wait.” I turn and walk over to the shelf. I remind myself that it may not work the way I want it to, but like Fay said earlier, I have to at least try. I reach up and pull down a soda bottle cap from the top shelf. Its luck is strong, I can tell. It’s green with a little cartoon of a lemon and lime on it. I walk back over to Grandpa and place it in his hand. “Hopefully it helps,” I murmur.

“Thank you,” Grandpa breathes.

I go to the back and stand over the table, my hands folded together. “He wants to talk to you,” I announce softly.

Fay hugs herself, tears still welling in her eyes. “Alright,” she croaks.

We leave the back room. Fay and Grandpa see each other, and the tears flow from them both. While they stand there, taking each other in, I go to the front desk and grab my unicorn figurine. I take Fay’s hand and place the figurine there. I might as well pull out all the stops, I figure. “It’s on the house,” I whisper.

“Thank you,” Fay says tearfully.

Grandpa takes a deep breath. “Would you like to go somewhere and talk?” he asks. “Maybe our old park bench?”

Fay nods her head. “I would like that very much,” she answers. Grandpa extends his arm, and she links her arm through. They walk through the front door together, lost in each other’s eyes.

I think their luck is going to change.