Lucky Me by Cindy Callaghan Page A

I left out clothes, shoes, mousse, hair dryer, flat iron, lip gloss, and skin cream.
    Mrs. Buck navigated a roundabout—a circular island in the middle of the road that you need to go all the way around in order to turn—and pulled up at a small convenience store that looked like a 7-Eleven.
    â€œHow about a mall?” I asked.
    â€œMall? Is something wrong with this?” Finn asked. “This place has all the stuff you just mentioned.”
    I sighed. How could I buy clothes at a place like this? I mentally willed my luggage to find me while I squeezed the thistle stem.
    We went into the store and I quickly filled a cart withundies, toiletries, and makeup. I couldn’t find a single item of clothing I’d wear. I got a T-shirt to sleep in. Then I grabbed a duffel bag, crackers, candy bars, and a few cans of Coke, too.
    Finn looked at my cart in amazement. “That’s a lot of necessities.” He lifted a pink razor and quickly dropped it like he’d just touched a snake.
    â€œDo you need anything?” I asked.
    He held up a toothbrush. “This’ll do it.”
    Mrs. Buck held one up too and smiled.
    At the last second I picked up two postcards of Newcastle. One for me and one to send to Carissa, who had never responded to my last text. Weird. I paid with my emergency credit card. This was, after all, an emergency.
    We drove for only a few minutes before Mrs. Buck parked. We followed her down a cobblestone sidewalk. Streetlights had come on, and the night was very clear. The smell of peat still lingered in the air. I was getting used to it, but I didn’t like it. It was like smoking dirt or mulch mixed with a litter box—not like wood at all. One by one the stars popped out.
    Finn looked at them. “I love the stars,” he said.
    I looked. “Me too.”
    â€œI think it’s cool how wherever you are you have the same stars.”
    â€œYup.” I looked at the stars again. It was a cool idea, and something I never would’ve thought about.
    We stopped at a small house with candles lit in each window.
    â€œLooks like we’re here,” Finn said.

Twenty
    W e could hear loud Irish music through the front door of the row home. The high-pitched sound of a flute and the fast strum of a banjo instantly made me tap my foot.
    Mrs. Buck knocked on the front door, and after a minute when no one came, she knocked more loudly.
    There were several seconds of pots banging and clanging or furniture falling before the door opened and revealed a leprechaun. Well, at least this guy looked just like something between a leprechaun and a man.
    â€œAha!” the leprechaun said, and he hugged Mrs. Buck and picked her up. “Come in. Come in.” His face was red, his hair light blond.
    The house smelled like he’d been baking cookies. The music was louder inside than it had been on the front stoop. He raised his elbows and kicked his heels as he made his way to an old record player and turned down the volume. It gave me a quick sec to look around the house.
    Every surface was covered with doilies and knickknacks: cats, teacups, fancy glass bottles. . . . The overcrowding of stuff and the smell of Christmas gave the place a very homey feel.
    â€œWelcome. I’m Paddy Flanigan. I love having guests!”
    I couldn’t imagine being excited to have strangers spending the night. Our house was all chaos all the time. Never baking. The only music was Piper singing. No one wanted to hear that, trust me.
    â€œHow ya been, Sis?” Paddy asked Mrs. Buck.
    She gave him a thumbs-up. He did the same, laughed with a snort, and asked, “What’s this all about?”
    Finn explained that Mrs. Buck was in silent retreat. Paddy asked in a very loud and slow voice as though his sister was deaf, “TEN DAYS?” He held up all ten fingers.
    â€œShe can hear just fine,” Finn clarified.
    â€œOh, how silly of me. Of course she can. OF