Upside Down

21

Concord, North Carolina

Winter Massey sat at the table across from his son and, picking up one card at a time, appraised his hand. A pair of fives, an ace, a jack, and a three. Rush, who wore a ball cap pulled down low to make him look more like a dealer, set aside the deck. He lifted his own cards, fanning them so he could use his fingertip to read the dots located on the upper left-hand corner of the face of each card. He closed his hand and turned his head to his left, where Sean sat arranging her cards.

“Pot's right. Bet's up to you, little lady,” Rush said flatly.

Sean lifted two chips and dropped them one after the other in the center of the table.

“Two to you, old fellow.”

Winter contemplated his odds of drawing another five, then tossed in two chips. “I'll check to the dealer.”

Rush placed his fingers on either side of one of his five tall stacks of chips and lifted up several of them. Without counting them out, he put them down on the felt and said, “Your two, and three more is the raise.” Laying his cards down and lifting the deck, he said, “Cards, lady and elderly gentleman?”

“One,” Sean said.

Rush said, as he handed her a card, “Okay, the little lady has two pairs… or might she be drawing to fill a straight… or maybe she is a card short of a flush.”

“Three,” Winter said.

Rush passed the cards to his father. “Read them and weep. Working on building two pairs or three of a kind, are we?”

“You're fixing to find out,” Winter told him.

“This is my last hand,” Sean said.

“Because I have almost all the chips?” Rush said, arching his brows.

“No, not merely because your father and I are both almost out of chips. Also because it's almost ten.”

“I'll give you more,” Rush told her.

“Absolutely not. I hate losing the same money twice.”

“If Daddy wins, we play one more hand. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sean said quickly. “Like that's going to happen.”

“Dealer is standing pat,” Rush said, laying aside the deck and lifting his cards. “Bets?”

Unbelievably, Winter had drawn a third five and a pair of sixes. Full house.

Sean bet five chips. Winter raised her a like amount.

Rush put in twenty.

“Perfect. I have only ten left,” Winter said.

Sean pushed in her remaining chips. “I'll be light two.” She laid her hand down. “Three aces,” she declared triumphantly. “Beat that, Misters Massey.”

Winter cut out three cards, which he put facedown on the table. He put down the other two faceup. “Beats my pair of fives.”

“Read 'em and weep.”

“What in the world do you call that?” Winter said, laughing. Rush laid down a hand devoid of any merit whatsoever.

“I was bluffing,” Rush replied.

“You were trying to let us win,” Sean accused.

Winter watched his son laugh. If you didn't notice the scar that ran from his temples, across both eyelids and the bridge of his nose, you would never guess that Rush was blind. Despite the limitations caused by his blindness, his son came as close to leading a normal life as most kids his age. Often it seemed that his other senses more than made up the difference. Winter hadn't thrown the hand to let Rush win because the boy was blind. He had thrown it because he didn't care if he won. He didn't at all mind coming in last in his home. Rush and his wife Sean meant everything to him.

“Did Mama call today?” Winter asked.

“No, Lydia hasn't called yet,” Sean said as she gathered up the cards and boxed them.

“It's that new friend, ” Winter said. “Distracting her from her motherly and grandmotherly duties.”

“Her condo beau.” Rush was grinning. “Gram calls about every single night. Think they'll get married?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Winter said.

Lydia Massey had moved to Sarasota, Florida, the week after Winter and Sean's wedding the previous March. She was dating a retired doctor who had a unit on the floor above hers. Winter had spoken to the doctor on several occasions and he seemed nice enough. It was just weird that his mother was dating.

“I have something for you fellows,” Sean announced. “A present.”

“What kind of present?” Rush asked suspiciously.

“A small one representing a very large one.” Sean leaned back and opened a drawer in the Stickley sideboard and removed a thin, gift-wrapped package. She handed it to Rush. “Open it.”

Rush tugged the ribbon off and removed the paper. It was a small silver frame.

“A picture frame?” Rush sounded disappointed. “So what's in it?”

“Nothing,” Winter said.

“Why is it empty?” Rush asked. “What's it for?”

“That's where we'll put the very first picture.”

“You bought a new camera?” Winter asked. Sean had told them it was a small something representing a larger something.

“Nope. The first picture of the new baby,” she said softly.

“A new baby? Holy shit!” Rush said.

“Rush!” Winter snapped. “Don't say that. Whose new baby?”

“Holy crapoly,” Rush said.

Winter finally got his mind around what his wife had said. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Sean replied.

“The doctor said so? That's why you've been sick?”

“You don't just guess at something like that,” Sean said, laughing.

He stood and pulled Sean up out of her chair and hugged her to him.

“Winter, are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course I'm not. I'm happy!” He knew, of course, that he was crying. But they were tears of joy. “We need champagne!”

“We have champagne,” Sean said. “In the fridge.”

“Holy-” Rush started.

“Rush,” Winter said warningly.

“Sorry! Do I get champagne too?”

It was a big deal for all of them. Winter didn't believe he could be any happier. He wished he could freeze that moment so he could have it to take out and relive over and over for the rest of his life.

The telephone started to ring.

“Let it ring,” Winter said.

“Might be Lydia,” Sean said.

“Gram is gonna freak out!” Rush said gleefully.

“I'll get it. I need to get some soap to wash out Rush's mouth with anyway,” Winter joked. He rushed into the kitchen to answer the phone, certain that he was going to be able to share the news with Lydia.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully.

“Is this Mr. Winter Massey?” The unfamiliar voice was heavily accented.

“Yes,” he answered, still thinking of Sean and her news. A baby. “I'm Winter Massey.”

Of course it would be a salesman, but for once he didn't care. From where he was standing, he could see into the dining room where Rush and Sean were actually dancing arm in arm. He wished he had a camera so he could capture the image. “So friend, what is it you're selling on this fine evening?”

“I'm Nicky Green.”

“I'm sure you are,” Winter said distractedly. “What's the pitch?”

“I'm a friend of Hank and Millie's.”

Winter's mind downshifted and he started paying closer attention. Why would he be calling? Maybe Hank put him up to something. “Sure, I know who you are. Sorry, what can I do for you, Mr. Green?”

“Well, I hate worse than anything to have to call you, but I'm afraid I have some god-awful news. It's bad… I… I…”

The smile had left Winter's face, and ice-cold fear froze his mind. Hank's old friend couldn't continue because he was crying.