Govaere - Lucky 13

In the not-too-distant future, everything is perfect until the unthinkable happens.

Average Will Madison lives a perfect life in a perfect house in a perfect neighborhood. He has a perfect job and beautiful, charming Tricia is the perfect wife. Losing what he has is unthinkable, so he never tells a soul about the dark times, about Tricias bad thoughts and tears or the emotional turmoil his life secretly holds.

When the van pulls into his driveway bringing his thirteenth son, Wills worst nightmare begins to unfold. For Tricia, Peter is Lucky 13, but for Will, the boys appearance is the end of his world.

As his life crumbles around him, Will cleans up the pieces in the only way he knows how.

Lucky 13

Devin Govaere

On the day my perfect world began to crumble, my wife was peeling potatoes and sneaking glances out the window. I sat at the table drinking coffee, watching her sway gently to a song on the player. Her gauzy flowered skirt moved softly against her smooth, tanned legs. Never once did she lose the rhythm of the music. Her hips moved magically.

Her dark auburn hair was piled on her head, but tendrils had escaped and curled against the sides of her face. I knew every aspect of my wifes face, the curves of the high cheekbones and the soft hollows beneath, the gentle blue eyes that could hide nothing, rosy lips that needed no color. I knew she was lovely and had been told countless times how lucky I was. She was everything in the world to me.

Tricia and I were both thirty-four. Wed met in college where we were both seeking teaching degrees. I fell in love with her instantly and pursued her relentlessly, though in my usual quiet, unassuming way. She had her choice of suitors, but for some reason, she chose me. She never did say why, and I never asked. Afraid, I guess. I knew there were brighter men, more handsome men than I was. I am merely average, nondescript really, with sandy hair, hazel eyes, not tall, not short. I would not stand out in a crowd if someone lit me on fire. Still, she chose me.

Tricia, however, was not average. Her presence was luminous and her mind sharp. She sailed through her courses and could have majored in anything from English to physics, but her passion and her talent was art. She could have been a professional, but she was adamant about teaching. Me, I fell into teaching because I had no real ambition and had to choose something. Ive always liked history, so thats my field.

We both teach at the local high schoolGrayfield High in Grayfield, Ohio, a medium-sized school in a medium-sized town just like so many others. The school was incredibly fortunate to have lured Tricia. She was a renowned artist at the college level, winning scholarships and grants to pursue her passion. She could have done anything and was offered a position on the Youth Arts Council upon graduation. A government appointment is never turned down because the perks of working for the old US of A are vast and permanent, but she declined graciously in favor of Grayfield. She really wanted acceptance at Grayfield Public School #1, #2, or #3, but that would have to be for later. She didnt meet the age qualifications for elementary education.

Despite her disappointment in not being permitted to teach the younger kids, she excelled at the high school level because she was old enough to be a role model yet still young enough to bond with the kids and empathize with the angst and issues of being in high school. There werent many dangerous issues anymore, but someone invariably rocked the system with some problem or another. She instantly earned a reputation for being tough but fair, offering criticism when necessary but more often praise. Students clamored to take her classes, not only for her talent but also for her warm, generous personality and passionate spirit. Grants poured in faster than she could budget the funds.

No, there was nothing average about Tricia.

I was also offered a position at Grayfield High upon graduation. It was an after-thought really. They wanted Tricia, and they got me as a bonus. We had already filed our intent-to-marry papers, and Tricia made it clear from the get-go that we were a package deal.

Ive been teaching history for thirteen years now. Im nothing special, just your average academic, but Ive managed to score a few grants. My biggest coupa very large grantwas with the package titled, The Last Great Family: Decline of Family Values in the Latter Part of the 20th Century. Its now a required course senior year. As weve been told for a few centuries now, those who cant remember the past are condemned to repeat it. We want to make sure our kids appreciate the world they live in now and hold to it tightly.

Tricia has eight years of tenure, having taken the mandatory five-year maternity period. She loved the staying-home part, but she also missed teaching. She was glad to be back.

It was easy to think back on those early years because we were very happy. We had our careers, our friends and each other. If we were missing pieces of that last great family, we werent really aware of it because wed never had it. We had developed on our own with the help of our parental groups, and then wed grown into adults together. We had a great life filled with fun and laughter, mandatory trips and sanctioned hobbies. Im not sure anyone could have asked for a better life or a better person to share it with. It certainly wouldnt have crossed my minduntil recently. Now I wish I could go back in time and change everything.

The song ended on the player and switched to another. Trish stopped swaying, her body coming to a dead stop. Her hands, however, were still moving as she peeled, rinsed and sliced, and she stared intently out the window now. I got up to make another cup of coffee and caught a glimpse of her face. That dreamy gaze was gone, replaced by an almost manic gleam. I leaned over and gave her a kiss. Her perfume wafted over me in waves and took my breath away. Being near her does that to me. I turned her face toward me and smiled at her intense look.

Relax, I whispered.

Im relaxed, Will, really I am. Id heard that before, too many times to count. She wasnt relaxed at all. In fact her jaw locked before she lifted her eyes to mine. Her gaze barely grazed my own before she snuck another peek out the window.

Trish?

Yes

Her gaze came back to mine slowly, and she tried to smile, the corners of her lips tugging upward, but she wasnt much of a faker. I didnt know anyone more genuine than Trish. Every emotion she felt, every thought she had, good or bad, showed clearly on her face.

Generally I encouraged the good emotions and tried to ignore the bad ones. The bad was burrowing through her now. It hadnt quite taken hold, but pieces of it began escaping, shimmering on her pretty face like tiny gas vents releasing steam. I could always tell when bad arrived, but I couldnt always imagine what the bad might be. I really didnt want to know because wed learned from the past that bad thoughts sometimes create bad behavior, and bad behavior always has consequences. Id rather not think about any of that, so it doesnt do a bit of good to concentrate on her bad thoughts or feelings. Theyre foreign to me, as they areor should beto all of us. All of us, seemingly, except for Trish.

She could, most often, keep any bad thoughts under control. Theyd slip out, and shed rally, stuffing them back inside and forgetting them over the course of a few hours. Today, though, the bad had a bit more of a hold on her. It was causing her hand to grip the knife tightly and her eyes to lock on the shadowed driveway. She seemed almost lost to me now that the song on the player, the one that had calmed her, had ended. I needed to pull her back from the precipice before she threw herself off the edge. She did that sometimes, though Id never told a soul. It was our secret, deep, dark and dirty, and Id never admit to anyone what went on in our home sometimes.