The-Lucky-List-Rachael-Lippincott

“I’d hate to have to take the trash all the way down there on trash day,” I say to her.
She nods in agreement, then gives me a mischievous grin. “I conveniently forgot yesterday and my
dad had to do it. To be honest, I’m not sure how my grandma did it at all before we got here.”
I open my mouth to say something, but stop short when I see the house we’re pulling up to.
I stare at the modern design in awe, the entire structure sleek and carefully constructed. Floor-toceiling
windows take up the entire first and second floors of the house, giving way to sharp metallic
angles. On the second floor, a deck extends out, carefully enclosed by trees on either side of it. All
browns and silvers and grays, everything uniform in a beautiful way.
“This house is insane,” I say, my eyes wide. I knew the Carters’ refused to sell their farm until Johnny
Carter Sr. couldn’t work anymore, making their plot of land the final puzzle piece in a massive
development plan the real estate developers had been trying to build for years, but I had no idea their
payout was enough for this.
“It’s my grandpa’s dream house,” Blake says as we pull slowly up the driveway. “He designed it
entirely by himself.”
“He designed this?” I ask, completely in awe.
“Yep,” Blake says, peeling her eyes away from the driveway to admire the house. “Architecture was
his passion, even though he didn’t get an education in it.” Her gaze is almost reverent. “He didn’t live to
see the Architectural Digest article about it, but he’d have loved it.”
I wonder what that must have been like. Having enough money to build something like this. Or, just
enough money to stay in the house you grew up in, where your parents built a life together, and where
your mom’s garden sits out front, and where your favorite memories of cake decorating and closet
conversations with her feel etched into the very foundation.
I try to shake off the move vibes. “Those are some windows,” I say with a whistle.
“Yeah, the views are beautiful. Zero privacy, though!” she says with a laugh. “It’s a good thing we live
in the middle of nowhere. The whole neighborhood would have seen my butt by now.”
We reach the top of the long driveway and see my dad’s truck already parked in front of the
spaceship-size two-car garage. Blake pulls up alongside it and reaches up to press a button. e right
door of the garage slowly opens, but unlike our garage at home, there’s no clutter to be seen. Just
Johnny’s car, and four surfboards hung in ascending size order on the wall.
I’m surprised when she puts her car in park instead of pulling inside.
“You’re not pulling into the garage?” I ask.
She shakes her head as she turns the key in the ignition, the truck noisily cutting out. “My dad
won’t let me park it in there. He got upset with my grandma because it leaked oil onto the ‘superior
concrete floors.’ ” She says the last bit with air quotes and an eye roll. “Which is really rich coming from
the man who would track sand around our old house like it was his job.”
We laugh as we unbuckle our seat belts, then head inside.
No sooner have I crossed over the threshold than a blur of fur and slobber comes slamming into me,
almost knocking my feet out from under me. A single paw finds my shoulder, and suddenly the droopy
brown eyes of a golden retriever are staring lovingly into mine as my face is coated in sloppy dog kisses.
I laugh, patting the dog’s sides, and realize with a start that he only has three legs. e smooth skin
of his chest extends all the way around on his le side, a tiny nub the only sign anything had ever been