There was just no way in hell.
Disbelief continued to wash over me as I sat in the center of my bed and let the possibility unfold. I hadn’t taken the time to look closely at the ticket itself, nor had I paid much attention to the news reports on the television to know what the numbers were. I had no idea if it was the winning ticket or not. The likelihood of the hit-and-run guy living in Millville was nothing more than coincidence.
I heard the distinctive rumble of the garbage truck coming down the street and bolted straight out of bed. I ran down the stairs, flung over the front door, and didn’t stop until my fingers were on the handle of the large trash bin, and I was hauling it away from the curb.
The truck was parked at the house next to mine, and the driver gave me a weird look as he watched me pull the trash away, but he didn’t say anything. I opened the garage door and pulled the trash can into the middle of the floor and then sat down and tried to catch my breath.
I stared at the bottom of the large, black trash bin for several minutes without the slightest idea what I should do next. I got up at one point and took the lid off, but I quickly replaced it again. I leaned against the door between the garage and the house and stared at the large bin, which seemed to grow larger as I looked at it.
The adrenaline in my system was going sour and leaving me shaky. Deciding the bin and its contents were safe for the moment, I went back inside the house to contemplate and dropped down on one of the chairs in the kitchen.
The odds against the winning lottery ticket being inside my trash were astronomical. If the ticket were in there, it would be totally covered with scum, and I wouldn’t be able to touch it. There was also no way I was going to get the bag out of the bin and open it up to look.
I closed my eyes for a few minutes, and when I opened them again, my gaze fell on the small pad of paper for messages and such that sat next to the phone. I could see rather unfamiliar writing on the pad, and I remembered whose phone number had been scribbled there recently.
I stood up, still feeling like I might be dreaming, and walked to the other side of the kitchen. With shaking hands, I picked up the phone out of its cradle and looked down at the pad of paper next to it. A phone number was still on the top page.
I called Mayra.
“You want me to do what?”
Mayra stood in the center of my garage with her arms crossed over her chest. She was tapping one foot against the concrete floor and looking back and forth between me and the large, open trash can between us.
“Maybe just…dump it out?” Apparently, my suggestion that she dig through the plastic bag of kitchen garbage hadn’t gone over so well. It was possibly my refusal to tell her what I was looking for—on the grounds that I would sound like an idiot—wasn’t making it any easier.
Maybe I was an idiot.
I wrapped my arms around myself and wondered if it was physically possible to hold myself together.
“You want me to dump out the whole trash can full of garbage?” Mayra asked.
I nodded.
“On the floor of the garage?”
“There isn’t any room to spread it out anywhere else,” I said, hoping at least that much sounded reasonable.
Mayra shook her head.
“But you aren’t going to tell me what we’re looking for?” she asked again.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes were drawn to the top of the trash can and the bit of plastic bag that was sticking out. I tried to convince myself to take a step forward and maybe at least open the bag, but I couldn’t. No one was supposed to open trash bags after they’d been tied closed.
Mayra let out a long sigh and shook her head at me. Mumbling under her breath, she turned to the can and grabbed hold of the top of the plastic bag, hoisted it out, and dropped it on the floor. That made me jump. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose as she crouched down and tore it open.
Tore it.
“Couldn’t you have just untied it?” I asked with a cringe.
“Heard the line about beggars can’t be choosers?” Mayra said, her frustration evident. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Mayra turned over the bag and let everything fall out. Seeing all of the trash on the floor was just about enough to make me nauseated, and suddenly the idea of any amount of money being sufficient to compensate for the mess seemed ridiculous.