* CHAPTER 5 *

The room was disturbingly well populated, considering we still had almost a two-hour wait for the first game. Bella charged forward to wherever she was going with Ma right by her side. The two were yammering like long lost friends. It was only a matter of time now.

"So, hey, I picked up your son in a bar last night."

"Oh, do tell, dear."

"Yeah, he got a bit trashed on tequila shots and took me back to his room."

"No kidding! How was it?"

"Well, to be honest—"

"Edward! Edward! I swear, sometimes you get lost inside that head of yours."

"Sorry, Ma. What is it?"

She gave me that long-suffering look and reached her hand to my shoulder. "My bag, please? I need to get set up."

"Oh, sure. Sorry."

Bella was already busy whipping supplies out of her bag. I watched with great fascination as she expertly arrayed the day's provisions in a perfect arc across the table: bonkers in four different colors, tissues, power bars, eye drops, nasal spray, almonds, Starbursts, three huge bottles of blue Gatorade, a thirty-two-ounce bottle of Poland Springs water, and a cat figurine with one raised paw.

"Wow."

She cocked her eyebrows at my dumbfounded expression. "Yes?"

Great. I was no better than a Peeping Tom spying on her private stash. "That's . . . um, impressive."

She shook her head and chuckled.

"What's that cat all about?"

"Oh, my maneki-neko?" She grasped the figurine by the head and tweaked it with a series of minute adjustments until she was satisfied it was positioned just right along the imaginary arc. "He's a Japanese money cat. See how he's beckoning with his right hand?"

"You mean waving?"

She gave me the kind of smile a kindergarten teacher might give a slow student. "That's not waving in Eastern cultures. That's how they gesture for 'Come here.'"

"Ah." I pointed to the coin covering the cat's privates. "He's saying, 'Come to the kitty, money.' I get it."

"Basically." She checked me to see if I was making fun of her. I wasn't. Satisfied, she decided to tease me, apparently one of her favorite new activities. "Don't you have a good luck charm?" she asked.

"No, I don't believe in luck."

Bella sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Fortunately, I found her know-it-all grin totally adorable. "Not at all?"

Now we were squarely in my comfort zone for the first time since I'd met her. "Luck is a concept that explains good or bad fortune using a force outside of oneself. Life is a series of choices we make, for better or for worse—"

"For richer or poorer . . ." she interjected with that gleeful twinkle.

"Yes, well . . . as I was saying, there are probabilities that certain things will occur, tables and algorithms to predict the likelihood—"

Ma squeezed my elbow and gave me a stern look. "Sit down, Edward."

Chastised, I sank into the chair two to the right of Bella, but Ma beat me to it. Like a champion musical chairs player, she bumped me sideways so forcefully I overshot the chair with my whole left side, requiring an act of acrobatics to keep from falling into Bella's lap.

"Sorry," I muttered. With the bright fluorescent lighting, there was no way Bella missed my pink cheeks. I turned and gave Ma a hurt look, which she pointedly ignored.

"Here, Edward. Why don't you set up your spot?" Ma handed me the green bonker and four packs of cards.

I made a neat two-by-two rectangle and stood up the bonker where I could easily reach it. I stole another look at Bella as she set her sixth pack into place. Six?

What the hell? Surely, I could handle as many as she could. I worked with numbers all day. How hard could it be? I popped out of my chair with a "be right back" to Ma.

I returned five minutes later and slapped down my fifth and sixth sets of cards. Bella's lips curled up at the corners when she glanced over, but she kept her thoughts to herself—which is more than I can say for Ma.

"Oh, Edward, you can't follow six cards. This is a fast-paced game!"

I leaned in so Bella wouldn't hear. "I got this, Ma. Don't worry about it."

She sighed and shook her head. I checked my watch. 8:53. I turned to my left and to my right. Bella and Ma were both busily checking their phones. How the hell were we supposed to entertain ourselves for an hour and a half doing absolutely nothing?

I cleared my throat. Ma looked over. "So, now what?"

"What do you mean, 'now what'? We wait."

"We just sit here?"

"I'm reading. Don't you have a kindle app on your phone?"

"Um . . . no."

She sighed again and riffled through her bag. "I have Cosmo, Vanity Fair, Glamour, Better Homes & Gardens . . . what would you like?"

"None of the above."

"Stubborn, just like your father. Suit yourself."

A voice came from my left. "Why don't you familiarize yourself with the instructions? The games can get pretty complicated, and when things get heated . . ."

"I think I'm good with bingo. I learned to play about thirty years ago, thanks."

Bella smirked and locked eyes for a second with Ma. "Okay."

* BINGO *

A hush fell over the room as the caller took his place at the mike. Frankly, I was so happy to have something—anything —to do besides rereading my emails for the twelfth time, I would have to admit to a jolt of adrenaline. But not like Ma and Bella.

The two of them grabbed a bonker in each hand and drew themselves up ramrod straight in their chairs. Ma called over a cordial, "Good luck," across me to her partner in vice, and Bella returned the greeting.

It took me all of three numbers called to realize I was way out of my league trying to follow six cards. What Bella accomplished with a graceful ballet of hands, I stumbled through like an elephant on heroin—unfortunately, without the legendary perfect memory to compensate.

"I-25, I-25," I repeated while searching for G-58, but by the time I'd checked the last card, there was already another number called. "I-25, N-36, I-25, N-36."

"Shhh!" Mom's scolding held no sympathy.

I plowed on, skipping every third number to stay afloat. My heart was pounding so fast, when someone yelled out, "Bingo," it was a goddamn relief.

"Just play three cards," Ma advised. Then, seeing my hang-dog expressions, she added, "Until you get the hang of it."

No way the famous Cullen pride would allow for training wheels at this point in the game.

Beside me, Bella unscrewed her Gatorade, took a small swig, replaced the cap, and repeated the sequence with her water. She gave her wrists a vigorous shake-out, grabbed her bonkers, and readied herself for the next battle.

"Heeeere we go, folks! B-3. B-3."

I was determined to stay ahead of it this time. I trained my gaze to slide vertically down the cards, making two long trips for each number called.

Bonk, bonk.

"G-47. G-47."

Bonk, bonk . . . bonk! I was doing this!

"O-69. O-69."

Bonk . . .

To my left, I head a sultry whisper. "Oh, sixty-niiiiine!"

Bonk . . . I ignored Bella and the sly smirk I caught out of the corner of my eye.

"B-4. B-4."

Damn! I hadn't checked my last two cards.

And there was that voice again, loud enough only for my ears. "Before sixty-nine, after sixty-nine."

Yep, she was torturing me, all right, and not missing a beat. I darted the nastiest look I could muster, and she smiled and grazed her tongue along her lower lip.

Blasted bingo vixen!

"I-18. I-18."

Crap, I was still on B-4. Hopelessly behind after the next number, I gave in and dropped down to the three cards in the left column. Better to chance hearing all the numbers on half the cards than half the numbers on all the cards, said the statistician in me.

"G-53. G-53."

Nope, nope, nope.

BONK! Bella reached over my cards and bonked the G-53 on the top right card.

"Hey!"

"Shhh!" Mom hissed.

"Cut that out!" I whisper-yelled at Bella.

"Sorr-ree! Looked like you could use some help there."

"I saw that! I was just about to—"

BONK! Ma hit me from the other side, and I heard Bella try to stifle a giggle.

"Ma! Seriously?"

"Pay attention!"

I'm one of those "slow to anger" types, but these two and their inappropriate bonking were starting to get on my nerves. I staged a protest, a sit-in. I set down the bonker and slumped back in my chair, crossed my arms and fixed the meanest possible scowl on my face.

Without saying a word, Bella and Ma took over my cards, splitting them right down the middle while I sat there like a eunuch watching them bonk their guts out.

"Would you two like to get a room?" I asked.

Bella's head whipped around, flashing me a you-seriously-went-there, jaw-dropped grin, complete with a matched set of raised eyebrows.

Bonk . . . bonk, bonk, bonk . . .

"Edwaaaard! Shhh!" Ma scolded again in a clipped whisper.

I glanced at my watch and sighed. Four hours and thirty-seven minutes to go.

Author's Note: Before I go one word further, I need to acknowledge Jill Peterson for opening a truly illuminating window onto the crazy shit that goes on in the bingo hall! I seriously had no idea about the mechanics of a session or the madness that ensues. I asked a few (okay, a zillion) questions; Jill poured out bingo lore like the massive fountain at Foxwoods filled with pennies. More surprises ahead, thanks to her willingness to share. Had this story not been a surprise for PAD, I surely would've asked her advice, and if you have a chance to go through and read her reviews...you'll see how much I left on the table. But then, this was not meant to be my second career! And let's never forget the lovely and talented plot coach-slash-bannerer Ladyeire and the lady who makes all the words fit better, the wise and wonderful Chayasara.

One thing I have witnessed firsthand is the superstition among all kinds of casino rats. On Jill's suggestion, I took the idea of a good luck charm and embellished to include my memories from the CPA exam, wherein the man next to me had three water bottles, an open nasal spray, a six-pack of throat lozenges, and a box of tissues. (YUCK) The Japanese good luck cat is posted in the patch. Hope you all enjoyed this bonus "SNOW DAY" post! :*

xxx ~BOH