Jackpot Summer, page 14
Doug closed his eyes, appearing to be in deep contemplation. “These winnings will definitely open up some new ways. So, what is that figure? Six million?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I think so. After peeling Stanley off the attic floor and removing a splinter from his—well, it doesn’t matter—we sat down with my dad for a talk. There’s nothing like an accountant to throw a wet blanket on a Powerball win,” Laura said.
“What did he say?”
“At first, he wouldn’t say anything. He kept telling us that we needed to hire our own financial advisor, as if we’d sue him for malpractice or something. Eventually, he gave in. Turns out he had a client who won the lottery, but a much smaller amount. Still, there are some common factors. The biggest is that the sum you see advertised—the $261 million—is the amount of money you’d get if you took the thirty-year annuity option. He advised us to take the lump sum up front, which is roughly half. It’s something to do with the present value of the money. Don’t ask me to explain. I was an English major, remember?” She had been a good student, which is why it had really irked her when Beth called her out on the mistaken Shakespeare reference.
“I don’t see your Dad advising that we take the lump sum. He’d be worried that it’s too much, too soon, no?”
“Totally,” Laura said. “I was shocked. But the lump sum is better for investing opportunities and can avoid long-term tax implications. I guess if the tax rate goes up? I stopped fully understanding halfway through his talk. But I got the main points, I think.”
“So lump sum it is. Then what?”
“Then there’s an automatic twenty-four percent taken off by the IRS.”
“Taxes, that makes sense.”
“That’s just the beginning. The twenty-four percent is some special lottery tax. Come April, we pay income tax on what’s left. And because we’ll be in the highest tax bracket, that’s another thirteen percent off. Uncle Sam is greedy, which is funny because my actual uncle Sam—you remember my mom’s brother—was greedy too.”
“Sam made us share the tolls on the Turnpike when he drove us to your cousin Jennifer’s wedding,” Doug said.
“Yep! And you didn’t have any cash on you. Anyway, this Uncle Sam wants a lot more than two dollars back.”
“I never thought I’d be annoyed to be in the highest tax bracket.”
“I know, right? Then come the state taxes. Our dearly beloved state, that everyone in the country makes fun of, taxes the highest bracket at a whopping ten-point-seven-five percent.”
Doug’s face pinched. “I’m losing track of the numbers. Is there anything left? Kidding, of course.”
“Plenty. Back-of-the-envelope calculation leaves us with about six million. Obviously, we need to hire our own accountant, a financial planner and an estate lawyer to confirm all of this.”
“It’s still a huge chunk of change,” Doug said. “You know, Laura, I really wasn’t seeing ano—”
“Stop. This is a day to celebrate.” And she meant it. She wasn’t going to obsess over why he was watching his weight or which patient made him laugh on the phone or why he needed a shower immediately after coming home from Tucson. Not today. Hopefully never.
She grabbed a step stool from the cupboard, remembering an expensive bottle of champagne a patient had gifted Doug for replacing a cap the night before his wedding. Laura had said they should save it for a special occasion, but in reality she planned to regift it, knowing Doug would never remember about the bottle and, if he did, he’d be happy she put it to better use.
Doug followed her into the kitchen.
“So who are the other winners?”
“A firefighter from Idaho. His wife is pregnant with triplets. The other winning ticket was sold in South Carolina, but I don’t know any details yet. Plus the other Jersey winner. I’m sure we’ll find out who that is soon enough.”
“This is just wild,” Doug said, shaking his head.
Laura retrieved two flutes from an upper cabinet, wiping a thick layer of dust from the rims. Doug took the bottle and popped the cork, champagne spraying over the counter and onto the floor. For once, the waste and mess didn’t bother Laura. Doug didn’t reach for a paper towel or even frown at the puddle. She wondered if this nonchalance was what rich people felt all the time.
Doug poured them each a glass and they moved to the den, where they cozied up under a fuzzy afghan with the bubbly.
“You’re right about us,” he said. “We can have fun together in a careless way, like we used to. Getting pregnant with Emma when we were still in college, I mean for God’s sake, our entire lives changed from that moment on.” He had already drained his glass and was pouring himself another.
She decided not to correct him. Sure, things were different from the moment she peed on the stick in the main campus library while Doug waited anxiously outside, but they had changed far more for her than him. He still went to dental school as planned. She, instead, was a mother at twenty-one, forced to put her career plans on hold so she could care for their infant while also working part-time to support his continued schooling. The plan to go for another baby shortly after Emma made sense at the time. Get through the diapers, sleep training, tantrums and car-seat stage all at once, so she could revisit her career plans when the girls were in school full-time. She’d be only twenty-six at that point. But endless cycles of strep throat and playground dust-ups evolved into more serious issues, like social exclusion and body-image issues, and Laura was scared to take her eyes off her girls for even an instant. There was never a day where she felt like, Okay, now is my chance to think about my own future. Each day passed in a blur, and if she was lucky enough to finish her errands and household work and get to sleep before eleven, it was a good one.
“When should we tell the girls?” he asked. “And what are we telling them? Laura, do we have trust-fund babies now?” He cackled and Laura joined in, giggling at the absurdity of telling their daughters they were millionaires after years of feuding over their spending habits. When Doug suggested Hannah get her jeans at Costco like he did, she started to cry.
Laura topped off her champagne and watched the fizz settle. The glass was less than half full once the bubbles died down. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, but she was too delirious to ponder it.
“It’s gotta happen soon. Our TV appearance when we get that big, silly check is later this week. As for having trust-fund babies, all kidding aside, we have a lot we need to figure out. But we’ll have a financial planner to advise us.” She paused to rest her flute on the table. “I would have loved to buy my mom an amazing piece of jewelry. She always wore costume junk. Travel jewelry, she called it, even though they barely went anywhere.” Laura rested her head on Doug’s shoulder.
“Do you think she’d be happy?”
Laura could easily picture Sylvia slipping into a consigliere role when it came to how they should spend the money. A new house for Laura and Doug, for sure. An apartment in a doorman building for Sophie. And definitely a session or two with a top-notch makeup artist for both of her daughters. She wasn’t sure what Sylvia would have wanted Noah to splurge on. Maybe one of those super-high-end celebrity matchmakers to find a woman good enough for her baby. “Of course, why not?”
Doug stared at her. “Laura, three of her four children won the Powerball. Don’t you think Sylvia would have been concerned about how that would change the family dynamics? I mean, she literally called you guys the Fantastic Foursome. If it wasn’t against Jewish tradition, she would have tattooed it on her leg or something.”
Laura felt the champagne slosh around her belly, remembering how uncomfortable it had been when Matthew stumbled upon them after they tore up his house. But he had declined to go in on the tickets. He’d had plenty of opportunity to join them. Moreover, his wife had ridiculed the rest of them for doing so.
“You said yourself that Beth and Matthew don’t need more money. I showed you pictures of their rental in Harvey Cedars. You’ve been to their apartment. They’re already rich. Besides, they love to work so damn much. Even if they won the lottery, they’d still get their kicks from being in that Best Lawyers magazine. You know that thing Beth sends around every year. Honestly, I’d be afraid to give them any more money than they already have. They’d probably use it to hire a grandmaster to move in with them so Austin could take nonstop chess lessons.”
“Well, did your dad say anything about Matthew?”
Why wouldn’t Doug leave this alone?
“No. To be honest, he was so fixated on this termite situation it was hard to get him to process our news. I told you about that, right?”
“So gross.” Doug shuddered. Plaque and tartar he could handle. Insects sent him ducking for cover. “I can’t believe you slept in a house infested with termites.”
“Yep. It’s crazy. Especially because Noah has a really good friend who works for an extermination company on the island and he literally treated the house a month ago. So this termite thing is really weird. Noah seemed all upset about it. Maybe he feels responsible for recommending his buddy? Or because he was living there and didn’t notice anything askew? Anyway, enough pest talk for now. Let’s discuss travel.”
Laura opened her laptop and typed “Luxurious vacations” into the search bar, balancing the computer on one of her legs and one of Doug’s. She squeezed her husband’s thigh and said, “Where to first, Moneybags? I hear Bora Bora is lovely this time of year.”
* * *
—
Three days after telling Doug the big news, Laura was at Starbucks to meet Noah and Sophie. She was exhausted from consecutive nights of staying up late with her husband, planning their first post-Powerball vacation—and, yes, having rather enjoyable sex.
The meeting between the siblings had been hastily arranged after a cryptic text from Matthew appeared on the FF chat earlier that morning. Laura had read her older brother’s message at least a dozen times and could recite it by heart: Good luck on TV…occurred to me that Noah might have purchased the winning ticket with the money I gave him to tip the pizza guy. Crazy, right?
Doug and Laura had been busy looking at properties online when Matthew’s text, and the attendant barrage from Sophie and Noah, came through. “You’re dinging a lot,” Doug had said. She was surprised to have missed six text messages. Normally, the ding triggered a Pavlovian response that her daughters needed her.
She had read the top thread first, an exchange between Noah and Sophie:
NOAH
Is he upset
SOPHIE
I really don’t know
NOAH
We should talk about this in person
SOPHIE
Agree. Laura?
NOAH
Laura?
Laura then opened Matthew’s message, the one that had sent Noah and Sophie spiraling, and immediately tilted her phone away from Doug. She wanted her husband focused on which posh golf club he wanted to swing his driver at and not concerned with Jacobson sibling drama.
“Everything okay?” he’d asked, sensing a shift in her mood.
“Totally.” Laura had given Doug a reassuring kiss on the lips.
An hour later, Laura was in the city to meet her siblings. “Sorry I’m late,” Laura said, shuffling to the back of the coffee shop, where Noah and Sophie were huddled at a small table. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
“Was the helicopter not free?” Noah asked. Laura smiled weakly. The three of them had been amusing each other like this on a side chat, sending pictures of ridiculous mansions and making silly comments like “Looks cramped” and “You can do better” about a limited-edition Ferrari.
“Guys, what are we going to do about Matthew?” Sophie asked, whisking her cappuccino with a green plastic stirrer she’d chewed to smithereens.
Laura eyed the two untouched pastries on the table. She had no appetite either and had already pounded TUMS on the ride in. “I can’t tell if he’s upset or sort of joking.”
“Me either,” Sophie said. “But in the history of FF texts, has he ever initiated one?”
“He did give me money for the pizza guy and I forgot to give him back the change, but I also had a hundred bucks in my pocket from Mrs. Harrison. I used the change and some of the hundred bucks to buy the Powerball tickets, ice cream, and the cigarettes for you, Laura. I don’t know whose money bought the ticket but—”
At the mention of cigarettes, a fresh craving bloomed inside Laura. The night Noah had gotten her a pack, Laura had chain-smoked on the outdoor patio after Austin departed, agonizing over the sharp turn her life had taken since Hannah flew the coop and Doug asked for the separation. She had told herself she wouldn’t touch another cigarette after that night. Sylvia had died of lung cancer after all. Where could she get some Nicorette gum now? Her knee-shaking grew more turbulent.
“This feels like a question of intent. Matthew didn’t want a ticket, so it doesn’t matter if it was his money. Does that make sense?” Sophie said. “I wish one of us was a lawyer.”
“Matthew’s a lawyer,” Noah said, stating the obvious irony. “But are we missing the point?” He managed a nibble of his croissant. “Maybe it doesn’t matter whether it was Matthew’s two dollars that bought the winning ticket. Maybe we’re supposed to cut him in because, you know, he’s our brother. It could just be that simple. Besides, we’re not taking our brother to court.”
Sophie pouted. “That’s NOT what I meant.”
Laura stepped in before another sibling conflict erupted. “Should we reread the text together? Do we think Beth put him up to this?”
“What if we cut him in for a portion of what he would have won—like half?” Sophie suggested.
Laura wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that. That’s like saying he’s our half brother, not a full one.”
“So it’s better to give nothing?” Noah asked. “I’m not disagreeing. I’m asking seriously.”
Just then a teenager in line for the bathroom crashed into Sophie from behind, spilling her coffee and his on their table. He mumbled a barely audible apology from behind the cell phone covering his face.
“Isn’t it weird that we’re lottery winners and no one knows?” Sophie swiveled to look at the kid, his half-spilled mochaccino far less interesting than whatever he was watching on his phone. “Like that kid just spilled on a Powerball winner and has no idea. Not that we’re, you know, above getting spilled on. It’s just—”
“I get what you mean,” Noah said. “I keep forgetting myself. Yesterday I lost my sunglasses and was stressing about having to buy new ones.”
Laura nodded along, but she couldn’t chime in in good faith. The money had been front and center for her since she found the ticket at Matthew’s house. The money was going to save her marriage.
“Back to Matthew,” Sophie said. “Let’s talk in real numbers. It’s roughly six million for each of us if we don’t cut him in, and four and a half million if we do. That’s still a ton of money.”
“Does Matthew even realize we’re not getting as much as we initially told him? Like does he get the lump sum thing?” Laura asked. “And taxes?”
“Matthew’s pretty sharp,” Sophie said. “But, I don’t know, maybe it’s not something you think about unless it directly affects you. Or maybe he doesn’t want to think about it.”
Laura knew—they all knew—that siblings weren’t reducible to numbers. Their feelings about Matthew couldn’t be punched into a calculator or run through a spreadsheet. That’s what made the whole matter so unwieldy. Guilt had tugged at Laura before Doug raised the issue and before Matthew had sent that text, but it had gotten eclipsed by the state of her marriage. Besides, she was in a very different place than Sophie and Noah. She and Doug had a mortgage and two dependents with sky-high college tuitions, who might want to go on to graduate school or need help buying a house in the future. She had scrimped and saved for twenty years to raise her family. Noah’s and Sophie’s expenses were minimal by comparison. She assumed her siblings could see that. But maybe it was true what Sophie said. It was easier not to take the time to evaluate someone else’s situation.
“The thing is, Matthew and Beth are already wealthy. And they weren’t absent when we decided to get the tickets. They actively said no. And they were smug about it. That’s the part that bothers me the most. Matthew thinks he’s smarter than us. Do you know he called me Dopey Sophie when I messed up making change during a Monopoly game? And when I got a B- in English, I remember he saw my report card lying around and said ‘Who gets a B- in Ms. Bender’s class? She’s the easiest grader ever,’ ” Sophie said. “On the other hand, considering I make forty thousand dollars a year after taxes and accepted a gig drawing caricatures a few weeks ago for a child’s birthday party, I’m sort of disgusted with myself for being this petty and greedy.”
“Isn’t Matthew’s office only a few blocks from here?” Noah asked. They were outside the Starbucks now, clustered on the sidewalk while the corporate crowd bustled around them. “He and Beth work in one of these buildings I’m pretty sure.”
“Not too shabby,” Sophie said, looking up. “Some of the parents at P.S. 282 are partners at big law firms. They make serious coin.”
“I know our main concern is Matthew, and this shouldn’t be about Beth, but I just hate how superior she acts,” Laura said. “She’s always talking about how hard they work, as if the rest of us just chow on bonbons all day. I bet it was her that put Matthew up to sending that text. She doesn’t even need the money. It just bothers her that we might have more than she does, especially since we don’t spend eighteen hours a day behind a desk.”
