Page 72 of Scoring Chance

“You betcha!” I exclaim, for probably the first time in my fucking life.

I give Dean’s shoulders a massage, praying he keeps things in check. “And this is Dean, our resident magician.”

Dean steps forward, but instead of holding out a hand, he whips out a deck of cards from his back pocket. I knew I should have searched him earlier.

“Pick a card.” He fans them out.

“Mr. Stan doesn’t have time for a trick,” I say.

“Of course I do!” Stan rubs his hands together and hunches down to Dean’s level. “Hmmm which one should I pick? I’ll go with this one.” He hugs it to his chest.

“Remember it. Now put it back.” Dean looks away as Stan slides the card back into the fanned out deck, both of them hamming it up. “Excellent.”

Dean shuffles the deck, then massages his temples. I feel my heart pound in my chest hoping that Dean gets this right. He has a confidence I have no choice but to admire. He taps the deck twice, and flashes the top card. Seven of clubs.

“Is this your card?”

“Nope.”

Dean flashes the next card. “This?”

Stan shakes his head no.

“This?”

“Incorrect.”

Stan’s excitement fades with each card. I can feel my promotion and job slipping away.

“This?”

I step between them. “You’ll get ‘em next time, buddy.”

“It was the eight of clubs,” Stan tells him.

“That was the next card in the deck!” Dean holds it up, but too little too late.

“And this is Lulu, our youngest.”

Stan bends down and holds out his hand like he’s meeting a princess. “Charmed, madam.”

Lulu points to the opposite wall. “Is that picture centered?”

Stan wrinkles his brow in the confusion we’re all experiencing. He follows her finger to a framed picture of the kids at the beach.

“Uncle Des–uh, Dad–says that you can spot an uncentered image from across the room.”

Tanner muffles a laugh behind his hand. I internally curse myself for not watching my phrasing more carefully.

“He did?” Stan lets out an amused laugh. “What else did he say?”

“We don’t have to—” I start.

“That you have a great BS detector.” She signals for Stan to lean in. “BS means bullcrap,” she whispers.

Stan turns back to me. I throw up my hands and emit the most pitiful laugh known to man. “Kids stay the darnedest things!”

“Why don’t you have a seat, Stan? We have some cheese and crackers out. Dinner’s almost ready.” Tanner leads Stan to the couch. “I can open this bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?”