Wants

Maggie entered the store first, heading to the front counter. She glanced up at the town’s only television screen, watching the woman walk across the stage in sparkling champagne dress. In all honesty, she thought the dress absolutely hideous, but she still wanted one like it. No man, even Pete Marks himself, could ignore her then. It would still be a minute or two until the lady on television started to pull numbered balls out of the spinning machine, but Maggie could wait.

“Has he come by yet?” Maggie asked Bill, who manned the counter.

He leaned on the counter, making a tally of recent sales on a yellow legal pad. “Oh, him? Not yet. He will probably be here soon, to see the lottery numbers same as you.”

Maggie leaned against the counter, peering over the slate-colored register to steal a glance at the legal pad. “I don’t see the point; no one ‘round here has ever won anything.”

Bill pointed a finger, to the ceiling, or to Heaven, Maggie couldn’t be sure. “Not true. Your paps won three dollars in a scratch the day you were born. He always—“

“Called it his lucky day, I know.” She sighed bored, letting her eyes pace from the television screen to the door. “I mean, no one has won the jackpot in this town.”

The store owner shrugged, stretching the shoulders of his green apron slightly. “Just means we’re that much more likely this time, eh? Between you and Pete, we could buy this town, and lunch!”

“Like I’d share anything with him.” She wanted to.

Ding! Pete slipped in past the glass door, with his hands in his pockets. He glanced at Maggie’s eyes before glancing at the screen. “Did they start yet?” Joining the others, he leaned with his chin in his hand as he braced his elbow on the counter.

“Nice to see you too.” Maggie frowned.

“Shh.”

The glittering woman pulled out the first ball of six, gave it a passing glance, and then read the number for her audience. “23.”

Maggie searched her pockets, trying to locate her ticket.

“14!” The lady squealed.

Both pockets in her jacket turned up empty. Maggie tried her jeans pockets. Still nothing.

“5!”

“Missing something?” Bill asked politely.

“Yeah, my ticket.”

“84!”

“Crap.”

“Is this it?” Pete stood up from the floor, where he had knelt to pick up a dropped, pink slip of paper.

“20!”

“I think so.” She leaned toward him to see if she recognized the numbers.

Pete’s mouth hung open, rounder than the zero in the last number. He didn’t hand over the ticket. Instead his head jerked toward the screen, eyes getting wider as he read each number in the sequence.

“Pete!”

“Be quiet for once.” He muttered, holding the slip of paper tightly, switching hands when Maggie tried to grab it.

“50!”

“Come one Pete, she’s done reading it, let Maggie see the ticket.”

Pete shook his head, but Bill was too quick and tore off the top half. Bill whistled.

“Hey! Give it back!” Pete called out.

“No, give it here!”

“Why should I? I sold it here, in my store.”

"I paid for it!" Maggie retorted, lunging again.

George, a regular fisherman came in to buy some bait. The wind followed him in. Three sets of eyes widened as they followed the path of the ticket fragments out the door.

"Hi George! Excuse me." Pete shoved past him as he ran outside.

"Hey George. See you around." Maggie followed on Pete's heels.

Bill merely tipped his hat as he brushed passed him and followed in their wake.

George stared at the now empty doorway. Then he glanced at the counter, also empty. His head tipped up, to each of the ceiling's four corners, empty again. He hummed a little tune to himself as he crept toward the counter. Swinging to his right, George made sure the entire store stood empty. As he swung to his left, he dipped down beneath the counter. Pulling out his favorite brand of bait, George whistled as he left the store. Surely Bill wouldn't miss one jar, right?