Page 8 of With a Little Luck

“Holy …” I look up at Ellie, who is watching me curiously. “I think this is signed by Paul McCartney.”

Her eyes widen. In our family, even the five-year-old knows who Paul McCartney is.

Is it authentic? Do my parents know? Surely if they did, they would have it framed or something, right?

“We’ll show this to Mom and Dad after everyone leaves,” I say, carefully tucking the poster back into the album. “I’m going to go put it in the back.”

Pocketing the dice again, I take the album into the back room, which is a small, crowded space full of shelves overflowing with records that20still need to be cataloged and priced, boxes of new merch, and my dad’s very small and eternally cluttered desk.

I set the record on top of a stack of mail and am turning away when my hand bumps my dad’s favorite travel mug balanced precariously on a stack of books.

I see it in slow motion. The tumbler tipping forward. The coffee sloshing over the rim. The album with the signed poster, just discovered, only inches away.

My body reacts on instinct. Like an out-of-body experience, I watch as one hand slides the album away while the other grabs a dustrag from a nearby shelf and throws it beneath the falling tumbler. The last remnants of cold coffee spill across the rag, sparing me a fraction of a second to get the album out from underneath.

I exhale in a sharp, startled breath, gaping at the little towel soaked through with coffee. A few tiny droplets spilled onto the pile of mail, but a quick inspection of the album confirms that it is untouched.

I laugh, a little bewildered. “Well.Thatwas lucky.”

Actually, it was borderline miraculous. I didn’t even know that dustrag was there. How did I …?

Shaking my head, I set the album aside, safely up on a shelf this time, right the travel mug, and wipe up the last bits of spilled coffee.

As my heart rate returns to normal, I slip my hands into my pockets and head back out to listen to the rest of open mic night. It’s probably just the adrenaline, but I swear the dice pulses against my palm.

21

Chapter Three

The store is closed, but Ari and my family are still here, alongwith Quint, who is holding a half-asleep Ellie. (When he and Pru started dating, Ellie was the first one to extend the Honorary Big Brother title to him.) Everyone is crammed into the small back room, watching me as I gently pull the poster that Ellie and I discovered out of theLondon Townjacket. I hand it to my dad, who holds it with reverence, turning the autograph toward the light.

“Sir Paul,” Ari breathes, as everyone leans forward at once to see it better. The scrawl of blue ink, a loopingPandl, the sharp rises of theM, the droopingythat looks a bit like an afterthought.

Pru pulls her phone out and a second later is nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that looks like it,” she says, showing a screen full of Paul McCartney signatures. Sometimes he just signsPaul, sometimes he adds theM, sometimes it’s his full name, but in any rendition, the handwriting looks similar.

“I feel like I should be wearing gloves,” says Dad. He lays the autograph gently on top of an unopened box so we can all peer at it.

“You didn’t know it was signed?” I ask.

“No idea,” says Dad. “I’ve owned this record for years. I didn’t even think it had the original poster with it anymore, much less …this.”

“This was the first record we ever played when we opened the store,” says Mom. “Remember? You used to call it your lucky album.”

“I guess you were right about that,” says Penny.22

Dad laughs, shaking his head. “This is an incredible find, Jude.”

“Ellie spotted it first,” I say. “It just slipped out of the case.”

“It could still be a forgery,” Pru interjects. “Is there a way to get it authenticated?” She’s still looking things up on her phone, and now she shows us a website selling signed Beatles memorabilia. “It could be worth thousands of dollars if it’s real.”

Dad gasps, horrified. “We can’tsellit!”

Pru rolls her eyes. “Of course we’re not going to sell it. We’ll frame it and display it nicely in the store. But don’t you think it would be good to know what it’s worth? And if ever we do get in another financial pinch, well …” She shrugs. “It’s nice to have options.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have a professional take a look,” says Mom.

“Can we go home now?” says Ellie, her voice muffled against Quint’s chest. “I’mtired.”

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