In Case of Loss:

St. Patrick's Day, 2017: Katherine woke to the distant, yet unmistakable sound of rousing merriment and inevitable regret. Even though she was 24 floors up in a deceptively reviewed hotel room in downtown Toronto, the sounds from the street brought clear images of collective revelry in green – sparkling shamrocks, green beer and numbed inhibitions galore.

He stirred next to her. Katherine tensed. He had a name. It was Giuseppe, but as these things go, he was called Joe. He rolled over and pulled her to him. It was a presumptuously familiar move. She felt uneasy and comforted all at once as she instinctively nestled her naked body into his. He didn’t make her uneasy; her feelings did. She thought she might love him, which felt worrisome. She was unsettled because of how they were together: notably unrestrained. Joe’s breathing became rhythmic again – the familiar breath of sleep. Katherine was thankful for the respite.

The night before: She closed her eyes tight, but the movie in her head played on. Katherine wished she could somehow blind her mind’s eye. The cab, with its foggy and marred plastic divider. The dancing. The shots. That little black book, its pages soaked with bourbon and possibility. Had she kissed a woman, and more significantly, a stranger? She was a mother. A daughter. A friend. She was responsible and relied upon. She balanced her checkbook by hand! In fact, her entire life was carefully reconciled.

Katherine’s contact lenses clung to her eyes, gritty and dry. Her stomach felt queasy. The whooshing in her head was unrelenting, as was the silent prayer: ‘Please God, make it stop.’ The bitter knowledge that divine intervention wasn't coming left behind a taste worse than last night's cigarettes. Jesus. She hadn’t smoked in more than 20 years.

Katherine joined Tinder on a dare at a time when she was nearing divorce from a man she’d loved since grammar school. She and Joe matched because their mileage entered a mutual radius momentarily while they were both traveling. In actuality, they lived nearly 2000 miles apart. Nonetheless, they continued to chat, becoming part of each other’s lives. They avoided meeting in person for three years because of logistics and a shared fear that it may ruin their connection. However, upon meeting, their attraction was undeniable. In retrospect though, were they too comfortable, too quickly? They day drank, ate, had sex. Got ready. Had sex again. Went to the hotel bar. Laughed and kissed their way into a cab. In both their minds it felt romantic, but where could it go?

The night before: They ended up at a quintessential downtown lounge that was hosting what was tagged as ‘Motown Night.’ Crowded, sexy, ideal lighting – the vibe and the groove palpable. They met people and shared their story. They danced. They drank. Vision and boundaries blurred. Katherine dancing intimately with a woman they’d just met, their hands on each other, Joe watching. The distance from the reality of her life – her life at home – felt immeasurable.

Joe moved again next to her in bed. Sleepily, he asked: “do you have the book?”

“Yes.”

“Is it still in there?”

“Yes”

The night before: 2:11am. It felt like the night was ending too soon. They were in the back of a cab. Joe leaned forward and told the driver, “take us someplace that has afterhours.” The driver said he didn’t know of any place. Joe pushed some money through the divider, “come on, man. You sure?”

The ride seemed long. They made out, Joe’s hand up Katherine’s skirt, the warmth of it radiating up her inner thigh. They were drunk. Signs, storefronts and streetlights all passed in a blur, crowds of people staggering from closing bars.

The cab came to an abrupt stop. “There,” the driver pointed to a wrought iron metal gate that opened to a pathway between two red brick buildings. Joe paid the driver, got out and reached his hand out to Katherine as she slid across the seat. Something caught her eye on the floor. A little black book. Scuffed a bit, but closed neatly with an elastic band. She grabbed it and got out. “What is that?” Joe asked. “Someone probably left it. Just give it to the driver,” he said as the cab pulled away. Katherine shoved the book in her pocket.

Joe opened the gate to a gravel path desperately in need of lighting. The faint sound of music and voices started to take shape. They came upon a surprisingly slight, red-haired man seated on a bar stool outside a windowless gray door. He was no more than 30-years-old and 150 pounds and looked as though he had no reason to own a razor. Joe leaned in, they exchanged words, and he handed the red haired, man-child some cash. Red pounded the door twice, it opened and the three were immediately assaulted by pulsing music and flashing lights. “There’s no bar,” the doorman said in an unpredictably deep voice. “Watch your step. And there’s just water and soda. Whatever else you want, you’re on your own.”

Whatever their unspoken intentions were before coming to this place, they were rapidly fading. They were both coming down and realizing they should have left the evening on a high note – both literally and otherwise. Katherine got them water while Joe searched for a place to sit. Looking around, the place screamed of desperation and poor judgement. There was a booth with a couple sitting on one side. Joe asked if they minded company. The curly haired woman with the most sharply defined collarbones Katherine ever saw attempted something of a smile and slurred, “have at it.”

Katherine remembered the little black book and felt compelled to examine it. As she pulled it from her pocket, the male part of the couple across from them put a bottle of opened bourbon on the table. “Here, have some, before you lose your buzz.” Just then, the woman grabbed for the bottle, but knocked it over. Amber liquid pooled over the table and into Katherine’s lap where the book sat opened in her hands. The woman found tissues in her purse. Katherine wiped it as best she could. Torn pieces of bourbon soaked tissue stuck to the now damp pages.

The couple began to argue and, thankfully, left. Katherine gingerly turned the pages of the book, lit only by the light of Joe’s cell phone. It was a planner with a pocket in the back. They looked for some indication of its owner, but the page entitled “In case of loss, please return to...” was carelessly left blank. There were calendar entries like: “Hair! 2:30,” “Mason, 7pm” (with a heart), “Cancel free trial!” appeared in at least three different months, along with vague entries like, “Plant seeds,” “L’s birthday,” and “Dr. M, 9:15.” Katherine felt something in the pocket pushed deep to the edge beneath a few pieces of folded, blank paper and a foil wrapped stick of gum – an unscratched lottery ticket.

Joe pulled a quarter from his pocket to scratch the ticket. “Wait,” Katherine said, “not here!” She felt a growing connection to the owner of this little black book. The lottery ticket. It looked as though it had been in the book for a while. Had the owner forgotten about it, or was it something else?

Katherine thought of her own quirky habit of sometimes carrying an unscratched lottery ticket in her pocket. She would reach in to check if it was there and her mind would wander. Did she have $100,000 in her pocket? $500? $10,000? What would she do with the money? The potential of it, the feeling it gave her, was her motivation. She’d never won more than $50 on one of those pocket dreams; nonetheless, she continued with her game over the years. How would she feel if someone found one of her tickets and stole it – and all the possibilities it carried for her?

Joe looked at her. “What do you want to do?” Before she could reply, Joe was taking pictures of the book. He turned his phone toward Katherine so she could see what he was doing. He uploaded the photo to Facebook with the caption: “Found, downtown Toronto, 3/17/17, in the back of a yellow cab. Please contact…” He made the post public with a “please share” request.

“If no one replies by the end of the weekend, it’s ours.” They left the club and made their way back to the hotel in shared silence.

Katherine was in and out of sleep. Joe got up and walked naked to the bathroom. It always amazed Katherine how comfortable men were walking around in nothing. He emerged wearing boxers and rubbing his face. “We’re scratching the ticket,” he said. Despite herself, Katherine agreed, but insisted they follow through with their plan of giving the owner until the end of the weekend to come forward.

Katherine began to scratch off the ticket on the night side table. Three like amounts, you win that prize. A gold bar below any amount, you win automatically. She revealed a gold bar and looked at Joe. “It’s an automatic winner,” she said.

“It’s probably just for another ticket,” he replied. It wasn’t. Katherine scratched from right to left. First a two. Then a zero. Then a comma. A comma! She could feel her heart. Is this actually happening? She quickly revealed the prize - $20,000! She felt sick and elated all at once. Joe sat beside her. “Jesus. No one’s getting rich off that, but it’s not too tough to take.”

“I know we agreed to wait until the end of the weekend,” Joe continued, “but I don’t want to end our time like this – cashing in a lottery ticket that’s not ours after only giving the rightful owner less than 24 hours to come forward. I know we both won’t feel right. And I think it will tarnish things between us before we even give it a shot.”

Katherine sighed, but she agreed. She was already close to ending whatever this was between them, but was that decision warranted? She acknowledged to herself that she felt fearful of the intensity of their connection. Three years of emotional foreplay, culminating in a real attraction had her feeling off kilter. Holding on to the ticket would keep them in communication, and it was the right thing to do. Plus, the idea of maintaining a connection with Joe for at least a little longer made her feel the calmest she’d felt all weekend. She knew she would feel Joe’s absence from her life deeply if she let him go.

The remainder of their time together passed quickly. Joe and Katherine avoided deep conversation, outside of musing about the owner of the little black book. At last check, there’d been 927 shares of Joe’s post, in 4 countries. The two ordered food and sat close watching game shows and laughing. Both would later remember those few hours together as the best moments of that first weekend together.

Joe insisted that Katherine take the lottery ticket and the little black book. It was a gesture that felt meaningful to her and one she took seriously. They agreed; if the book’s owner didn’t come forward within 3 months, Joe and Katherine would meet again and devise a new plan.

As Katherine left the hotel, she thought of the many times she had reached in her pocket and played at the perforated edge of a lottery ticket only she knew was there. Today it was her mind revisiting the lottery ticket nestled behind the ivory pages of that little black book from the floor of the yellow cab. She smiled at the possibility and promise of it all, and at the story she and Joe were creating. In that moment she realized – whether or not she ended up with half of $20,000, she was winning no matter what.