Million Dollar Dilemma. Judy Baer

fide charities….”

      “All right. Name some. I’ll call them.” Didn’t anyone understand how catastrophic this was? I’m the last person on earth who should be entrusted with this kind of money. I’m completely inexperienced with large sums of cash. Besides, Christians are squeamish about things like the lottery. Even though the Bible doesn’t expressly say don’t do it, there are many reasons not to. For me to take lottery money as my own was nearly unthinkable.

      I sat back to consider my nonexistent options.

      “I’m pretty clear on the fact that I can’t take it, Randy. Proverbs 28:22 is the clincher, don’t you think?”

      The blank expression on his face told me he hadn’t been thinking that at all.

      “‘Trying to get rich quick is evil and leads to poverty,’” I quoted. “I really can’t afford to get any more poverty-stricken than I already am, you know. Except for that twenty million, I’m barely making it right now.”

      He gave me a very pained expression. “Listen to me, Cassia. I want you to go home and talk to your family and friends. Then call an attorney. He’ll probably have you contact your banker or investment counselor and an accountant. Let those people help you decide.” His look was pleading. “You’ll do that, won’t you?”

      “I suppose it’s a good idea. My sister is a loan officer in a bank. She could help me.”

      Randy looked relieved. I felt like hugging him for caring.

      “She won’t believe me. She’ll say I’ve been dreaming.”

      “And in twenty-four hours, after you go to lottery headquarters, she won’t be able to say that. The press will be there. You and your winnings will be front-page news.”

      “I don’t know why everyone wants to rush in and get their money right away. Don’t we have to wait for…for something? Anything?”

      “There’s probably not much sense in waiting. With so many of you involved, the news is out anyway.”

      Twenty-four hours. I have twenty-four hours to get used to the idea of being a millionaire. It’s just not right. After all, I’ve had twenty-eight years practicing to be a pauper.

      Randy pulled up in front of my building, hopped out of the car and ran around to my side to help me out. I guess I wasn’t as steady as I thought, because I nearly pitched forward out the door and onto the sidewalk.

      Fortunately Adam Cavanaugh came around the corner at that moment carrying a bag of groceries. When he saw Randy trying to prop me up, he set down the groceries and strode over.

      “Cassia, are you okay?”

      Well, do I look okay?

      “She’s had a shock. I offered to bring her home, but…”

      “I can take her from here,” Adam said briskly. “I live in the apartment below hers.”

      “Is that okay with you, Cassia?” Randy asked. He looked worried about turning me over to this big, rugged-looking stranger.

      “Sure. Why not?” I was giddy and feeling light-headed. At the moment I wasn’t sure I’d care if he handed me off to a boatful of tuna fishermen.

      I’m not a little girl—I’m five feet eight inches tall—but Adam somehow managed to scoop me up and carry me into the building.

      “She can sit at my place until she’s feeling better,” he told Randy, who’d carried the groceries in behind us. “What happened to her?”

      Randy sighed and shrugged. “It’s pretty hard to explain. I think Cassia should tell you.” He turned to me. “Are you okay?”

      “Fine. Fit as a fiddle. Right as rain,” I yammered.

      He took his business card out of the silver card case in his pocket and scribbled on it. “I put my home number on the back. If you need anything, call me.” Randy gave me a compassionate glance. “I’ll say a prayer for you, Cassia.”

      “You’re a saint, but I’m going to be fine. Really.”

      As soon as I figure out how to get rid of this money.

      Reluctantly he backed out of the apartment. Adam gave him a reassuring nod and he disappeared.

      Adam turned to me. “What happened?”

      I opened my mouth and shut it again. How did I tell him that by tomorrow at this time I would own more money than any person in the world should have? It is obviously impossible to convince anyone that I don’t want or need the money. I had to talk to someone who would understand.

      “May I use your phone? I need to call my grandmother.”

      Adam looked a little annoyed, but didn’t speak. Instead, he handed me the cordless phone and sat down in the chair across from mine. Pepto, cat-food breath and all, crawled up next to me, purring.

      I dialed, hoping Mattie would pick up, but her phone rang until the answering machine clicked on and Mattie’s message began. “Is this thing working? I can’t hear anything…yes? Oh! Okay. Hello, this is Mattie Carr. I’m not here right now—do I have to say that? Of course they know I’m not here! Well, leave a message and your number and I’ll call you back…. Unless you’re calling long distance. Then you call me back, okay? There. How was that? Do I hang up now…?”

      Grandma had refused to rerecord the message, and it sounded so like Mattie that Jane told me not even to attempt to get her to change it.

      Jane didn’t answer either. I was transferred into her voice mail at both home and work. I debated calling Ken. He still didn’t accept the idea that I wasn’t madly in love with him, and I didn’t want to have him think that I wanted his advice about what to do with the money. Unless I’d underestimated him, I’d guess that Ken’s idea of charity would probably be new four-wheelers for all his buddies.

      That left me to talk to Winslow, Pepto or the man across from me staring at me as if I’d landed from outer space.

      Although I didn’t mean it to happen, tears started coursing down my face like little rivers. Some women cry pretty, but I’m not one of them. My nose gets red, my eyes bloodshot and my skin puffy.

      Adam reached for a box of tissues and put it on the couch pillow next to me. Then he sat back, crossed his arms and waited for me to be done bawling.

      I’d thought I was going to build up a real head of steam and cry for hours, but with Pepto purring beside me, kneading my thigh with his paws, and Adam patiently biding his time, I fizzled out midcry, although it took me a couple minutes to mop up and wish I’d had a pillowcase to put over my head to hide what were probably big red blotches, pale white skin and an unflattering starburst of freckles punctuating the mess.

      “Want to talk about it?” Adam looked compassionate, nonjudgmental and mildly interested.

      He was here, and Mattie and Jane weren’t. “The most awful thing happened to me today!”

      “Did you lose your job? Get mugged? Have your car stolen?”

      His eyes widened each time I shook my head.

      “You didn’t get…you know…attacked by a man….”

      “No!” And I collapsed again into a mess of tears. “I won the lottery!” As I was crying, I heard him get up, run water and put a teakettle on the stove. A few cupboard doors opened and closed. Shortly he returned carrying two mugs of steaming tea, spoons and a bowl of sugar on a tray.

      He pressed a mug into my hands, and I took it gratefully. I watched him as he stoically waited for me to pull myself together. What an incredible-looking man, thought my wayward mind. Even in such dire straits, Adam could bully his way into my thoughts.

      “I’m so sorry. I had no intention of falling apart. I’ll just go back to my place….”

      “I