Claimants
By Alan M. Danzis

42. 62. 16. 69. 35. Those were Rich Edwards' numbers for 2004. In 2005, they would be 43, 62, 17, 69, and 36. But for this year, those were his numbers and he always played his numbers.

His fair-skinned, quilt-making, High School administrative assistant wife Anne had long since given up on ridding him of his $50 a year foolish, hackneyed wet-daydream fantasy of a big pay-out. Instead, she concentrated her efforts on convincing him to play some new numbers for God's-sakes. But he wouldn't budge; and why should he? What was luckier than his age, his birth year, their son's age, Anne's birth year, and Anne's age? His family meant everything to the aging accountant with large, sometime-fisherman's calloused hands and a widowed mother. And since he was doing all of this for his family, he felt his numbers should be all about them. He was sticking to them, like he stuck to his family: no matter what.

Anne's insistent and persistent cajoling, however, did convince him to mix up his numbers every now and then. One Christmas, he played 62, 39, 69, 32, 13 and won $75; a local Italian restaurant with lit candles on the tables, separate knives for buttering, pink deodorizers in the bathroom urinals, and actual Italians in the kitchen was their reward. A few years later, he tried to mix it up and started playing Josh's birth year ('98) instead of his age, and wound up with $10 to spend on a bouquet of roses from Exxon to surprise Anne with. And then last month, he played 62, 69, 42, 35, 16 and won $150: Josh got a new baseball bat and mitt, Anne got a beautiful silver necklace with a heart outlined in cubic-zirconium, Anne's father got a wooden holder for all three of his remote controls, Anne's mother got a gift basket of foreign cheese from neighbor Sarah James' store Everything's Cheesy, and Rich got himself a new sports jacket for work.

Rich was determined to keep trying for a big payout though, no matter how long it took.
It wound up taking thirteen and a half years. Or, approximately seven hundred and fifty lottery tickets.

$2.4 million now. Or $135,000 a year, every year, for twenty years.

Both of those were before taxes, of course.

Rich didn't even want to think what they were after. Neither did Anne. Not that it mattered much anyhow, because whatever it turned out to be, Rich knew that money was going to be spent on…

… contacts for Josh…
… insulin for Anne…
… nursing home payments for Anne's mother, Hildy…
… a new screen for the front door since a Saint Bernard could fit through a hole in the old one…
… college tuition for Josh…
… new brakes for the family car…
… and the last of Anne's student loans.

Rich had either neglected or struggled to pay for all those things his entire adult life. And practicality said that that money had to go towards taking care of his family and taking care of those problems. But if it wasn't for practicality, Rich would rather spend that money on…

… a grand family vacation to the Caribbean…
… a brand-new Sub-Zero refrigerator…
… air conditioning for the house…
… a used car for Josh, so he could learn the fun of fixing it up…
… a romantic dinner for him and Anne once a month…
… and a simple, twenty-foot long fishing boat for himself.

Unfortunately, Rich knew in his heart he couldn't spend his money on any of those things. He knew exactly what he was going to do with the money. The only problem: he wasn't the only one who had ideas on how to spend it.

Anne's mother called a day after Rich and Anne shared the good fortune with their individual families. She told Anne in a low-hushed voice that for the past eighteen years — since Rich and Anne had gotten married — she had lit a candle every Sunday at church and prayed to God and prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and prayed to whoever would listen apparently, that her daughter and that waste of a husband would have better fortune and find themselves out of debt. Or at the very least, that her darling daughter would dump the boring mook for that sweet Australian chap down at the gym.

Naturally, the old hag now figured she was entitled to a share of the money. Rich, however, had another notion…

That bitch thinks she's entitled to $1.2 million for a couple of lit candles and a handful of Hail Marys?