Only five exist, each worth $200,000

(This is Part 19 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale, ending on Christmas Eve.)

Fortune Cookie

Part 1: Will it ruin Christmas and a chance at love?

Part 2: The crunch of metal on stone

Part 3: Blood covered her hand

Part 4: 'Heads up! Loose horse!' 

Part 5: Blood dripped onto the tablecloth

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Part 16: Shooting stars danced

Part 17: The still form in the frigid water

Part 18: Darkness closed around her mind

Bodie lowered his mouth to the limp form of Rosalyn, pinched her nose shut, and began mouth-to-mouth breathing. One of her gloves had come off and Buck licked Rosalyn’s hand. Seconds passed. Rosalyn twitched, and Bodie rolled her over just in time to miss the coughed-up stream of water.

“You’re alive!”

Rosalyn coughed again, rolled over on to an elbow, and groaned. “I’m sick … beat up … why do I feel kissed to death?” She rolled onto her back and stared at Bodie.

“It’s you,” she observed. “I’m cold.”

***

Sitting up on her couch, wrapped in blankets, Rosalyn watched Bodie stoke an already-blazing fire. Buck lay on the floor, his head on her feet. The television droned in the background, one of those soothing public-broadcast features. Rosalyn’s naked body under the blankets bothered her the most, but she supposed stripping off a hypothermic person’s wet clothes was normal in a situation like this. Rosalyn pulled the blanket tighter around her. She unclenched her dirt-encrusted hand, and let a clump of drying mud drop on the lamp table next to her. The dirt broke. A penny rolled out.

“Huh, look at that. I found a penny while dying.”

Bodie glanced up from the fire. “You ought to have it framed as a memento of this lucky day.”

“Trust me to get bad luck from good luck,” said Rosalyn.

A parcel lay on the table, addressed to her. “What’s this?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It was on the porch when I went to get fire wood.”

Rosalyn took a fingernail to the tape on the box. She opened it to find a selection of Woo’s Fine Fortune Cookies. A gold-embossed card on the top read, “Don't leave your safety to fortune. Have you considered your retirement investments? We’re here to help. Happy Investing from Fiduciary Answers Today”

“Somebody give me a gun. I can’t believe this,” said Rosalyn. “That FAT guy dares to send me this. Thanks to him, my only future is old age and poverty. However, I am hungry.”

Rosalyn broke a cookie, and unrolled the fortune. It read, "You will be unlucky in love, and too dense to know it when you see it."

"Right. The only fortune I make is my own," said Rosalyn. “Who writes these fortunes, anyway?” She wadded up the black prediction and threw the paper ball over Bodie’s shoulder into the fire.

"You know, I got one once that said I would hit upon a thing of great value." Bodie eased away from the fire, sat down next to her, and wrapped muscular arms around Rosalyn. She squirmed. However, her nakedness and the likelihood of blankets falling off, prevented further protest.

Before Rosalyn could say anything, Bodie kissed her hard. She couldn’t help it. Fire poured through her veins. She kissed him back.

Bodie stopped himself. This was, after all a nearly-drowned woman. He ran the blanket edge against Rosalyn’s neck through his thumb and forefinger. "OK, if you don't want my money fine, but at least let me help you with yours … What do you think I do for a living?"

“I don’t know. What do you do?”

“Let’s just say Warren Buffet gets help,” he said.

“Oh.” Rosalyn looked away, out the window. It killed her to accept help. A breeze pushed its way through silent snowfall, and what had moments ago been a pleasant holiday greeting card turned into a winter storm. The television droned the end of a feature, something on coin collecting. The final sound bite caught Rosalyn’s attention: "Well folks, that’s it. Only five of the pennies known to exist, and worth $200,000 apiece, imagine that." Jazz music played while the credits rolled, backed by an image of the rare coin.

Rosalyn picked up her penny and scraped it. Her gut clenched.

“Bodie. “ 

“What?”

“Tell me I’m not crazy. It looks just like the one that was on TV.” Hands trembling, Rosalyn used her remote control to freeze the screen and zoom in on the photo of the prize penny.

Bodie picked up her coin and looked at the television. “I’ll make some calls. Don’t get your hopes up.”

(Next: Finger lickin' good)