The old woman sat at the round table in her sunroom, nursing her one cup of coffee. There had been years when she needed three or four before she was fully awake. Before that, a cup of tea had been enough to start her day.
Sunlight streamed through the windowpanes, catching the scratches and small dents in the gold band on her left hand. A bird chirped outside. Inside, the cuckoo clock ticked, and her pencil scratched against the newspaper.
“There,” she said, tapping the eraser against her chin. “Only two words left.”
She had taken to crossword puzzles when the news on the other pages grew too sad. Shootings and beatings and forests razed to the ground. Computers taking over the world. It was all too much. At least the crossword had answers.
“‘The key to success,’” she read. “Four letters.”
The pencil stilled against her chin.
“Grit?” she offered aloud.
The bird chirped its response. No.
“I would say money, but that doesn’t fit. Maybe coin?”
Her lips pursed. The pencil resumed its tapping.
“Hope? Time?”
Tick, tick, tick, went the clock.
“Well, it can’t be talent, or looks, or charisma. Confidence won’t fit either.”
She brushed a few eraser crumbs from the newspaper. When she was younger, she’d used only pens. Then she found herself spitting out bits of plastic when she destroyed the cap. She didn’t bite quite so hard on the pencil eraser, just in case.
“Well, what about the other one…”
Four letters again, with an E already in the final square.
“‘The key to a happy life.’” She smiled. “That’s easy.”
Her pencil scratched in the answer as she mouthed each letter: L-O-V-E.
The cuckoo clock trilled eleven. The bird outside sang along.
Tracing a finger along the newspaper, she returned to the final word: four letters, the key to success, and now she knew it began with L.
She huffed.
“Then it must be luck.”