The Wishing Game(41)

Lucy winced. “I wish I could say I was a genius, but I just taught a seven-year-old boy how to spell the name Carrie. He thought it had one R, but it has two. Two Rs in Carrie. Two Rs in Harrison. Two Ss in Picasso. Two Es in Reese.”

“Two Os in book, two Fs and two Es in coffee,” Hugo said. “Good job.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

Someone—it sounded like Dustin—yelled out a certain four-letter word that had never appeared in any of Jack’s books. She laughed.

“Told you so,” Hugo said. “And most people don’t figure it out. They get furious, and then they give up and demand the answer. Jack writes for children. His riddles are on that level usually. Kids figure it out quicker than adults because kids are more literal.”

“I guess I’m just a big kid then.”

She remembered this hallway from her first visit. Turning left, they’d reach Jack’s office with his pet raven. They turned right instead. Hugo pushed open a set of oak double doors.

“Over here.” Hugo took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Jack gave you the Ocean Room.”

He opened the door and switched on the light. Lucy’s eyes widened in shock and delight. She thought maybe the Ocean Room would just have an ocean view, but it was so much more than that. The room was painted the palest silvery blue, like the ocean on a winter morning. The brick fireplace had a white mantel, and on the mantel sat a ship in a bottle. The bed was a massive four-poster, big enough for three people.

Hugo showed her the bathroom, the closet where lanterns and emergency supplies were stored, the schedule for the week on the mantel. She ignored the schedule. The painting hanging over the fireplace had caught her attention. A shark swimming not through the ocean but the sky, chasing a flock of birds.

“Nice. One of yours?” Lucy asked.

“One of mine,” Hugo said. “It’s called Fly-Fishing.”

“It’s wonderful. I know a little boy who’d love it too.”

“Son?”

She paused, wanting to say yes. Yes, he’s my son. My son, Christopher. Christopher, my son…But she shook her head no.

“A boy I tutor. Christopher. He loves sharks.” She pulled out her phone and before she knew it, she was showing Hugo the picture of Christopher holding the toy hammerhead she’d given him.

“Cute kid. Hair like a mad scientist.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy said. “And magical disappearing socks. Would it be too weird to buy sock garters for a seven-year-old? They keep ending up in the toes of his shoes.”

“You know how to fix that?”

“Gorilla Glue?”

“Sandals,” he said. “I see he’s going through the shark-obsessed phase. Dinosaurs are next.”

“Dinosaurs were last year,” she said. “I’m guessing either outer space or ancient Egypt next.”

“Or the Titanic,” Hugo said. “My brother, Davey, was obsessed with the Titanic.” He pulled out his own phone and showed her a photo of his brother in front of a poster for a Titanic museum exhibit.

“That’s Davey?” she asked, smiling at the picture of a boy about ten years old, grinning hugely. He had the slightly tilted eyes and the button nose of a child with Down syndrome.

“Yeah, when he was nine or ten, I took him to the Titanic exhibit in London. It was either that or show him the movie, and no chance I’d let him see that movie until he was at least thirty.”

“I’m sorry he’s—”

“Yeah, me too.” Hugo shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Anyway,” he said, all business again. “Hungry at all?”

“A little.”

“I’ll have dinner sent up to you.”

“Thank you,” she said. He started to leave. “Hey, Hugo? Can I take a picture of that painting for Christopher?”

He gave a look, slightly confused, but then waved his hand. “Be my guest.”

After he left, Lucy walked around the room. She couldn’t believe it was hers for the entire week. A thick plush comforter covered the bed. The sheets were nautical, white with blue stripes. And when she went to the window, she could see the dark outline of the ocean racing up the sandy beach before quietly retreating, only to race up again, inching closer.

She could have stared at that view all night, but she knew she ought to unpack and settle in. She set her suitcase on the luggage rack and started unpacking. She took out a photograph of her and Christopher that Theresa took of them on the playground and framed for her. Lucy set it on the fireplace mantel.

Now it felt like home.

“Dinner is served.”

Hugo stood in her doorway with a covered tray.

“You know you’re a really famous artist, right?” Lucy asked him.

“The most famous artist is still less famous than the least famous reality TV star. Where do you want it?”

“Um…” She looked around, saw a little vanity with a chair. “There?”

He set the tray on the table. Lucy was starving, so she went straight over and lifted the lid.

“Oh…is that lobster bisque?”

“They said you’re a Mainer.”

“Ayuh,” she said.

“Yes, a Mainer, God help us.”