The Wishing Game(48)
Hugo shook his head. “I’ve met those supposedly happy people with money. They’re miserable, just like everyone else. I speak from experience, having both money and misery.”
“Money would buy my happiness.”
He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. She was living in a dreamworld. “Are you already spending the money you’ll get when you sell Jack’s book to Markham or some other bottom-feeder?”
She turned and glared at him. “What? Like you’ve never imagined what you would do if you won the lottery?”
“The lottery isn’t the only copy of a children’s novel in existence. And yes, I have imagined it, but unlike you, I’ve been the guest at many castles in the air. Too draughty for my taste but keep wishing and hoping for one if you want. Maybe you’ll get one someday.”
She gave a cold, resentful little laugh, surprisingly bitter. “I’ve visited my fair share of castles, and I have no interest in buying one of my own. All I want is a house and a car for Christopher and me.”
She stopped at a gas lamppost and faced him. The warm light illuminated her cheeks, flushed pink from the cold. He found himself staring at her lips. Pale pink lips, soft, made for smiling, though she wasn’t smiling now.
“Christopher?”
“The boy I tutor.”
“You’re buying him a house? A bit above and beyond the call of duty,” he said.
“He’s not just a child I tutor, okay? He was in my class two years ago. Great little kid. Right away, though, I could tell he was struggling at home. His father was a construction worker before he was injured on the job. He got hooked on painkillers. His mother did too. It happens all the time. His parents loved him, but I could tell he was struggling at home. He was withdrawn some days, clingy other days, cried to go home half the time, didn’t want to go home the other half…but smart. God, so smart. Reading was his strong suit, so whenever he was having a bad day, I’d get a little group together, and we’d just read. But there’s only so much you can do for a kid in your class when you have twenty other kids to teach. Summer came, and then school was out. One day I got a call from a social worker. She told me Christopher Lamb’s parents had died from an overdose. A bad batch of something got around. Sixteen people in the city overdosed that day, and eleven died.”
“Damn,” Hugo said.
She didn’t look at him, just kept talking. “Christopher stayed with me for a week until they found a foster home for him. I would have sold a kidney to keep him. But I can’t even afford to foster him, much less adopt him. I have three roommates and no car, credit-card debt, and a job that pays minimum wage. Oh, and I have a hole in my favorite shoes.”
She held out her foot to display a small hole where the canvas of her trainer had come away from the rubber sole.
“So maybe I will sell the book to the highest bidder.” Her tone was sharp as a knife. Every word cut him. “You live on a private island. Easy for you to say money doesn’t buy happiness when you have money. It would buy a lot of happiness for Christopher and me. And forget happiness.” She waved her hand as if she were erasing him and every stupid thing he’d just said. “For once in my life, I would love to spend fifteen dollars on a toy for Christopher without getting sick to my stomach. Sorry you disapprove of me daydreaming about the money a little bit, but that’s all Christopher and I have right now—wishes and dreams. But it’s better than having nothing.”
“Lucy, I’m—”
“You know what teachers call kids like you when we’re all gossiping in the teachers’ lounge?” She slapped her hand against his chest. “Spoiled brats.”
He looked at her, his jaw clenching. “Now that’s unfair.”
“Wake me up when the world is fair. Good night, Hugo. I can find my way back alone.”
She walked off. Hugo just stood there. What could he do but watch her go?
A flutter of white caught his eye. Paper. He picked it up off the ground. She hadn’t slapped his chest in anger. She’d given him Markham’s business card.
Chapter Seventeen
At nine the following day, Lucy dragged herself into the dining room and found the other players already there. They all looked up from their plates as she shuffled through the oak double doors.
“Sorry,” she said. “Jet lag.”
“Of course,” Andre said. “Help yourself to the spread.”
She got coffee with milk and filled her plate. There wasn’t much conversation. Everyone looked as exhausted as she felt. She’d had trouble getting back to sleep after her run-in with Markham and her fight with Hugo. Luckily the coffee had cooled just enough that she could gulp it down.
“That’s coffee, Lucy,” Dustin said. “Not beer. You’re not supposed to chug it.”
“Long night,” she said over the top of her mug.
“Was it?” Melanie asked. “You got out early. We were up past midnight.”
“Who came in second?” she asked.
An awkward silence followed. Andre cleared his throat. “We all gave up finally.”
“Oh,” Lucy said because she didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make them want to throw butter knives at her.