The Wishing Game(60)

Andre leaned in, met her eyes. “It wasn’t you,” he said. “Speaking as a father who’d move mountains for my son, it wasn’t you. Any parent who makes their kid feel unwanted has something wrong with them.” He pointed at Melanie. “And you, bad times come to every business. Man, even Apple was on the edge of bankruptcy in the nineties. I’m smart, okay? They don’t let dummies into Harvard Law School, and you skunked me in the last game.”

Melanie grinned broadly. “Thank you.” Then she made a face of almost-comical disgust. “Dammit, now I want you all to win as much as I want to win.”

“Jack’s sneaky as hell,” Andre said. “He probably planned this.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Melanie said.

“Definitely. See y’all at breakfast.” Andre stood and went to the door. Then he turned around and faced them. “I hope I win, but if either of you wins, I’ll be happy for you. I hope you both get your wish somehow. I hope we all do.”

Melanie smiled at him, and Andre left.

“What is it you don’t have the money for?” Melanie asked Lucy as she stood up from her armchair.

Lucy hesitated. She hated telling her sob story, but she also relished any chance she got to talk about Christopher.

“There’s a little boy I want to foster. Actually, I want to adopt him, but I’d have to foster-to-adopt first. I don’t meet the qualifications for foster parenting. He and I…we want to be a family, but we probably never will.”

“Unless you win and sell the book.”

“Right. Unless I win.”

Melanie smiled and said, “That’s a very good wish.”



* * *



—

From the window in her bedroom, Lucy watched the storm rising. God, she’d missed the wild skies of Maine in springtime. Scary sometimes, but beautiful with the clouds racing toward some unseen finish line and the ocean churning as if the Kraken were about to rise. She imagined Christopher here with her, standing in front of her, face pressed to the glass. And when the storm passed, they’d run out to the beach to look for driftwood and throw stranded starfish back into the water.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up and saw a long message from Theresa.

I don’t know how to tell you this, but Christopher just came by the classroom. He said he’s getting a new foster placement. In Preston with an older couple. They’re letting him finish the last week out at school. I’m in a meeting right now, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. He’s really scared and upset, of course, but I don’t think he realizes he’ll be going to another school next year. Honey, I’m so sorry.

Lucy read the message over and over until the words sank in. She was in too much shock to cry. Denial was her first instinct, that there must be a mistake. Preston was almost twenty miles away from Redwood. Same county but…

She knew in theory that kids in foster care were moved around all the time, that they were forced to pack their bags at a moment’s notice all the time, that they were transferred from school to school all the time no matter how much it traumatized them and made keeping up with their schoolwork nearly impossible.

Of course she knew all that, but she never thought it would happen to Christopher. Maybe he’d get moved, but not to another town, not to another school.

This was her worst nightmare.

Lucy took deep breaths, deep gulping breaths. She stared wildly around the Ocean Room as if somewhere in there, she’d find the answer. But there was nothing to help her. The bed. The dresser. The vanity. Hugo’s shark painting over the fireplace. A few books on the mantel tucked between grandfather clock bookends.

She recognized those books. They were the first four Clock Island books in their original covers—The House on Clock Island, A Shadow Falls on Clock Island, A Message from Clock Island, The Haunting of Clock Island.

Lucy laughed, groaned. She shook her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her hand.

Good job, Jack, she thought. She had to hand it to the man. He had found a way to scare the holy shit out of her. Face her fears? Well, he’d found her worst fear, hadn’t he?

She stood up and went to the door, into the hall, and strode to the opposite end of the house to Jack’s writing factory, as he called it.

Lucy knocked once and loudly on the door.

“Yes?” Jack said from inside. Lucy opened the door and entered, shutting the door behind her. Jack sat at his desk behind a pile of papers that looked like letters.

“Lucy,” he said with a genuine smile. He always looked so happy to see them. It couldn’t be real, could it?

“Nice try, Jack,” she said. “How’d you do it?”

His head tilted slightly to the side. “Do what?”

“Make it look like my friend Theresa sent me a text message? I know she wouldn’t do it herself, so you had to fake it. You went in and changed her contact number to yours. Face your fears?” she asked. “This is my fear, right? I told Hugo about Christopher and Hugo told you.”

“Yes, I know about Christopher. But what happened?”

“You know what happened. You or one of your lawyers or somebody sent me a text message telling me he’s being transferred to a new foster family twenty miles away.”