The Wishing Game(71)

“I’m sorry,” Hugo said. What else could he say?

“After my miscarriage, there was this little voice in my head that said maybe Sean was right that I shouldn’t be a mother.”

“No,” Hugo said. “No, not a chance. You were ready to swim to California just to hold Christopher’s hand. That’s not something a bad mother would do. Sean Parrish didn’t want a child because that would force him to think of someone other than himself, and don’t you dare believe anything else.”

She looked up at his ceiling, blinked as if trying to stop herself from crying.

“Listen to me,” Hugo said. “If Davey were still alive, and I had to pick someone to take care of him, I would trust him with you before anyone else—Jack included.” He was shocked to find as he said it that he meant it.

She smiled. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but I can’t even take care of myself.”

“Do what I did—sponge off your rich friends. That’s your real problem—no rich friends.”

He was trying to make her laugh. The ghost of a grin flitted across her lips.

“Anyway, that’s the whole story. The end.”

“The story isn’t over yet.”

She smiled tiredly. “Yeah, of course. Because I’m going to win this game, right?”

Hugo took her face in his hands and met her eyes. Although he wanted to kiss her, he didn’t. That’s not what she needed.

“You can do it,” he said instead. “I believe in you.”





Chapter Twenty-Four





Lucy woke up on Hugo’s couch to the sound of a gentle breeze, a tranquil ocean, and the delicious scents of coffee brewing and bread toasting. The sun was out. The power had come back on. No more excuses to run or hide. Lucy slowly sat up and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Hugo?” Lucy called out. He stuck his head out of the kitchen. Already up. Already dressed. Already cooking breakfast. And she was already remembering how nice his large warm hands felt on her face last night, the intensity in his eyes when he said he believed in her. She pushed the thought away before she started blushing.

“Morning,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Injected directly into my bloodstream,” she said.

“I’ll get the IV drip. Shower’s all yours if you want one. Towels in the cupboard in the hall.”

Lucy followed his directions but stopped to examine a display box hanging on the wall. Inside was a large gold coin stamped with the image of a man riding a horse. She narrowed her eyes to read the printing on the coin. It was a Caldecott Medal. The highest award a children’s book illustrator could receive. Hugo had won a Caldecott? He hadn’t told her that. Sean told everyone he met he’d won the Pulitzer.

Quickly, before Hugo caught her in the act, she searched online for the book that had won him the prize—Davey’s Dreamworld, a gorgeously illustrated picture book about a young boy with Down syndrome who stumbles into another world where all his dreams come true. Flying a plane, climbing a mountain, fighting a giant…but when he’s offered the chance to stay, he goes back home because he misses his family. It was, of course, dedicated to the memory of David Reese.

The dedication page read, To Davey, when you’re done visiting the Dreamworld, don’t forget to come home to us.

If she wasn’t careful, she was going to fall madly in love with Hugo. She already liked him. A lot. Too much. And it seemed he liked her too. Why even think about it? She’d be leaving in a couple of days, as soon as the game was over, and probably never see him again.

But if she won the book for Christopher, that would make it all okay. Focus on the game, she told herself. This isn’t about you. It’s about Christopher.

She showered, toweled off, and dug jeans and a light blue sweater out of her suitcase. Hugo rapped lightly on the bathroom door.

“You can come in,” she said. “I’m decent.”

“Shame,” he said, opening the door. He looked so handsome in the doorway in his jeans and T-shirt with dead sexy bedhead. Her heart skipped. She didn’t know hearts actually did that in real life.

“Jack called. He says he’d like to see you. Please. The ‘please’ is from him, not me. But also, please. That one was from me.”

“Did he sound mad?”

“If by mad you mean angry, no. He always sounds a little insane, if you ask me.”

She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Do I have to?”

“Go on,” he finally said. “You know how it works. ‘The only wishes ever granted are the wishes of brave children who keep on wishing even when it seems no one is listening because someone always is’—”

“Right, right.”

“Hey, Hart Attack,” he said with a smile. “Don’t be afraid.”

Scared but determined, Lucy returned to Jack’s house. It was eerily quiet inside, like she was all alone. Then she heard the soft murmur of voices coming from the library. After yesterday, Lucy thought Jack might be angry at her for how she’d overreacted. Maybe he was planning to send her home like he had Dustin. She’d been so awful to him last night.

Still…she didn’t think she’d been wrong. Overwrought, angry, unkind? Yes. But not wrong. They were real people, and they didn’t deserve to have their lives, and their hearts, played with like toys.