Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy’s chest burned with white-hot rage. She shook her head at Hugo, not believing what she’d heard. “You have no idea what Christopher wants or doesn’t want. You don’t know him, and you don’t know me.”
Hugo didn’t back down. “I know you want to adopt him. I know you need money. I know it will take a miracle for you to get it. You said so yourself. Well, here’s your miracle.” He held out his hands to indicate the entirety of Clock Island, that she was here, that she was standing in the middle of the miracle. “There are only two days left. The game isn’t over. Why give up now?”
“The game? The game I’m losing?”
“You’re one point behind.”
“Who cares about points?” Lucy snapped. “I have to get back to Christopher. He’s freaking out right now. I know he is. He needs me.”
“He wants you now. He needs you forever. You can give him what he wants by leaving, or you can give him what he needs by staying and winning this stupid game. And you can win it. Any idiot can win Jack’s games. Obviously.” He pointed at his face.
She laughed a sharp, sudden laugh, then burst into tears.
“Lucy…” Gently, Hugo put his hands on her shoulders.
“I have to go,” she said through tears. “I can’t be here while he’s there by himself. You don’t know what it’s like to be a child sitting alone in a room and knowing nobody is coming to help me.”
“Help me?” Hugo said softly.
“I mean, help you. Help him. You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said. “Tell me what you mean. Who was supposed to come and help you?”
Lucy turned away from him, hands on her forehead. “I thought my sister was going to die,” she said. “She spiked a fever, so they rushed her to the hospital. There was no time to get a babysitter, so they took me and dumped me in the waiting room at the hospital. Alone.” She met his eyes. “I was only eight. They were gone for hours. Hours, Hugo. I could tell time. It was five hours I was alone in that room. Nobody came for me. Not even to check on me. Not even to tell me if Angie was dead or alive.”
Hugo pulled her into his arms, but she couldn’t accept the hug. She kept her arms crossed in front of her stomach.
“I thought they were going to leave me there forever. When you’re eight and your parents don’t love you very much, you think things like that.”
She sniffed and gave a little laugh.
Hugo touched her chin, made her look at him. “What’s funny?”
“That’s the night I started reading the Clock Island books. There was one in a basket of coloring books. I think that book’s the reason I didn’t, you know, lose all hope that night. Because I had company finally. And you know what? They never did come and get me. My grandparents came to take me home with them. Mom and Dad didn’t even come down to kiss me goodbye. I never lived with my parents or Angie again. Just visited sometimes, not that they ever really acted like they wanted to see me.” She stepped out of the circle of Hugo’s arms. “You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and scared when you’re that little, and you know nobody’s coming to save you.”
Hugo’s eyes were imploring. “Call him, Lucy. Ask Christopher if he wants you to leave. I will bet you every penny I have that he’ll want you to stay and keep playing.”
“I can’t call him. He’s—” A fresh sob caught in her throat. “He’s scared of phones.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“His mother’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing and buzzing one morning. Ringing and buzzing over and over and over. Nobody answered it. Christopher went to answer it, and that’s when he saw them—his mom and dad were dead in their bed, and the phone was ringing because her boss wanted to know if she was ever showing up for work.”
“Shit.” Hugo winced painfully.
“He’s scared of phones now,” Lucy said. “That’s why I can’t call him. I can’t ask what he wants. I just have to go to him. I just have to.”
She started to turn to the door, but Hugo moved to block her. He held up his hands in surrender.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I will help you. But I’m serious—you can’t go tonight. I wouldn’t walk to Jack’s house in this storm, much less go out on the water. You will drown, Lucy. What would that do to Christopher if he lost you too?”
She dropped her head. Hot tears ran down her face. She knew Hugo was right, and so was Jack. Tree branches were dancing against the side of Hugo’s house, scratching at the windows, cracking, breaking, snapping. She heard the angry roar of the ocean.
“When is he moving?” Hugo’s voice was calm, steadying, like a man talking to a spooked horse he didn’t want to bolt.
“Soon as school’s out,” she said. “So Friday evening, Saturday morning.”
“Tomorrow is only Wednesday, all right? You have time. When the storm is over in the morning, and we know for certain that we can get you a flight home”—Hugo pointed in the direction of the mainland—“I will take you to the airport myself. You can be back in Redwood by tomorrow night. Safely. If you try to leave now, you won’t get home. Ever.”
She pursed her lips at him. “You’re being a little melodramatic.”
“Pot, meet Kettle.”
She snorted another laugh. “You’re also being a little sarcastic.”
“Sarcasm is my native tongue. Now, will you promise me you’re done with this foolishness, or do I have to tie you to the dock with a boat rope? I know the clove knot and the pile hitch, and trust me, neither of them will feel very good around your waist.”
“Fine,” she said, waving her hand. “But only if you swear you really will take me to the airport when the storm is over.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise that if you still want to leave when the storm is over, I will take you to any airport in a two-hundred-mile radius. Deal?”
Her urge to bolt was still so strong. She turned back, looked past him to the door. Could she trust him? He’s given her no reason not to…
“Lucy,” Hugo said softly. “Please. Jack’s lost one of his kids already. Losing another would kill him. Believe me when I say yours would not be the first girl’s body to wash up on Clock Island.”
Two men on an island, and both blame the water…
Lucy turned around. He was giving her a tenuous smile.
“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll stay until morning.”
Hugo put his hands together, said, “Thank you,” with obvious relief. “I’d recommend waiting for a break in the storm before heading back to the house. Have a seat?” He took her—his—coat and hung it on the coatrack. She slipped off her shoes—which were the shoes he’d given her—and set them by the door. He invited her into the living room. He’d started a fire in the fireplace, and it danced red, orange, and blue and sent earthy warmth into her chilled skin. She stood with her back to it while Hugo disappeared through a door.