She sat back in the chair, silent and in shock, half-listening as Hugo introduced himself to Christopher. What could he possibly say? They couldn’t lie. You could keep things from children, but this wasn’t a lie she could tell. The whole world would soon know that nobody had won the book and that it was going to Jack’s publisher. She breathed through her hands, mind racing, as if she could think of a way to fix this, to turn the clock back, to have a second chance and answer the question one second quicker.
“No, no, Lucy didn’t win the book, but she won second prize. It’s a painting. One of mine. A big shark painting. She said you’ll love it.” Hugo smiled, met her eyes. “What’s your favorite shark? Hammerhead? Good choice. More animals should have heads shaped like that. Hammerhead cats. Hammerhead dogs. Hammerhead snakes. Wait. I think you gave me an idea for a new painting.”
Lucy watched Ms. Hyde walk out of the library, triumphant.
“You should hold on to my painting that Lucy won. In about ten years you can sell it, and it’ll pay for your college. Well, not a very good college, but still—”
Lucy laughed. A small laugh, so small Hugo didn’t even hear it. Second place, he’d said? She had come in third, tied with Melanie’s five points. Andre had finished with six. Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. She reached out and rested her hand on Hugo’s shoulder. He looked at her, and she mouthed a silent Thank you.
Then she laid her head back on the chair and cried.
Chapter Thirty
Up in the Ocean Room, Lucy packed her suitcase. She felt drained, exhausted, more zombie than person, but it helped to keep moving. Hugo offered to help, but there was nothing for him to do but keep her company, distract her from falling apart again.
“I’m taking you to the airport in the morning,” he said when she zipped up her suitcase.
“I have to be on the ferry at five,” she reminded him. Her voice sounded faraway and hollow to her own ears. “Five a.m.”
“Don’t care. I’m going with you, and you can’t stop me.”
“I won’t stop you,” she said.
It was half past nine already, and she needed to get into bed soon, but she wanted to spend more time with Hugo. It might be the last time they’d ever get to spend together. They didn’t exactly run in the same circles. And when was the last time she’d been to New York? Never.
“If you want to take the shark painting back with you, I’ll have to wrap it and crate it, which takes ages, or I can send it to you in the post or—”
She picked up a pillow, tossed it at him.
He caught the pillow, wincing like it had hurt.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “You didn’t have to give me a fake second prize.”
“I want Christopher to have it,” he said. “And yes, I had to do it. I had to or I would have hated myself. You know, more than I usually do.”
She glanced up at the painting of the flying shark over the fireplace mantel, the one he called Fly-Fishing. At least that was something she had to show for her week here, an actual Hugo Reese painting. Her favorite painter. Christopher’s too.
“That’s a big gift, Hugo. I know your stuff sells for a lot of money.”
“I’m not exactly Banksy, you know, but if you were to take that to a gallery and sell it, you—”
“Don’t. Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I’m not about to sell the painting you gave to Christopher. That painting will pay for his college someday if that’s what he wants to do with it, or he’ll keep it and pass it on to his kids or grandkids, but I’m not going to pawn it. Ever.”
“Lucy—”
She dropped the T-shirt she’d been folding, turned, and faced him.
“Come here,” he said.
“No,” she replied, but she went to him anyway, went to his arms and let him hold her. She cried again, big, hard sobs. The sort of sobs that come out of a heart broken cleanly in two. Hugo just held her, rubbed her back while she cried and said nothing.
Always be quiet when a heart is breaking.
Finally, her sobs settled, and she took a deep breath, followed by another.
“I’m going to be okay,” she said softly.
“I know you will be.”
“I’ll do what every other single mom in the world does—work my ass off and take care of my kid. I’ve decided I’m going to get a second job, even if it means not seeing Christopher as much. But he can talk on the phone now, so we can Facetime or call each other even when I can’t see him in person. When I take him home with me, it’ll be worth it.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t let me lend you—”
“No, I wouldn’t. If only because what happens in six months when I need more? When the car breaks down in two years? When my rent goes up, or I lose my job?” She took another deep steadying breath and dragged herself away from Hugo’s arms. “I need to be able to take care of him myself. But thanks for the shoes.”
“I only wish—” He looked at her.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He stood up, looked at her. It seemed he wanted to say more but wouldn’t or couldn’t let himself.
“Can I ask a favor?” she said.
“Anything in the world.” The way he said it, she thought he might mean it.
“Maybe you could draw a little shark sketch or something for Christopher that I could take to him tomorrow while we wait for the painting? Maybe something with his name on it? I’ll let you keep the red scarf.”
“Absolutely. I’ll go and fetch my sketchbook. Besides, I was going to keep the red scarf anyway.”
He started for the door, then stopped, turned around. “That kid loves the hell out of you, Lucy. He answered the phone because it was you calling him. Because it was his mum calling him.”
She smiled. “As terrible as this day went…I’m still happy. Even after he moves into his new foster home, at least now we can talk to each other on the phone until I buy a car and visit him in person. It’s so funny. He says the Mastermind helped him answer the phone? I guess reading books about kids being brave got to him?”
“He was incredibly brave,” Hugo said.
She shrugged. “Too bad he didn’t get his wish.”
“He’s got you in his life,” Hugo said. “He’s a lucky kid.” She felt her face growing hot. Hugo smiled back. “Don’t go anywhere. Back in a tick.”
Lucy breathed deeply through her hands when he was gone. Okay, so she’d lost the game. It hurt. It sucked. She wanted to cry again, wanted to scream…but here she was—still standing, still breathing, and tomorrow she would see Christopher. That’s all that mattered.
She got out her phone to check for messages. Nothing important. They hadn’t released the news to the press yet about the contest. Jack had warned them that tomorrow they would be inundated. Lucy considered calling Angie. Jack had given her Angie’s phone number. Even after all these years, all the neglect and loneliness and cruelty, she still wished she had one person in her family she could call when her heart was breaking.
She put her phone away. She just wasn’t ready to get hurt again, not when she was already hurting so much.
“Knock, knock?”
Lucy composed her face. Jack stood in the open doorway to her bedroom. He was still wearing his usual uniform of rumpled trousers, a light blue button-down shirt with a coffee stain on it, and a baggy cardigan starting to unravel at the seams. He had a paperback stuffed in one of the cardigan pockets, and she wondered if that was why he wore such huge sweaters—book-sized pockets.