“Hold on, baby,” Lucy told Christopher. “Just…need a minute here.” She was trying to sound okay, put together, but she was falling apart trying to understand how she’d come so close and still lost.
“Thank you all for playing,” Ms. Hyde said. She turned and gave Jack a pointed look. “It seems we do not have a winner.”
“I’m so sorry, kids,” Jack said. “I really hoped one of you would win.”
He reached into the pocket of his rumpled navy-blue trousers and pulled out a key. “The book is in a bank safe-deposit box,” Jack told Ms. Hyde, laying it in her hand. “I’ll get you the information, but that is the key to the box.”
She wrapped her fingers tight around the small silver key. “On behalf of the publisher, thank you, Jack.” She looked at the contestants and was decent enough to look almost apologetic. “I know you all wanted to win this contest very much, so I’m certain you’re all feeling some disappointment. Each of you will receive signed first edition copies of the book foryour own collections. Thank you for being a part of one of the better accidental marketing campaigns in the history of children’s literature.”
“Again,” Jack said, “I wish it could have been otherwise. I will do my best to make it up to you.”
Andre was the first to smile. “No hard feelings, Jack.” He walked over and held out his hand. “It was just so damn good to see you again. I’ll be telling this story for years.”
Jack hugged Andre, who had already ended his call.
“Lucy?” Christopher said. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Lucy said, moving her hand away from the phone speaker. “They were talking to us about something.”
“Did you win? Did you get the prize?”
“Um…well, it was—” Lucy began. She thought she might throw up she was shaking so hard.
Hugo held out his hand. “Let me talk to him.”
“What?” Lucy said.
“Please?”
With a trembling voice, Lucy said, “Christopher, someone here wants to talk to you. His name is Hugo Reese, and he does all those cool paintings in the Clock Island books.”
“Really?” Christopher said. “Like the map and the puzzle and the train?”
“He did all those. And he wants to say hi. So here he is. Hugo?”
She gave the phone to Hugo, who put it to his ear.
“Christopher? This is Hugo. I’m a friend of Lucy’s.”
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 silentThank you.
Then she laid her head back on the chair and cried.
Chapter Thirty
Up in the OceanRoom, 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. “Fivea.m.”
