A successful businesswoman.
And Lucy Hart, kindergarten teacher’s aide, ten grand in credit-card debt, three roommates, no car…she had wiped the floor with them.
What if she could actually pull it off? As long as she didn’t screw up, didn’t make stupid mistakes, didn’t let anything distract her or throw her off track, then maybe, just maybe, she could win this thing. And she could do it all on her own. She didn’t need a plan B, didn’t need to give up the two precious hours she spent every day with Christopher, wouldn’t need to go begging to her parents or sister, guilt-tripping them for help or money. Mrs. Costa said it took a village to raise a child. Maybe for some people, but maybe Lucy didn’t need a village. Maybe she could do it on her own.
Lucy decided to try success on for size. She imagined the moment she would call and tell Christopher the news. Sure, he was scared to talk on phones right now, but this was a dream, so why not dream big?
She imagined calling him, the sound of the phone ringing, and hearing his tentative “Hello?” at the end of the line.
She wouldn’t say “Hello” back. She wouldn’t say, “Hi, how are you?” Lucy already knew what she would say to him.
“Christopher…I win.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the sitting room,Hugo waited for the game to end. As he sketched ideas for the new book cover, he eavesdropped. He could hear everything through the closed doors of the library—the wild guesses, the groans of frustration, loads of begging for more and more and more hints.
It was nearly one in the morning when Jack asked Andre, Melanie, and Dustin if they were ready to give up. If they all agreed to forfeit the single point for coming in second, Jack would tell them the answer.
They jumped at the chance to give up. When Jack told them the secret of the green glass door, the house echoed with screams. Hugo chuckled. Oh, he hated riddles when he was on the receiving end, but he didn’t mind them so much when Jack inflicted them on unwanted houseguests.
All three bleary-eyed contestants shuffled out of the library, mostly silent but for Melanie who muttered to herself, “Billy Dee Williams? How did I not see it?”
“I didn’t see it either,” Hugo told her. “Hope that helps.”
“No, it doesn’t help,” she said. “At all. In the least.”
Hugo bade them all good night with a jaunty, “Better luck tomorrow.”
When Jack didn’t follow them out, Hugo closed his sketchbook andwent into the library. He found Jack with an antique carriage clock in his hands, winding it with a tiny key.
“You’re up late,” Jack said as he turned the clock to face him, checking the time against his wristwatch.
“Am I? Didn’t bother to check the time.”
“In this room, that’s an act of aggression,” Jack said, nodding sagely toward the wall of clocks, nearly fifty of them in total. “Come to scold me again?”
Hugo stood with his back to the fireplace. The fire had died down, but ambient heat still radiated from the embers.
“I won’t scold you. Just curious how you’re enjoying having company?”
He nodded, looking pleased. “It’s been better than I hoped. They’re wonderful kids.”
“They’re all middle-aged and miserable like the rest of us.”
“I wouldn’t call Lucy Hart middle-aged.” Jack picked up a second clock, an old-fashioned alarm clock, and wound it back to life. “Glad to see her win the first game. She seemed a little out of her depth around the older kids.”
“It’s such an unbearably stupid game.”
“It’s just a silly old game we played at summer camp,” Jack said.
“Was your camp counselor named Lucifer by any chance?” Hugo sat on the hearth, his sketchbook on his lap.
“Can’t recall his name, but he had a nose a proboscis monkey would envy. When he breathed in, we had to cling to a sturdy tree to keep from being sucked up into his sinuses.” Jack looked at Hugo’s sketchbook on his lap. “I always envied people who could draw. Takes me fifty words and ten metaphors to say a character has a gigantic schnoz. You can do it with one pencil stroke.”
“I always envied writers who sold six hundred million books.”
“Ah, touché.” Jack chuckled softly.
