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He studied the screen, tapping through the variations of what the internet was currently finding hilarious. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish.”
He puffed his cheeks and let out a long breath. “What’s a ‘Shenanigator’?”
“No idea. The ‘Later Gator’ one is kind of funny, though. That’s a pun on what I said in my stand-up.”
No response.
“I was only trying to get the story, Will.” She took her phone back and slipped it in her pocket.
“You wanted to be bait.” His words were raw with intensity.
“Oh, my God. Seriously? No. I didn’t want to be bait. I don’t want a lunatic following me. I don’t want any of that. What I want is to do what I was born to do.”
He flinched, his expression turning lax.
“Maybe we just need a little space to process everything,” she suggested.
“You’ll get it while I’m in the Springs.” His frustration vibrated in the air around them. “All the space.”
Parker’s voice cut through the air. “William, we’ve got a situation.”
Will closed his eyes and counted to three under his breath. “This day is just full of those. What now?”
Parker walked toward them with intent. “News was short on content today, so Lucy’s story ran at the top. National picked it up as the kicker to the evening news.”
Oh.
She stilled.
William squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
She couldn’t move with the rushing in her ears overwhelming all thought.
Her story had hit the national evening news.
* * *
The funny thing about living your dreams is that afterward life still goes on. She made the national evening news. Will wasn’t happy about it, but he still had to leave for Colorado Springs.
Will had left his mother’s letter propped on her kitchen counter. Lucy glanced at it again. The edges of her anger frayed further into forgiveness.
It made no sense. He had told her he kept it with him always, that it kept him centered, grounded. Why would he leave it behind as some cryptic message for her to decode?
“Do you have any eights?” Neilson asked from across the small Formica table.
“Go fish. Any twos?” Lucy replied, absently.
He handed her the two of clubs. She added the card to make a stack of twos and tossed them on the table. “You’re a guy, right?”
“That depends,” Neilson replied. “Any aces?”
“Go fish.” Lucy scowled. “What does it depend on?”
“Your question,” he replied, deadpan.
“I figured you might have some insight into the male mind.” She organized the cards in her hand, rearranging them by number. “Any queens?”
